by E. H. Schutz
“Er, well, let us get on with it, then. Here you can see the door.”
Katharine disappeared from Helena’s view, then presumably approached the door and bent down to examine the hinge on the bottom right side which had suffered wear uneven to its three brethren. The hinge bothered Robert greatly though Helena was convinced that he was the only person in the world to notice it. She could hear shuffling below her, and Katharine’s voice floated up to her.
“Milord, there is nothing structurally unsound to it. I see some wear which does not match the others, but that is likely down to a need for grease. It does not seem enough to warrant a repair.”
“But it is not the same as the others.”
“If I do anything to it, it shall still not be the same as the others, only in a different way. The only way to get everything to match exactly perfectly would be to take out all of the hinges and make four new ones to match.”
“Very well. Do that, then.”
“Sir, if I might say so, these hinges are at least three hundred years old. They are indeed likely original to the house.”
“No matter. If we kept institutions simply because they were old or had precedent, we would be in quite poor shape indeed, would we not? Occasionally, one must fully remove the old, no matter how venerable it might be, to have proper order. Would you not agree?”
Helena knew very well that Katharine would not agree. Her passion for preserving original metalwork was well known to Helena, even before they had met. Katharine’s reputation on the matter preceded her. Her commitment to preservation had pleased one of the local ladies so much that she spoke of it at length after a dinner one evening nearly a year ago.
Katharine stood and straightened her bodice. “If it is what you desire, Milord, very well.”
Robert nodded. “Excellent. Now, about the inside of the house; it is not anything terribly important, but you will want to speak to her Ladyship about it. Helena does so like…” He coughed. “Pretty things, you see. She does not appreciate the need for simplicity and lack of distraction the way you or I do. She is yet young, I suppose.” He gazed off into the distance for a moment, then blinked as though only just remembering that Katharine was there. “However, you ought at least consult her before making any changes as she is the lady of the house. I’m sure you understand.” He inclined his head toward her.
“Yes, Milord.” Katharine remained expressionless.
“Excellent. Now, let us go have a look at the gates.”
Helena heard Robert’s voice fade into the breeze as she watched the pair of them walk quickly down the drive. Katharine did not speak back to him—at least not that Helena could hear—rather, she dipped her head on occasion but most often remained still from the hips up. Eventually, just before Helena was unable to make out anything further, she saw Katharine pull a bit of paper and charcoal from a pocket and sketch something as they walked.
At last, Helena turned from the window and sighed. As she pulled a white frock over her head, she snorted. Helena had never said or even implied that she found the house’s decoration wanting, and she had not any idea whatsoever what Robert could possibly have meant about “pretty things.” Her tastes, if she ever actually expressed them, were actually quite simple, and she rarely expressed them at any rate.
She knew that Katharine, as a commoner, could hardly speak back to Robert, but she found herself rather let down by Katharine not saying anything at all to him about his slight, even in her subtle way. Though she could hardly expect Katharine to leap to her defence and challenge him to a duel for her honour, the gesture would have mollified her, at least a bit. Robert, after all, was meant to be the one defending Helena’s honour, and she was not sure what to think of him being the one to insult it with his condescending remarks instead.
She tied the laces which ran up the front of her dress; it was difficult to do alone, but she would rather face the difficulty than admit that she, a grown woman, could not dress herself. This done, she slipped into a pair of soft doeskin shoes and made her way toward the chapel. Hopefully, she could clear and calm her mind with prayer.
As she made her way down the corridor, though, she became increasingly agitated. Of what Robert and Katharine were speaking, she had no idea. Perhaps, at this moment, Katharine was confessing everything to him. What would Helena do then? No one would marry her were she to be sent away for adultery, and she could not bear the thought of marrying another man. Besides which, it was indeed more likely that Helena would have to take holy orders, which did have a certain appeal…No! She could go to live with Katharine, and learn a trade. She imagined herself sweeping dust from a front step and greeting the baker as he strolled down the street.
Helena rolled her eyes at herself as she pushed open the secret door. Of course she could not do that. If Katharine were confessing, then she would surely not want anything to do with Helena afterwards. And surely she and Robert were just discussing the intricacies of the work to be done. Of course they were; that would be sensible, and Katharine was nothing if not utterly sensible. But what if Katharine had realised the folly of their mutual sin, or worse, what if Robert’s words had convinced her that Helena was a fatuous girl with frivolous infatuations? As she approached the door to the chapel, Helena realised that she was clasping her hands so hard together that she was losing feeling in them. She sighed and forced herself to relax her arms. Attempting to put herself into a prayerful mindset, she opened the door.
Katharine sat in the chapel, leaning against a wall with her eyes closed. Helena ran to her and threw her arms round her neck, heedless of the way her kneecaps crashed against the stone floor.
“You are here!” she cried.
Katharine smiled and kissed her. “Where would I be otherwise, Milady?”
Helena nuzzled her way into Katharine’s neck. “It is not yet vespers, so you might be anywhere, and I had the most terrible notion that you were confessing everything to Robert.”
Katharine snorted. “Why in Heaven’s name would I do such a thing?”
