Once More, Miranda

by Jennifer Wilde

  The sky turned even grayer as we left the village and drove along the road leading to Mowrey House. Far below, the sea was angry, waves crashing mightily against the rocks. The gulls were frantic, circling high, squawking. A brisk wind had blown up, and I shivered in my thin pink cotton dress. Jeffrey noticed it and, handing me the reins, removed his frock coat and draped it snugly around my shoulders. He took the reins back, smiling again. The heavy blue broadcloth had a faint, musty smell, the virile smell of his body. I wrapped it more closely around me.

  “I’m sorry there were no rings to exchange,” he said. “We’ll do that later. We’ll have our own private ceremony. I’m going to buy you the most beautiful ring in the world.”

  “Jeffrey, are—are you happy?”

  “You know I am, Honora.”

  “I’m sorry it happened this way. I never meant—”

  “I’m glad. I shouldn’t have put it off so long. I should have married you weeks ago, as soon as it—as soon as I knew I could never live without you. I kept mulling it over, trying to think of some way to make it easier on my brother, trying to come up with some plan.”

  “He’s going to be terribly upset.”

  “That’s something I’ll just have to deal with.”

  “Jeffrey—”

  “It’s going to be all right, Honora.”

  “I wonder if he’s home yet.”

  Jeffrey shook his head. “There’s trouble at the factory. Some of the men are discontent and deliberately slowing down production. They’ve had enough, you see. They’re beginning to rebel. I told Robert years ago it would happen eventually if we didn’t—” He sighed. “No need going over all that again, is there? Robert calls them ungrateful malcontents and is determined to deal with them sternly.”

  “Is he going to dismiss the men?”

  “I’m afraid so.”

  “Won’t that—slow down production even more?”

  “Not at all. There are dozens of able men in the county who are without work and eager to take their places no matter what the pay and working conditions. Robert believes in very harsh measures. The men he dismisses are going to have a very hard time. Their wives, their children will suffer, too. I tried to reason with Robert, but—” He shook his head again.

  There was despair in his voice, and I knew he was thinking of that dream he had told me about, those blueprints and the list of proposals he had given his brother several years ago. Jeffrey had compassion, and there was no place for that in this brutal age when profit was all and human life had little value. We rode in silence for several moments, and I saw Mowrey House in the distance, bleak and forbidding with its bleached gray stone walls and leaded windows. It seemed to loom there like a living, threatening presence, ready to swallow us up and rob us of all joy.

  “I wish we didn’t have to return,” I said nervously.

  “Don’t fret.”

  “I—I feel something is going to happen, something terrible.”

  “Nonsense,” he told me.

  He turned up the drive, and I stared at the sprawling house surrounded by wild gardens and twisted trees. It grew larger and larger, finally hovering over us in all its monstrous bulk as Jeffrey stopped the carriage in front of the steps. A groom came hurrying around the side of the house to take charge of the horses as Jeffrey helped me down. We moved slowly up the steps, and I had a dreadful premonition, as sharp, as real as a knife stab. I was trembling as we stepped into the great hall.

  “Don’t, Honora.”

  “I—I can’t help it.”

  Jeffrey took hold of my arms and looked into my eyes. His handsome face was slightly drawn, skin taut across his cheekbones, and there was a tightness about his mouth I had never seen before, the full lower lip stretched wide. I knew that he felt it, too. I could see it in his eyes.

  “Nothing’s going to happen,” he said.

  His voice was firm, his manner stern, but his fingers dug into the flesh of my upper arms with such force that I winced. A few moments passed. Jeffrey seemed to relax then. He released my arms. He sighed, and when he spoke again his voice was carefully modulated.

  “I’ll speak to Robert tonight, after dinner. You needn’t even see him. I’ll take him into the study and tell him, and first thing tomorrow morning you and I and Douglas will leave. We’re going to London.”

  “London?”

  “I told you I was trying to come up with some plan, Honora. I’ve written to an old friend of mine from Oxford. He’s in the diplomatic service and thinks he might well find some minor post for me in Italy. I didn’t want to say anything until I was certain. Wallace hasn’t answered my letter yet, but I think he may well be able to get something for me. I met a lot of influential people while I was in Italy. I know the country well.”

