by Abigail Agar
“Falling? Oh, how awful!” Cecile squealed while Mary just looked eager, wringing her hands together in delight.
“They were frightened that they would fall too far or that they would hit the earth hard underneath, but they could not even see the end for all was dark. And then, there were little twinkling lights, zipping to and fro about them,” she continued.
“Just as the girls grew more terrified, the lights grasped hold of them with little hands, bringing the fall to a gentle glide until their feet were safely planted on the ground below,” Beatrice said.
“What were the lights?” Cecile asked.
“Stop interrupting her! I want to hear the story,” Mary urged, trying to hush her sister.
Cecile glared at Mary in response and then Beatrice had to glare at them both to get them to settle.
“The lights were none other than the sweetest, kindest faeries in all the land,” Beatrice told them, watching their faces light up.
“The faeries danced around the girls and made flower garlands for their heads. They dressed them up and they feasted on the richest, most exotic fruits and honey. And then, when the two girls were full to bursting, the faeries returned them to the base of the tree and laid a trail of sparkling lights along the path that would take them home,” Beatrice said.
“When they arrived home, they told their mother and father the whole story. Of course their mother and father simply laughed, thinking it children’s tales, all pretend. But the girls knew that it had been real. They had danced with the faeries and they never forgot it for as long as they lived. The end,” Beatrice concluded.
“Miss Cloud, that was a wonderful story. You should tell us stories more often,” Cecile said.
“Yes, but I want a scary story next time,” Mary said, a little complaint written in her scowl.
“I shall remember that for you, Mary, dear,” Beatrice said.
They walked a little longer and finally concluded it before returning inside so the girls could wash up for lunch.
Beatrice ate quickly with the other staff before making her way to her bedroom and sitting at the little desk. She pulled out paper and her pen and ink, and began to draft a new letter to Marissa.
My Dear Marissa,
I do miss you and Mother and Louise. I wish that we could have enjoyed more time together. How is Daisy?
Things here are growing ever more challenging. I know that we did not speak much about it when I was there—I did not wish for Mother and Louise to worry about me—but I am finding it difficult to know what is ahead.
I know that Mother has offered to find me a husband and I think it is the wisest choice, but I am having such a difficult time with coming to terms about it. It really is not what I want. Perhaps I am being foolish, but my heart cannot bear the thought of marriage to someone of her choosing right now.
Honestly, Marissa, I do not wish to speak of it, but I must. My dear friend is marrying a man for whom my feelings have only grown. He is lovely in so many ways. I do not think she appreciates just how remarkable he is.
It could never be anything. Even if they were not already set to marry, my station would prevent me from ever being married to him. It is impossible and would never be accepted by society, so I cannot understand why I find it so difficult to consider anyone other than this man.
But if you could only see him! Not just his appearance, of course, but his very heart. If you could only see the goodness with which he speaks and the beauty of his soul. I have only had the pleasure of speaking with him on certain occasions as I do my best to keep my own heart at bay when he is near, but I cannot simply ignore him.
And he is so kind when he speaks to me. Regardless of our difference in status, he has been nothing but a joy to be around. He has been utterly gracious to me at all times.
My dear Marissa, please speak sense into me. I beg you to remind me that there is hope beyond a first love. Dare I even call it love? What a farce! I cannot say that it is love when I scarcely know the man, can I? Or when I do know, with full assurance, that he is going to be marrying someone else.
There is so much that I wish to say, but I do not even know how I might say it, Marissa. It feels wrong to speak these thoughts out into the world, even through a written letter. I simply wish that I could push my feelings aside and move on, and marry a man who is good and decent, just as Mother wishes for me to.
Your wisdom would be, as always, much appreciated.
With Love,
Bea
Beatrice folded the letter, taking a deep breath before she sealed it. She wanted to send it at once, frightened that it could fall into the wrong hands and her feelings could be exposed.
Writing the letter to Marissa had been difficult enough, but it was only the beginning of handling the way that she felt. What she truly wanted was to be free of the hopes that she believed to be utterly wasted on a man with whom she could never truly be.
Instead of dwelling on it further, Beatrice wanted to spend some time with Isla. Although there was a part of her that was now uncomfortable around her dearest friend, Beatrice hated the idea of letting this get in the way of their relationship.
