by Karen Joyce
“Fin, you behave as if this were some small indiscretion. Don’t you understand the gravity of what you’ve done?”
“I’m not proud of it, but I won’t apologise for not being the pious, young woman you believed me to be.”
“So the rumours are true, you were his mistress” he said, sickened by this revelation.
“Have you no feeling, Lincoln?”
“You speak of feeling when you have done these unspeakable acts!” he said, his arms raised, as if he meant to strike her.
“No, I do not deny it, but I don’t agree with your treatment of the truth.”
“My treatment?” he laughed, “Do you expect me to believe you are innocent in all of this?”
“I expect you to try to understand,” she answered, as she saw a new shade of him that she barely believed he could possess.
“I no longer understand anything anymore,” he said, defeated by the world.
“Lincoln, I am still the same person,” she said, standing defiantly before him.
“You are not the person I fell in love with. You are the one who has destroyed me and now all I want from you is the truth.” She knew now, even as the blood ran from the wounds of his words, if she didn’t want to lose him, she would have to do anything he asked of her; anything at all; no matter the pain it caused her.
“If it is your wish…” she answered, as she held her head high amidst the shame that relentlessly pulled at her pride. “Before you came into my life, I never understood what love could be. My uncle, the Duke was all I had known for so long…”
“ENOUGH!” he said, staring at her with a hidden rage that contorted his entire body, distorting the very image of this man’s love for her into one of intense hate. “I have heard enough!” Lincoln had wanted to hear the truth, but as the words fell from her lips, he couldn’t bear for her to go on.
“I believed you Lincoln. I believed you loved me when you said it at the ball and I believe you love me still,” she said, reaching out her hand to his face. This time he let her touch him. He wanted to pretend if only for a moment that none of this was real. Lady Madeline had never called upon him yesterday morning. He had just arrived to meet with Lady Delphinia and they were still the young lovers running away to elope.
“Fin,” he muttered, as he looked at her now and saw all the hidden beauty that her sadness harboured, but the sordid images of her with the Duke began flashing through his mind. She had no honour and he could no longer look her in the eye.
“You are a monster,” he said, unaware of what he was saying, as the words tore at Lady Delphinia‘s soul.
“A monster?” she whispered, the tears of her melancholy no longer falling as a numbness took its place, but she understood he could no longer love her now that he knew the truth of what she was and she accepted it. Though her heart was breaking into a million pieces and she was struggling to keep herself from falling to the ground. She understood now that no one could love her knowing what she had done in her past.
“I should have known it was a mistake to return to this world when it has stolen so much from me already. Lincoln, you may not understand, but I beg you to keep this secret. If not for me then for Lady Madeline. Think of how this could damage her future, her reputation. She shouldn’t have to pay for the sins of another.” Lincoln was in disbelief at her request; to use Lady Madeline to save her own skin. He couldn’t just let her go. She had to be brought to justice. Then he imagined Lady Madeline’s ruined future. The pain it would cause her and then he felt that love for Lady Delphinia that still burned within him. Let her go, his heart whispered. Have mercy on her soul.
“If you leave at once, I will keep your secret and carry it to my grave but, if you ever return, I will have no choice but to speak the truth of what you have done.” He saw the acceptance in her saddened eyes before she lowered her head in agreement.
“Goodbye, Lady Delphinia.”
“Lincoln,” she called, unable to stop her voice from breaking or the tears from falling, as he walked away from her, but as she followed his dark shadow she never knew that his whole body was aching with the loss of her memory. That there was a part of him that still wanted to go to her; to forget this truth, but his heart was hardening against her. He had made his choice and he could not go back.
