CHAPTER THIRTEEN - Marlbrook
The elaborate wrought iron gates of Marlbrook parted as if by magic, allowing the coach entry, then closed to keep the picture perfect. Sarah’s incessant talking ceased.
Gardens graced Laura’s line of vision. Prolific beds of flowers overflowed with colour, shaded in part by the majestic trees that lorded over them. Sturdy limbs held the mid morning sun at bay. A breeze gusted sporadically, adding realism to an otherwise flawless scene. The splendour of the landscape replenished Laura’s spirit.
The main house had been positioned on a slight incline, with large pillared windows donating elegance to the otherwise stark structure. The perfection of Marlbrook reflected itself, in all its magnificence, in a lake purpose-built. Peacocks, imported from some far-off land, roamed as they pleased. The beautiful creatures splashed colour about the green countryside, while loudly proclaiming their importance for everyone to heed.
The carriage came to rest by a side entrance to the house. Delicate, climbing roses greeted Laura. Their first snippets of colour, predominantly red offset with a sprinkling of white, were evident as they lifted their heads above the thorny mass that threatened to engulf them. The sunlight had prolonged its presence, resisting the impulse to blanket itself in the ashen clouds that loitered nearby. Laura gave thanks to a welcome that would have eased many a burdened soul.
“Laura! What ails you?” Sarah asked, impatiently.
“Sarah. I ask only for privacy and rest.” Solitude had become obligatory; Laura’s excuse was a legitimate one.
Repressed feelings fought to rid themselves of Laura’s domination, and, as the day progressed, Laura’s physical illness reached a peak where she almost dispelled the contents of her morning meal.
Laura sanctioned one day’s rest in the seclusion of her room, a chamber cheered by an exhibition of colourful art forms. The objects imparted stories of antiquity and grace while remaining uncomplicated. Laura smiled and thought their silence wise.
Mundane tasks occupied Laura, as she endeavoured to empty the chaos that rampaged within. When this failed, she called upon her journal to make sense of what she could not.
“The romantic notion of having an unrequited love is appealing to one like myself, who, at an advanced age, has guarded, with learned expertise, against such sentiment. That a man could effortlessly penetrate my defences confounds me. A short time ago, I experienced a moment so precious that I cannot yet express my feelings in any manner of words, but the sin of tasting passion is now my constant torment.
The sickness I fight to conquer is not that I have done wrong, but that I find, on true examination of my thoughts, that I am unrepentant. The guilt experienced for having sampled such ecstasy out of the marriage bed I find hard to reconcile, when my senses tell me that something so tender and loving cannot be bad.
There, I have confessed my sin and must now try and live with my guilt. I pray to God that there will be no consequences for my shameful behaviour, but I also suspect that once previously veiled responses have been aroused, and I blush as I write, the renewal of the sensations will hence be easily triggered.
The caretaker did not indicate any future meetings, and my only hope is that his judgement of me will not be too unkind. His opinion is of vast importance and a constant cause of my present distress, but perhaps I flatter myself. The reality may be that he has no want to be reminded of our meeting. Either way, to be held in contempt and not his esteem would be a bitter blow.
My writings are private and, to myself at least, I must be true. The anguish I endured upon leaving this man has me mystified, and had the carriage not been waiting I do not know what destiny I might have chosen. I am glad I was not put to the test. The thought of desiring to be with a man was remote until this day.”
“Come child, let me look at you!” Authority clung to Lady Catherine’s words. “Have you done with the vapours or whatever it is that ails you or will they resurface to annoy me?”
Taken aback by the unexpected inquisition, Laura failed to reply.
“And what of my London house, girl? Did you make sure to check the inventory? Those kitchen girls are a dreadful lot. I shall insist on reviewing everything, you know.”
A grin lifted one corner of Laura’s mouth. “Lady Catherine, I am sincerely grateful for your concern. As to my state of health, I have sufficiently recovered from my recent trials to resume full duties.”
“Excellent. I like a girl that does not take to her bed at every turn. And my townhouse?”
“I bring good news. I personally supervised the staff in their comings and goings and made sure that I vacated the establishment only after everyone else had withdrawn, turning the key in the lock as I departed. Here then is the very item I speak of, returned to you for safekeeping.”
Laura excused her Ladyship’s behaviour. She understood Lady Catherine toyed with her, testing her stamina for debate.
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Thomas put pen to paper two days after Laura’s departure. The task demanded that he invest a great deal of time in the undertaking. By recording the events, he hoped to clarify his thinking and, to some degree, his beliefs. While he would never allege to be an eloquent writer, his outlook was clear, as he shared his insights with Laura.
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Two weeks to the day after Laura’s arrival at Marlbrook, the special messenger transferred Thomas’ letter into her hands. The foresight behind the delivery confirmed to Laura yet another of Thomas’ excellent qualities. Not under any circumstances did Laura want to attract her Ladyship’s attention, as martyrdom held no allure. Feet practically flew over stairs, the sturdy door to her chamber locked behind her in a trice.