  “Italy,” I whispered.

  “You’ll love it there,” he promised. “The sunlight, the vines, the ancient old houses—we’ll have our own villa, Honora. I have a little money of my own, I told you that. We might have to struggle a bit in the beginning—we’ll have to live in a small village outside Rome or Florence—but I’m sure I can make it in the diplomatic service.”

  Italy. Our own villa. I could see it in my mind, shabby and run down but cozy, sunlight streaming over the broken flagstones on the patio, gilding the rich green leaves, heat waves rising in the air, the sky a bold, blazing blue. There would be strong wine and coarse, delicious bread and cheese, and Jeffrey would charm the noisy, amiable villagers who would come to love him as everyone who knew him must eventually love him. I clung to the vision, and it helped. My unreasonable dread began to recede a little.

  “We’re going to be happy, Honora.”

  I nodded, studying his face, trying so hard to believe him. It was cold there in the great hall, and the wind was raging outside now. I could hear it slamming against the walls, whistling around corners. I still had Jeffrey’s coat wrapped around me, but the chill penetrated nevertheless.

  “Go on upstairs to Douglas,” he ordered. “One of the maids has been keeping him company this afternoon, but he’s bound to be sick with worry about you.”

  “What—what shall I tell him?”

  “Tell him that the three of us are going away tomorrow. You might let him help you pack. I’ll have Mrs. Rawson pack my things when she gets back. I fancy she’ll make a quick visit to her friend Jim Randall before she returns to Mowrey House.”

  “You’ll—”

  “I’ll speak to Robert after he and I have dined, and then I’ll come up to your room.”

  “Oh, Jeffrey, I’m so—”

  “Upstairs with you,” he said firmly. “You have a lot of packing to do.”

  He kissed me and gave me a playful little shove toward the staircase, and I crossed the rest of the hall and began to climb those wide, shabbily carpeted stairs, running my hand along the mahogany railing. It wasn’t nearly as secure as it should be, I noted, and several of the banisters were decidedly loose. Halfway up the stairs, I turned, looking back, and I shall never forget the sight of Jeffrey standing there alone in the great hall in his black boots and narrow dark-blue breeches and embroidered gray waistcoat. His hands rested lightly on his thighs, the full sleeves of his fine white cambric shirt belling at the wrists, and a heavy blond wave dipped over his brow. His expression was unguarded now, the lips pressed tightly together, a frown making a furrow above the bridge of his nose, and those gentle blue eyes were full of worry.

  Heavy-hearted, I went on upstairs, telling myself that it would soon be over. Tomorrow morning we would leave Mowrey House and be on our way to London, and afterward there would be Italy and the sun-splattered villa and hot, blue skies. Stepping into my bedroom, I removed Jeffrey’s coat and draped it carefully over the back of a chair and then moved over to the mirror to tidy my hair. The face in the glass was drawn, pale. The too-pink mouth trembled slightly at the corners. Faint mauve-gray shadows were etched about the lids, and the sea gray eyes were dark with apprehension. I wiped damp au
burn wisps from my temples and smoothed back the heavy waves, desperately trying to convince myself that there was nothing to worry about.

  I was no longer the timorous little governess. I was Jeffrey’s wife now, and there was nothing Lord Robert could do about it. He would be angry. His thin, pitted face would turn even paler than usual, and those black eyes would glow like dark coals, but there was nothing he could do. For a moment I almost felt sorry for him, for Lord Robert loved Jeffrey, too, I realized, and he was going to lose him. His love was dark, twisted, obsessive, “unnatural,” according to Mrs. Rawson, but it was genuine nonetheless, and Lord Robert was going to suffer great anguish. He would blame me, of course, but that didn’t matter. Jeffrey could no longer live his life to please his brother, could no longer be smothered by that strange, possessive love.