Climbing into his carriage, he fought the urge to turn and look for her, for he couldn’t bear to see her there, standing alone. Knowing she had been waiting for him. Perhaps, even believing he had changed his mind and then to find him there at long last, but instead of taking her in his arms and carrying her away from this world; into the one that lived within their hearts, he denied her; denied himself. He was certain he had done the right thing, but then, why was it that it felt so wrong? There were too many questions within his mind. Even though the truth had been laid before him by her very own lips, he couldn’t believe it still. The carriage rolled on through the streets, toward London. It wasn’t the journey that had been waiting for him, it was the return to an old life that had grown stale and unforgiving. There was no room for love within this world. No life could blossom within the soil of its depravity. There were no beginnings awaiting him; awaiting her. They were too full of sin. All of humanity too full of sin. They were doomed, all of them. Why try to find your way out of hell. There’s no escape from the burning pyres of its bottomless pits. Suffering is the destiny of all man. So let us all suffer. Let us embrace the pain for it is the only thing that is real and we can depend upon. Everything else is a mirage. A lie we tell ourselves so we can pretend that the world we live in is a better place. One of hope and mercy, but Lincoln knew, just as Lady Delphinia, they were fools, both of them. Their prayers fell upon deaf ears and their lives were as empty and shallow as the coffins that awaited their death.
As Lincoln arrived home, he sighted a familiar carriage parked outside. Drawing alongside, as he suspected, he sighted Percival through the window.
“Lincoln, are you only now returning home?’ he asked, as he leaned through the window with a sly smile upon his lips. They emerged from their carriages and joined each other on the pavement.
“My word Lincoln, you are looking rather dejected. I was going to suggest a round of cards at the King’s Arms, but I can see you’re in a most disagreeable state.”
“You know me too well, old friend. Would you care to come in for a drink?”
“After you,” replied Percival, as he waited for Lincoln to lead the way into his home and followed him inside. As they entered the parlour, Percival took a seat and watched as Lincoln poured two glasses of whiskey.
“Tell me, Lincoln what’s the meaning of your sombre mood?” he asked, as Lincoln handed him his glass and stood before the fireplace stoking the fire with a brass poker.
“What I’m about to tell you must be kept in the strictest of confidence,” said Lincoln, as he returned the poker to the wrought iron stand. Percival leaned forward most intrigued by Lincoln’s words.
“Scout’s honour,” replied Percival, as he lifted his right hand with the palm face out, his thumb holding down his little finger, extending a three fingered salute. Lincoln lifted his drink and knocked it back before sitting opposite him upon the lounge.
“Yesterday, I received a visit from Lady Madeline unannounced.”
“Was she accompanied by Duchess Montague?”
“She was alone.”
“Unchaperoned?”
“But for her driver, she was alone,”
“Am I correct in assuming that you have been courting Lady Madeline?”
“No, Percival, I have no interest in Lady Madeline.”
“That is difficult for me to believe when you have just told me of her impropriety in calling upon you without her chaperone. For the occasion of which is difficult for me to deduce.”
“BECAUSE PERCIVAL, THE WOMAN I LOVE HAS THE HEART OF THE DEVIL!” shouted Lincoln, tears welling within his eyes. “Forgive me, Lady Madeline came to see me because she was distraught upon he
aring something most unimaginable. She discovered that her father, the Duke of Montague was murdered.”
“The Duke of Montague? Murdered? Incredible!”
“And as you can imagine, she is beside herself,”
“Do they know who…”
“No, but I do,” said Lincoln, burying his head into his open hands.
“I don’t understand. Who is she Lincoln? You must tell Lady Madeline at once!”
“No,” said Lincoln, raising his head to look at Percival. “No one must know.” Suddenly Percival remembered the ball and he finally understood.
“Lady Delphinia?” he said. Lincoln’s silence confirmed his suspicion. “But, it doesn’t make any sense. How could she be capable of such a thing? Surely, you are mistaken.”
“I assure you, I am not.”
“How can you be so sure?”
“She confessed it to me herself.” Lincoln told him then of their plans to elope and what had transpired on the afternoon when he had visited St. George’s Chapel.
“All this time, I never knew, but after discovering the nature of the Duke’s death and upon hearing Lady Delphinia’s confession, I now understand.”
