A Promise Given

by Michelle Cox

  Quickly he stood up, too.

  “What’s the matter, kid? Hey, Elsie!” he said, more seriously now, taking her hand. “I’m crazy about you. You know that, right?”

  Elsie couldn’t bring herself to say anything.

  “Elsie, come on! I need you! It’s not my fault I’ve had no one to teach me the right things. I guess things got a little out of hand last night, but … you know, I couldn’t help it. I thought you liked it … you seemed eager enough,” he added with a certain level of disdain in his voice.

  Elsie blushed profusely and looked away. Was this how a gentle-man—a lover?—behaved? Talking about it openly? But maybe she was just being naive. An image of Jane Austin’s poor Lydia Bennet appeared before her, but she angrily thrust it away.

  “I thought I could count on you,” he said sulkily. “Come on! Don’t say you don’t care.”

  With great effort, Elsie made herself look into his eyes, then, and tried to decide if they held cruelty or something else altogether, like perhaps fear. She couldn’t help but be infuriatingly attracted to him, even now. Despite everything he had just said, particularly that she was now damaged goods, Elsie could not help but to ultimately feel sorry for him. He had been through so much, after all. No wonder he was a poet—he obviously struggled with so many emotions. He didn’t mean to be cruel, she reluctantly decided; perhaps he had just lost his way a bit. After all, he had lost his mother at such a young age. His behavior last night she had all but convinced herself was out of character, possibly due to the alcohol, and he seemed genuinely sorry for what he had said just now.

  She looked at him closely. They could take care of each other, she thought. Better than anyone else because they both understood loneliness. Yes, she could see herself as his wife, she told herself, pouring her love out onto him. Perhaps that’s all he needed to be a better man. Perhaps this is what God intended for her. Maybe this is why she had been alone for so long, so that He could lead her to Harrison, who so obviously needed her. She felt a certain sort of fatalism, then, an acceptance that this was to be her role in life. She would simply have to overlook his rough edges until she could smooth them out.

  She forced herself to smile at him.

  “That’s more like it,” he said with a grin. “I hate long faces. You aren’t sore, are you?” he asked in such a way that Elsie felt he would surely be provoked if she indeed answered in the affirmative.

  “No! Of course I’m not … not sore,” she finally stammered. And though she knew he wasn’t referring to her physical well-being, her mind went to the blood she had found in her underthings. “But … but it does concern me a bit, Harrison …” she tried to say delicately. “What are we … what are we going to do? How will we live?”

  “I’ll figure it out! Surely your grandfather will set us up …” he said with an eagerness that was painful to hear.

  Elsie felt a stab of panic, not only regarding what her grandfather might say, but also at the thought that perhaps it really was true that Harrison was merely after the Exley money as Aunt Agatha had suggested. Hurriedly she pushed the thought from her mind. “I’m not so sure, Harrison … he’s …”

  “Just don’t tell anyone for now,” he interrupted her, not listening. “You haven’t, have you?” he demanded.

  “No! Of course not!”

  “Not even your mother?” he asked, suspiciously.

  “No,” she answered with a sad shake of her head. “She hasn’t been down yet.” Indeed, Elsie had been waiting for her to come down, all the while trying to decide how much she should reveal to her, when Harrison himself had appeared, ironically rescuing her from that particular decision.

  “Good. Good,” he repeated, deep in thought.

  “Have you … have you thought what you might say to Grandfather?” she asked hesitantly, not wanting to upset him again.

  “No, not yet. But leave him to me. I’ll think of something.”

  “It … it does seem a bit rushed, Harrison …” she ventured. At the sight of his irritated face, she quickly added, “not that it changes how we feel, of course, but perhaps we should wait awhile. After all, we … we really don’t know each other all that well.”

  He gave her a wicked stare. “After last night? I think we know each other well enough,” he said coolly.

  Elsie looked down at the ground. He did have a point, but did he have to say it that way? “I’m sorry. You’re right, of course.”

  “Nothing’s going to keep you from me,” Harrison said testily. “Not even you.”

  Elsie, not knowing what else to do, forced herself to look at him and couldn’t look away again, even though she tried. She was mesmerized. Harrison took hold of her shoulders, then, and kissed her, roughly, his thick lips coarsely moving against hers as they had last night. Elsie was initially caught off guard, but then she shamefully felt herself responding. She had convinced herself in bed last night that what had happened between them was a one-time thing, that she could not let things get out of hand that way again until they were properly married. She knew she had been at fault, not stopping him, and had prayed the whole rosary for forgiveness.

