Henry & Sarah

by Kadrak, Suzanne

  After the incident with the flower, Sarah remained quiet but looked at Henry expectantly, holding her pencil in a way that indicated that she was ready to write something if he wanted her to.

  “Queen Victoria became the empress of India.” Henry took the chalk and wrote the word ʻcoloniesʼ on the board.

  “I suppose that there isnʼt any point in asking you if you know the names of all the other countries that are colonies of Britain—or is there?”

  Henry stopped in between writing, risking a glance at Sarah. But she just sat motionless, her mouth sealed.

  “...Obviously there isnʼt; just as I guessed,” Henry mumbled slightly irritated before he raised his voice again. “So maybe you would at least be so kind to write the names of the colonies down in your book after I have written them on the board and then learn them by heart until Friday.”

  Sarah didnʼt appear too happy about the fact that Henry had given her some homework, judging by the face she pulled. But Henry called himself lucky that at least she had stopped making his life harder than it already was.

  Apart from that, she wrote everything down what he said. Her writing wasnʼt exactly neat and tidy as Henry noticed when he stepped behind her and risked a glance over her shoulder. But he found that as long as it was legible, he better be content with it. At least she was writing. Still, he clearly saw that she did it all without any emotion and without any interest in what he had said whatsoever. He was almost certain that by the time they met again, she would have memorized none of the names, and he would have to start all over again. Other than that, she still didnʼt say a word, which complicated everything. He guessed that beginning the lesson with the topic of imperialism had probably been the wrong choice. After all, it was Lord Partridgeʼs most cherished topic, and if Sarah wanted to rebel against everything anyway, this surely was her favorite subject to sabotage.

  The hours wore away with unbearable slowness, with Henry doing the talking and Sarah taking the part of the mute and absent-minded listener. It was frustrating. He was glad, though, that she didnʼt throw a tantrum, and at least made an effort of some sort.

  On the stroke of twelve, Sarah grabbed her things and hastened out of the room.

  “Please learn the names of the colonies, Miss Sarah!” Henry called after her.

  But she was already gone.

  * * *

  Henry spent the sunny afternoon strolling aimlessly through the garden. Before that, he had visited Thelma in the kitchen. It actually wasnʼt really seen as appropriate that a man of his ranking, which was way above the staff, spent more time with the servants than necessary. But he had taken a real liking to Thelma and her Irish accent—and to her sandwiches. And she seemed to enjoy having him around as well. She still held a grudge against Sarah, however, because the girl had thrown dung on top of her head—and not just once, as it seemed.

  “Miss Sarah has been quite nice to us, though. Isnʼt that right, Heather?” Ada said as she was doing the washing-up.

  Heather nodded in agreement and took the cleaned plates and cups which Ada handed her in order to dry them with a dishcloth.

  “When she got gifts from her admirers, such as chocolates, she would come down and give them to us,” she said, her eyes sparkling at the thought of the delicacies. “Unfortunately, there arenʼt any admirers anymore…”

  “No, not since Damian turned up...” Heather moaned. “And he doesnʼt bring any chocolates, just jewelry—necklaces, bracelets and the likes.”

  “Not that I couldnʼt do with some of that as well!” Ada blurted out. And they all laughed merrily, despite the fact that—unless something truly miraculous happened—they would probably never wear jewelry as long as they lived.

  Henry was watching them for a while as they were going after their tasks, then he left and decided to go for a walk. On his way he ran into Jeremy, who was busy chopping wood with an axe. The stable boy cast him a quick and indifferent glance that didnʼt really appear like an invitation for a conversation and then concentrated on his work again.

  The garden was full of birches and willow trees and much bigger than Henry had imagined. It took him quite a while until he had reached the cast-iron fence that surrounded it and one of the many gates leading out of it. When he had left the garden and had walked for few minutes, he arrived at a vast cornfield, larded with bright red poppies, the panicles gently swaying in the breeze. From here Henry could see the forest that bordered the mansion and, in the distance, the rooftops of the houses of some nearby hamlet. He kept walking, following a trail next to the cornfield, letting his gaze wander over the vast meadows which seemed to stretch on infinitely.

  Suddenly, he heard the sound of hooves. He spun round and saw a beautiful white stallion galloping across the fields at breakneck pace.

  Henry had always liked horses, their grandeur, their kindness, and their grace as they moved. The white stallion was particulary beautiful and, as Henry guessed, of a special breed. In this moment, however, he was more taken with the sight of the person sitting on it.

  It was Sarah. And although she appeared incredibly tiny and fragile in comparison to the big animal, she was riding it with amazing force. She didnʼt ride side-saddle as it was common for ladies. Instead, she was wearing trousers and rode the horse effortlessly and spread-legged like a man.