“But, why Lincoln, why would she do this? What could possibly be her motivation to commit such an unspeakable crime?”
“Is there ever any justifiable cause within the mind of such a person who is capable of something so inconceivable? Even now, I cannot believe the words I have spoken. All I know is that she was his mistress and now she has taken her place within the Montague’s home. As if it were her birth right.”
“Impossible! Surely, you must tell Duchess Montague. You cannot allow them to carry on living under the same roof with that woman when she has committed such treachery!”
“Percival, you must promise me you will not breathe a word of this to another soul.”
“Lincoln, what of Lady Madeline and Duchess Montague’s safety?”
“Lady Delphinia has promised me she will leave at once and never return.”
“What if she were to do this again? How would you be able to live with yourself?” Lincoln hadn’t allowed himself to consider this reality, it had been hard enough to see her standing there by the river and somehow find the fortitude of mind to walk away. Percival was right, he should tell Lady Madeline the truth, but his heart was stronger than his mind and it still hadn’t come to terms with what Lady Delphinia had done. Even after everything he knew of her, there was a small part of him that still believed in what they once had and it fanned the flame of hope that still burned within him for her. He never should have confided in Percival. Even now, even with this, he felt he had betrayed her. He wanted to go back, back to the river, back to her. To take her and hold her in his arms and tell her that no matter what, he loved her and he would find a way to understand, but it was too late. He looked at Percival now who was waiting for him to respond, but there were no words. No words that could articulate the sorrow of what remained in the absence of her and their future that now lay in ruins. How could Percival understand what he had almost been given and how could Lincoln ever accept the truth of what she had done? How could he now come to terms with the love that had been lost? Surely, it had to have been real. He had seen it with his own eyes. Touched it with his own hands. Held it within his arms. How could he go on living now? He couldn’t. He may breathe. He may move and speak and laugh and cry but there would no longer be life within him. Nothing mattered anymore. Everything was lost, never to be found. Fin, how will I go on without you? He longed for another world. Another place where they could be reborn. Where they could have a second chance. He needed time to grieve for her. He could feel himself closing to the world. No one would ever touch his heart again. Nothing would ever pierce its steel walls; his iron will. He would stand alone so nothing could ever again hurt him this way. It was all so clear now what the nature of this world was. The meaning of life. The purpose of humanity. All so clear now that he wondered how it could have burdened him for so long, when all he had to do was give in to its struggle. He looked upon the dying embers of the fading fire. No longer seeing Percival. No longer seeing anything anymore.
“The Lord giveth and the Lord taketh away.”
XVII
The letter was crumpled into a tight ball lying upon the floor of Lincoln’s secluded gentleman’s boudoir; a remnant of another life where the fork in the road led to a dead end. And even whilst the sun was setting upon the fading colours of their love with nothing soon to remain, the shadows of the past still seeped through like a light shining through a crack in the door to his heart. How we wander through the valleys of this world, Lincoln thought to himself. Turning each corner. Never knowing what will be there to meet us or what will be taken away. We believe this world is full of wonder, joy and beauty. Endless beauty; endless joy, endless wonder, but we are only blind to what we don’t see in our youth. For we know before we walk our own path in life. We learn from those who have come before. Life isn’t always good. Life doesn’t always bring us what we desire. Happiness isn’t always within our reach. And these thoughts caused him to remember now. His unfortunate grandmother who had lost so much in her short life. The goodness was always within her and never beyond her skin. Beyond the loving touch of her hand and the walls that kept the cruelty from reaching her again, keeping her safe within a living grave. Cradled within the arms of death as it watched over her, knowing she would be easy. This one would come too willingly. There would be no seduction. For she had already given herself to that eternal sleep long before her time was to come. Lincoln saw now that he had found his way to this place and it was in him that death had claimed another victim before his time. Breathing, but not really living. Alive, but not really there. Seeing the paper lying upon the floor he leant over to pick it up, holding it for a moment, feeling its words that still ran mercilessly through him again. Finally uncrumpling it and holding it out below him, as if the distance could protect him from the revelations that lay within it. The