by Meghan Sloan
Hetty suppressed the irritation that rose instinctively in her breast at her mother’s words. Mama meant well, but she wasn’t ten years old anymore. It was yet another reason why she needed to leave and carve out her own life.
You will have more rules and regulations in a convent, said a small voice, in her head. You will not be freer there than you are here.
Firmly, she ignored it. She couldn’t afford to think along those lines.
“I am sorry, Mama,” she said, as she sat down, unfolding her napkin. “It is such a beautiful day, and I felt like stretching my legs. I journeyed to the apple tree.”
Her father smiled indulgently. “Is that old swing still there that I made you all those years ago?”
Hetty smiled, too. “It is, Papa. But it is a little worse for wear now. However, the apples on the tree are as delicious as they always have been.”
There was no further conversation, for several moments, as they commenced eating. Hetty felt her heart start to quicken. She needed to tell them, but how could she bring it up?
Just do it, she told herself fiercely.
She took a deep breath. “I have been thinking long and hard about my future,” she started, gazing from one to the other.
They both looked up from their soup.
“What do you mean, dear?” asked her mother in a distracted voice.
“I do not wish to burden you for an indefinite period,” she continued, her heart racing harder. “All of this has been so unexpected. I appreciate the fact that you both have helped me, in my worst of moments, but I do not wish to reside at Hillsworth House for the rest of my life.”
They both looked stunned.
“Henrietta,” said her father, frowning. “There is simply nowhere else for you to go at the moment. And you are safe and protected in our home. It is your home, too. Never forget that.”
She took another deep breath. “I know, and I am so very grateful for it. But I have made a decision.” She paused momentarily. “I have decided that I wish to join a convent. I wish to become a nun.”
If they had looked stunned before, it was as nothing compared to the shock on their faces now. For a moment, no one spoke.
“A nun?” her mother whispered, looking horrified. “You wish to join a religious order, for the rest of your life?”
Hetty nodded. “I do, Mama.”
“Henrietta,” said her father, his frown deepening. “This is utter madness. I understand that you desire to escape from what has happened, but this is not the answer …”
“Papa,” she interrupted. “With respect, I believe it is very much the answer. I would live a life of contemplation and service. It would be a selfless path, and it is one that I desire very much.”
Her mother looked doubtful. “Hetty, you have no vocation,” she said, in a shocked voice. “You are not called by God for such a life. It would stifle you …”
She felt another flash of irritation. “Mama, I must disagree with you. While I am not the most pious of ladies, my faith in God is absolute. What could be nobler than sacrificing one’s own ego at the altar?”
“It is not about that, my girl,” said her father tartly. “Your mother is right. You have no vocation for such a life. You never once mentioned a calling to it prior to your marriage.” He paused, gazing at her intently. “You are hurt and grieving, Hetty. That scoundrel Blackmore did you wrong. But running away to a convent – throwing your life away – is wrong. You would regret it for the rest of your days …”
“What else is open to me?” she burst out, feeling on the verge of tears. “I do not wish to be dependent on you forever. I am an abandoned wife with no hope of ever marrying again. Must I sit here, every day of my life, withering away, through lack of purpose?” She took a deep, ragged breath. “This is the only course available for me, where I could lead a somewhat fulfilling life. If I stay here, I am forever branded as the deserted wife, enshrouded in scandal. I cannot endure it …”
Her parents were silent, gazing at her sadly.
“Please,” she begged, fighting back the tears. “I know that this is hard for you to understand. But I am a grown woman, and it grieves me, feeling as if I am trapped like a dragonfly in amber in this house.” She paused. “You have both raised me to be an independent thinker, despite my sex. I am grateful for it. And that independence of thought is what brings me to this choice, now. I am capable of making decisions about my own life.”
Her mother picked up her napkin, dabbing her eyes. Her father continued to gaze at her sorrowfully. A weight of emotion fell over the table, so thick that it was almost like a black cloud.
She did not want to hurt her parents or make them feel that they had not done the very best for her in this awful situation. They had. But appeasing them was not what she could focus on at the moment. And she should have a say in how her own life was going to unfurl, from this point onwards.
She understood their concerns, particularly about whether she was suitable for the life of a nun. She knew that they were only trying to save her from a potentially wrong decision made in the heat of the moment. But it was not their decision to make, and they had to understand that.
