In my wallet is an A4 piece of paper. I haven't looked at it for a long time, but I know what it is, where it is, and what is looks like.
I wrote on it shortly after I separated from my ex husband. I had spent a long time compromising so he could have what he claimed he needed to be happy (spoiler alert: it didn't work) and I had no idea what I wanted any more.
So I did what any rational person would do. I wrote a list. A list of things I need and want. At the time, it was astronomical. No man could ever attain such heights!
Then I got my life in order (well, it's a work in progress), started writing here and, nine months after I separated from my husband I revisited that list.
I was so angry at myself when I read it that I wrote a Josh Groban related post mocking myself for my exceptionally low standards. Standards so low that someone I've never met can perfectly fit them. Because they were, all of them, the bare minimum anyone would expect from a boyfriend.
I won't look at that list right now, but I'm keeping it. I'm keeping it to remind myself how much you can lose when you start living for someone else. I'm keeping it to prove that I'm not unreasonable or asking for the world. I'm keeping it as a talisman against all those little voices inside that say I'm not the right stuff for happiness. I'm keeping it to prove that if a man can't meet that list then it's pretty clear the fault doesn't lie with me.
Right now I have other problems. One in particular is messing with my head, but I don't want to talk about it. I'm afraid someone might read it. I'm even afraid to write fiction around it through fear that someone might understand it.
And yet, I've been wracking my brains for one friend who is distant and impartial enough for me to confide in and receive advice that I can trust won't be coloured by circumstance. I think I'm going to call my therapist.
Tuesday, 18 November 2014
Tuesday, 4 November 2014
Nano 2014: Day 04
And thus began the most
bewildering day in Helen's memory. She was first ushered downstairs
by Emily who seemed to take personal pride in every startled glance
cast at her mistress as she trod lightly down the halls. When they
arrived in the breakfast room the two footmen who were guarding the
boiled eggs gazed fixedly at her for almost ten seconds before
leaping into action and, once she was seated and fed, they cast each
other approving nods.
It was Aunt Agatha who
vocalised the thoughts of all of them - “Well! I suppose you will
do well enough. You certainly appear more to advantage this morning,
although I fear you shall never be comparable to your sister!”
Helen smiled, In truth,
she was comfortable with the mild attention she received for being
what she was. The thought of being subjected as Rose was to a
constant barrage of admirers made her feel faintly ill and more than
a little relieved that the men she attracted accepted her wish to
stay distant. Rose was frequently not so well treated, although she
had the enviable ability to laugh it off with ease.
Rose came darting into
the room bare minutes behind their aunt and casting her arms around
Helen's neck (unfortunately timed as it caused a coffee spillage
frowned upon heavily by their aunt) crying out about all the joyful
things she had already experienced, chief among which were apparently
ham and beef for breakfast, alongside eggs and all the other good
things that came along with breakfast. Helen smiled at her sister's
boisterousness and although Rose became more physically subdued under
her aunt's harsher gaze, it did not noticeably cow her spirits.
All three ladies were
plied with hot beverages, and for the next half hour sat in animated
chatter. Helen was now in a better position to engage and once again
Aunt Agatha was pleasantly surprised by the quick mind and good
person hidden behind Helen's retiring personality. She mused that
many an older gentleman would be looking for such qualities in a
wife, although her above average looks may even cause a few of the
younger crowd to consider her with favour.
Rose on the other hand
was, by her aunt's calculation, the absolutely perfect debutante.
Vivacious, vibrant, beautiful, pleasant and clearly well bred and
educated; even without her portion she would be considered a toast.
With it, Lady Agatha Richmond firmly expected to land her an Earl at
the very least. Once the excitement of the season had worn off,
calculated Aunt Agatha, Rose would be impeccable.
The sentence structure
here is appalling. I hate it and I'm going to destroy it with a big
red editing pen when November is through. Sorry for the diversion, it
had to be said.
Drinks finished, the
savaged remains of breakfast tidied away, and Aunt Agatha determining
that for either girl to lunch before three would be sheer gluttony,
she sent them scurrying upstairs before whisking them into a barouche
to tour the more important parts of the city. En route to the park
she instructed them on shopping habits and restricted parts of the
city. Both girls solemnly paid attention and duly assured their aunt
they would behave in no way that could possibly discredit her. They
were past shopping venues, Gunther's, music halls, museums, and even,
very briefly, vaguely in the direction of the Tower – all things
she saw turned into a complete blur for Helen. She retained
strictures and determined to remember as much as possible of the
sights and sounds of London and as little as possible of the smells.