correspondence had been penned by Lady Madeline where she had extended an invitation to him for a formal dinner at her parents London home in two weeks hence, but it was not this invitation that hurt him. It was the few words written in an offhand fashion that wrote the end of a fairy tale that would never come true. Lady Delphinia had unexpectedly been called away to her home village and she would no longer be in London to share in the remainder of the season. It was, as Lady Madeline said, unfortunate, as she had come to depend upon her dear cousin and would need her more than ever in light of the news of her father’s murder; but as her mother always said in the face of tragedy, they must carry on and have faith in God’s plan, wherever it may lead them; and just like that, she was gone. To read these words felt so alienating to him. To see them written there as if it were all too simple, too effortless, and everything that had occurred was simply a dream: no longer real. As if it were not truth Lady Delphinia had been the Duke’s mistress and indeed murdered him, and instead had merely been called away to her home in a charming small village by the sea without an explanation, but that she must attend to some small, insignificant affair that Lady Madeline felt would be of no importance to elaborate upon to him. But her words were not simple, nor effortless. They were heart wrenching and he was heartbroken. Though he had agreed to her leaving in exchange for his silence, it hurt him still and now all that he had the strength to do was to go through the motions of each day. Trying desperately not to break whenever the memory of her would at any given moment flash through his mind, without any warning of how he would be violently crippled in its aftermath. The touching words they had shared that had unveiled their love for one another; the expression upon her face that night at the ball on the eve of their new life together; and the sadness in her eyes when he had left her there by the river. Torn from each other by the truth of her wickedness. Still unable to come to terms with what she had done. Unable to imagine those soft, delicate hands capable of anything but tenderness. Unable to imagine that she cou
ld possess anything but a kindness of heart and a gentleness of mind. He still couldn’t accept that it was possible. She could not be this person. It tortured him relentlessly. There would never be closure for him. There would only be misery. As long as she walked this earth apart from him, he would never be at rest. Why was God punishing him? What had he done to turn the loving heart of God into a vengeful one? He felt now that he was going mad. Living in between two worlds. One of her before he learnt the unspeakable news where they had stood on that precipice so eager to fall into the deep well of love; and one of her after when he had no longer been able to look her in the eyes without feeling sickened by what she had done. Ever since, his mind had been turning and turning in an endless, nightmarish, spiralling descent into terror; maddeningly oscillating from one extreme to another. The inner turmoil of his growing hatred for her crashing like a wave against the shore of his love where he now stood alone; watching as all that she had been to him was swept out to sea. To never again look upon her beauty; to never again feel her touch upon his skin; hold her close to him. Never again. How could he let her go? How could he let her go when his heart still beat only for her? How he loved her so. In knowing her, he had known himself…In knowing her, he had found that part of himself that had been lost and every moment before and after that had separated them, everything else was just the in-between that had kept them apart. But without those moments, their love would have been stolen all too quickly by the passage of time. Why did he do this to himself? He had to cease from inflicting this agony upon himself. She was not the love that he would have given his life for. She was Pandora unleashing disease and misery upon the world. She was Aphrodite punishing those with the wrath of her vengeance against those whom had scorned her. She was an abomination against God and he had to keep reminding himself of this harsh truth; even if it made him dead inside. There was no goodness left within this world anymore. Everything was rotten to the core. He had to forget her and find the strength to go on with each new day. Even now, he had to find a way to get out of bed, dress himself and face what was to come on this day that brought another meeting of Parliament at Westminster, where the petition for the abolition of capital punishment was being presented to the Lords and Ministers for their vote. How easy it would be this time to pretend to play along with the Ashwood’s by voting against his heart and mind, when he cared little for anything anymore. Striking a match, Lincoln held up the flame and watched as the letter caught alight and was quickly consumed, as he dropped it inside his wash bowl where its fire was extinguished and the smoke of her spirit rose from the cremated ashes of their severed hearts.