The Gaslight Journal
Carla René
Published by GlitterCat Studios, Smashwords Edition
Copyright (c) 2010 Carla René
THE GASLIGHT JOURNAL
by
Carla René
The Gaslight Journal copyright © 2010 Carla René
Cover art copyright © 2010 Carla René
“Secrets” by Carla René. Copyright © 2010
“A Sleep To Startle Us” by Carla René. Copyright © 2010
All rights reserved.
This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are either products of the author's imagination or used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental. All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, without permission in writing from its author, Carla René. Thank-you for respecting the hard work of this author.
A Sleep To Startle Us--Bonus Short-Story
I was late in coming to Jane Austen. My first exposure to her was after I was well into my thirties by way of NPT. One night while flipping through channels, I noticed a mini-series called Pride & Prejudice, and after watching for only a few moments, I was hooked--I had to have more.
It wasn't long until I was checking out this Jane Austen person's books from our library and scanning channel guides for re-runs of this riveting story (of course, a healthy crush on Colin Firth and his Mr. Darcy didn't hurt). Then Sense & Sensibility premiered with Emma Thompson and Kate Winslet. I was in heaven.
I can't really say where my love of all things Victorian began, except to possibly acknowledge it began with that first exposure to Austen. I felt there was so little quality entertainment already, so naturally I gravitated towards her and her stories. Then I discovered Portrait of a Lady by Henry James, House of Mirth by Edith Wharton, and my old holiday favourite, A Christmas Carol by Charles Dickens.
The period dress, the mannerisms, the language, all captivated me, but especially the idea of class systems and societal standing being the end-all of the upper echelon spurred my fascination.
This book has been a struggle--I will not lie. I began writing it in 2000 with a simple line that flew into my head one winter night: The snow crunched mercilessly beneath her boots. So it's not Hemingway. But I suddenly began to see a movie unfolding of this long-haired woman, fighting to retain her honour and dedication to her family, while wanting to be true to herself, in spite of what society said should be her proper behaviour.
Then due to an illness, I had to stop writing. During that time, my confidence waned and I wasn't certain I would ever see this book to its fruition.
At the end of 2008 when we began to feel the effects of the recession, I lost my home and both part-time jobs. For the next eighteen months, I was forced to live in my car with my cats, find comfort on benevolent friends' sofas, and reside in a boarding house temporarily. There were some nights I was convinced I wouldn't make it, and those had to be the darkest days of my life.
But at the end of June 2010, I found a rental situation with a wonderful lady, and a week after settling in the cats and myself, with no internet or distractions, I began again to work on Gaslight. Within three days' time, I was working non-stop, forcing myself to do at least 2,500 words each day. And by mid-September, I had finally finished the book I never thought I'd see.
This is just a story from an adult girl's imagination of how I wish things were. This has been a true labour of love, and I am ecstatic to be able to bring it to you now. I hope you will enjoy it more than I enjoyed writing it.
Thank-you for your support.
Carla René
November, 2010
For my parents, who support me beyond anything I could hope; for my specific friends around the globe, Alaric McDermott, Barry Aitchison, Steve Warburton, and John Pyka, who stood by me, cheered me on and weren't afraid to kick my butt when I needed it; the members of AFO (you know who you are), my online writing group who stayed with me through each draft, offering patient critique only in the hopes of making me a better writer, for Mike Norrell (Captain Stanley of Emergency!) who first gave me advice and was the main reason I saw publication, for Robert W. Walker, my funny and strange friend who has encouraged me even when I didn't believe in myself, and to my Lord and Saviour, Jesus Christ, for making me the eccentric, witty, very flawed and strong woman I am today.
THE GASLIGHT JOURNAL
You Can't Go Home Again (Chapter One)
Without being attentive to where she was walking, Isabella Audley, having collided with something solid, soon found herself lying in the snow with the wind properly knocked out of her, wholly unaware of what it was that had blocked her path.
She lay for a moment, stunned. I hope no one is looking.
"Help you up, miss?"
A man stood beside her with his hand proffered, a group of men his approximate age just behind.
Miss Audley, being a lady of privilege and the human condition--never a good combination for one with her own mind--fought the urge to be proper, although, she knew well, that being suitable was indeed what had always been expected of her. This divergence, however, seemed to inevitably be her own undoing, much to the chagrin of her poor mother.
"Did you lose your eyesight in a horrible accident?" she asked, fully realizing that divergence had won out, yet again. Finding her reticule, she made her way to her feet. In spite of her ire, she was not foolish enough to pass up a gentleman's hand, even if he needed a good lecture from a chapter in Our Deportment.
"Sorry, miss, I truly did not see you," said the man. A low ripple of chuckles emanated from the group.
As she brushed the snow from her skirts, she was aware of crimson heat creeping into her cheeks.
"If you had any sense of decency, you would be ashamed right now."
The man deigned not make any reply, but unable to contain himself, said, "I suppose, the same could be said of you, miss." He then tipped his hat to her in an exaggerated fashion. But when he saw her anger, however, knew an apology was in order. "I should have been more careful. In fact, as a group of gentlemen always on the hunt for a beautiful maiden, we offer our most sincere apologies."
The men murmured agreements while tipping their hats to Isabella.
She stared at the lot of them, but considered the man in front of her. He was quite comely and tall, with mounds of thick hair. His clothing tailored, his mannerisms suggested a man of fine breeding; a Gentleman. She smiled, for he seemed quite familiar, and yet, she was finding great trouble in placing from where. “I will leave the judgment of the term gentlemen for the higher courts, as it is a most questionable modifier, but I accept your apology."