  But now here she was, again letting him kiss her and caress her beyond what she knew to be proper, even between an affianced couple. He pressed himself against her as he kissed her, forcing her against the wall, and she could feel his hardened excitement as he kissed her again and again, her face almost wet now. Elsie was not sure what would have happened next had Mrs. Schmidt, the housekeeper, not happened to pass through the hallway just outside the parlor, making an uncharacteristically loud noise as she did so, which caused the lovers to quickly separate.

  “Let me see you tomorrow,” Harrison said breathlessly, bracing his arms against the wall on either side of Elsie’s face, momentarily trapping her. “God damn it, Elsie! I need you!”

  “All right, Harrison,” she said quietly. “Why don’t I come and sit with you and your uncle and visit?” she suggested.

  “Don’t be stupid,” he said. “He’s not up to having visitors just yet, and, anyway, I want to be alone with you.” He paused, thinking. “How about the pictures?” he asked, to which she nodded, ashamed that the prospect of sitting next to him in a darkened movie house excited her.

  The lieutenant abruptly left, then, and Elsie watched him go from where she stood now by the window. She attempted to adjust her hair back into place as she watched him saunter off down the street. She studied him, trying to envision him as her husband leaving for work on any given day. He seemed very pleased with himself, she decided, as she watched him pause halfway down the street to pull out a cigarette. But as he bent to light it, she saw him turn his head, then, to watch two attractive women walk past him. It was a seemingly innocent gesture, but something about the grin now on his face and the way he carelessly flicked his ash as he went on his way cut her to the quick.

  What have I done? Elsie suddenly thought, her arms forlornly dropping to her sides, a feeling of extreme panic threatening to overwhelm her. Had she really engaged herself to this man? she thought frantically, bringing one hand up to her mouth as if to hold back a scream and feeling herself break into a sweat. She saw a black hole open up in front of her, but before she became enveloped by it, she turned from the window, breathing hard and scolding herself for being ridiculous. She was being silly! She just needed some rest, she thought, as she climbed the stairs back to her room, and resolved to stop thinking about him. After all, what was done was done.

  But as she lay on top of her bed, still fully clothed, she found she could not, after all, stop thinking about him, about what had happened. She had to admit she cared for Harrison very much, admired him, no, loved him—she was sure. He was the first man to show her any real attention, the attention that she so craved, and though her intellect might tell her one thing, she could not completely rein in her emotions. Unexpectedly and certainly unbidden, thoughts of Stanley then entered her mind, and, for the first time, she did not relish them. H
e must never find out what had happened between her and Harrison, she thought desperately, but, then again, what did it matter? She didn’t belong to him anymore, she thought angrily, with tears sometimes coming to her eyes. Hadn’t she often compared him to Harrison over the last couple of months, Stanley clearly coming up inferior to the lieutenant in so many ways? she tried to remind herself. And, more to the point, hadn’t she come to the conclusion that he had given her up as well?

  While it was true, she admitted, that one could say that Harrison had taken advantage of her in a certain way, he had said that he loved her and wanted to marry her, which is more than Stanley had ever done. Surely that should count for something, shouldn’t it? she thought as she rolled onto her side. Absently she traced the raised rows of the chenille pattern on her bedspread with her finger. She was not, as she had so often feared, to be left to the side as the years inevitably slipped by. She desperately wanted a romance of her own, just as Henrietta had.

  She curled her knees up into her chest now as she remembered how she had more than once in the past thought about what it might be like to enjoy the dashing lieutenant’s kisses. Now that she had, however, it wasn’t nearly as romantic as she had imagined it might be. But perhaps that was her fault, she reasoned. Perhaps it was her own ignorance in knowing what to do, her lack of experience, which had made it less than she had expected.

  Only once did it occur to her how similar her situation may have been to Ma’s, but she quickly dismissed it. For one thing, she told herself hastily, Harrison was an officer, not a butcher’s boy, and, according to Ma, her father had forced her, almost raped her, which Harrison, she insisted to herself as she quickly wiped away a tear, had most certainly not done. She had let him, she told herself, though it shamed her to admit it. But Ma must never find out what she had done! She would treat her worse than she had treated poor Henrietta, always accusing her of low morals, when, in fact, as far as Elsie knew, anyway, Henrietta had always been beyond reproach, despite her seedy surroundings. But maybe she and Clive … No! Elsie insisted to herself. Henrietta would never have been as weak as she had been. Yes, Ma would hate her if she knew. Cast her out, perhaps. But what did it matter, if she was getting married soon anyway? That was another difference. Ma had gotten pregnant, which had forced her into marriage. Harrison, Elsie consoled herself, had asked her to marry him before he had … well, while they had coupled. Surely that made all the difference! Nonetheless she prayed she wasn’t pregnant.