The wax seal on the letter cracked without resistance. Laura’s hands trembled, the shaking delaying the unveiling. Half anticipating the worst, and half just anticipating, Laura began to read the words that would either condemn her or provide her with hope.
Her eyes skimmed the white pages. Thomas offered concern, along with a polite enquiry, as to her state of health, and generally anyone could have examined the contents without taking offence. However, one sentence stood out. Laura read and reread her promise of redemption.
“- My duty dictates, as does my conscience, that I write to assure you, ma’am, that you remain held in the highest of esteem.”
Laura’s immediate compulsion was to share her elation, her pen at the ready to translate her thoughts.
“That I am not to be spurned for my wantonness, or ridiculed for the lack of it, but remain held in high regard is proof enough that there is justice in this world.”
The penmanship of her declaration disarmed Laura’s most grievous torment. A swell of affection rose for Thomas, as she placed his phrases, with reverence, within the secure confines of her journal. Deep inside, below surface tension and all the disturbances that cloud issues, Laura had always known his answer. They were adults, and their union had been one that would have challenged even the most devout. The stain of the sin endured, but the prospect of deliverance prevailed.
Sunshine drenched Laura’s writing desk, bathing her in its brilliance as though it too joined her in celebration. Her pen flew across the pages, the sentences flowing with the freedom that comes when one is corresponding with a light heart.
The expressions, while not elaborate or complicated views, imparted her account of the situation. However, more importantly, they extended an offer of atonement, indicating possible future discourse.
Her letter concluded with:
“I am heartened by your correspondence and pray that time will grant me a reprieve and allow my thoughts to settle, thus enabling me to face you again without the hindrance of appearing needy.”
Thomas would understand her subtle words and know that if he were patient, her door would again be open to him.
CHAPTER FOURTEEN – The Past
Weeks passed with a swiftness that confounded Laura, and the sense of longing that she had first experienced had abated to a manage
able degree. Seldom did anyone question her regarding her ordeal, the lack of interest a reflection of just how little she counted in the overall scheme of things.
Seated in the morning room, Lady Catherine’s regular visitors supped their tea, blissfully unaware of just how close they skirted the edges of Lady Catherine’s ill humour.
“Cynthia, your companion appears to be unwell. Perhaps we should send her home without further ado,” Lady Catherine stated, knowing full well that the very thought of being banished from their company would send Ruth into a frenzy.
Lady Cynthia, a rather skittish woman, who could best be described as round in appearance, had long been a confirmed friend of Lady Catherine. The women had nothing in common, but nevertheless they seemed to fill a void in each other’s lives. Lady Cynthia's companion, Ruth, was a poor relation who enjoyed a privileged status in the home of her second cousin once removed.
“Oh my,” Ruth sighed. “Lady Catherine, I beg of you do not tease me so. You know that I am taken with bouts of the vapours. The doctors have assured me that it is not in my best interests to venture out of doors. No! Their professional advice is for me to rest and keep my sustenance up,” Ruth stated, as yet another bonbon disappeared from sight.
Lady Catherine cringed, as the hideously absurd snorting, disguising itself as Ruth’s laughter, followed. As usual, the middle-aged woman irritated Lady Catherine beyond belief.
In reply, Lady Cynthia’s wit was sharp. “Catherine, you know full well that you would miss our company should we be restricted indoors. Who else would challenge your good will so?”
Lady Cynthia rescued Ruth, as she did so on many occasions. “Come, Ruth, the doctors are always right. It is I who should be scolded for inviting you on this outing. We shall take you home immediately and have you put to bed until you are well again.”
When the latch clicked shut behind her guests, Lady Catherine vented her frustrations.
“If I come across one more of these creatures I shall, I shall - quite honestly I shall forget that I am a Lady and, and - see! I am conditioned not to think, let alone say what I would do with one of these women.”
Lady Catherine’s glare was sufficiently intimidating for Laura to form no opinion at all. Not that Laura’s lack of interest caused concern, for Lady Catherine often answered herself.
“Your lack of family does not appear to have harmed you!” exclaimed Lady Catherine. “The women surrounding me have more blood relatives than I can count, and I cannot say that they appear to have benefited by their kindred’s existence. What say you to that, my girl?”
Lady Catherine fanned herself a bit too rapidly, a sure sign that she was agitated. Laura responded to her antagonist with a knowing grin.
Inwardly, Laura likened her Ladyship to a man about to enter a duel, but the weapon, her fan, could hardly be expected to harm anyone. Laura banished the picture that formed in her mind of Lady Catherine and Ruth duelling at dawn, fans at the ready. Her Ladyship would not see the humour.
“Something amuses you, madam?” Lady Catherine never missed an opportunity. “Perhaps you would like to share the focal point of your mirth and allow me to join you in your frivolity.” Lady Catherine’s stern face hardened against such a possibility ever occurring.
“Ma’am,” Laura began, ignoring her Ladyship’s last delivery. “I cannot deny my lack of family, but then the same cannot be said for Sarah, as she was raised by a caring father and therefore legitimately mourns her loss. As for myself, I do not dwell upon such things.”
Lady Catherine’s mouth launched into an opening ready to retaliate, but the void remained empty of sound.
