“I followed my instincts and added you here, sir,” the painter replied. “It told me a story. It's a doleful story of longing, but hope painted in the sunset. A heart can be mended again.”
“I believe you misunderstood us,” Cora spoke up. “He and I are not-are not-”
“Oh,” the painter blushed. “I see.”
Ioan passed him a nickel. “Keep it in your collection,” he said. “It's a fine work of art.” He started home. Cora followed shortly behind. They resumed their stations upon reaching the house, a master and his servant.
Chapter 21
An hour passed midnight. Cora wasn't the only one infected by insomnia. The light to Ioan's study illuminated the dark hall. Every hour, she found him deeply pensive by the window. “Is there anything I can do, sir?” she asked.
“Rest. You needn't worry about me,” Ioan assured her.
“I'm here for you, sir.”
“You're not required. I'm not Miss Appleby. Do not assume after yesterday that I am anything close to you or that I care for your opinion,” Ioan told her. “Rest, Miss Hathaway. That is all.”
“It's not my duty to console you,” Cora said. “But it is my job to see to it that everyone in the house sleeps soundly.”
A small grin broke Ioan's stone face. “You never give in, do you? I could have you thrown from the house.”
“You've informed me before, sir.”
“You're the first one I've constantly threatened to throw out, but never do. The others ran back to the city.”
“Someone needs to look after you. It's no easy task, but it has to be done.”
“Why do you burden yourself with me?”
“I believe you were once a very good man,” Cora replied.
“And you believe you can make me a better man?”
“No, sir,” she said. “Only you can do that. I can only have patience.”
“My congratulations, Miss Hathaway. You're such dull, useless conversation that I no longer feel awake,” he said, turning out his lamp. “Goodnight, Miss Hathaway. You shouldn't worry yourself about me anymore. It appears I have an angel watching over me in this house.”
Cora laid silently in bed. No sleep came to her aid. It never would. Lavinia's sleepy protests broke the silence. “Do you realize what time it is? I'm to be fitted in my dress early morning.”
Ioan talked too low for Cora to hear. Lavinia giggled. “What's come over you? I can't do this now.” A soft moan freed her lips. “Ioan, please don't do that. I really should sleep. Alright, alright, but only a little.”
A half hour passed. Cora bit her lip, clenching the sheets tightly. The bed knocked against her wall.
Lavinia's cries amplified in the walls. She submitted her entirety to him with no reserve. Ioan breathed deeply. Cora caught every groan that escaped him. The rhythm against the wall slowed to a steady pace, and Lavinia's wails softened to delirium. Ioan whispered to her. Cora still couldn't make anything out. Lavinia's climax came after.
Cora couldn't stand it any longer. She wrapped her shawl around her and retreated from her room. The bedroom door slammed behind her. She didn't care. She wanted to be as far away as possible. Lavinia's room silenced.
Cora strode across the courtyard and gardens. She no longer fought her tears. The moonlight hid in the trees. No one would find her in the dark. She doubted she'd ever come back. She laid on the cold stone fountain and cradled herself in her shawl. After the tears dried, reason overtook her again. “I can't lose my head,” she reminded herself. “This is what I wanted. This is what need be done.” She sniffed. She drew her handkerchief from her pocket. “No more tears. No more caring.”
A hand touched her shoulder. Cora startled. Ioan grabbed her before she fell backwards. “Christ!” he cursed. “It's only me.”
“Mr. Saier, please go back to bed,” Cora said. “I didn't mean to wake you.”
“An eye for an eye, Miss Hathaway,” Ioan replied. “I'm here now.”
“You may let me go now, sir.”
“Right. Sorry,” Ioan said. “Alright, Miss Hathaway?”
“I'm fine!” Cora snapped. She could smell the sex on him. “Respectfully, please go back to bed.”
“You're upset.”
“A bad dream. I do apologize. I wasn't trying to disturb...you and Miss Appleby.”
Ioan blushed. “This is rather awkward.”
“It's perfectly natural,” Cora assured him. “You're practically husband and wife.”