  Ma was only part of her worries, however, her grandfather being a bigger one. She knew little of the Barnes-Smith family, but she felt relatively sure that they were not the wealthy, connected family her grandfather was scheming for, especially as Aunt Agatha had already warned her off from him. Again she felt a sense of panic and wondered if it might be best to decline Harrison’s offer after all and pretend none of this had ever happened. But what about Harrison’s rather dismaying insinuation about her being ruined now for any other marriage prospects her grandfather might have had in mind? But he would never know that, would he? Was sleepy old Karl indeed a spy? It seemed unlikely. But what if she was pregnant? Surely it would be better to cast her lot now with Harrison in case she was and before it became obvious?

  Yes, she would cast her lot with Harrison, she resolved, telling herself, repeatedly, that she was lucky, actually, to be loved by such a man as Harrison. Her conscious mind did not let herself dwell on the achingly painful fact that he had taken something so very tender and intimate from her, only to then descry her as damaged and undesirable because of it, as if she had been solely at fault for its loss. Somewhere deep in her heart—a part she didn’t dare listen to—she was vaguely aware that not only was he, in truth, Stanley’s inferior, but he was hers as well, causing a part of her to hate not him, but herself, for accepting him as worthy of her love. But she fought furiously to keep these thoughts from bubbling to the surface. No! she almost said out loud. She had begun this course, and she was determined to stick to it. She only hoped that Harrison would prove true to his word and have a plan.

  The immediate challenge, she contemplated uneasily, was to convince poor Stanley of her happiness as he sat across from her now in the parlor. She again offered him some tea.

  “No, Els, I’m not … you’ve already asked me that. No, thank you,” he said with exaggerated deliberation. “I … I just thought I should see you.” He stood up and walked across the room to the window. He looked out, distracted for a moment by some activity outside before suddenly remembering the task at hand and forcing himself to turn back to her. “How’s your ankle?” he asked, pointing to it.

  “Fine. Thank you,” she said, her brow furrowed in confusion.

  “Look, Elsie, there’s no use beating about the bush. I … I have to tell you something.” He thrust his hands in his pockets and stared at the carpet as he continued. “I know in the past there was sort of an … understanding between us, let’s say. But … I …” he glanced up at her nervously. “Gee, Els, you seem different somehow,” he said, looking at her closely as if trying to determine what it was.

  Elsie blushed and was mortified that he might be able to guess what had gone on between her and Harrison.

  “Go on,” she encouraged.

  Stan shook his head. “Yeah, well, I was saying … I know there was a sort of understanding between us … about, you know … about getting engaged at some point …”

  “Yes?” she said encouragingly, grateful that he had finally come to the climax of what he wanted to say; he looked so wretched, milling about with his thoughts.

  “It’s just that I … I’m not so sure we’re really suited for each other …”

  Elsie was about to agree with him, but he cut her off.

  “Now! Before you say anything …” he said, holding up a hand. “I want you to know I’ll always care for you … as a friend, that is!” he added hurriedly. “I’ll care for all your family, really, and I’d still be glad to help any time, though I’m not sure how much help I’d really be,” he said, wistfully looking around the well-furnished room before turning his eyes back to hers. “I’m awfully sorry, Elsie … I …”

  “Perhaps it is for the best, Stan,” she interrupted, which completely threw him off guard. He had come expecting tears and denials and perhaps some awkward begging on Elsie’s part, but not a quick acquiescence! What was going on? Suddenly he smelled a rat …

  “What do you mean?” he asked, his voice full of surprise and suspicion. He paused to think. “Hey! It’s that lieutenant, isn’t it?” he asked, the obvious suddenly dawning on him like a ton of bricks. “He hopes to catch you, doesn’t he? Or maybe he already has!” he exclaimed, eyeing her carefully. “What gives, Elsie?”

  Elsie swallowed hard. “It’s true, Stanley.” She managed a weak smile and sat up straight. “As it happens, I am engaged to Lieutenant Barnes-Smith,” she said quietly and made herself look at him, fearing the worst.