They were all too soon
in the park and both girls peered excitedly around them. Aunt
Agatha's judgement had been sound however, and at this time the Park
was deserted of all but a few nursemaids and children. The girls were
able to display their full naïve wonder and excitement without
creating a public profile that they may later regret. They spent half
an hour bowling around the park before they were pulled off in yet
another direction. More buildings shot past; more information about
places they could or could not go – sleepy looking streets being
presented as dens of iniquity, others being pointed out as something
worse: where the wealthy merchants lived. With her ambitions and
pride, Aunt Agatha wanted neither girl to let any pretender to their
hand to come from an undesirable address. Those dens of iniquity
were, however, visited by the finest gentlemen among the ton and
while the girls absolutely could not go there, they also could not
afford to dismiss a gentleman just because he did.
Soon they returned
home, where Emily was once again ready to help Helen into new
garments and repair the damage done to her hair by the “fresh”
air. It was astonishing to Helen that she could spend such a large
proportion of her life having her hair brushed, but under Emily's
magic hands the boring flat hair was beginning to grow in body and
lustre. Certainly her tricks for raising the hair into piles of
artificial curls were bewildering and involved a multitude of pins
but were astonishingly effective to a young lady who had spent longer
than she wanted to wearing pigtails.
Soon she was summoned
to her aunt's dressing room – Emily in tow – to meet the modiste
and have a whole new set of pins stabbed into her for an hour or two
as the most grandiose designs for her wardrobe spilled over her. A
few pages in the Ladies Gazette caused her to gasp involuntarily with
delight and both the modiste and her aunt were pleased to agree that
the styles she admired would suit her nature very well. The delicate
nature of the fabrics and the adornment of a simple gown with a few
exquisite decorations cried out taste, elegance and style, without
being overly ostentatious about the sheer cost of forming such
“simple” garments.
Rose was enchanted by
embroidery and wanted everything to have patterns endlessly weaving
around her. The modiste was delighted – the profit she could make
would be vast – but Aunt Agatha talked Rose down into having
decorated accessories – scarves, fans, gloves and slippers could
all be used to create the same effect without everyone instantly
knowing they have seen you in that dress before. Instead, she
counselled, select several dresses that could be worn with or without
adornment and find accessories that she adored for which her aunt
promised to take her on a separate shopping trip, or several.
The modiste was by no
means finished when the hairdresser arrived. He cast his experienced
eye over the multitude of designs for each girl in order to choose
the best arrangement of their hair. He began with Rose, and
ruthlessly cropped her hair into a cloud of riotous curls and spent
ten minutes instructing her maid in the correct arrangement of it.
Emily had begun removing Helen's pins part way through this
instruction and was barely finished and ready to brush out her hair
when the hairdresser minced over to inspect her locks.
He spent only a moment
there before returning to scrutinise the designs made for Helen. In
his absence Emily returned to the process of slowly and carefully
brushing out Helen's hair. When he returned the hairdresser tutted,
sighed and shook his head. Newly proud of her hair, Helen was a
little disappointed, but he simply murmured “Too much! Too much!”
and began trimming off some of the length. Unlike with Rose where he
had started by cutting off almost a foot of hair, he began slowly,
trimming off an inch at a time. After six inches were removed at last
he seemed satisfied and turned his attention from the length to
fringing and dressing the hair as he liked.
Initially Emily had
seemed politely distant, but as Helen's new design took shape under
his hands, she nodded approvingly. Finally, the work was complete and
Helen looked in the mirror. Her first reaction was deep
disappointment – she had been so proud of the piled up curls Emily
had created and now her hair lay flat on her head once again.
However, she recognised Emily's approval of it and she had already
come to trust the girl's opinion of how Helen should look. Casting
her own doubts aside and reassuring herself that at least she could
now leave her bedroom without enough steel to armour a fourteenth
century knight she thanked the hairdresser and stood, ready to parade
under Aunt Agatha's eagle eye.
Aunt Agatha approved
most heartily. Aside from the aesthetic concerns which tended to be
foremost with her she made the point to Helen that when one returns
home at three am, the last thing one wants is to wait another hour or
more for the maid to finish disrobing one before one can sleep.
Nodding reluctant assent Helen was on the verge of returning to the
modiste when her aunt brusquely informed her that they must now
provide Rose with the promised trinkets to complete her wardrobe.
