Dahlia's Music

by Caitlyn Quirk

  Dahlia’s depression deepened as she realized that she hadn’t really appreciated all the changes that were to come to her life as a result of agreeing to marry James and move to Scotland. She remembered her conversations with Lady Sweet about how her life would change when she grew up. Well, most of those changes had come to pass and she really didn’t feel any more grown up than she was when that conversation had taken place. She seemed to have come of age without any passage of time. In a few weeks she would turn sixteen. She was not performing her music, was not riding – sidesaddle or astride, and, though married, was not the mistress of her own home or in control of the felicity of her marriage. Indeed, she did not even seem to possess dominion over her own emotions as evidenced by her foray into the realms of intimacy and desire that had ended so dramatically on Christmas night.

  James noticed the change in Dahlia. She was more withdrawn and quiet, and he knew not how to change her humor. He made a point to look in on her more frequently during the day, and asked his mother to do the same. She asked him if something was wrong, and he told her what had happened.

  Anna let out a deep breath. “The body remembers what the mind won’t.”

  “It appears so.”

  Her mother thought a moment and then her countenance changed. “You still don’t know if she’s pregnant, do you? Her change of mood could certainly be because of that.”

  James had not thought about that possibility, and went to find Matty to ask her. He found her in the drying room grounding up herbs.

  “No,” she admitted. “I don’t know for sure, but I’ve been watching her body as I dress her and I can see no signs at all that she is. She’s still as slight as ever.”

  “It’s been two months since the accident. We need to find out for sure. My mother says that could be contributing to her ill humor.”

  “Aye, could be that. Or could be she suspects her husband spends too many nights in his study – or elsewhere.”

  James looked up at her sharply. “Did Dahlia tell you what happened?”

  “She’s told me nothing, but Mary Gordon is holding nothing back.”

  James’ face fell. He should have known his indiscretion would not have remained secret for long. He gave no explanation for what Matty had heard, and she asked for none. “Has Dahlia heard?”

  “No, not to my knowledge. ‘Twill be one more thing she’ll not hear from me.”

  James nodded his thanks to her for that. He turned to leave the little room that smelled of spices as Trevor appeared in the doorway. “You’ll ask her directly about the other?”

  “Aye,” Matty answered.

  James left with a curt greeting to Trevor. “Ask who what?” he said lightly.

  Matty greeted her husband with a kiss before turning back to her task. “Just something about Dahlia,” was all she replied.

  “Hmmm. Wouldn’t have to do with his sleeping arrangements, would it?” Trevor had already heard the rumors from the gardener.

  Matty rolled her eyes. “Is it all over the county, then?”

  “Close to,” he said. “Shall I have a talk with Jamie?”

  “And tell him what? To keep his pied piper in his pants? Even I know you can’t expect a man to abstain for as long as he has.”

  “Why should he?” Trevor queried. “Abstain, I mean. Dahlia appears to be recovered from her injuries.”

  Matty didn’t know what to say, so she focused on grounding the pestle into the herbs even harder.

  “She’s not with child, is she?”

  Matty looked up quickly at this – too quickly Trevor thought.

  “No,” she said, without conviction. “I don’t think so.”

  “Not sure, though, are ye?” Matty continued assaulting the herbs without responding, so Trevor stepped behind her and put his arms around her waist. He nibbled her neck until she laughed. “Ye shouldn’t be keeping secrets from your husband,” he whispered in her ear. “Come, now. Tell me the truth. Did young Jamie marry the girl because her father suspected they had lain together?”

  “No,” Matty said distractedly, trying to ignore the tickling his actions were causing. “Squire Talbot would have shot him if he thought that.”

  “So why,” Trevor flicked her earlobe with his tongue, then took it gently between his teeth. “Shouldn’t they resume their marital relations?”

  “There’s nothing to resume,” she whispered dreamily as he kissed a path from her ear down to her shoulder.

  “Then how could ye be unsure of a pregnancy?”

  Too late, Matty realized her error. She let go of the pestle and pulled her husband’s hands away from her waist. “You,” she said, pushing him towards the door. “Need to let me finish my work instead of distracting me. What I meant was poor Miss Dahlia doesn’t remember having relations with James on account of her accident. Now go!”

  Trevor stole another kiss from her before retreating, then went back to his room and pulled out paper and pen. He quickly made some notes for the next chapter of his serial. He had received a letter from his publisher saying that the Cornhill Magazine had accepted the proposal for the serial and would publish the first chapter in the edition to be released several weeks hence.

  “The Cornhill was eager to print a story set in the Highlands because of the great success it had with the article by Queen Victoria on her time spent there with Prince Albert, God rest his soul. Do be a saint and give your mystery a bit of romance, will you? The Cornhill’s readership is quite full of the dark intrigues of Dickens and Doyle,” wrote his publisher. Trevor had no idea his reach extended all the way to London, but the magazine paid handsomely. Romance the readers would have, and mystery surrounding the romance of Lilly – as he dubbed his character modeled on Dahlia. What could be more intriguing than a young woman who was married but didn’t remember her wedding or her wedding night?