“When surrounded by your welcoming household,” Laura continued, “I am encouraged to work even harder in your employ.” Laura sat with a straight back and bearing that was not in the least bit fitting with decorum.
Lady Catherine congratulated herself. Her choice of companion had always held promise.
A steady tapping seized Lady Catherine’s attention, her cane the sly culprit. She no longer exercised full control over some of her faculties, but no one would ever share this intelligence.
“My son will soon establish himself at Marlbrook, as the estate demands his permanent residence here.” Lady Catherine’s tone was abrasive within the confined space of the parlour. “He is a handsome rogue. And while you may look upon me as biased, I would dare you to find a mother, when confronted with this topic, who would deny the obvious.” Lady Catherine paused, taking breath before adding. “Henry is not responsible, Laura, and I have worked too hard to let my efforts go to waste.”
Emily, daughter of the wealthy Parkinson’s of Kent, would see Lord Henry settled. The girl’s family were greedy and craved a title to offset their money, while the Marlbrook’s merely required a mother to sire grandchildren and heirs. The match was suitable and would benefit everyone.
Lady Catherine had worked tirelessly during the last London winter to find a bride for her son, scanning the crowds of debutantes that were, for the most part, of no consequence.
“Of course, Henry will not take up residence until his marriage date draws near but that event grows closer,” her Ladyship continued.
Cynicism had crept into Lady Catherine’s voice, and Laura’s own experiences of Lord Henry added background to her cause.
Lady Catherine did not share her afterthought with Laura, which included the women and the gambling that were constant companions of her son, habits she held doubts he would renounce in marriage.
“Laura. Do you feel how this house demands care? How it lures you with its grandeur? Money and power call for total dedication, and we were all unprepared.”
Aged eyes steeled themselves to look into the past. The faint stoop was gone, a rigid backbone taking its place. Lady Catherine was not as senile as she sometimes led her followers to believe.
Tales of intrigue had been woven into the fabric of Marlbrook with few generations having escaped unscathed. Perhaps the sheer magnitude of their wealth claimed some form of payment? Lady Catherine had been called upon to make hers.
Lady Catherine had feelings for her husband, given the circumstances, but in all honesty it had been his home that had consumed her with passion. And over the years, it had been Marlbrook that had kept her sane when all around her faltered.
Marlbrook’s bygone generations had looked to Lady Catherine to save their heritage, and she had undergone some bitter lessons in fulfilling their bidding. Her eyes spoke memories of what the real cost had been, sorrow being a cross that manifests itself in many forms.
The trial the heavens had designated she suffer had denied her children. Imperative to the survival of Marlbrook, the weight of carrying out her duty had been oppressive and she had nearly collapsed under the strain.
A family of the ruling class did not tolerate barrenness, especially a family that could trace its foundations to the very emergence of England. However, her secret did not warrant special treatment, not when compared with the losses that might have resulted.
A clandestine production, enacted behind closed doors, had yielded the desired outcome and she had been the principal player. Her father-in-law had bedded her and given her a son. Lady Catherine did not fear condemnation from her husband, for he had been a knowing conspirator. His father had not molested her nor had he used physical constraints to gain access to her body; he had simply impressed upon her the meaning of obligation and duty.
Jubilation at the arrival of an heir had been tempered by the certainty that there would be no more children. She would not endure a second degradation. However, the decision had been moot. Three months later, her father-in-law had died, his attendant years at an end. She had sacrificed her husband for the child and he, her; the house, the silent beneficiary.
Nature had instigated her ordeals, and Lady Catherine would query until the day she died why her husband had fathered a child with his mistress but had failed her. Cruelty comes in many guises but suffering was always the same.
Secrets abounded in Marlbrook and weighed heavily upon Lady Catherine’s mind; silence was the price she had to pay.
Nowadays, Lady Catherine attempted to pass some of her insights to Laura, schooling her on the wisdom that comes with age.
Lady Catherine’s obligations neared an end. Her son had agreed to take a bride. Soon the house would be full of her grandchildren that she unashamedly looked forward to spoiling.
CHAPTER FIFTEEN - The Return
Sarah outwardly blossomed. The elegant surroundings and lifestyle that Marlbrook offered appeared to suit her, but only she was privy to the information that they were all wrong. Jealousy constantly chipped away at her insides. Lady Catherine preferred her overly capable sister who handled most of the mundane chores, and Laura was so irritatingly perfect that she left little in her wake for Sarah to carry out. Sarah’s days were humdrum and her nights confined, an eternity of sameness dominating her existence. Boredom drove Sarah to look for distractions.
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The first days of summer were glorious. Laura roamed the grounds of Marlbrook familiarising herself with every nook and cranny, the estate brimming with floral tributes. Colours exhilarated the senses while evocative scents floated upon the air, their perfume lingering well after the light had withdrawn.
Today, as Laura strolled on her afternoon walk, the sun surprised her, and she soon learned that a forgotten parasol carried a price. The aftermath of ruddy cheeks produced a slight stinging effect.
Journey's End (Marlbrook) Page 6