They might also at this time purchase new shoes and necessities to
turn both girls into ladies.
Three hours later, the
ladies were home once again, this time laden with parcels and with a
whole delivery to follow them at a later date. Hungry and exhausted,
Helen was delighted when her aunt announced they must bustle as
dinner would be served in half an hour. She retreated to her room and
submitted to her hair being redressed again – this time much more
quickly but no less thoroughly. With two minutes to spare both
sisters darted out of their respective rooms and headed for the
stairs. They spared each other a smile, but otherwise remained
focussed on being where and when their aunt had instructed them to
be.
They made it in time
and were waiting when their aunt arrived at the door with the butler
behind them, ready to guide them into dinner. After the hustle and
bustle of the day, a quiet dinner was delightful. After several
dishes were presented, consumed and dismissed, Helen found herself
rapidly becoming sleepy, but followed her sister and aunt into the
drawing room where a piano forte and harp were available. The two
girls spent two hours playing quietly and intermittently, while their
aunt read. After she had finished her book she requested they play a
game amongst the three of them and called for some cards.
For another hour the
three played cards – relaxedly for the first game, intensely
competitive for the second and for the third, displaying clear signs
of weariness. Finally, their aunt dismissed them and both girls went
to bed. Once Helen was tucked up into the bed she mentally referred
to as a place of bliss, there was a gentle tapping on the door
seconds before Rose peeked in. The two girls, alone for the first
time today, spent half an hour chattering about their responses to
their day, the new circumstances and how they felt about it all
before both fell asleep. It was 4:30 am when Rose awoke Helen from
her dream. It had barely started and Helen had not yet cried out, but
she was already showing the physical signs and she was grateful when
Rose shook her awake.
Minutes later Rose
returned to her own room, where her bed had chilled in the night and
so she wrapped herself in an extra blanket before returning to sleep.
In the meantime, Helen subconsciously moved to wrap herself in the
robe and slippers, before standing at the window gazing outwards. At
5:00 am a maid came to light the fire. Ten minutes after she left,
Emily arrived in Helen's bedroom, flustered by her mistresses early
awakening.
Monday, 3 November 2014
Nano 2014: Day 03
The sisters arrived at
their aunt's house late in the evening. Darkness had already
descended and the choking smoke and stench of the city had driven
Helen from distress to despair. The improved quality of air as they
reached the wealthier part of the city wasn't enough to cure her, and
even being inside their aunt's home – scented beautifully of
lavender, beeswax and warmed wine – couldn't soothe her, although
it delighted Rose.
The servants were
expecting the sisters and were all miraculously available and
required to help bring in luggage and whisk the girls into the
required room. Even the cook found it justified to come upstairs
carrying a platter of delicate cakes and biscuits for the girls to
snack on. Within half an hour the entire household were gossiping
delightedly about Miss Rose, while even the nicest, most forgiving
individual was unable to attribute to Miss Helen a quality more
appealing than having a “very pleasant voice” when she declined
the special treats laid before her.
Their aunt shared the
opinions of all her staff, although the knowledge would never be
admitted by the separate parties. She had previously held to the
opinion that the elder should be presented and wed before the younger
could be admitted into society. Witnessing the girls before her now,
she was convinced that Rose would never have had a chance if that
rule were adhered to. That being so, she refrained from making the
speech she originally intended which had been expressly designed to
inform Rose that while she may be in public, she must at all times be
no more than a shadow as it was truly Helen's presentation and Rose
was here merely on sufferance and instead calmly observed that as
both girls were being presented together she would ensure that they
were subjected to the same preparation lessons.
Helen, wan and wilting
after the journey, allowed the words to wash over her. Rose
alternated between excitement over the plans being made on her behalf
and concern for Helen, but as she had herself firmly under control
and was eventually able to sip delicately at a cup of tea, Rose soon
became consumed by her enthusiasm for the plans over the next few
months including, but not limited to seemingly endless amounts of
shopping, dance lessons, dress fittings, parties, picnics, morning
visits, afternoons driving through parks, potentially horse rising
lessons, musical soirées, a multitude of balls and even one masked
ball.
As she became
increasingly animated, her aunt marvelled at how the sparkle in her
eye and the light flush in her cheeks enhanced the beauty of her
facial features. Casting a baleful glance at Helen, she wondered,
with some slight resentment, how she was ever going to get the elder
sister off her hands once the younger was married. Helen was
oblivious to her aunt's burgeoning hostility and for some reason the
lack of response to an attitude her aunt felt slightly ashamed of
only caused her to feel irritated that Helen was such an insipid,
dull, grey wisp of a thing.