The handsome man smiled in return. Against his better judgment, he allowed his eyes to boldly engage hers. This act, alone, would be cause enough for much speculation. And yet, having full knowledge of the possible consequences, found he was unable to resist the urge.
"Good day to you, miss; we needs be on our way. And Merry Christmas to you," and with that, the men moved to exit.
"Just a moment," she said.
The group waited.
"Do we not know each other?"
The man, obviously taken aback, was having visible difficulty in hiding his anxiety at the question. "Uh, no miss, I do not believe we do."
And before Isabella could form a proper response, they took their leave of her.
Upon gathering her things, she continued. The snow crunched beneath her high-heeled boots, making proceeding difficult at best. She had decided to leave off the patens, hoping to make better time. Blast the damp boots, and she had arrived at her decision. Today, she found the weather was revealing itself to indeed, serve as a new way to meet eligible bachelors.
But she had not a care in the world of it and retreated from the image of the dark-haired man, familiar as he was, vowing to think the matter out when she could avail herself of more time to give it proper attention.
It was five days into December and her spirits were high. She had not seen her mother since spring, when Lilly Audley traveled on a rare visit to Radcliffe. It was here that 'Izzy', as she was known to her friends, had enrolled in a curriculum in English Literature, and in doing so, honored the memory of her father. Lilly had remained for the full week of spring hiatus, and Isabella could not have been happier. Their small family suffered terribly since, only a week before Izzy was to depart, Sir John had died of complications from pneumonia.
So while she felt great joy at the thought of seeing her mother again, this would be the first Christmas that Izzy had been home since his death, and she was determined in her heart to make this as special for her mother as best she could, knowing all too well that it could be a near to impossible task.
In fact, it was her desire to make her mother’s holiday special that had made her so late. The line in Mrs. Jenkins's millinery was longer than she had anticipated, but once she saw the Burgundy velvet hat with the pale roses in the window, she knew this had to be Mother's special Christmas present. It was one of those gifts that her mother would never be caught buying for herself, which made it all the sweeter to Izzy as she laid out the bills. She gained pleasure from trying to picture the bliss on her mother's face as she opened the most unexpected present.
"May I gift wrap that for you, miss?" came the question that jolted Izzy out of her fantasy.
"Pardon me?"
"I would be happy to gift wrap this for you if you wish. Some beautiful new papers have just arrived that I think you will like."
"Oh yes, that would be lovely. And please make sure to add a nice gold ribbon. Mother does love gold during this time of year," she said.
"Fine. I will return straight away with your gift," and the saleslady disappeared behind the velvet curtain into the back room.
While waiting, Izzy decided to further inspect the spectacular stock of opulent hats. Each time she ran her fingers over the long pieces of silk that hung draped from the back of the brims, she was reminded of the times that she came here as a small girl with her mother. Being the only child also meant that it did not take much convincing to Mother that little girls were always in need of new hats. Hats were just as important to a woman of gentility as the proper slippers and gloves. Unashamedly, Mother loved indulging in the purchase of both. She smiled at how musty show rooms and snippets of tulle could evoke such rich memories. An exquisite green hat then caught her eye, but a voice from behind startled her.
"Good afternoon."
"Is it me to whom you are addressing?" Izzy said as she turned.
"Yes. Do forgive me, but are you the Audley girl?" said a huge woman standing an aisle over.
Izzy did not recognize her, but apparently the lady with the blazing red hair in the peacock blue walking outfit knew her. For a moment, Izzy had to analyze what she was seeing to make sure that all of that behind, was indeed bustle. She stifled the urge to laugh.
"May I ask who wants to know?" said Izzy, with a bit of the bluntness on which she prided herself.
"Oh dear me, yes, you certainly may. I am Mrs. Arthur Tinsdale, of the New York City Tinsdales. We moved here to Fairtown just about a year after you left for Harvard. My husband secured a professorship at the college, and I met your mother in church one day. We literally bumped into each other, laughed, struck up a conversation, and discovered that we both had an insatiable love for gardening. It was then that she informed me of her gardening club, and so I joined. We belonged to that club for the longest time."
The woman seemed to speak so quickly it was all Izzy could do in her exhausted state to keep up. One thing Izzy did notice, was that the 'peacock lady' had used the word "belonged" in the past tense when speaking of the club. How could that be, when Mother would never quit that club, short of hay fever or the second coming? When the woman finally paused to take a breath, Izzy saw her chance.
"What do you mean, belonged?"
The question caught the woman by surprise, and she said with sincere sympathy, "Oh dear, I do hope I have not been speaking out of turn. I just assumed that you knew."
Izzy felt her face creep crimson again and her heart flipped in her chest. She just knew that she could not listen to this woman's inane ramblings any longer. Without a proper dinner in her stomach, she did not possess the strength to attempt to set this woman's syntax in proper order, but yet her curiosity proved to be too strong. Just as she found words to press for further details, a short man with a moustache and cherry walking stick called to Mrs. Tinsdale from the door, and she excused herself, slipping out the shop as mysteriously as she appeared.
As she did so, the sales clerk returned with Izzy’s wrapped package. She thanked her and made her way into the cool night air, hoping to catch the Tinsdales, but as the shop door closed behind her, she caught only the hem of a peacock blue walking gown as it entered an awaiting carriage.