“Oh, I do not know. The fear overcame me as I was on my way here. I had a vision in my mind of you being sent to prison or worse. It was just awful.”
“Well, Milady, you need not fear. I certainly shan’t say anything to anyone. I enjoy my head where it is.”
Helena smiled and kissed her, and then curled up round her, resting her head on Katharine’s chest. They sat in silence for a while. Katharine stroked Helena’s hair absently, and Helena traced patterns on Katharine’s lower back between the wall and the ground. Eventually, Katharine took a deep breath.
“I must go to London.”
“Ah?” Helena felt Katharine nod against the back of her head.
“Indeed, milady. I need a good bit of iron for the work his Lordship wants as well as some other odds and ends. I shall be gone for several weeks, likely three and a few days.”
Helena sat up at that. “Several weeks! However shall I get on without you?”
“In much the same way you got on without me before, I expect.”
Unbidden and unexpected tears rolled down Helena’s face. “But I did not know you before! I did not know the difference before! And now I do, and the very thought is making me miserable.”
Katharine wiped her tears and hugged her close. “But I shall return, and you shall be well in the interim. You are a good and strong woman, Helena. You shall be fine without me.”
“No, indeed I shan’t. I love you, Katharine. You are my only friend. My soul pines for you, and now you are leaving for ages.” She fully sobbed now, and her hot tears ran down her cheeks and soaked into Katharine’s bodice. She looked up at Katharine who had a bewildered look in her eyes. “I love you,” Helena repeated.
Katharine smiled weakly and stood, pulling Helena up with her. Threading her hands into Helena’s hair, she pulled her close and pressed the most gentle of kisses to her lips. They stayed there, not moving for some time, until Katharine pulled away and nuzzled Helena’s
hair. “I will return to you, Helena. Fear not.”
With a final kiss, Katharine turned away and left through the open door to the priest hole. Helena sank to the floor and sobbed as soon as the door closed behind her. By the time she regained herself, she could hardly see the long shadows through her swollen eyes. Exhausted, she made to hoist herself from the ground and was only able to do so with great effort and by pulling herself up on the wall. She tottered unsteadily over to the door and prayed that she would not meet anyone on the way back to her room. It would be impossible to explain her current appearance, and making her excuses for dinner would be bad enough.
She had never felt so pathetic and drained in the whole of her life. Even when her father died and she mourned for him—truly mourned, not the put-on sort of mourning that her mother did—this level of depression and utter sadness had never struck her. All happiness had been sucked out of her world. Why had she been so foolish? She ought never have kissed Katharine; had she not, she never would have become so dependent on the woman. How could she? The entire idea of being dependent on the local blacksmith for her own happiness was positively fatuous on the face of it, and even more so once one considered her actual position.
Blessedly, she made it to her room without being seen, managed to dash off a note to Robert explaining that she was feeling most unwell and would not be present for dinner or thereafter, and rang for a servant to deliver it before losing herself in her grief and longing once more. She alternately cried and lay listlessly on her bed long into the night. The gentle breeze blowing off the plain did not carry the same calming resonance it had in the morning; rather, Helena felt as though the night wind brought with it all of the loneliness and suffering the world might contain.
When she woke in the morning and saw how early it was, she burst into tears again. Why could she not simply sleep in blissful ignorance until Katharine returned and kissed her awake, rousing her from this very Hell in which Helena found herself imprisoned? She wanted nothing more than to go back to the blessed void of sleep, and the thought of having to actually live through this day was almost more than she could bear to ponder.
Even going to pray, her one solace in her life, was now a trial of her will. Every morning, noon, and evening, she had to force herself to go to the chapel and pray alone. At first, she could imagine Katharine kneeling next to her, and could almost convince herself that she heard the low voice in her ear as she said her prayers. Every time she opened her eyes to the emptiness, she felt more isolated and lonely. She would stare up at the shadow of the cross on the wall, feeling more of a kinship with Christ than she ever had. My God, why have You forsaken me?
As the days wore on, Helena vacillated between feeling that all would be well and Katharine would return to her, and bouts of utter despondence during which she could hardly convince herself to continue breathing. She was certain that Katharine would have an excess of time in which to contemplate their sin, and would resolve to find herself a husband to relieve herself of the temptation. The shame of leading Katharine into such a state fed Helena’s guilt. Katharine’s family was a devout one, dating back to the Crusades. She often spoke with passion of her family and her inherited forge, and surely she would wish to have a child to inherit the forge if not the name.
At the very least, she might find another woman who was not saddled with an ancient Earl husband, who would be happy to be with Katharine when she wanted her and let her alone when she did not. These women were surely better conversationalists and far more attractive than a mouse-like girl who had not even the strength of character to tell her husband that his constant harping on her health was making her ill.
Helena finally settled into a state of numbness. The only occasions on which she left her room were for her morning, noon, and evening prayers, which she mostly spent staring at the shadow of the crucifix on the wall, hardly even praying any more. She sat in her room day after day, reading what books she had and dodging her husband as much as possible. The irony that Robert now paid her the attention he ought have paid her when they first married was not lost on her, but she no longer wanted his company at all. Eventually, she took to simply not going down to meals. Robert had gone from essentially speaking only at her, which she had loathed, to now speaking to her, but only ever to enquire as to whether he ought call for a doctor. She surprised herself in finding that she preferred when he simply spoke as though she were not present or her input unnecessary; Helena never thought she would miss him ignoring her. Naturally, her refusal to come to meals made him ever more convinced that she required a doctor. After a week and a half of taking her meals in her room, she finally acquiesced to attending dinner if only to convince Robert that calling a doctor would be useless and fruitless.