“Perhaps you should sleep on it a little further,” said her father eventually. “Do not rush into anything, Hetty. There is no time frame. You might feel very differently about it in a few weeks’ time, than now. I know that you think you will not, but it is possible.”
Hetty nodded cautiously. “I will reflect on it further, but I must stress that I am resolved to this path,” she said slowly. “Do I have your permission, at least, to write to some convents, to enquire about the possibility? I promise that I shall weigh up all options carefully.”
Her father nodded. “You can enquire if that is what you desire,” he said, frowning a little. “There is no harm in that. I just do not want you to commit to this path immediately. Will you promise me that?”
Hetty sighed deeply. “I promise, Papa. And thank you for your understanding.” She looked down into her half-eaten soup bowl. She had lost her appetite. “Could I be excused from the table?”
Her father nodded. “Of course.”
Her mother refused to look at her. Hetty could see she was still struggling not to cry.
Her heart lurched. Her mother had wanted her only daughter married. She had hoped that she would have grandchildren one day. She had been looking forward to it so very much.
And now, that hope was gone, forever. Just as her own hopes and dreams were gone, as well.
Chapter 4
Hetty gazed out the drawing room window. There was a messenger approaching the front door, and she could see that he held several letters in his hand. Her heart started to pound in her chest, and she turned and ran out of the room to open the door herself before Milton, the butler, could get there.
The man looked surprised as she reefed the door open. He obviously wasn’t used to being greeted by young ladies of the house. Before he could say anything, she took the letters, smiling vaguely. She had already forgotten about him by the time she closed the door, running back into the drawing room. She realised that her hands were shaking.
Quickly, she sorted through them. Two were for her father, but three of the letters were addressed to her. Her heartbeat quickened further. They were surely the first responses to the letters that she had sent out to various convents, last week, requesting information on their communities, and the process of joining their orders.
With trembling hands, she broke the seal on the first letter, sinking into a seat to read it through properly. This one was from the Sisters of the Blessed Virgin, who had a large convent in Surrey. In a neat hand, the letter outlined the order’s chief work was tending the local poor community, and the steps to become a member of the order. It was signed by a woman called Mother Agnes.
The other two letters were equally informative; one was from the Sisters of St Cecilia, who had a convent in Essex, and the other from one further away, close to the Scottis
h border, in Northumbria. All three letters seemed enthusiastic about accepting her to their orders.
She set them down, her mind whirring. It was hard to make a decision about which one would be the best, but make a decision she must. However, she had promised her father that she would not act rashly. She had written to two other orders, and she should wait for their replies before she took it any further. In the meantime, she could pore over these letters at her leisure, to try to ascertain which seemed more suitable.
Her parents hadn’t talked about it with her since she had made her announcement at luncheon that day. Perhaps they believed that if they left the topic alone, she would lose enthusiasm for the idea. But instead, the idea to join an order had grown in her mind and her heart. She was fervently convinced now that it was the only path for her.
Sometimes, she would get a twinge of misgiving. Once, she had thought about the fact that she would never become a mother, and her heart had twisted. But then, she had recovered herself. She couldn’t become a mother now, anyway. It was best to put that desire firmly behind her. Besides, if she chose well, she might be able to work with children, which would satisfy her thwarted maternal instincts.
Another night, just as she had been drifting off to sleep, she had started awake, her heart pounding. She realised that she would die a maiden, that she would never know what it was like to be touched intimately by a man. But then, that concern had lessened, too, when she remembered the talk her mother had with her the night before her wedding day.
Mama had been red with embarrassment, but ploughed on, talking about doing her duty for her husband, and that it was often uncomfortable and awkward, but that it was just what a married lady had to do. And she would be rewarded at the end with a beautiful baby for her trouble.
Hetty sighed now, thinking about that conversation. Her mother had not intimated at all that there was any pleasure in the act for the lady. But sometimes, she awoke out of sleep, her heart racing, feeling a peculiar yearning for something she did not understand. Her body would be flushed and restless. Perhaps it was just dreaming; she really wasn’t sure.
She hadn’t even been kissed by a gentleman. Frank had always demurred, insisting that he respected her too much to compromise her in any manner. There had been no passion between them, and quite frankly, she was convinced now that the rumoured physical love that could exist between a man and a woman was just a myth. A story. Something that was invented by novelists and poets.