  Henry was watching her for a while when, all of a sudden, he saw her spinning her head and looking over to him. He began to feel slightly uncomfortable, worrying that he would come across as someone who was secretly watching her, just like on the day before when she had caught him peering out of the window after the dung incident. But there was also something else he worried about; namely, that he wouldnʼt know what to say to her in case she approached him. After all, he found it quite silly to do all the talking, whereas the conversation partner didnʼt utter a single word.

  Sarah slowed down her horse, made it turn, and rode right into his direction. For a moment, Henry considered walking back to the mansion in order to avoid any awkward silences, or even a possible verbal confrontation, just in case Sarah came up with the idea to finally talk to him and maybe vent some of her irrational anger that she might have felt towards him. But then he decided to bravely wait for her to arrive. He wouldnʼt let a little girl intimidate him; and whatever she had to say, he would face it like a man.

  The closer Sarah came, however, the less Henry believed that she wanted to talk. And judging by her piercing gaze and the speed with which she was coming closer, Henry gathered that she had no intention to stop either. Instead, she was galloping directly towards him, quickly approaching the very spot where he was standing.

  Becoming slightly nervous, Henry hoped that she would finally change her course, but right now it looked as if she would simply run him over.

  Henry held his breath.

  Sarah was only a few yards away from him now, smirking at him boldly. Henry ever so quickly jumped aside, almost tumbling and ending up in a blackberry bush, when all of a sudden Sarah pulled the horse around and by doing so made it ride past him.

  Henry felt his heart racing in his chest.

  This woman is completely insane, he thought, staring after Sarah as she disappeared in the distance, her gloating laughter filling the air.

  Henry shook his head in disbelief and confusion. Then he made his way back to the mansion.

  * * *

  When Sarah arrived at the mansion, she dismounted the horse and let Jeremy lead it over to the stable.

  Riding always left her feeling pleasantly thrilled. It helped her get rid of all the tension that had built up inside of her during the day, allowing her to forget her sadness and misery, and if it was only for a couple of hours.

  She went inside and hastened up to her room where she washed herself at the basin in the corner and changed into other clothes. Then she sat down on the bed and began to write in her diary.

  Went for my usual ride and ran into my new tutor as he was going for a walk out in the fields. I
t was hilarious to see the bewilderment on his face when I was galloping towards him. I just wanted to give him a little fright. Nothing more.

  But now I almost feel sorry for having done so. For some reason, teasing him does not really give me satisfaction. I do not think he has deserved that kind of treatment as he was actually rather nice to me today.

  He seems so incredibly different from his predecessors. I still have vivid memories of that governess Sophie, who would hit my hands with the cane whenever I gave a wrong answer during lesson. And then there was old Mr. Witherby, whose eyes had been glued to my bosom all the time. Horatio would not believe me when I told him. He said I was imagining things and that Mr. Witherby would never do anything as outrageous as that because he was a highly honorable man with a university degree. Apart from that, Horatio said that it would serve me right to be hit with the cane.

  Compared to the other tutors and governesses, Mr. Abbott does not come across as very strict. And he smells nice. I noticed it when he stood behind me today, peering over my shoulder and watching me write.

  Still, lessons were boring—as they usually are...

  Have I mentioned that he has blue eyes? I just happened to notice it. Not that I cared.

  When Sarah went to bed that night, she had long forgotten about the riding incident. She closed her eyes, not thinking about anything in particular, and fell asleep.

  Soon, she found herself in a dream. And in that dream she was standing in the middle of a lavishly decorated ballroom, surrounded by many elegantly dressed people—barons, lords, counts, officers, their wives, daughters, and sons—all busy dancing and conversing with each other.

  Sarah immediately knew where she was: at the stiff birthday celebration of a certain Baron Copperwood where she and her family had been invited to a couple of weeks ago.

  But in her dream she wasnʼt dancing with Baron Copperwoodʼs pimply son Wilbour as she had been doing back then. And she wasnʼt having a shallow conversation with Wilbourʼs arrogant and silly cousins Elizabeth and Alicia, who had been boasting all evening about the numerous wealthy men they had already exchanged words with, hoping that one or the other would marry them.

  In Sarahʼs dream she was alone, standing in the center of the merry crowd, feeling terribly lost. It was in moments like these that she longed for her mother to be with her. She would have soothed her, would have smiled at her and told her that she looked pretty and that everything was fine.

  But instead, she had to put up with Priscilla, her aunt, who was standing in a corner of the banquet hall, her soulless eyes watching Sarahʼs every move, as if she was afraid that Sarah could commit a terrible faux pas. Sarah could sense Priscillaʼs nervousness and hardly dared to breathe for fear to make a mistake; and she had made many mistakes in the past, inadvertently and not on purpose, just because she had not known it any better. She guessed that the safest thing to do was to not do anything at all and just to be as rigid and stiff and strained as everyone else around.