Noticing nightfall now, she did her best to put her disappointment and the scary blue woman out of her mind by pulling it back to the present. As she stopped to glance behind her once more before rounding the last corner of town, she drank it all in; the way the air tasted like ice; the warm glow surrounding each lamp. She promised to fully enjoy it another night. Her mother knew she would be arriving and had Izzy not chosen to give leave to Charles, her footman, so to indulge in the brisk evening air, she might have arrived before dark. She had no intentions of being so encumbered with a steamer trunk, so she left it at the station and made arrangements for a porter to deliver it at a later time.
Each time on her walks home, she would play a game with herself, imagining the people settling in for the evening in their Queen Annes with the amber glow from the lace-paneled windows. Were they stoking and banking fires for long, cold nights that lay ahead? Were there smells of imported spices, herbed breads, plum puddings soaked in brandy, and warm cinnamon scones coming from the kitchens? Were little girls already in their dressing gowns, curled up under their favorite quilts with the family tabby next to them trying to steal their warmth?
Mr. Puss! She had nearly forgotten him. He was the one family member who understood a good nap. He had been hers since childhood, and she was now fast approaching twenty-four.
Remorse crept in at that thought, and ruined her anticipation of seeing him again. Why, she should have been married by now. Everyone expected her to receive many offers at her coming out party, but it did not happen. So, all of Mother's society matrons decided that the next logical place for it to happen would be University. Is that not the sole reason women of her stature and advanced age go to college? This situation, too, unfolded in a different manner than expected, so what was she expected to do? Stop listening to the matrons. She laughed at the thought of the group being at Mother's one afternoon for one of their weekly teas, when she informed them of her impending doom. She was almost certain that at least three would pass out from shock and need medical attention.
"Perhaps I should carry oxygen therapy with me to save time."
The lights had begun to thin out now as Izzy continued on in the tree-lined streets. She also noticed that tonight there was not much traffic. So in the quiet, she settled into a soothing rhythm with the click of her heels and the beating of her heart, which she noted was unusually loud and rather fast for the medium pace that she kept. Her palms were sweaty, her lips dry.
"This would not have anything to do with the pronouncement of the peacock lady in the millinery, would it?" she thought aloud. "Of course not you foolish girl. That is just the most preposterous thing you have said to yourself all evening, and there have been some wonders fallen from your lips. Why on Earth would there be anything wrong, and Mother not tell you? For Heaven's sake, you are all she has in the world now."
Yet all of the reassurance she could muster at this moment in time did nothing to stop her feet from picking up the pace a bit. Nor did it do anything to alleviate that ever growing lump of coal in the pit of her stomach.
She recognized her street, and realized she was just one block away, so she quickened her pace. Finally, she rounded the last corner and could not have been happier as her cherished childhood home came into view. She felt her heart leap at its site, but quickly stopped.
The family had always decorated Capriolé to extremes for Christmas. Mother and she made it a ritual to bathe every window of the Victorian in the flickering light of long, white tapers. But as she stood staring at the windows, they wore nothing but darkness. There was no hope of the season shining from within. There was only cold, stark nothingness that barely hinted at signs of life.
As she commanded her feet to follow her body and move forward, the closer to the house she went, the clearer she could make out details of the porch. She remembered how it used to proudly wear the scent of greenery over every pane, every doorway and baluster of the elaborate porch that encircled the house. But tonight, that very porch also stood in blackness, lacking not only the usual small lamp to light the way, but even a single holly sprig.
Had Mother simply decided to wait so they could decorate together, as a family should? Stepping onto the boards of the porch and taking time to briefly note their need for a fresh painting, she decided this must be the only logical explanation. Part of her wanted to believe this, yet that horrible peacock lady's face crept into her mind, and her hand shook all over again as she reached for the glass doorknob. Taking a deep breath, she resolved that no matter the situation, she would be adult and handle it in the manner in which she would have made Father proud. Pleased with her decision, she turned the knob and entered.
And So It Begins....(Chapter Two)
“Mother, I’m home!”
She was finding that curbing her anxiety in favor of her excitement was proving to be more difficult than she had anticipated, but forcibly settled. She removed her gloves and hat, and placed the bag with her mother’s gift and her reticule onto the hall tree, but carefully hidden from prying eyes with her neckscarf. She then surveyed her surroundings. “Some things never change,” she said. Noticing the silver salver and how it was empty of cards, she determined not to give her growing concern for it any weight. Mother has cleared them away, as Rachel surely would have called by now. Though the hallway was dim, all was familiar and comforting.
“Mother! Where are you hiding?”
“Bella! My Bella!” came the thick Indian dialect. “Oh, I so happy to see you.” The woman, emerging with outstretched arms and a glad heart, wrapped them both around a most pleased Isabella.
“Sharmi! Oh, what a kind greeting. You are well, yes?”
Sharmisthma Reddy, the Audley’s housekeeper, had been in their employ for twenty years, and had witnessed Isabella’s transformation from child to woman.
“Yes, miss, I quite well, thank-you. ‘s so good to see you. You Mama’s been very worried.”
“I think ‘worried’ might be a bit excessive,” Lilly Audley said, as she approached.
“Mother!” Izzy could not contain her joy as she slipped into Lilly’s waiting arms. She allowed their warmth to fill her, and for a long moment, neither woman moved. Izzy’s sensibilities seemed to only entertain the sound of her mother’s beating heart, and she felt child-like, protected, safe. At that minute, all of the day’s emotional uncertainties came to the fore and she felt her eyes begin to sting hot with tears. There, in the quiet of the entry hall, Isabella and Lilly Audley, for a suspended moment in time, grieved again for John; the man they would never stop missing.