She carefully folded the letters. She was not going to miss out on anything by becoming a nun. The physical act, between a man and a woman, was for the man’s pleasure alone. She had probably been saved a great trial by Frank’s desertion. And better to remain chaste and celibate than risk her life lying in tatters again, at any rate. It wasn’t as if she had any choice in that matter, regardless.
***
That afternoon, Hetty took Della for another long walk, past the apple tree, and into the next field. It was another glorious day; the sun was high in the sky, and there were fields of wild irises in the distance, wilting beneath the summer sun, the purple of their blooms seeming to melt before her vision. It was so very beautiful that she forgot everything, sprinting into the midst of it, her heart hammering.
Suddenly, she stopped. There would be no opportunity to do such things when she became a nun. That little voice at the back of her mind saying she would find no more freedom in a convent surged to life again. Convents were sticklers for order and routine. They demanded total conformity from their members. She could not walk at leisure through fields and run amongst the flowers with a veil upon her head and a wimple around her chin.
It would be a life of rigorous dedication, where everything about herself – the things that made her uniquely her – would be scrubbed away. Her heart clenched. Could she do it? Could she adhere to a life of such strict discipline? Yes, there would be safety there, but it would also be hard. So very hard.
She took a deep breath, trying to quieten the misgiving. She reminded herself that she had few options in life anymore. Either the life of a disgraced abandoned wife, forever living in her parental home or that of a nun. They were the only two choices available to her now. And better a life of work and service, where she might feel marginally fulfilled, than the alternative.
But the small, traitorous voice had stripped the afternoon of its glory. With a slightly dejected heart, she headed back towards the house. It would be afternoon teatime soon, anyway, and her mother was a stickler for it.
Hanging her bonnet on the hook at the back door, she was just washing her hands when Clarrie, the parlour maid, approached her, telling her that her parents were requesting her company in the drawing room.
Frowning, Hetty made her way there, wondering idly what was going on. Papa usually locked himself away in his study at afternoon teatime, and she and her mother liked to have it in the garden during good weather.
They were both sitting down, not speaking when she entered. And they both stood up formally, gazing at her expectantly.
She frowned slightly. “Is there something wrong?”
Her father hesitated. “Sit down, Hetty. Your mother and I wish to speak with you about an important matter.” He paused. “The tea will be along presently.”
She did as she was bid. It was only after the tea had been served, and they were all holding a cup, that her father spoke again.
“I saw that you received letters this morning,” he said slowly. “Were they replies to the letters that you sent out last week?”
Hetty jumped in surprise. She had no idea that her father was even aware that she had sent the letters, nor that he was watching her when she had received replies this morning. But then, why shouldn’t he be aware? The servants would tell him everything.
She nodded. “Yes, I received replies from three different orders.” She paused. “They all seem eager to have me within their ranks. It is just a matter of choosing which one.” She paused. “But I will wait for others to arrive. I promised you that I shall not act rashly.”
Her father took a sip of tea, then sat down the cup on the side table, decisively. Hetty glanced at her mother. She was staring at the rug on the floor looking uncomfortable. Her heart shifted in her chest. Were they about to inform her that they had changed their mind and that she no longer had their blessing to join an order?
“That is good,” said her father slowly. “I promised you, also that I would let you write the letters which I have. But there is something else that has come along in the meantime, which can change those plans, quite significantly.”
Hetty gazed sharply at him. “What do you mean? What has come along?”
Her father smiled. “Hetty, there has been an offer put in for your hand in marriage.” He paused. “A very good offer. An offer which makes me think you would be a foolish girl, indeed, not even to consider it.”
She stared at him, dumbfounded. “An offer of marriage?” Her voice rose high. “How can you say such a thing? I am obviously already married, Papa! You escorted me down the aisle towards my future husband. Have you forgotten?”
His nostrils flared slightly. “I am very well aware of that, Hetty. Please, remember to show respect.”
Hetty coloured. “I am sorry, Papa. But I am so very confused …”
“Yes, of course you are,” he said. “And to be frank, I was astounded when the gentleman approached me. We had a long talk, where I told him that you are legally wed, although you have been deserted. Any offer of marriage was conditional on being able to free you of the marriage to Frank Blackmore.” He paused. “He accepted those terms. In fact, his eagerness to marry you is such that he is prepared to wait for you.”
Hetty gasped, her head spinning. She simply could not believe what her father was telling her.