Sighing internally, she
asked the girls if they knew sufficient card games to join in a
little light entertainment at quiet house parties. Not, she averred,
that they should gamble to excess, but they must be able to
participate in the lighter entertainments that were offered to young
maids. Rose happily regaled her aunt with tales of the specific games
they knew and evenings with the son of the local pastor as young
girls as well as parlour games at their seminary. The picture she
painted of her sister as gaily leading a pitched battle of wits
against the headmistress on a weekly basis, with teams supporting
either side and the celebrations afterwards caused her to regard
Helen with a quizzical eye and a sudden realisation that perhaps few
women look their best after a few days of travel.
That being the case,
she decided they should all retire early as they had a terribly long
day ahead of them. Both girls assented, although Rose seemed a little
disappointed at the abrupt end to her evening and briefly wondered if
her story had offended her aunt. The insistence that they call her
“Aunt Agatha” rather than the “ladyships” and “ma'ams”
that had so far littered their conversation went some way to
assuaging that fear. Aunt Agatha rang the bell vigorously and
directed the girls to their rooms. When they arrived and Helen
realised she would be sleeping alone, she was as fearful as Rose had
guessed she might be. However, the shame she felt of her dreams
caused her to internalise any feeling related to them as much as
possible and even in her exhausted state she was able to disguise a
response that the vast majority of people would consider odd enough
to remark on.
Rose said she would
check her own room, change into nightwear and revisit before they
slept. Helen assented, relieved, and one of the aids that had
escorted them up helped her disrobe and guided her to bathe in the
warm water at the basin. The maid then sat her before the mirror and
spent twenty minutes brushing her hair out until it shone. The
unaccustomed luxury lulled Helen beyond anything she had ever
imagined and when the maid coaxed her into bed and she discovered,
instead of the chill sheets of the seminary, the damp sheets of a
public inn or the hard mattress of her childhood she had been
provided with a luxurious feather quilt, several blankets and a deep,
soft mattress which had been perfectly and evenly warmed. It was like
climbing into a full body hug and although she propped herself up on
the copious pillows provided intending to wait for Rose, the maid
hadn't even closed the door before she was soundly asleep. Peeking
through the door ten minutes later, Rose smiled and blew out the
majority of the candles before returning to her own room and sleeping
herself.
The next morning Aunt
Agatha, herself an early riser, had instructed the household staff
most strictly that they were on no account to disturb either girl.
Consequently, it was almost 11 am when Helen, blinking, pushed
herself upright in a brightly lit room, decorated in emerald and teal
colours, picked out in gold. The vibrant colours after years of
practical greys and browns made it seem like a fantasy. In addition,
she had been so physically and mentally exhausted by the rigours of
her journey that she had spent the night in a deep dreamless sleep
and the feeling of blissful, rested contentment that resulted was
vaguely alien to her. She slid out of bed and spied the night coat
cast across a sofa. It was so luxurious and soft that she slid into
it, even though the room was beautifully warm and smiled as she
looked around the room.
She spied a pair of
matching slippers and eagerly climbed into them. Before she had the
second on, she was interrupted by the maid peering cautiously around
the door. Seeing the bedcovers cast to one side she made her way into
the room and bobbed a curtsey to Helen. When she rose, she was unable
to hide the surprise she felt.
“Oh!” Helen saw her
expression and immediately feared she had done something wrong. “Am
I not supposed to wear the robe? I thought it had been put there...”
trailing off, she gazed, wide eyed at the maid who was vigorously
shaking her head and bobbing a series of apologetic curtseys.
“No, miss, no indeed
miss, I'm so sorry miss. I didn't mean to stare.”
Walking forwards, Helen
touched the maid gently on the arm. “No, I should apologise, I
obviously startled you. Would you please tell me how?”
Helen's voice, which
had been discussed as pleasant the night before, now she was rested,
happy and relaxed was soft, gentle, warm and musical. It carried with
it the essence of Helen's gentle personality and made kinds of
promises about what she could do as a singer and the maid, as so many
before her had, immediately fell under its spell. Deeply flushing and
wishing she had something nice to say, the maid confessed that she
looked like a different person this morning.
Helen burst out
laughing.