  Trevor chewed the end of his pen. He could understand why James would abstain from making love to his wife during her physical recovery, but he didn’t buy the explanation that he continued to do so now that Dahlia was well simply because she did not remember having slept with him before the accident. Also, why wouldn’t Matty know for sure whether or not Dahlia was pregnant? Wouldn’t she have the intimacy with her employer to know or ask outright? Why wouldn’t James know? Was that what James had directed Matty to ask his own wife? Why, why why? Something was missing in his information that would explain all these things, if only he could uncover it.

  Chapter 76

  Dahlia was soaking in a hot bath scented with lavender oil that Matty had drawn for her. She could see the snow falling outside the windows until they started to fog up with the heat in the room.

  “Oh, that feels heavenly, Matty. Thank you.”

  “How does that knee feel? I noticed you were favoring it earlier.”

  “It predicts the snow now, I’m afraid. Quite accurately, I might add.”

  Matty smiled. “No doubt that will go away with time.”

  “Hmmm,” was Dahlia’s only reply as she laid her head against the towel laid over the edge of the porcelain tub and closed her eyes.

  Matty took the opportunity to scrutinize her midriff. Not a smidgen of a bulge. “All your other aches subsiding as well?”

  “Uh huh.”

  “And have your courses returned?”

  “Uh huh.”

  “Oh, good. I hadn’t noticed.”

  Dahlia opened her eyes quickly, catching the look of extreme relief on Matty’s face. After a moment, Dahlia put two and two together. “You thought I might be pregnant!”

  Matty tried to look nonplussed. “Aye, well, I’ve known many a baby to be born nine months to the day of a wedding. ‘Twas possible, and I haven’t brought you your things since we arrived.”

  “No,” Dahlia said slowly. “The first time was the week when you were sick. Grace helped me then since I was still abed. Then, you were on your honeymoon.”

  Matty felt silly. Of course! Why had she not just asked s
ooner? James would want to know right away. “I’ll leave you for a bit of privacy, Miss Dahlia. I won’t be long. Don’t try to get out before I get back. I don’t want you to fall should that knee give you trouble.”

  Dahlia watched her go, feeling Matty was distinctly eager to leave.

  Eager she was. She went in search of James straight away and found him holding two pipes together while Trevor slathered their connection with a tar-like substance. Both men looked up as she approached.

  “Hello, love,” greeted Trevor. “Regretting shooing me away earlier, are ye?”

  Matty blushed, but said firmly. “Not at all. I’ve come with a message for James.”

  James looked at her and she inclined her head towards the door. “Just a moment,” he said as they finished sealing the pipe. Then, they both stepped out of the room while Trevor watched them go, holding the tar spatula in mid-air. He was about to step closer to the door to listen in on their exchange when James came back in, smiling broadly.

  “Short message that was,” he commented.

  “Yes, but good news,” was all he said. Trevor noted he seemed much happier and relaxed than before his wife’s visit. Whatever Matty had to say to James – but couldn’t say in front of him – must have to do with Dahlia. He’d have to work especially hard tonight to get it out of her.

  James finished up with Trevor and went upstairs to get cleaned up for dinner. The room was empty when he entered, so he headed straight for the washcloset. The door was halfway open and he saw Dahlia stand up in the tub with her back to him. He was stunned as he saw her naked body, wet and glistening from the oiled water. Its slender shape was perfect, the skin flawless from the nape of her neck down to her calves. As his eyes trailed up her long back, he looked past her to the mirror on the opposite wall to gaze on the image of her torso reflected there. The vision of her was blocked as Matty swung a robe around her shoulders and helped her out of the tub. Dahlia turned around, tying the robe’s sash around her waist. She looked up and her eyes met his. At first she looked surprised to see him, but not upset to find him there. She walked towards him, opening the door.

  “Good evening, James.”

  “Good evening, Dahlia.”

  She looked at his work clothes, smudged with a thick, black substance. “I’m finished in here, if you need to…”

  He looked down at his shirt and laughed. “Yes, I do. Thank you.”

  She smiled and stepped aside. Matty came out of the wash room and followed her into the dressing room. James went in and shut the door. He gripped the sides of the sink, the image of Dahlia in his mind affecting his body. He splashed cold water on his face, then considered splashing it lower on his anatomy.

  James escorted Dahlia down to dinner. Every time he turned to look at her, however, he saw the image of her in the mirror instead of the beautifully-dressed woman beside him. It was distracting to say the least, and Dahlia got the distinct impression he wasn’t listening to her at all. By the time dinner was over, she was highly irritated and went upstairs as the family moved from the dining room to the great room. As everyone got seated, James looked around to find Dahlia gone. While his first instinct was to go and find her, he quickly decided it would be best not to. He did not dare go up to their room, and knew he would not get any sleep lying next to her in the same bed without reaching out to touch her.