The first dinner was nothing other than awkward. Helena sat in her numb silence at one end of the table whilst Robert prattled on about something or other at the other end. For the first time in days, the numbness receded, replaced by annoyance. She wanted nothing more than for him to cease his chatter, and she was actively thinking of ways to achieve that result when he turned his attention to her.
“My dear girl, you have said nothing all evening.”
“Is this somehow different, dearest?” She gritted her teeth as she said it.
Robert blinked. “Well, I have never known you to sit in such utter silence previously. Are you quite well?”
Helena smacked her palm on the table. The noise echoed through the dining room. “Yes, Robert. I am quite well, thank you! You have asked me nothing other than whether I am well for the past fortnight and further, and were something actually wrong with me, I expect it would have made itself manifest at this point. Do you not agree?”
Robert sat in stunned silence for a moment before he spoke again. “My dear girl…”
“And I am not your ‘dear girl’! I am a grown woman!” She glared at him down the table and then viciously stabbed her pheasant with her knife.
Robert took several minutes to recompose himself and wisely kept his eyes averted as Helena devoured her meal with passion, occasionally glowering at him, daring him to speak to her again as she did so. Finally, he summoned up the strength to risk her wrath.
“My dear…” he coughed quietly. “Helena. Do you think it is at all possible that you are with child?”
Helena panicked. Could she be? She tried to remember what her mother had told her about children and how one acquired them. However, it had been a blessedly long time since Robert had summoned her to his bed. Her wifely duties were always a rather awkward affair. She did not find them especially unpleasant, but she spent most of her time wondering if her presence was truly necessary. Robert remained as indifferent to her as he did in general, though he did have a tendency to kiss her a good deal more. However, he always behaved as though her input was not invited—rather a stark contrast to Katharine, who even in merely kissing and holding her would alter her activities based on Helena’s responses.
Helena closed her eyes and inhaled deeply. Now was not the time for thinking of Katharine, rather, for disposing of the ridiculous notion that she might be with child, of all things. She peered down the table at Robert. “Why would you think such a thing?”
“Well, my dear…eh, um, well, you are acting rather strangely, and it is my understanding that it is not at all uncommon for a woman in such a condition to become irate for no reason—”
“For no reason? I have every reason, Robert! You do not speak to me unless it is to enquire after my health. You do not care about my presence at all, or my opinions, or what I think about anything! And now, because I have finally had enough of it all, you decide that the only possible reason I could have for feeling this way is woman troubles! How dare you, sir! I have every right to be angry, or annoyed, or upset for all the same reasons you might, not because of being with child.”
She stood and threw her linen serviette to the table. It fluttered down and landed silently, which only added to her fury. She punched her
fist downward into the serviette, which did not pad her knuckles from the impact with the table, but still muffled the noise. She growled at the uncooperative piece of cloth and threw one last warning glare over her shoulder at Robert, then stormed out of the dining room, out of the front hall, and out into the evening light.
Six
Helena’s outburst at dinner did not go unnoticed by the servants, who were now giving her a far wider berth than they ever had, and were furthermore speaking to her with the utmost respect. Robert also remained unnaturally quiet at meals. She wondered at the newfound sense of peace she experienced, and at the increasingly obvious fact that her mother could not have been more wrong about how to act as a married woman. Clearly, she ought have made her feelings known from the outset; doing so may have saved her a good deal of heartache and mental suffering.
On the third day after the new household convention became thus, Helena made her way delicately through luncheon while Robert sat mutely at the other end of the table. He occasionally took deep breaths as though he were about to say something of great import—or, really, anything at all—but always deflated without making any noise. Helena nibbled on her bread in satisfaction at the silence.
At last, Robert took a breath and spoke. “The blacksmith will be here tomorrow to begin her work. I have instructed her to consult you on the matter of the interior decorations.”
Helena eyed him, wondered whether she ought let him know that she overheard their conversation and ultimately elected to remain silent. What was more important was the fact that Katharine had returned and had not yet come to see her. Why had she not? Helena stood quickly and quietly excused herself.
She made her hasty way through the corridors to the chapel. She threw open the door and launched herself inside and into…nothing. The chapel was empty. Katharine was not there.
Where could she be? Was it not the appointed time? She had taken her time with luncheon, assuming that she would be praying alone as she had been, and putting off the isolation as long as she could. Perhaps Katharine did forget her while in London. Perhaps Katharine, at this moment, was setting up housekeeping with some man who could help her with her work. Helena collapsed into sobs. She ought never have told Katharine that she loved her. That was it. How could she even know what love meant at all? And now, confessing whatever feeling which she defined as love had only driven Katharine into the arms of a good and righteous man, or of another woman, one who was certainly infinitely more alluring than she.