Startled, the maid
gazed wide eyed at her for another moment before recalling herself
and dropping her gaze to the fingers she knotted wildly before her.
Helen soon stopped laughing and next time she spoke her voice was
once again a new kind of joy to listen to. The smile on her face was
audible as she reassured the maid that no-one would disagree as she
was renowned for being a poor traveller; and when the maid cast her
eyes up into that face she was shocked once again by the difference a
genuine smile made in the face of this young lady.
Her eyes, so big and
grey had acquired shades of sparkling blue and green, her skin was
tinted with the faintest coral tone and her lips curving upwards
pushed out her cheeks and turned her long thin face into a heart
shaped, well balanced arrangement of features that were delightful to
contemplate. In comparison to her sister – the epitome of a Snow
White princess – she would always be considered washed out and
faded, but by herself she possessed a grace, charm and quiet beauty
that appealed to many without them quite understanding why.
The maid felt her own
lips quivering upwards into a timid smile and when asked for her name
confessed she was called Emily.
“Well, Emily, it's
lovely to meet you. Would you please direct me to my clothing? I
haven't eaten properly for a few days and I'm in need of some
sustenance.”
Emily bobbed into yet
another curtsey and asked a series of polite questions about whether
Miss wanted to wash, what she wanted to wear, whether she wanted a
bonnet put aside for afternoon activities. Helen dealt with each
enquiry in the calm manner which made her seem accustomed to such a
thing, while inside she still marvelled at her surroundings and the
bewildering upgrade in her circumstances now she had left school.
Although she had grown up in similar circumstances of wealth, as a
child she had never experienced them for herself – schoolrooms and
governesses were not, in her limited experience, palaces of delight
and young girls were certainly not permitted to have someone run
around after them.
Eventually she was
seated, mostly dressed, before her mirror again as Emily dressed her
hair. Curious about the household, Helen had encouraged Emily to talk
and it had already been revealed to her that Rose had risen two hours
before and breakfasted well. She was currently in the morning room
flitting between playing idly on the pianoforte and playing with the
various decorative trinkets that festooned the surfaces of the room.
Aunt Agatha had been awake since before 6, and had breakfasted alone,
spending an hour with her Bible in the quiet of her own dressing room
as was her custom. Each lady had a dedicated maid who was currently
either cleaning, unpacking, preparing or, in Emily's case, preparing
her mistress for the day. In the afternoon they were expecting a
hairdresser and modiste to visit the house so the maids had been set
the task of identifying clothes that must be discarded: those that
could be modified and those that were suitable for town wear. Aunt
Agatha's maid was searching through her wardrobes to see if there
were any dresses of her own that could be adjusted for the girls –
her expectation (which would shortly be justified) being that neither
girl would own anything that couldn't be worn by a fifteen year old.
Nano 2014: Day 01b (Overdue, sorry!)
When the sun eventually
broke through the cloud cover, it did so fairly abruptly. Storm
clouds had gathered overnight and it was only a heavy wind clearing
it that allowed the sunlight through. Helen and Rose breakfasted in a
private parlour, one of three that the inn was furnished with. Rose
had slept excellently apart from the brief disturbance Helen had
caused and, as was her wont, Rose refrained from even alluding to it
or her otherwise peaceful night. Helen's nightmares had started when
their mother died and the nights she spent uninterrupted were few and
far between. Today she looked particularly haggared b the experience
– a combination of poor sleep and travel- induced nausea had
wreaked havoc on her delicate constitution.
Rose had cared for her
sister wherever she could since, and had rapidly learned that not
only did He;en fear her dreams, she feared what would happen if
anyone else knew the content. She point blank refused to discuss them
with her sister, and Rose let it lie. Rose also knew that however muh
Helen needed sleep, at the first signs of a dream starting, she
wanted to be woken. When she slept through a dream in its entirety,
she inevitably wet the bed and the mortification at home had been so
unbearable that when they went to school together, Helen had begged
Rose for her help. They had kept that understanding for the last two
years and it was now foremost in Rose's mind – although she would
not mention it to her – that in their aunt's home it was unlikely
they would share a room.
Helen was roused from
her abstracted, exhausted demeanour by the arrival of a waiter who
was clearly accustomed to ladies wilting in the inn. He gently
prepared breakfast on the table before them, instead of filling the
sideboards as was customary and ensured both ladies had tea and
chocolate to hand before he left.