After the flooding of tears had subsided and Lilly saw that Izzy had control of her faculties, she released the grip on her daughter, pulled back, and with her finger cupped beneath her daughter’s chin, raised her face to meet her eyes.
Mrs. Reddy had stood silent during the encounter, and now her dark skin glistened under the glow of the gas lamps.
“Please avail yourself of my handkerchief and do not think another thing of it.”
With much sobriety, Izzy nodded and accepted, all while wondering how her mother could have possibly discerned her mood.
“I am clairvoyant,” Lilly said, and all three women laughed.
As they made their way to the breakfast room in the back of the house, Izzy noticed that Mrs. Reddy had lain a small meal of homemade bread, hard cheeses and sausages.
“You must be clairvoyant if you knew that I would be late, and that I would be famished.”
“Well, I do know that you are your father’s daughter and he could never arrive anywhere on time, and you are your mother’s daughter in that you love a good midnight snack.”
Izzy loved hearing the lyrical voice she had missed so. On days that she traveled, she always thirsted for adult conversation. The woman who occupied the seat across from her on the train, for lack of a less vulgar expression, was an unpleasant old crow, rambling on about her forty-five-year-old son who lived with her and could not find anything of substance to do but live on her twenty-thousand a year. Isabella was consistently amazed at how money, while it was a topic with which she was quite familiar, lacked the necessary element of import to hold her interest.
“I want you to sit down and allow me to serve you. Mrs. Reddy, you may go now.”
Sharmi nodded, and gave a slight bow before winking at Izzy. “We catch up tomorrow. G’night Mrs. Audley.”
Izzy was overcome with much fatigue and slid into the wooden chair. As Lilly set out a tall glass of cider, Izzy realized that perhaps Lilly had she missed taking care of someone. She had not been a mother herself yet, but Izzy realized that perhaps mothers have an inherent need to care for people. While she was fiercely independent, Izzy decided that for the length of her stay, she would be more than happy to humor her mother.
Lilly drew a chair adjacent to her daughter, and with much satisfaction, watched Izzy eat.
While Izzy had not thought of it before, it must have been at least sixteen hours since she had eaten last, and with the first bite of warm bread in her mouth, her stomach began screaming for more.
“It is so nice to have you home, muffin. No, do not say anything, you eat. We have plenty of time to talk after you have had a good night’s sleep.”
Izzy nodded as she took a sip of the cool cider. Oh the times in life when we are allowed, nay encouraged, to simply be sweet, youthful girls again!
It was at this instant, as if on cue, that the most horrendous ruckus was heard from a back room, slowly working its way down the hallway. For a second, Izzy thought maybe it was Elizabeth, her ladies’ maid. But after much ado, there was a sliding on the wooden floors as it rounded the doorway into the breakfast room, and right onto Izzy’s waiting lap.
“Puss! Mr. Puss! Oh my baby! Just let me look at you, sweetheart,” Izzy said, while fawning over the black and white short-haired cat.
He was very happy to see his mistress, and responded in kind with a purr so loud that he sounded as if there were two of him. So overjoyed to see her, was he, that he stopped rubbing her chin with his face and walked onto her shoulder. He perched himself at his usual lookout: The back of her neck.
She giggled, remembering all of those sweltering summers in the garden. She would be kneeling, tending to her delicate pansies and then let out a shriek as he would neatly land on her back, unannounced.
With Puss now firmly in his place, Izzy resumed eating, as she, too, was used to this routine.
“It is just so good to see you two together again,” Lilly said.
“I am so happy he is doing well. I wager he was wonderful company for you in this awfully large house by yourself.”
“Please, do not use slang, but yes. He has chosen me as his official play toy, and I have chosen him as my official shadow. The maids cannot even begin to get any sweeping done as he finds the broom just uproarious,” she said, as she began clearing some of the food.
Isabella laughed, then took another bite of sausage. “How is Marta by the way?”
Marta was their housemaid of ten years.
At this question, Lilly dropped a jar of eggs. Clearly, she had not been prepared to tackle this subject. At best, she thought tomorrow would be the soonest she would need to answer questions from her daughter, and did not have a rehearsed answer ready. She certainly did not feel like going into the story tonight, yet her daughter was very tenacious. Lilly knew that the gates had been opened and there would be no way to close them, save that of a full, sordid explanation which she decided she was not prepared to handle tonight.
So, drawing in a slow breath, she turned to her daughter. In a matter-of-factly manner, and with the least amount of concern, she began, “I have given her the month off to visit her family in Mexico. Her mother is not doing well and I thought it would be nice for her to see her family. In the meantime, either myself or Mrs. Reddy takes care of the housework. It is not that much, and at times, I rather enjoy it.” Lilly’s hand began to shake, but she hid it before Izzy had chance to notice.
As Izzy chewed the last of her food and stood with Mr. Puss, still perched warmly on her neck, she walked over to where Lilly stood with her soiled plates. She kissed her mother on the cheek, and said, “Oh, Mother. What a wonderfully thoughtful thing for you to do for Marta. You must be the most principled lady I know. And, while I am here, I will help you all that I possibly can, you know that, do you not?”
Lilly, choking back tears and trying to hide her face, now blood-red with shame, nodded. She made sure not to meet Izzy’s eyes, as they always had the power to find her out. And that would happen soon enough.
