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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