Helen picked
desultorily t the cold cuts and eggs laid before her. Rose tore
through a substantial breakfast with the enthusiasm of a wholly
healthy girl. IT was oddly at this time that the physical
similarities between the girls became most obvious – typically,
Helen was so quiet, pale and wan beside her flourishing sister that
most people even denied they had the same colouring. Now however, one
could see both had the same pale skin and black hair – although
Rose's lustrous curls both literally and figuratively outshone
Helen's dull straight locks. They had the same large, almond shaped
eyes – Rose's violet and Helen's grey. Both had slim straight noses
and full lips in which the only difference that could be detected was
the colour: Helen seemed perpetually grey tinted while Rose favoured
her namesake with a healthy blush.
Their cheekbones and
jawlines were also matched, and it was this that made them seem so
similar while eating and drinking. While eyes and lips were disguised
by crockery and cutlery and emotional expression was obfuscated by
chewing, they seemed almost identical.
They sat silently –
apart from the sounds of Rose's overenthusiastic mastication – for
ten or fifteen minutes before a flurry of activity was heard from the
room adjacent to theirs. A door opened and a woman was heard to
declare her joyful opinion of tea and hot rolls on such a miserable
morning. Her following proclamation of thanks and affection suggested
the presence of a male companion who had helped seat her. She
summarily dispatched him to retrieve her specified breakfast items
and launched into idle chatter about the inn, their journey, the
people she expected on the other end of the road and a number of
other matters which her companion expressed absolutely no interest in
– although in fairness to him he wasn't given much chance to speak.
At some point there was
a brief cessation in her chatter – presumably to enable her to eat
something and in the quiet his voice finally appeared – speaking
without force or rancour he calmly stated “Georgiana, dear, I love
you beyond measure, but if you don't cease your idle chatter at the
breakfast table I will dump you in the first ditch we find.”
Her ripple of laughter
in response was silvery and musical and enraptured Helen who thought
it was the most breathtaking sound she had ever heard. Rose had
already been unashamedly eavesdropping but now Helen joined her.
Together they exchanged grins at the witticisms and banter passed
between the two who abused each other horrifically under an evident
and sincere love for one another. A few moments after she accused him
of having a dependency on his morning paper for protection “not
protection, my dear, aggression. I know how it infuriates you.”
“Oh, yes of course! I
just recalled - it's no wonder you're in such a foul mood. I was
woken up by that racket as well. For a short while I thought it was
something to do with you but Jenny told me this morning it was a
schoolgirl having nightmares. Were you tormented by the sounds?”
“Georgiana dear, you
know that would be ridiculous. Particularly as I'm wholly absorbed in
escorting you.”
“Thank you, beloved,
I'm very reassured.” Her tone was sardonic. “I must admit though,
I have little faith in your interest in being focused on me and can
only hope you won't deposit me in Bath and flee even before I'm
unpacked.”
“As your purpose in
going to Bath is to find amenable company, wouldn't I rather get in
the way?”
“You never get in the
way, my dear. You do rile and irritate, but you are always useful in
some way. I only hope to find such a husband one day.”
“that, my dear, will
never happen. I am unique and you and I shall never wed.”
Her chuckle rippled out
again. “Once again, I'm very reassured!”
“To return to your
original question however, I was woken up by something and went for a
brief walk. I did see a young female – not your schoolgirl, I think
as she seemed rather towards her late twenties than late teens and
she was certainly immodest enough to press up against a window in her
night shift. If we were to stay, you might have had cause for concern
through my relation with her.”
In the next room, Helen
went white then scarlet. Rose stared at her in horror as her eyes
filled with shameful tears.
Helen felt nothing. For
one blessed moment she was so entirely shocked that this could have
happened that she felt nothing at all. Then her world came crashing
down. Mortification that he had seen her, horror at his response,
disgust at herself for allowing it to happen; all these things
bubbled up and her eyes began to burn. Her breath seized in her lungs
and she began to shiver violently. Leaping into action, Rose seized a
nearby blanket, flung it over her sister and vigorously rang the bell
for a waiter. With an urgency that leant her authority she instructed
the waiter to provide hartshorn and burnt feathers before instructing
their maid that they were leaving at the earliest opportunity.
There was no more
audible conversation from the adjoining room, but neither Helen nor
Rose noticed. They were both consumed: one by care and the
practicalities, the other by horror as it seemed that all of the
worst parts of her nightmares were returning to haunt her at once.
She was hustled and bustled into the carriage, in which their driver
had placed several hot bricks, and which the maid had stacked to
ensure Helen would be warmed and supported by plenty of cushions.