“Which is the more natural part? The biological urges or that it must be with Miss Appleby?” Ioan ventured. Cora stared at him.
“Forgive me,” Ioan said bashfully. “I don't know why I'm telling you this. I have this misconception that you are the sort of person I could tell anything to, and not everyone is like that. Forgive me. I'm such an imbecile.”
Cora nodded. “Yes. Right.”
“Of course,” Ioan said. Before Cora knew what happened, his lips were against hers. She stiffened, but it was electric. She couldn't help but submit to him. He finally released her and both of them drew in a deep breath. “I do apologize, “ he said quickly. “I don't know why I did that.”
“You're practically married,” Cora protested.
“Forgive me, Miss Hathaway,” he said. “It's just the closets thing to natural I've felt in a long time.” He stood. He wanted to say more, but knew it'd only make things worse. He said something which sounded like goodbye, and strode back to the house.
* * *
Mrs. Harriet received Lavinia with the warmest tidings. Not even warm, melted honey competed with her sweetness. Cora found it amusing how quickly attitudes changed when the future Mrs. Saier walked in. Money buys everything, whether authentic or artificial. Lavinia trembled as Mrs. Harriet led her to the fitting room. Cora welcomed herself inside, shut the door, and made a chair of a wooden crate next to the sewing machine.
“Stand still a moment, Miss Appleby. I haven't got it all done,” Mrs. Harriet struggled with the buttons. Lavinia poked her bosom out, and appearing satisfied, turned to examine her bum. Her smile shrunk. “It's nothing like how I told you,” she complained.
“I know you wanted lace, but silk is reemerging in London fashion this year,” Mrs. Harriet informed her.
“You're a dainty woman, so I added the bow at the waist, and spun the veil myself. You won't find another one like it.”
“So this is what our cousins wear in England?” Lavinia's grin returned. “I suppose if it's good enough for the them, it's good enough for me. But I won't have the veil. Cora Saier didn't wear a veil to her wedding. She wore a netted freesia hair piece. I want something like that but not like that. Do you know what I mean?”
“What's gotten into you, Miss Appleby!” Mrs. Harriet cried. “You must have a veil. Without it, you'll have nothing on. Why would you dress like that? You don't want people getting the impression that you couldn't afford one. That's the last thing you want to do.”
“Of course money is not the issue,” Lavinia defended. “I know he thinks of her, but men never admit such things. You know that. They will, however, admit to what they won't do, especially if it's something you wish more than anything. He won't love me like he loved her. I can wish all I want, but that's just silly. If she were here, he'd give me not a second thought. He hardly gives me any thought now. I'm the last person who should have to compete with her, yet I know I must sacrifice my pride if I want him to notice me on our wedding day. Therefore, there will be no veil.”
“You shouldn't hold yourself to her standard. She was no lady. She was common and her fashion sense was no exception. What statement will you give your admirers dressed like her?”
“It is not them I go to bed with,” Lavinia said.
“There is nothing worse than living with a man who wishes it were you in the ground instead.”
“Why would you say a thing like that?” Mrs. Harriet cried. “I'm sure it's just your nerves getting to you.”
“No, it'
s true and he'd gladly agree,” Lavinia insisted. “She had him locked so tightly between her plain, common fingers. I didn't care for the girl while she was living, but I've come to hate her now.”
“Don't scowl about it. You're ruining your face paint.”
“Let us change the subject. It's bad luck talking about the dead in such a way. I've a wedding day approaching, and I don't want her showing up there either.”
Mrs. Harriet noted her last measurements. Lavinia's face was stone as the wedding dress fell from her shoulders. “Miss Hathaway, my shopping attire,” she ordered. Cora helped her into her skirts, fixed her hat, and followed her out the door. “Shall I ring Mrs. Easterbrook for tea, miss?” Cora asked.
“No, I don't feel in the mood to entertain. Inform her that I am not well and will return the invitation shortly,” Lavinia replied stiffly.
“Is there anything I can do for you, miss?” Cora asked.