  No one could claim that Sarah had not attempted hard to fit in. But no matter how much she had strived to achieve this goal, she always had horribly failed for the simple reason that she was a merry, energetic, adventurous, loud and passionate girl; in other words, not normal in the eyes of all the people she saw herself surrounded with day by day. After all, women—particularly the ones moving in society circles—were generally humble and reserved. They spoke softly or in hushed voices and knew how to make a good impression; they didnʼt act disrespectful towards their spouses, and generally said ʻyesʼ to everything; they didnʼt sing or laugh loudly when they were truly happy; they didnʼt run up and down the stairs when they felt an energy rush running through their bodies which needed to be released; and they most definitely didnʼt climb on trees in order to find out if one could see Italy from up there.

  The air was getting scruffy and thin in the ballroom. Sarah felt in desperate need of leaving, felt like going outside in order to find a quiet place where she could loosen her bodice a little as she could hardly breathe. But as she was looking around the room in search of a way out, she noticed to her surprise that there werenʼt any doors at all.

  She approached two gentlemen, who were talking animatedly to each other, and asked them where the doors were, but the two men just stared at her as if she was downright insane. So Sarah quickly ran over to the Baronʼs wife and asked her where she could find a way out.

  “What would you need a way out for?” the woman asked, a blank look on her face. “Nobody else but you wants to get out. Pull yourself together, girl. This is your life. And that is it.”

  The Baronʼs wife turned away from Sarah again, leaving her devastated.

  Suddenly Sarah remembered the windows.

  She was a good climber, and although she was wearing a dress, she was certain that she would manage to escape through the window!

  Just that there werenʼt any windows either.

  Sarah panicked. Her heart was racing in her chest and she started to sweat. The air in the room seemed to get even thinner and very hot. She tugged at her bodice, but it seemed to her as if it was wrapping itself ever so tightly around her waist, like a snake trying to gradually strangle her. Everything began to spin around her, and the music suddenly sounded awfully loud and wrong, as if the musicians of the orchestra were all drunk and unable to play a proper tone.

  Sarah began to weep.

  It was then that she suddenly she felt someoneʼs fingers gently touching her arm. She whirled around and saw to her surprise that it was her new tutor.

  “Mr. Abbott, what are you doing here...?” she asked, puzzled by his unexpected appearance.

  “You forgot your books when you rushed out of the classroom today. I have come to return them to you so that you can do your homework,” he said calmly, a soft smile playing over his lips.

  Slightly puzzled, Sarah took the books which he handed her, not knowing where to put them right now; after all, they were at a birthday celebration, and apart from that, she had completely other things on her mind: She wanted to get out in order not to suffocate in the heat that was gradually building up around her as if the room had gone up in flames.

  “There arenʼt any doors. How did you get in?” she asked Henry Abbott.

  “You let me in,” her teacher explained. “You have opened the door to your heart.”

  Sarah frowned.

  “I have no recollection of this at all...”

  “It is because you have not noticed it yet yourself,” Henry Abbott whispered. “I will make you notice...”

  Then he placed his hand on her cheek, bent down and kissed her.

  Sarah gasped with surprise. Her first thought was that she should be outraged and that she should give that man, who dared to get so close to her without asking, a slap round the face. But his lips were so soft and his kiss so tender that she neither managed to be seriously outraged nor to physically hurt him. Quite to the contrary, she gave in to him, and gradually her emotions began to overwhelm her when Henry Abbott put his arms around her and let his hands slowly run up and down her back, making her feel tingly all over.

  Suddenly, Sarah woke to the sound of the wind playing with the shutters. Confused, she looked about the room in an attempt to figure out where she was. When she realized that she was at home in her bed, she let out a sigh and nestled her head back into the pillow, trying to find some sleep again.

  But sleep just wouldnʼt come, because her heart was still racing with excitement, and her cheeks were still glowing at the memory of Henry Abbottʼs lips on hers.

  Chapter 3 – Broken China

  When Henry entered the classroom the next morning, his mind was still filled with the memory of Sarahʼs little performance of some fierce demon child, ready to run him over with her horse. Most women he knew and had known were shy and servile creatures. Never had Henry encountered a girl his age or younger who was as powerful and ferocious as Sarah. Deep inside, he had to admit that this trait about her, this fascinating
combination of rebellion and beauty, somehow appealed to him.

  The more astonished and slightly disappointed was he when Sarah arrived, as it seemed that she had completely changed. There was nothing left of the cheekiness and self-confidence she had displayed the day before. Instead, she appeared exceptionally shy and self-conscious. Not only did she refrain from speaking to Henry, she also avoided his glances. For some reason unknown to him, she was unable to look him in the eyes without blushing up to a degree that made him wonder if he had said or done anything that might have made her feel ashamed. But he couldnʼt recall anything in particular, apart from discretely approaching her the previous evening before dinner and whispering into her to ear, “Never do that again.” He had, of course, been referring to the riding incident in the afternoon. Still, he couldnʼt imagine that this was the reason for her strange behavior this morning. After all, she had not been that timid at all the night before when—in reply to his remark—she had smiled at him sweetly like a little angel and had claimed with the softest and most innocent voice that she didnʼt know what he was talking about.