  I adjusted the bodice of my faded pink cotton wedding dress and, smoothing down the skirt, turned away from the mirror. Ever since I had arrived at Mowrey House Lord Robert and I had been engaged in a subtle, bizarre struggle, a struggle I hadn’t fully understood until now. Now that I had won I felt a genuine pity for him and was genuinely sorry that he had to be hurt. Harsh and rigid he might be, cold, even cruel, but he loved Jeffrey and he was going to lose him. I had almost lost him myself, had given him up in my heart this afternoon on the cliff, and I knew the terrible grief Lord Robert would have to endure.

  I tried to put it out of my mind. I crossed the hall and entered the nursery, assuming an expression I hoped would be suitable. The maid, Mary, was sitting by the window, idly leafing through a picture book and looking extremely bored. Douglas was sitting at the worktable, his precious young face a veritable study of sadness. His gray eyes were moist with tears, and there were shiny trails on his cheeks. On the table in front of him lay the figure of Miranda, the colored cutout that so closely resembled his governess. He gazed at it forlornly, a tear brimming over his lashes and following one of the shiny trails to the corner of his mouth.

  “You may go, Mary,” I said quietly.

  Startled, the girl looked up. She got quickly to her feet, put aside the book and, giving me a quick curtsey, hurried from the room, undoubtedly vastly relieved. Douglas stared at me. He straightened up and blinked away another tear. I smiled a tender smile and stepped over to ruffle that thick blond hair. Douglas sniffled and rubbed his eyes.

  “What’s all this?” I inquired. “Have you been crying?”

  “I—yeah, I guess I was. I was—I was ’fraid you weren’t coming back anymore. You were gone for so long and you didn’t come back and didn’t come back and—and no one knew where you were.”

  “I’m sorry, darling.”

  “You never stay gone that long, Honora.”

  “Today was—special.”

  “Don’t do it again,” he ordered. “I was sad.”

  “I see you’ve been looking at Miranda.”

  “It was somethin’ to do,” he said casually. “That Mary’s a bore. She dudn’t know any games and can’t tell any stories or anything. She’s nice, I guess, but you’re a lot more fun.”

  “Indeed?”

  “I—I’ll even do my geography if you promise not to go away anymore.”

  “What about your math?”

  He hesitated, creasing his brow, weighing the matter carefully. “I’ll do it, too,” he said reluctantly, “but you’ll have to help.”

  I smiled again and mussed his hair and pulled him to his feet. Douglas threw his arms around my legs and hugged them tightly. I felt an overwhelming surge of love for this tiny, preposterous creature who was so outrageous and so endearing. He was my very own son now, and I was going to care for him and cherish him every bit as much as I would cherish the child I was carrying. Douglas wiped his eyes on my skirt and took a deep breath and stood back, affecting a nonchalant pose that didn’t fool me for a minute.

  “We’d better see about your dinner now,” I said. “Afterward I have a surprise for you.”

  His eyes seemed to light up. “A surprise! What is it?” he asked eagerly.

  “If I told you, it wouldn’t be a surprise. We’d better go wash your face and hands now.”

  “You could at least give me a hint,” he complained as we left the nursery.

  He gobbled his food much too rapidly, eager to hear about the surprise, and I had to scold him quite sternly and force him to chew his meat properly. He devoured the roast beef and the vegetables and actually turned down a second helping of the rich, creamy chocolate pudding he loved so well. I asked a footman to bring the trunks down from the attic and, once we had returned to the nursery, told Douglas we were going to take a trip together, that his father would be coming along, too.

  “A real trip?” he asked.

  “A real one,” I replied.

  “Not just to the village? Not just to the county fair?”

  “We’re going to go to London,” I said, “And after that we’ll probably go to Italy. Italy is the country shaped like a boot, remember?”

  “And Daddy’s going with us?”

  I nodded, smiling, and Douglas grew so excited I could barely keep him from dancing around the room. He asked dozens of questions, firing them one right after the other without giving me time to answer, and I thought it better to wait and let his father tell him that we were married, that I was his stepmother. I finally managed to calm him down a little, and we went into his bedroom and packed his clothes, leaving out his pajamas and those garments he would need tomorrow. I allowed him to select a few toys and some books, and we packed those, too. By that time he was so exhausted he could barely keep his eyes open. He was grumpy and surly as I got him into his pajamas, assuring me he wouldn’t be able to sleep a wink, but he nodded off almost as soon as his head touched the pillow.

