The Collected Supernatural and Weird Fiction of Bessie Kyffin-Taylor-From Out of the Silence by Bessie Kyffin-Taylor

Author:Bessie Kyffin-Taylor [Kyffin-Taylor, Bessie]
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 9780857069191
Publisher: Leonaur
Published: 2016-01-05T05:00:00+00:00

The Twins

The tragedy of my life is summed up in these words—“Basil and I were twins!” It doesn’t sound tragical, it doesn’t sound even interesting, but hear my story, and pity me.

From the hour of our birth we were remarkably alike: both were dark, both had brown eyes. In fact, so much alike were we that the usual tricks were resorted to by both mother and nurses to distinguish us, and if, as once happened, my blue-ribboned rattle got changed for Basil’s pink one, why, then, I swallowed a nauseous dose of medicine, intended for him. That was the start: from then onwards, my brother’s misdeeds were laid at my door. My indolence, laziness my father called it, was put down to my brother.

If our parents had been really interested in us, they would have studied our various temperaments, discovering that only in appearance had we the remotest resemblance; and, knowing this, if they had guided us, taught us, and led us, all the sorrow that eventually fell to me would have been non-existent. But parents differ so; some give all their thoughts, time and money to their children, ours gave none. They were wrapt up in each other, and in the gay social life they led. We were more of a bother than a joy, our bringing up depending chiefly on the ministrations of our nurses, and the rough tutoring of an old Scotch gardener, aided by stable men, odd boys about the park—all and sundry, in fact, who could do us harm instead of good!

The difference between us in appearance was so very slight that even our coachman had been known to bring a pony ready saddled for me, who at heart was an arrant coward, whereas Basil would ride pretty nearly anything on four legs. I have seen him try to ride a pig, a sheep, and a cow. He was fearless where horses were concerned, adored animals of every kind, being kindness itself to sick or maimed ones. The kink in his character being love of self, he would stoop to any lie or subterfuge to escape deserved punishment, never having the least scruple about letting me suffer for his misdeeds. He rarely opened a book, except French ones—prohibited—and these were usually found on my shelf, or in my drawer, never in his.

In our school days, it was Basil who went out of bounds, for sweets, cakes, etc., to the tuck shop, but it was my cap, and very likely my jacket, that he wore, and my room the stuff was stowed away in, until he had time to eat it! In holiday time, it was Basil in my pyjamas who acted “Ghost” and terrified the maids; Basil who lamed my father’s famous hunter, but my whip that was found in the paddock; Basil who was seen drinking beer in the village “pub,” but I who was kept a prisoner in my room, and not allowed to go to the skating carnival in a neighbour’s park; Basil who enjoyed the society of Esmé Simpson, the doctor’s daughter; and so it went on.

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