John would be so ashamed of me right now, but I will deal with that tomorrow.
Quickly pulling herself together, she said, “Miss, it is time we made way upstairs and got you into your own, proper bed. How does that sound to you?”
“Like heaven,” said Izzy.
“Well then, I will help you get your things. Do you have everything?
“Yes I do. Are you coming?”
“I am ready to go up as well. Shall we?” She was anxious to get Isabella out of the mind of suspiciousness and into bed for some much needed repose.
“Did you let the scullery maids have the month off as well?”
“Yes, I did. I could see no need for all of the help here with just myself. Now, enough with the questions.”
While this seemed, at first, to be a reasonable explanation to Izzy, still, and she had great difficulty in pinning down exactly why something was quite off about it. But she deemed herself much too exhausted at the present to untangle its intrigue.
As Lilly followed her daughter up the two flights of stairs, each with an end of the steamer trunk that had just been delivered while they were in the kitchen, Lilly Audley whispered a prayer asking God to forgive her for her falsehood. She only hoped that he would hear her, understand, and show her mercy.
Once at the top of the second flight, they set the trunk down for later retrieval and Lilly headed left to her chamber, with Izzy going in the opposite direction to hers.
Three years later, and Lilly had kept everything exactly as it had been, with some signs of minor cleaning. Izzy waltzed into the room and took note that the gaslights had been lit, as well as the bed made with the warmer inserted. Mr. Puss took his cue and jumped onto the antique quilt, sparing no time in getting himself into a comfortable position so as to begin the evening’s final bath. Izzy’s heart gladdened, as she had missed her old friend.
“Just one more semester, sweetie,” she said while scratching his chin, “and then we will be together for good.”
Her first impulse was to walk around the room, reacquainting herself with all of her treasures, but thought better of it and made way to the bureau to get a fresh night-gown. She changed in front of the fireplace, then went into her own private bath to wash her face, as well as brush her teeth.
With her mouth now full of baking soda, Lilly, not seeing Izzy right away, called into the bathroom, “Honey, do you have everything you need? I am going to retire.”
“Grrrrrrrrrgwumph.”
“Oh good, that is what I had hoped you would say.”
“No mother, wait! I was spitting!”
“Of course dear, that is exactly what you were doing,” Lilly teased.
Izzy walked over to her mother, flung both arms loosely around her neck and planted a kiss on her right cheek. Then on her way to the bed, said, “Mother, the room is absolutely inviting and I love it. Thank-you for the hard work you put into keeping it. We are both very eager to retire.”
“It looks as if you and Mr. Puss had no problem in taking up where you left off.”
She circled around the bed to where Izzy lie, already wrapped in her covers, and just like the doting mother she was, began to tuck her firmly into place.
“Mother, please stay for one of our talks,” Izzy said.
“No, dear, I am exhausted as I can see you are, also. Unless you have plans to leave me sooner than agreed upon, we have plenty of time. Now, you and your friend close your eyes, and dream sweet dreams. And if you need anything, you know where I am. Do you think you will feel like breakfast? I can wake you if so. Or, you can have the morning to sleep in, it is your choice.”
Izzy thought a moment while scratching Puss behind the ears.
“I am sure I will want breakfast, so whenever you get up will be fine.”
With a final kiss on the forehead, Lilly said, “I will inform Mrs. Reddy and Elizabeth to let you sleep. I will see you in the morning, then. I love you, little one.”
Lilly snuffed the gas lamp to the bed’s right, and in the room lit only by the glow of the fire, began making her way to the door. She stopped at the doorway. There in the silence, all she could hear was the crackling of the fire and the enormous purring of the friend who had not deserted the family like John had. Lilly brushed away a tear, and turned to go. As she pulled the door shut, she thought, Now that I have my family back together, I am not going to let them go.
Inside the darkened room, Izzy, lying in the nether world between wake and sleep, feeling Puss’s warmth beneath her fingers, began thinking of her family and of college, and how lucky she was to be able to get an education.
She whispered, “Puss? Just think. In four months I will be the first woman in our family to have a college degree, and I cannot wait. I simply cannot wait!”
With that last thought, she closed her exhausted, but happy eyes into the most pleasant dreams she had in a long while. Little did she know, that the coming days would change her life forever, and only if she were lucky would she ever dream sweet dreams again.
Across the hallway, behind her door, Lilly Audley lay alone in her own bed under a thread-bare quilt, with no firewood for heat, no gas for her lamps, and only her racking sobs for company.
Isabella's Angst (Chapter Three)
Gray dawn crept into Izzy’s peaceful room, gently disturbing its two fully intertwined inhabitants. Izzy lay still before opening her eyes, in that strange, ethereal world between reality and repose. It suddenly dawned on her that something was amiss. Why was there a warm lump beside her, and why were the dorms so quiet? Had there been a fire drill and they vacated the building without she being told, leaving her to die a horrible, fiery death?
No, that could not be; she was not sure in what condition her undergarments were, and Mother would be so horrified if she were found lacking in propriety. The thought of it made her bolt upright in bed, scaring poor Mr. Puss, who had taken up permanent residence near her right thigh. At his own disturbance, the jingle of his collar made Izzy aware of his presence, pulling her back to reality.