  When the entertainment ended for the night, he went past the main staircase and headed for his office. He stepped softly as he went past the servants’ quarters, wanting to evade Mary as much as he wanted to avoid Dahlia. He arrived at his office and closed the door quietly behind him. He went to the cupboard and poured himself a hearty glass of whiskey. Then, he settled himself in the big armchair, bottle and glass in hand, and downed the drink. He could feel the heat of the alcohol as it went down his throat and warmed his stomach. He closed his eyes, trying not to think of Dahlia. The second glass of whiskey only heightened his memory of Dahlia’s body shimmering as she stood in the bathtub and his need to touch that body. The third drink he took directly from the bottle.

  He slept fitfully, dreaming of reaching out to touch the pale skin, but it always remained just beyond the length of his arms. He was determined to feel the softness, the warmth of that skin but the constant failure to grasp it tired his arms and his resolve. The minute he stopped trying, however, he felt tender skin in his hands. He ran his fingertips over the expanse of flesh and heard its owner gasp with pleasure. Dahlia had come to him, finally and mercifully. She had no inhibitions, no fears. She climbed into his lap and he made love to her at last.

  James stirred before dawn, a crick in his neck due to the unnatural position in which his head lay against the back of the armchair. He moved it back to center and felt a tickle on his nose. Hair. He smiled, remembering Dahlia coming to him in the night. He kissed her forehead, feeling her hair on his face and the weight of her head on his shoulder. Enjoying the feeling, he sat there a while longer with his eyes closed, holding the body in his lap closely.

  Soon the weak winter sunlight crept into the office. James blinked a few times, then looked down at the sleeping figure on top of him. Dark brown hair had replaced the auburn of which he dreamed. It was not Dahlia to whom he had made love, it was Mary.

  -----

  “She’s in France?”

  “Yes. Her last letter to you arrived the week of your wedding. You read passages from it to us at dinner one night. Something about her cook missing his family and rather than lose him, she would accompany him to France while he visited them,” Matty explained.

  “So Miss McElroy does not know about…everything.”

  “No, Miss. How could she?”

  Dahlia was at the desk in her room, pen in hand to start a letter to the boisterous singer. She did not know where to begin. “Did she say how long she would be there?”

  Matty thought back, shaking her head. “No, but I do remember her asking if you’d be coming to London for the Valentines’ Day Ball. Surely that meant she’d be back in the next few weeks.”

  “Oh,” Dahlia said, thinking back to last year when she and Lady Sweet and Matty had all had such a wonderful time together. It seemed like a hundred years ago. So much had changed. “I’d best write and tell her I will not be there.”

  “Aye. She’s Scottish, isn’t she? Maybe she would come and visit you here in the spring.”

  “Yes,” Dahlia said, brightening. “Perhaps she would.”

  She spent the remainder of the afternoon writing a narrative of all the events about which her friend was ignorant. She smiled thinking about the exclamations Miss McElroy would spew upon reading each revelation: her marriage, her accident, and her move to the little hamlet of Tarbet in the Highlands. The letter was pages long by the time Dahlia affixed her seal to them. She held the letter and marveled at its thickness given everything she had to tell, while thinking it would be twice the size if she had also written everything she concealed.

  When she gave it to Dristan, the butler handed her two letters in return. Curiously, they were both from her father, but one was addressed to her and one to James. She wondered what he could want to communicate to him that he could not include in her own letter.

  Dahlia went in search of her husband, but could not find him. She found Anna in one of the drawing rooms with several of the other women. She was persuaded to stay with them for a time, and took up a seat beside the fire to read her letter. It contained warm wishes that she had passed the Christmas holidays as happy as any in her life, and a remembrance of her forthcoming birthday. He gave an account of everyone at Talbot Hall, and Dahlia was pleased that everyone was well. Michael had started an apprenticeship with Dr. Chase in preparation for his medical studies. Dahlia smiled; that was a fitting profession for her bookworm brother who retained everything he read as she retained the music she heard. Her father passed on news from Mark, who was content with his life in the Army, and Leland, now in his second year of his ecclesiastical studies. The Roma were
making their Southerly winter progression and claimed the twins were “growing like weeds” according to Steven’s letters. Squire Talbot indicated that her new address had been circulated to all the family and that she should soon be hearing from them directly. She certainly hoped they would write, eager for news from her life “before the accident.”

  Dahlia shared tidbits of her letter with Anna and the others, which prompted them to share stories and news of their own families. It was several hours later before Dahlia continued her search for James to give him the other letter from her father. She went to his office, thinking to find him there, but when she arrived, the room was empty – completely empty. All the furniture, papers, and other implements of his renovations were gone. At first she thought she had the wrong room. Confused, she left the little room and went upstairs.

  Once in her bedroom, Dahlia was going to put the letter for James on the desk, but heard voices from the direction of the sitting room. As she walked in, she ascertained the voices were coming from Matty’s room. The door from the sitting room to the maid’s room was ajar and she pushed it open, peering around it. Gone were Matty’s bed and armoire, replaced by all the items she had remembered seeing in James’ office. Trevor, Matty and her husband were organizing the new arrangements.

  “What’s all this?” she asked to no one in particular.