An alternative sequel

 

An alternative sequel

'Dance at Bougival' by Pierre-Auguste Renoir (1841-1919)

                                    Image courtesy Wikimedia Commons

jenny-o challenged me to write an alternative ending to the musical box story, so here we go again! 

Here is the original story.

Here is the first sequel. 

Now read on for the alternative sequel.

 

When the music stopped, Marjorie and Henry sank to the floor, exhausted.

‘At last,’ Henry gasped.

‘I thought she was going to wind it up again,’ said Marjorie. ‘The hardest bit is dancing ever slower as the music winds down. It’s like moving in slow motion.’

‘She’ll be back tomorrow, and my poor feet are so sore,’ Henry grumbled. ‘How long is she staying?’

‘I don’t know but I think my jaw will break if I have to keep smiling,’ Marjorie sighed.

They sat for a while in silence, enjoying the peace and the stillness.

Henry stretched. ‘We’ve been *tripping the light fantastic for sixty years. It’s time we retired.’

‘If only we could escape,’ said Marjorie.

‘Leave it to me, my dear,’ said Henry, tapping the side of his nose.

The next day, when the little girl tried to shut the musical box, the lid resisted, and she had to leave it slightly ajar. It didn’t matter, because the music had stopped and in any case, there wasn’t enough room for the little dancers to do anything other than lie down. What she didn’t see was Henry lying on his back, bracing his feet against the lid.

When they were sure the child had left the room, Henry stripped off his  coat and tie and Marjorie loosened the belt of her floaty, many-layered dress. Together they strained at the lid. When they had prised it open sufficiently, Marjorie jammed her high-heeled dancing shoes into the opening to prevent it closing again.

Now all they had to do was work at making a gap large enough for them to slip through. The long years of dancing had made them fit and supple and strong. Marjorie stood on Henry’s back and forced her head through the gap. Once her shoulders were free, she arched her back and pushed upwards. To her delight, the lid sprang open and she was able to jump down to the table on which the musical box stood. Swiftly Henry followed and stood hand in hand with his partner, marvelling at the room they were in. All they had ever noticed as they spun in endless circles were the pictures on the walls.

 Now they could see bowls of flowers on every polished surface, and wonderful gilt-framed mirrors. Rich hangings echoed the colours in the upholstered armchairs and sofas and tall windows opened into a glorious garden. They walked over to the French windows, feeling themselves grow taller with each step.  

Marjorie squeezed Henry’s hand. ‘I had forgotten how lovely it was,’ she whispered. ‘It has been so long.’

Henry smiled. ‘Welcome home, my love. The spell at last is broken.’

‘But what about the little girl? She will wonder what has happened to us.’

‘Look in the musical box,’ said Henry and led Marjorie to the table. He picked up the box and wound the mechanism with the little golden key. As he lifted the lid, the music began, a different tune to the one they had danced to for so long. There, on the silvered floor, twirled and spun a dainty ballerina.

‘But that’s . . .,’ Marjorie stammered, but Henry hushed her. ‘It is her turn to dance now. Who knows how long she will continue?’

 

·        The expression ‘tripping the light fantastic’ is attributed to John Milton