Finding herself safely in her own room with her “little man” planted firmly beside her, she reached for him to soothe his fear, cooing to him; more for her own benefit than his. Soon his purring gave her the “all clear” sign, and she laid gently back on her pillow, placing him squarely on her chest, which was also another favorite spot to nap. Petting him with joy, she thought to herself that there was definitely something to be said for “Creature Comforts”.
She took a moment to listen if Mother were up. Her query yielded only a serene silence, so she made a quick decision to return to sleep. A few more hours would not hurt anything, and it had been ages since she had to be awake for an eight o’clock class. Her mother did say she did not mind, so Izzy perceived no real harm. But not before she sneaked a quick peek at dawn’s blue serenity through the lace panels of her windows. Inching her way onto her elbows to even her face with the sill, her heart leapt at the sight of the freshly fallen snow. She marveled at how its blanket now appeared to dress the tiny town in its most superlative finery as easily as it wore its old money, which lent itself to the illusion that it be grand enough for the final act in a new play by Oscar Wilde.
She so loved these little peeks during the wee hours, and delighted in the feeling of discovering a secret to which no one else was privy. She remembered as a young girl, being awakened gently by Father with delightful smells of scones and cocoa. He lavished Izzy with forbidden treats from the kitchen before Mrs. Audley arose, but she would always discover their comical secret, as Izzy was never able to wear the cocoa in any place but her upper lip.
Happily, and with the memory safely tucked away, she and Mr. Puss, who was still in his place, eventually drifted back to their contented slumber.
At eight o’clock when the sun put in a full appearance, it found Lilly Audley dressed and busying herself in her boudoir. Mrs. Reddy was already in the basement kitchen readying breakfast. Lilly was sitting in her most comfortable armchair near the desk, with a stern look on her face. Lately she found herself full of dread at having to pay the household wages. Mr. Audley loved to take care of their monetary affairs, since his job in politics lent itself to that fashion of mind in him in any event. So Lilly never minded relenting when he wanted to help.
But, today was payday for the servants, and while not a difficult task in itself, it was always time consuming. Her idle hands did enjoy the engagement however, since it always proved an ingenious way to keep herself warm without feeling the full chill of emptiness within the house. Right after Mr. Audley’s death and before she learned about the truth of their situation, she had entertained the idea once or twice of selling their beloved dwelling and finding something smaller and easier to manage. Even more so since they owned their country home of Demesne Hall as well. It was no secret that she was getting on in years, and she could not think of one earthly thing she would need with two dwellings, staffed with complete sets of servants. Since the land did not rightfully belong to Isabella as part of her dowry due to the Law of Primogeniture, and Lilly had no heir apparent or brothers left that had not been taken of consumption which would have given her an heir presumptive, she knew she must sell. She put them off as long as it would allow.
However, when the time came for John's will to leave probate, it was all a non-issue. Eventually, she would have to share her deep, crimson secret with her daughter. She only prayed that their relationship was strong enough to handle it. This was her steadfast hope, as she was not about to lose both of the only people she ever loved to the same prevarication.
She sat back to regard the ledger, and did not hear Isabella slip in behind her.
“Good morning,” she said to Lilly.
Lilly was taken so off-guard and so eager to hide the ledger, that in her haste, she dropped it onto her feet and let out a scream.
“Mother, perhaps you should take to your couch; it seems you are unwell,” said Izzy, as she bent over to reach for the ledger.
Lilly saw the movement and quickly intercepted; then just as fleetly inserted the tattered ledger into the middle drawer of her desk.
“Oh Isabella, you do have an imagination. I am not like those society matrons who cannot be happy unless they cannot breathe through all of their corsets. You just startled me, that's all,” said Lilly as she sat back to take a deep breath.
“Well, as long as you say you are fine, then I will believe you. How did you sleep?”
The lie came easily. “Just fine dear,” then she quickly added, “It was nice having you back across the hallway. And you?”
“I cannot remember a time when I have slept more sound. We did not have the luxury of fireplaces in the residence hall, so the embers were very comforting.”
Lilly leaned up from her armchair to give Isabella a good morning kiss. “Are you hungry?”
“Ravenous.”
“Dear, you know I do not like slang,” Lilly said.
Izzy looked annoyed. “Oh Mother, I am hungry, please do not be so bothersome.”
Lilly just sighed, knowing full well that to engage Isabella this early on an empty stomach would do no one any good.
Just then a bell rang from downstairs, signaling that the morning meal was waiting for them.
“Come, I shall escort my favorite mother to breakfast,” said Izzy, as they walked arm-in-arm downstairs.
When they entered the breakfast room, it revealed Mrs. Reddy admiring the table she had just dressed and she was pleased. Upon one smell of the delectables, Isabella’s stomach let out a growl.
Gracing the table top were cinnamon scones with spice-butter, poached eggs, more of the sausage from last evening’s repast, and ice-cold milk. Modest by the usual Audley household standards, yet quaint enough to reacquaint oneself with one’s own daughter.
“Goo’ morning misses, please have seat,” said a smiling Sharmi, as she removed the coffee pot from the wooden cook stove. She loved serving the Audleys and could not imagine ever working any place else.
Izzy could not contain her gratitude and immediately ran over to Sharmi and threw her arms around the Indian woman’s neck, followed by huge kisses.
“You know how I have missed your cooking Sharmi? The residence hall food was simply horrible, and I would die if I had to eat another bite.”
Lilly frowned from across the room, but said nothing. Lilly reminded herself that in spite of all of the unpleasantness that she found herself in as of late, there was nothing like the feeling of having her only daughter return in good health. She kept her secret firmly hidden for now, but assured herself that soon, Isabella would be thanking the good Lord above for every bite that she had.