“All this talk of Cora Saier!” Lavinia cried. “I must admit it's telling on me. I know I shouldn't let it vex me, but it does. Better she never existed. Alas, she's taking over my conversation again. Let's not think of her or business for a couple of hours. Damn the schedule. I need to regain some tranquility. What say you to the spa retreat? Or a picture gallery?”
“Why, I don't know, miss. If it pleases you.”
“Of course,” Lavinia said proudly. “I'm Mrs. Saier and it would please me very much.”
It was quite scary. Jealousy drove the woman mad. Lavinia walked in circles, unsure of where to go, as long as it was away from Cora Saier and her memory. It was the most mystifying picture to contemplate. No painting they observed in the gallery compared.
Lavinia didn't seem interested in any particular work. She stopped randomly at paintings whenever her thoughts troubled her most. When they subsided, she moved on. Cora knew it was nerves. She thought it better not to talk. She remembered everything she felt days before her wedding day. She was completely mental. She imagined it was much worse for Lavinia. The quiet solitude of the gallery was the only place she could unmask her fear and anxiety without scrutiny. Cora saw many tears. Lavinia wasn't ashamed that she saw. Miss Hathaway was nobody. Just a servant sworn to silence. Cora pitied Lavinia. It couldn't be easy marrying Mr. Saier. She'd never think harshly of her mistress, no matter how passionately Lavinia hated her true identity.
“What do you suppose this is about?” Lavinia asked suddenly. She squinted at the painting before them.
“I think it's beautiful, miss,” Cora answered mechanically.
“I don't like it particularly. It gives me unsettled feelings. You may disregard saying what you think I'd like to hear and lend me your honest opinion.”
Cora took another look at the painting and froze. Her heart pounded. It was her portrait. The same one the painter sketched by the fountain. Ioan stood quietly watching over her. Lavinia did not make the connection, but she did notice the change in Cora's demeanor.
“What is it?” she asked.
“It's a dreadful painting, miss.”
“Of course it is!” Lavinia cried. “A gentleman doting on a servant. That's just plain arrogance on the painter's part.”
“Yes, ma'am.”
“Who is the artist? I must make a note to discredit him in future conversation.”
“I'm not sure of his name.”
“Here's his signature. Gianni Antonelli. I'll remember it.”
“Impossible,” Cora whispered.
“Did you say something, Miss Hathaway?”
“Antonelli, I don't think he painted this,” Cora said. “No, it's impossible. This is stolen work.”
“Why on earth would you say that?” Lavinia questioned.
“Antonelli is a murderer,” Cora declared. “Either it is the same Antonelli who escaped the asylum, or a horrifying, ignorant pen name.”
“Whatever the case, after I tell the ladies about this, he'll wish he'd never set hopes on a useless career.”
“May I treat you to a tour, signorina?” a well dressed Italian man appeared beside Lavinia. The voice sent Cora's skin crawling. Her nightmares never let her forget it.
“I didn't realize the gallery had tour guides,” Lavinia said delighted.
“I am the director of this expressive place,” he boasted. “It would be my pleasure.”
“Perhaps you can shed light on this Antonelli character. Who is he?” Lavinia questioned.
“At your service, signorina,” he bowed. “You have found the apple of your eye?”
“That apple is rotten, sir.”
“I'm sorry. I don't understand.”
“It's disgusting to imagine this scenario in life. It just wouldn't happen,” Lavinia protested.
“What, signorina? Love? The idea of having something you can't have? Longing for something forbidden? It is exactly human nature. This painting is a prime example of real human desire and emotion. Such as we all feel.”
“Well, I don't like it,” Lavinia persisted. “You'd heed my advice and take it down. Even my servant, who is not educated in fine arts, finds the thing repulsive. Isn't that right, Miss Hathaway?” She turned around, but no one stood there. Gianni chuckled. “It has scared her off, no? Come. Let me show you something else which may please you.”
* * *
Ioan appeared in the kitchen again. Mrs. Dillsworth finished the last of the dishes as he paced the windows. “A storm is rolling in from sea,” he said. “I saw it while I was out this afternoon. Has Miss Hathaway not yet returned?”
“No, sir, no sign of her.”