With the aid of the waiter, the party ensured Helen was safely
ensconced in her corner of the carriage, then Rose clambered in and
the maid organised all other aspects with ruthless efficiency before
they departed.
From his room in the
inn, Lord George Carstairs watched as the carriage trundled away. He
was a reckless man, but he was not insensitive and although he had
initially been irritated by the chaos from the girls' parlour
assuming it to be the hysteria of a spinster; once he discovered that
it was, in truth the schoolgirls, he had been deeply distressed that
his words – intended only to put Georgiana to blush – had reached
innocent ears to such a shocking degree. He also made a point of
honour to never trifle with any woman unaware of the game and under
ordinary circumstances would not have spoken in such a way about any
schoolgirl, regardless of what he thought of her behaviour.
Castigating himself, he
acknowledged that he would never be able to apologise – he had no
way of tracking the girl and to approach her at a later date and
apologise for such addresses would only serve to mortify her further.
He sighed, dismissed it (as far as he was able) from his mind and
returned to the issue of escorting Georgiana – the most irritating
female he'd ever had to spend his life with – to her new home in
Bath. The thought fleeted into his mind that the schoolgirls were
going the opposite way – most likely from a Bath seminary to London
for the season, but he rapidly dismissed it as irrelevant and
refocussed.
Saturday, 1 November 2014
Nano 2014: Day 01a (midnight writing)
The sun unfurled lazily
through the morning mist. Shards of light crashed through the autumn
leaves decorating the estate and in their schoolroom two girls looked
excitedly at each other. One erupted with glee, before settling into
a decorous, ladylike pose, while the other smiled quietly as they
prepared to leave and head to the main part of the house.
The first girl bounded
downstairs, leaping and dancing along hallways, landing surprisingly
quietly until she reached the most opulent part of the house. Her she
resumed her sedate state. The other had tagged along behind –
laughing silently at her sisters antics, but not participating until
specifically caught up in the maelstrom.
Now both of them faced
their parents. The first girl – Rose – knocked quietly and
entered her mother's drawing room formally when invited to. The
second – Helen – walked quickly and with the air of one sure of
her welcome into her father's study.
Their ambition was the
same; to be granted permission to play outside on the first sunny day
anyone had seen for weeks. The mother petulantly waved the child away
from her. There were no visitors that morning, no need for the child
to be seen. The father recognised the signs of suppressed excitement
in his eldest daughter, smiled and waved Helen out of his sight.
The two girls met in
the hallway and, grinning, sped upstairs to collect bonnets, gloves
and coats before going outside. They played happily in the wilder
gardens beside the kitchens – more butterflies were here during
summer and so the girls developed a preference for it. Now the air
was chilled, even the birdsong had stopped and they subconsciously
began to drift away. A quiet mewling sound led them to investigate
the presence of some unexpected kittens. Large enough to leave their
mother, yet small enough to be incredibly playful, the kittens
discovered the two girls and invited them to join a game of chasing
falling leaves. The two girls laughed and played and ran along with
the miniature felines.
As they rounded the
corner of the house the girls, without realising, automatically
restrained their behaviour. While their father believed the girls
should be children, their mother was adamant that they should be
young ladies at all times. Whenever they were likely to be in sight
of her, they had learned long ago it was better to seem as restrained
as possible.
The presence of the
kittens slightly distracted Helen and she was laughing aloud as one
particularly adventurous kitten tried to chase three leaves at once.
She reached out to snag one of he leaves herself, misjudged and fell.
Unhurt, she rapidly stood up again but her hands were now encrusted
with dirt. In tacit agreement, Helen left Rose to play while she
washed her hands.
It was almost an hour
later when Rose realised Helen should have returned long since.
Curious and concerned – suspecting her mother might have spied her
dirtiness – Rose returned to the house. She headed straight to her
own room and sure enough, Helen was locked in there. Rose knocked on
the door and spoke to her in hushed, comforting tones. Inside, Helen
was audibly sobbing. When the sobs didn't abate, Rose became
increasingly worried and decided to plead with her father for Helen's
release, or at least for the option of comforting her.
She hurried downstairs
but mid way down the final flight she came to a halt. The door to her
father's study was shut, but she could clearly hear both her parents
speaking – shouting, if truth be told – although she couldn't
quite make out the words. Suddenly the door burst open and her mother
came out, white lipped and taut. She stalked away from him,
screeching “And I will make certain you never again have the
opportunity to commit such a sinful act!”