  I tucked the covers around him and stroked his warm forehead for a few moments, then went on into my bedroom. The wind was stronger than ever now. There was a threatening rumble of thunder in the distance. It was going to be a bad night. I glanced at the clock. It was shortly after eight. Jeffrey and Lord Robert would be in the dining room now, having their last meal together. Douglas had been a volatile distraction, keeping me thoroughly occupied, but now that I was alone the apprehension I had felt earlier returned in full force.

  The footman had left my trunk beside the bed. I opened it and began to take down my clothes, folding them carefully, placing them in the trunk, and time passed, each minute sheer agony. Eight-thirty. They would be finished with their meal by this time. Jeffrey would be asking his brother to step into the study. There was a deafening clap of thunder, then another. Lightning flashed. It began to rain—rain pounding, pounding, lashing against the house in violent sheets. I took down another dress. My hands were shaking. Something was going to happen. Something was going to happen. I could feel it in my blood.

  Nonsense, I told myself. Nonsense. This has been the most upsetting, the most bewildering, the most exciting day of your life. Your emotions have been torn asunder, from one extreme to the other, and you’re naturally on edge, unstrung. Jeffrey is going to speak to his brother and then he’s going to come upstairs and it will all be over. Finish packing. Undergarments now. Shoes. Put them in the trunk. Don’t think. Keep busy.

  I selected the clothes I would wear tomorrow and, setting them aside, finished packing. On my knees beside the trunk, I smoothed garments down and rearranged things, deliberately killing time, and then I closed the lid of the trunk and stood up. The wind continued to howl. The rain continued to pound and lash, slamming against the windows so violently that they shook in their frames, rattling noisily. That didn’t help at all. My apprehension grew, mounting, swelling, and the suspense was almost unbearable. Shrill, jangling emotions battled inside me, clamoring for release, and I felt I was going to jump out of my skin. I stood very still, willing myself to hold on.

  It was nine now. Just a little longer. Just a little longer. My face in the mirror across the room was stark white. My gray eyes seemed enormous, staring back
at me like the eyes of one gone mad. This was absurd, absurd. I had to get hold of myself. I moved over to the chair and picked up Jeffrey’s coat and held it close, rubbing my cheek against the nap of the dark blue broadcloth as a child might nuzzle a worn, familiar blanket. A few moments passed. I managed to still the jangling emotions, at least temporarily, but I knew I couldn’t remain in this room a moment longer.

  Mrs. Rawson was going to pack Jeffrey’s things. I would take the coat to her. She would talk to me and give me something to drink, something strong, some of the port she was so fond of, and I would calm down. Leaving the bedroom, I moved resolutely down the hall, holding the coat close. The noise of the storm was even louder here. It seemed to reverberate down the hall, pursuing me relentlessly. There was a great explosion, a shrieking, splitting sound, a groaning thud. One of the trees must have been struck by lightning, I thought, moving rapidly on toward Mrs. Rawson’s quarters.

  Candles glowed in her sitting room. A fire burned low in the fireplace. Bolts of cloth were scattered over the sofa. A red petticoat was draped casually across a chair. An untidy bouquet of wildflowers had been tossed on the table, a chipped blue teacup and saucer beside it. I called her name. There was no answer. Of course, she would be in Jeffrey’s room, packing. I hurried on. I had never been in his room before, but I knew where it was located. The house seemed to be under attack, the wind howling like a tribe of banshees, the rain hammering on the roof, slamming against the walls. I threw open the door of Jeffrey’s room. Mrs. Rawson let out a shriek, dropped a pile of shirts and slapped a hand over her heart.

  “Mercy! You scared the wits outta me, luv!”

  “I’m sorry. I—here’s Jeffrey’s coat. I knew you’d want to—”

  “Lands! My heart’s still beatin’ like sixty. It’s this storm. I’m always skittish when th’ weather’s like this, and tonight—”

  Mrs. Rawson cut herself short and peered at me with concerned brown eyes. “Lord, luv, you’re white as a ghost. Your hands are shakin’.”

  “I can’t help it. I’m so—I thought we could talk. I—I couldn’t stay in my room any longer.”