“I glad you like and dat you are home safe. You father would be proud of you,” Sharmi said.
The soft-spoken words caught both women off-guard. The look on Sharmi’s face suddenly revealed the belief that she had overstepped her bounds, and just as she began to apologize, Izzy, who was always given to capriciousness, broke in.
“You were reading my thoughts Sharmi. At times I wonder, but I am very glad you said something. Thank-you,” and the conversation was dropped for the time.
Lilly noticed how Isabella had tactfully handled the situation and smiled to herself. She had always been a breath of fresh air no matter the mood, and it was this whimsy and unpredictability about her daughter that she missed, while at other times wishing to pull out every hair in her head. As she dwelled on this, she felt her spirit lighten considerably, and suddenly, the impending day did not seem as laden with burden as she had originally imagined. So she joined her daughter at the smallish, round table that saw many years of solving the world’s problems.
Both women enjoyed their meal, eating in complete silence for what seemed a lifespan, and while Sharmi never hung discourteously over their shoulders watching, she always managed a peek from the hallway, just to enjoy their reactions. Isabella was voraciously engaged in a comical affair with a sausage and would not have noticed had the house suddenly disappeared round her. Lilly, who had been watching the scene, saw it the perfect time to broach a topic of a more festive theme.
“Thomas is anxious to call on you tomorrow evening. I told him you would be delighted.”
If spit-takes had been an invention of this time, Izzy would have been the inventor. The milk bespattered everywhere, and caused a screech from her that not many had been privy to. Lilly however, was accustomed to it and rather enjoyed the reaction, but remained silent to await the inevitable. As well, Mr. Puss seemed to enjoy it as he wasted no time in lapping up the droplets that covered the floor.
Lilly was just the sort of gracious lady who did not allow herself to become rattled by much that her gregarious daughter could throw at her, so she continued to sip her coffee without incident.
“Mother! Are you completely daft? I cannot nor will I see Thomas tomorrow night, or any evening. I will not, I will not, I will not!!” and the scream landed Mr. Puss right at her side, fearing for any harm that may have befallen his mistress.
As Izzy suddenly removed herself from her meal and began pacing, without purpose around the table, Lilly continued to appear the matron of order, gently sipping her drink and silently laughing to herself over the ordeal. Still she said nothing.
“How could you? I mean it, how could you? Oh I am finished. I am ruined. Wait until Rachel hears this. My life as I now know it, is ended. Do you hear me? ENDED! Oh mother, I am swooning. I am weak; please help. Oh dear, I am fainting.”
Still, Lilly did not look from over the brim of the stone mug, except to grab a small piece of leftover scone and ceremoniously place it into her mouth.
“And it is all your fault. See? See me fainting. This is it. I can see the room darkening. It will be any moment now. Please push over that chair for me so I will not hit my face when I slump to the floor.”
But she could see Lilly from the corner of her right eye, and once she saw that her mother would not give in to her histrionics, she slowly moved back to her chair and sat down again, letting out a large, dejected sigh.
She moaned, “Mother, but why? You know I love you dearly and I would never deliberately disobey you, but why did you have to tell him I would be happy to see him? You know I have not spoken to him since the day of Hattie Mason’s ball before I turned sixteen. Do you not remember? He stood me up and never gave me an explanation as to why. Mother, I was beyond humiliation, and pledged then and there to never converse with him again, no matter the circumstances.”
Quietly, and with as much understanding as a mother could, she said, “Yes sweetheart, I fully remember. I remember how much you doted on him, and how your pulse quickened when you knew he would be near you. I also remember how you used to fight like animals as mere children, and how I discerned even then, that you both would always be in each other’s company.” Then quickly she added, “And yes, I also remember that one particular incident was only the proverbial straw in a whole line of atrocious behavior Yes, I remember well.”
“Mother,” she said with full respect, “I know you think this befitting behavior, but I must say that I thought you understood when I explained how I felt about all of it.”
“I did. And I still do.” She leaned in closer to Izzy and continued in a softer voice. “Darling, he is a man now, completely mature, and oh dear daughter, he is so comely. Truly, you will not recognize him.”
“And do you know why? Because I will not see him,” and with that she popped a scone into her mouth, got up, and resumed her pacing again.
Lilly marveled at how this beautiful young woman, this strong, fiery creature could, at the most inopportune times, appear such an insecure, weak child. Catching her daughter’s hand on the way by, she turned Isabella to face her, and gently said, “Muffin, if you will not allow a man to grow up into his own being, and be willing to pardon him his misdeeds, you will always remain single.”
Izzy’s expression softened, as she knew it was a mother’s eternal mission to marry off her daughter.
But Lilly saw that there was much more work to do.
“Do you know he finished college? He returned last week. Dearest, I am sure he is changed, since the very first thing he did once he arrived in town was to inquire of you and your family. I almost did not recognize him. He carried himself so forceful and confident. Nothing that resembled the clumsy, unsure child that I saw in him last. You do him a great disservice if you refuse to allow him to call.”
From Isabella’s countenance, Lilly could finally see a glimmer of that old child-like curiosity that kept her alive, and so gave her finale to seal it.
“Listen. Let him call upon you. I will serve as chaperone if you wish. If, after speaking to him in the safety of the drawing room you find that your wounds of the past are too great to heal, then I will send him away and you will never have to worry about seeing him again. Does this sound fair enough to you?” She awaited the answer that she knew would come.