He followed her to the
door: also white faced and visibly angry. He was dishevelled – his
wig askew and his waistcoat hastily fastened, but seemed somehow more
contained than the impeccably presented, furious woman currently
lashing out verbally and physically at the footman as she retrieved
her riding crop and a bonnet.
Rose and her father
watched her mother leave. He sighed and rubbed the back of his neck.
About to turn into his study he noticed his younger daughter perched
on the stairs. “Are you alright pumpkin?”
She was briefly mute,
aware that something momentous was happening, but then the urgency of
her original errand caught up with her and she quickly shook her
head. “If you please, papa, may I be allowed to be with Helen? She
is truly distressed and I do not want her to be alone.”
Her father's eyes
sharpened and focused on her; “Where is she?”
“Sir, she is locked
in our bedroom.”
“Come with me,” he
sprang into action, already unfolding the correct keys out of his
pocket as he headed up the stairs at a dignified yet rapid pace.
Opening the door he allowed Rose to precede him and he hesitated on
the threshold as he considered his elder daughter. She was sobbing
still, although she had made an effort to dim the sound as the door
was opened. She lay huddled in bed, curled in a tight ball, seeking
some kind of comfort from her pillows.
Rose clambered onto the
bed behind her and she flinched slightly, but hearing her voice,
Helen was able to relax and her breathing became more natural. When
her father was satisfied she was no longer hysterical, he prompted
her to sit up, and prepare for a servant to bring her a glass of
lemonade and then wash her face and hands before dinner. They would,
he informed them, be eating in the schoolroom due to the disruption
of the day.
Relieved to avoid their
mother, neither girl made any demur and their father left. Rose spent
the afternoon and early evening trying to soothe Helen, who would
periodically break into spasmodic sobs. It was several hours later
when the news was brought to them by their governess – their mother
had gone riding and in her rage had misjudged a wall. The horse had
thrown her into a stone wall and she had been killed outright.
Rose, antagonised by
Helen's suffering and blaming her mother entirely, felt a brief spurt
of savage satisfaction. This was short lived however, as it was
swamped by concern for Helen, who upon hearing the announcement had
turned completely white as her eyes darkened to solid black and she
fainted.
She stared out of the
window, shivering in the cold despite the thick heavy shawl wrapped
around her. Her feet were icy cold, and the fire wasn't lit but she
didn't want to return to the bed.
Rose had collapsed into
exhausted sleep once again and Helen could neither bear to wake her
nor relinquish the fear of her dreams starting again. To return to
bed, and thereby return to sleep, might cause both. In the darkness
of the pre dawn hour, she stood alone. She had decided years before
that while a sofa or chair would be more comfortable, and certainly
wrapping her feet up would be easier on them! She got so bored of
staring at the same four walls night after night. It had now become a
habit with her that wherever she was, when the dreams woke her she
would retreat to the window and stare outwards until her eyes became
accustomed and she could pick out motion and activity.
Now, she couldn't see
very much at all. There was a lit torch close to the window on the
outside of the building: lighting the way for any late (or early)
traveller. The post would be through shortly after dawn, but stage
coaches ran through the night in this part of the country. As a
result, the world outside was unremittingly black, but as was her
habit she stood, gazing outwards and instead cast her mind over the
last two days.
She had known for a
long time that she would have to make her debut. Her father's death
had given her an excuse to delay it and, although she sensed her
aunt's reluctance to agree a postponement, the agreement had finally
come – the sisters would be presented together. Helen did not look
forward to it with any pleasure. Rose did and Helen had every
confidence that she would make and excellent match. For herself, she
preferred her books, her sewing, her artwork. All these things she
could sink her heart and soul into more readily than the prospect of
spending a year entrapping some unfortunate gentleman into matrimony.
In the trundle bed near
the door the maid snored incessantly. Helen sighed and dropped her
head against the window frame. Below her a flash of light indicated a
door opening. Weary, she dropped her eyelids, but remained huddled
under her shawl near the window. Beneath her, the gentleman strolled
the courtyard casually; hidden from her sight in the shadows. As she
adjusted her shawl, the flicker of white caught his eye and he gazed
admiringly at the ethereal form, so fragile and alone, so
unselfconscious.
After a brief look, he
bored of it and returned to his previous activity, pacing around the
courtyard, willing himself to relax, uncertain what had awoken him in
the first place.
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