  “Engaged!” he shouted. “You barely know him! Have you lost your mind?”

  “No,” she tried to reply firmly. “I have not lost my mind, and I know him quite well, actually. Well enough to marry him.”

  “Engaged?” he muttered, and he began to pace about the room, studying the carpet. “Engaged?” He stopped his pacing to stare at her. “Does Henrietta know?”

  “Not yet. We … we haven’t announced it yet, so … I’ll write to her soon.”

  “Do you love him?” he asked incredulously, a tinge of hurt in his voice.

  “That’s none of your business now, Stanley,” she answered and oddly felt like she might cry when she heard the hurt in his voice.

  “I can’t believe it!” he said, barely above a murmur, turning as he said it toward the window.

  “Anyway,” Elsie went on, speaking to his back. “I believe you have someone else as well. Isn’t that so, Stanley?” she asked softly.

  He turned back to her now, mystified. “How do you know that?” he asked, suddenly sounding fear
ful.

  “I … I saw you. It’s Rose, isn’t it? Henrietta’s friend?” she asked hesitantly.

  Stan just stared at her.

  “I saw you outside the electrics. She took your arm and … kissed you … I’d come to talk with you, but …”

  Stan wiped his eyes. Whether there was a bit of sand in them or merely some unaccounted for liquid, no one was sure, but he wiped them just the same.

  “Yes,” he finally said. “I was with Rose. I … I like her. Very much.”

  Elsie cleared her throat. “Well, it’s all worked out for the best, then, hasn’t it?” She forced a smile. “Are you … are you engaged? To her, that is?”

  Stan still looked at her as if in a daze. “Not yet … but I was considering it. I … I thought I should see you first.”

  “Well, thank you for that, Stanley. It’s more consideration than I gave to you,” she said sadly and stood up. “Perhaps it would be best if you went now,” she made herself say, though she was crumbling inside, suddenly afraid she would never see him again.

  He shook himself as if waking from a dream. “Yes, I suppose I should.” He walked slowly to the door, Elsie following him.

  “I guess this is goodbye, then,” he said, putting his hat on now and giving the front foyer one last gaze.

  “You can still stop by and say hello, you know,” Elsie said encouragingly. “Ma … Mother … would like it.”

  “Yeah, maybe,” he shrugged noncommittally. “Goodbye, Elsie,” he said forlornly and held out his hand to her awkwardly.

  “Goodbye, Stanley,” she said, taking it, and she leaned forward to kiss him on the cheek as well. “I’ll miss you.”

  He left then, without another word, and as he closed the door soundlessly behind him, Elsie could not help but begin to sob violently, and loudly at that, there being no one close by to hear her anyway.

  Chapter 21

  Clive softly knocked on the bedroom door the morning after his argument with Henrietta, having spent the night in the adjacent guest room. He had had time to think about what had been said between them and regretted very deeply his reference of Henrietta to her mother. He knew this was shockingly unfair. But he also knew that this was not the heart of the matter, that he was being unfair in a much deeper way. It was again his persistence in trying to protect her, to keep her safe. And yet, hadn’t he been thwarted even when he tried to wall her up, as it were, at Highbury this past summer? She had been in danger anyway. It had found her despite his best efforts. His natural reaction, perhaps subconsciously, had been to try all the harder to ensconce her, but he realized now that this had backfired. He saw in front of him a life in which Henrietta would not be content to sit quietly at home, and wasn’t that the very thing that had drawn him to her? Hadn’t her enthusiasm and spark for life jumpstarted his own weary heart? Having found this wonderful elixir, however, his tendency was to hide and protect it, but he knew it was no use. Henrietta wanted to be at his side, and though it terrified him, it excited him as well. He should have taken her to Matlock with him as she had wished, but, then again, would Wallace have really talked if he had? And if he had sensed that Wallace would talk privately, what would he have done with Henrietta? Sit her on a stool in the pub to wait for him? Have her stroll up and down the streets? Damn it! Each option filled him with dread, but he knew he would just have to try harder to make her feel involved. He would pick and choose the opportunities, of course, but he knew he couldn’t just leave her behind any longer. After all, he further considered, she had survived two attacks from Neptune and seemed remarkably unaffected, after the initial trauma, that is. She was stronger, he concluded, than he had originally thought, in more ways than one. He would have to let her come along, at least some of the times, anyway, and he would simply have to grin and bear it, at least, that is, until she had a child to care for.