She figured that the best way to handle that was to actively strike back at her emotions and go to spend time with Isla, intentionally being around her even when it felt awkward to do so.
Once she knew that lunch had concluded, Beatrice hopped down the stairs of the servants’ quarters and back up the main staircase to the second floor where Isla was. She knocked on the door and Isla called for her to come in.
“Ah, there you are! I was hoping that we might have some time together,” Isla said, sitting at her vanity and brushing her hair.
“Of course. I have hardly seen you at all today,” Beatrice replied, moving over and taking the brush from Isla’s hand in order to do it for her.
“How are my sisters doing with their lessons?” Isla asked.
“Very well. We went outside for a walk and I told them a story. I think they enjoyed it very much,” Beatrice said.
“I am sure of it. Anyway, if you are not too tired, perhaps we may walk for a while as well,” Isla said.
“That would be lovely. You know that I am always happy to go for a stroll,” Beatrice said.
“In that case, can you help me pin up my hair and we may go?” Isla asked.
Beatrice did as she was asked and the two of them went to the gardens, walking arm in arm through the flowers.
“It is such a lovely day. Why is it that England can be nothing but drab rain for months on end and then we get a day like this?” Isla asked.
“I do not know, but I must insist that you refrain from getting ill again,” Beatrice said.
“I have no intention of it. Believe me. The last thing I want is to have to spend another day with my mother holding my head over steaming water in hopes that I can see my betrothed,” Isla said, her tone one of bitterness.
“No, indeed, that would be unpleasant. Let us simply try to keep you well instead,” Beatrice said.
“Yes, I prefer that idea,” Isla said.
“And will you be seeing your intended soon again?” Beatrice asked, wondering if she might need to find a reason to be out of the home for a while.
“I believe so. Perhaps next week,” Isla said.
“Very well. I am certain that he longs to see you again the moment that the two of you are apart,” Beatrice said.
“Perhaps. I am not so sure about the truth of that, but I do hope that he likes me enough,” Isla said.
“Why would you even question it? I am certain that he adores you,” Beatrice said, hoping to be supportive for Isla’s sake.
“He does seem to like me enough. I cannot say that it is enough to make me his wife, but I do hope that he cares about me or that he at least enjoys our time together,” Isla said.
Once more, her tone was dragging. She did not have the same excitement and expectation as Beatrice had known Isla to often have. She began to wonder
if she really had made a mistake in expecting her friend to be happy with Lord Hawthorn.
Perhaps because Beatrice knew that she would be happy with him, she simply assumed that Isla would as well. That was a foolish enough notion, but it still entered her mind and she could not understand why anyone would have any feeling for him other than pure affection.
Isla behaved as though she was happy, but her lack of response left Beatrice wondering. It was as though she wanted Beatrice to believe that she was happy, but she had failed to actually find the emotion within herself.
Beatrice decided to let go of the subject and just walk along with Isla, enjoying their time outside and taking in the air. If Isla wanted to speak about it, she would in time. But, until then, Beatrice would simply have to wonder whether or not Isla would ever love Lord Hawthorn.
Chapter 18
Peter arrived at the estate once more, feeling the tedium of his repeat visits. Nevertheless, it was a nice day and they were eating lunch out near the lake, enjoying one another’s company.
“Lord Hawthorn, how is your business of late?” Lord Seton asked.
“Very well. We had a ship arrive just last Thursday. Now, we are getting our products into the hands of those who are better equipped to sell it for us. Which reminds me, I have a fair bit of tea for you coming this afternoon, I believe,” Peter said.
“That is delightful!” Lord Seton said. “My dear, I did tell you how wonderful his tea is, did I not?”
“Yes, you did. He has been raving about it,” the elder Lady Seton said, nudging her daughter to speak as well.
“My father tells me that you have a very fine taste in tea,” Lady Isla Seton said.
“I simply drink what we bring from the east. I do find it rather spectacular, but I am hardly qualified to judge what makes for better tea,” he said.
Peter’s eyes trailed off to Miss Cloud who was playing with the younger girls, running in circles and indulging them in a game. They were a good distance away, but still perfectly visible from where Peter and the others sat.