“She's usually in by seven,” Ioan said. “Miss Appleby said she slipped away without permission at the gallery. Do you suppose she's left us for good?”
“Miss Hathaway loves this house, sir,” Mrs. Dillsworth answered. “I don't see any reason for her to run off unless she were very upset.”
Ioan stood quietly for moments. Mrs. Dillsworth saw the guilt in his eyes. “Sir?”
“Inform me immediately when she returns,” he instructed, and left the kitchen. Ioan waited all night. He laid in bed a while talking to Miss Appleby until she fell sound asleep. He didn't leave her room. He slipped quietly off her bed and sat on the floor. He rested his back against the wall which joined Miss Hathaway's room. The thunder rumbled outside and the raindrops kissed the window pane. Ioan sat a candlestick next to him and found his place in Bertrand Russel's The Problems of Philosophy. Sleep would have to wait until Miss Hathaway safely returned.
An hour passed when he glanced at his pocket watch. Then two. Just an hour before midnight. He thought he should go look for her when suddenly the door opened quietly on the other side. He listened as she snuck into the room. Her step was so light. He guessed she put her things away and slipped into her night dress for bed. Then the room fell silent.
Ioan closed his book. “Miss Hathaway, are you there?” he whispered. Cora sat on the floor with her back against the wall. She was directly opposite him. She prayed he go back to bed. Ioan waited. “Miss Hathaway, please speak to me. Are you alright?”
“I'm fine, sir.”
“Are you aware of the hour? How selfish of you to run off and leave all of us anxious. It was very wicked indeed.”
“It won't happen again, sir.”
“That's all? You're not going to explain yourself?”
“I got lost, sir. It won't happen again.”
“See to it that it doesn't. What were we to do without you here? The whole house could've caught fire, but did you consider that?”
“I'm sorry, sir. Is that all? I'm very tired.”
“Due to your absence, I haven’t had my says worth to you today and you'll hear me now,” he insisted. “Call it what you like, Miss Hathaway. There is an honest reason why you stayed away all day. I shouldn't have done what I did.”
“I forgive you, sir, but talking won't make it right. I respect Miss Appleby and her happiness. I won't let you do this to her.” Ioan sighed and rested his head against the wall
. “Answer me this,” he said. “Why does it feel like I've known you my entire life?” Cora's heart tore apart. “That's impossible,” she whispered finally.
“I know,” Ioan grinned. “It's absolute lunacy. Why am I happy about it?”
“Because you're a lunatic, sir.”
“Do you believe in past lives?” he asked.
“No, sir. Utter nonsense.”
“Of course,” he agreed. “Yet, I think I must have had one once, and that I loved you very deeply. I only wish I could prove it.” Cora didn't speak. He touched the wall tenderly, trying to feel her warmth through it. Cora closed her eyes and allowed her fingers to dance over his. She swore she could feel him. “Nos da, Mr. Saier,” she whispered, and walked away.
“Nos da,” he answered, but he was alone.
Chapter 22
What came next was a moment which questioned her faith forever. Cora knew she was a wicked girl before. Perhaps she deserved what happened to her. Yet, Mrs. Dillsworth was the very seed of goodness, which shaded everyone in a paradise. Her homemade brews and warm meals made you forget the world and think of nothing but your tummy. What came next wasn't fair, and Cora regretted most that she wasn't there.
Mr. Saier went out early to sea. He sailed out the harbor before Lavinia woke to find him missing. Cora expected it. Tomorrow he'd give his name to Miss Appleby. The man needed these last moments to himself. Miss Appleby thought otherwise. “A man need stay with his wife until the wedding day!” she cried. “So she may confide in him all her joy and insanity!” Cora wished he hadn't left. Miss Appleby was mental.
“I'm sure he never did this to her! What man does this to his wife? Am I not worthy? Am I not good enough for him? What purpose does he have at sea when he's getting married? Miss Hathaway, my smelling salts! Now, Miss Hathaway!”
“She's scarfed all those down,” Cora told Mrs. Dillsworth. “Empty.”
Once We Were Page 20