“Mother, I must tell you again, that while your erstwhile match-making is as transparent as my stockings from last season, I do not need to be some important man’s wife. I adore my life as it is, and am quite happy with it. I am sure that you, and every member of your garden club have been extremely busy in match-making, now that the universities have adjourned for Christmas. Dear me, you must already have every eligible, fourteen-year-old girl in this city married off and choosing grandchildren’s names.”
Lilly curbed her temporary anger at the comment, but did not allow Isabella to see it. She had no idea how very important it was that she find a suitable husband, now more than ever. But again, this was not the time.
As Izzy made the comment, her careful thoughts were suddenly derailed as she remembered the horrible mysterious peacock lady who stopped her in the millinery. While she did not wish to table this discussion of seeing Thomas tomorrow night, now was the perfect time to ask Mother what she may know about the mystifying woman.
“Mother, that reminds me. Yesterday on my walk from town, I happened by the millinery to merely look at a hat I had seen in the window, when the most strange lady I had ever met stopped me in the shop to say hello. She said that she was a friend of yours from the garden club, a Mrs. Arthur Tinsdale. Do you know her?”
Lilly’s expression brightened as she remembered her cherished friend, yet took a long, thoughtful moment to consider her words carefully, for she knew that the manner in which she answered the question would be important to the dynamic of the rest of the afternoon, day, week, and Isabella’s eventual stay. After careful consideration, she concluded that perhaps another lie would only serve to exacerbate the situation, so opted instead for part of the truth.
“Know her? Why we have been practically joined at the bustle since we literally bumped into each other at church one morning.” She giggled at this and was surprised when Isabella did not respond in kind. “Am I the only one to see the irony in that?”
“Yes, I am afraid you are, mother. The woman was very unflattering in her manner, and I felt it rather rude of her to simply waylay me in public in such a fashion. Besides, her news that she let slip was not of a festive nature, and I wish to question you on it now.”
For a moment, Lilly noticed the room had grown quite dim. But a quick breath rectified that before her daughter could suspect. It was also very inopportune at times that Isabella would be so sensitive a girl. She always had felt things on a much deeper level than those around her, and while those are perfect qualities to have for a devotee of the stage, they did nothing but complicate matters in some cases of personal natures. This was one of them.
“Yes? Go on. What did she say?”
“Well, she was also telling me the story of how you met in church, when she said the most curious thing. She said that you had been a member of the garden club, in the past tense. I was so flustered that I rushed out into the open air so I would not faint, and to press her for further details but she left abruptly with her husband. I knew that it must have been a grave mistake, or perhaps a case of mistaken identity. I tried not to put too much weight on it, since not everyone has a mastery of the language such as I,” and this she said in her best playful tone, but could not help but allow her serious fear to show through, "but now that you have just verified the facts of your meeting, I do know that she is an acquaintance and not a case of mistaken identity. Mother, to be honest, it disturbed me the rest of the way home, but by the time I arrived, I had long forgotten it, since I was so tired, cold, and happy to see you. However, now the lump in my stomach has returned, and I wish for your consolation and clarification on this matter. Has there been occurrences transpire to cause you to no longer be a member of the garden club? I cannot fathom it, since you absolutely love that club.”
Again, choosing her words carefully and taking a deep breath before beginning, she said, “Sweetheart, please do not concern yourself with what Mrs. Tinsdale might have said. I am sure the most reasonable explanation for it all was a mere slip of the tongue. You have now seen how large a woman she is; perhaps in a swollen state her tongue was unable to function properly, leaving you with the impression that her words referred to me in the past tense.”
“No mother, I am positive that was not the case, since later in the conversation, she asked me if perhaps she had let something slip that I was not supposed to have known. Is it true mother? Has something happened?” Izzy began to lose control of her senses and could barely contain her exasperation. She would never consider herself to be a shallow individual, but she did love the familiarity of the atmosphere of Society with which she had been raised. She had never taken them for granted, for with them came certain privileges that she had always embraced. In fact, with father now gone, the thoughts of possibly losing her place in society were simply more than she could bear, for she did not wish to grieve over that aspect of her lost life as well. But rather than make a hasty judgment about her entire life based on one mere, insipid comment from someone who obviously dressed with as much taste as a vaudevillian clown, she waited patiently for mother’s answer.
Lilly realized that it was now or never, and had to take another deep breath to determine what to do. She quickly decided, that the best way to deal with this was not at the breakfast table with dirty dishes cluttering the sink and too much to catch up on. It must be at a time when nothing else would interfere or jar her thoughts, and she could have complete and total concentration. She wanted the meeting with Thomas tomorrow night to go flawlessly, and she knew that if Isabella were fretting over the information she was asking her to share, she would never enjoy herself. Yes, that is what she would do. She would allow Isabella one more night of blissfully happy memories and surroundings of her own doing before unleashing the entire hideous truth.
“Sweetheart,” she began as she cleared her throat to make way for the lie. “Listen to me. There is nothing mysterious or cryptic about anything Mrs. Tinsdale has said to you. I simply forgot to mention to you in one of my letters that I had temporarily dropped from the club. It was nothing really. I just felt that with your father gone and you away at school, I was spending far too much time away from the house and not enough time paying attention to the things that really mattered. So I began taking extra shifts at the children’s wing of the hospital. It is nothing really, just a few hours a week, and that is probably why I failed to mention it. That is all.”