He knew that he should not be watching her, but it was thrilling to see her with the two. She engaged all of their time and attention, made them scream with glee as she tried to catch them. It was lovely to watch. She would make a terrific mother.
But she was not the one whose motherly instincts he was meant to be observing. Lady Seton was very nearby and she could hardly go off and play with her sisters while he was around. Her mother and father would never allow it. So how was he to know if she would be a good mother?
Peter tried to peel his eyes away from Miss Cloud and focus on what Lord Seton was talking about.
Tea. That was it.
“There is nothing I value more than coming home after a long day and sitting with a cup of tea as I read about England’s current state of affairs,” he said.
“That is a wonderful tradition with which to end your day, Lord Seton,” Peter said.
“Yes, it is very soothing,” he said.
“Mary! Mary, get down from there!” Miss Cloud yelled.
Peter turned and saw that the Mary had climbed onto a large rock that jutted over the lake. She was playing on it, but she was not too near the edge. Still, it was very dangerous and he stood up immediately, worry flooding his chest.
But Lord and Lady Seton ignored the whole affair and Lady Isla Seton simply let out a deep breath.
“She will be all right. Always trying to go off and do whatever seems frightening. She has far too much adventure in her spirit,” Lady Seton said with a laugh.
Peter was filled with relief when Mary came back, begrudgingly, to Miss Cloud. He took his seat again and Lord Seton chuckled at his expense.
“You needn’t worry so much. Children are far hardier than we give them credit for. I bet you that even if she had fallen in, nothing would have happened. She’s a strong girl,” he said.
But Peter could not be so cavalier about it. He was truly worried for the safety of Mary. He was frightened at what could have happened if Miss Cloud had not ordered her back.
Miss Cloud and the girls continued to play and Peter and Lord Seton went back to their conversation as the Ladies Seton remained polite and quiet beside them.
“I must try some of your tobacco, you know. If it is half as good as the tea, I would certainly love it,” Lord Seton said.
“I shall ensure that some is brought with the tea for you. Or, if the tea comes before then, I shall have it brought to you tomorrow,” Peter promised.
“Very well. And, after the wedding, you must always have some at your home so that we may enjoy a smoke and some tea whenever we come to visit the two of you,” Lord Seton said.
“Certainly, Lord Seton. We shall always have tea, tobacco, and a place for you and Lady Seton,” Peter said, looking over at his betrothed who smiled in her lovely way and nodded to him.
“Now, where is tha—”
Lord Seton was cut off by the sound of a terrible scream.
Peter shot up, along with the others, but Miss Cloud was already up the rock - the same one that Mary had been playing on just minutes before.
“Mary!” she screamed, diving off the rock and into the water without a thought.
It took only a moment to understand that Mary must have gone back to the rock and slipped off, falling into the water. Miss Cloud did not hesitate to go in after her and Peter was dashing over to try and go after them, knowing that he should try and save them both.
His legs carried him as quickly as they were able, but it did not feel nearly fast enough. Not fast enough to prevent a child from drowning. They were too far. What was he going to do?
Cecile was screaming for her sister and Peter hoped that her mother and father would come and comfort her, or that she would not try to jump in and help Mary thereby drowning herself.
All of these thoughts and more raced through Peter’s mind as he closed the space to the water’s edge.
But Miss Cloud’s head surfaced before he arrived and, with it, Mary.
“Let me help you! Here!” Peter called out, rushing into the shallows.
Miss Cloud was faster. He could see that she was a strong swimmer and had reached a shallower part of the lake, and was able to stand and try to push to the edge of the water so she could get a better look at Mary.
Peter assisted her in laying Mary on the grass as the others came rushing to them; slower than Peter, but still in a hurry.
“Mary! My sweet Mary,” her mother cried.
“It’s all right. Just give me a moment,” Miss Cloud said, relieved to see that Mary was still conscious.
The child coughed and Miss Cloud smacked her back with a few hard slaps to help her get the water out and clear her lungs. But she was breathing. She was crying, but she was alive.
Immediately, Lady Seton embraced her daughter and pulled her from Miss Cloud who had just rescued her.
Lord Seton gave Miss Cloud a stern look.
“How could you let this happen?” he asked.
She hung her head and Peter could see tears in her eyes. Not from being scolded, but from the fear she had felt when she thought that Mary might drown.