by Fanny Finch
The tension was destroying her. The guilt even more so. She had to find out the truth, for her own soul's benefit.
Chapter 18
Looking at the letter, Agnes drew a deep breath. Here began the task of discovering who her accuser was and if they were telling the truth. She could not identify the handwriting. That was no issue. She did not need to write to them directly, after all. Instead, she could simply write to her entire family and hope that some would write back either confirming or denying what that first letter had claimed.
If anything, she would much rather the original writer did not reply. That person, however much they might know, was cruel, and would likely say whatever it took to cause Agnes distress. She could not trust such a person to tell the truth.
It was another day off when Georgia was being taken for a long walk in the fields with her brother and a number of servants were allowed to travel into town to spend their earnings. It was the perfect opportunity for Agnes to begin her project.
She dug through her papers, from old keepsakes to vital documents. And then she found it: her address book. With all the names of those who could help, but never did. She had considered getting rid of this book when the last relative had written to her, asking her not to speak to them and telling her she did not deserve their help. But much like the horrible letter, she had held onto her address book. Just in case she needed it. She was glad she had.
They had not helped her before, but she knew that perhaps now they would open up to her. After all, she was no longer asking for physical help, for money or a home. She was only asking for them to tell her about her mother...
But if she said what she had been told, then surely some of them would confirm it out of principle? What is more, the person who had written to her could not find out that they had hurt her. She needed to somehow ask for information without revealing her deepest worries, without making herself vulnerable to the monsters who called themselves her family.
After giving it some thought, she realized she would just have to act as though she had never received the first letter.
She composed a letter that would be suitable for everyone, deciding not to mention the initial letter she had received. It was not about that. It was not for them to know what she feared.
Her greatest hope was that her other relatives would mention some other offense, some other problem, rather than her mother abandoning her. If only that one person said she was alive and had fled her duties as a mother, then Agnes could say it was a malicious claim, intended only to hurt her. It was not possible that a woman of such standing could leave her husband and child without the rest of the family knowing. Agnes's greatest fear was that they would confirm the first letter's claims.
Reading through what she had written, she felt confident it would not be able to be used by anyone to harm her.
"My dearest relative,
I am writing to you to request whatever information you may have about my mother and her character. I am not afraid to discover the truth. Through all my life, I have believed my mother to be a good, noble, respected lady. And yet, since my father's untimely death, all I have heard is the contrary.
I must know the truth, for my own soul and for closure. I do not ask anything else of you. I already know that none wish to support me, and I accept that as best I can. All I want is to know why it is that you, dear relative, despise my mother so.
Yours mournfully,
Agnes Hubbard."
Agnes copied the same letter out over and over. Then she leafed through her address book and copied out a number of addresses onto envelopes. It never ceased to amaze her how much family she had... and how little family at the same time. Twenty copies, to twenty different households. Each household with at least three people in it who were related to her, all of whom were wealthy.
But none of these people were true family to her. None of them had cared for her in her time of need. None of them had spoken a kind word to her after her father died. None had offered money or a place to stay or even work.
They were not family. They were people who happened to share a name with her.
Her work done, she hesitated. There was now a pile of these letters before her, each in an addressed envelope, ready to be sent. Was this the right thing to do? She would actually know, for sure this time, what it was her mother had done to offend her family so very much. She would know if she was a lady of good and noble breeding or the product of a woman so inhumane she would abandon her own child.
The prospect of knowing was scary again. Agnes knew she could not live in denial. But she was not sure if writing to all her family, asking for information about her mother's supposed misdeeds, was the right approach either. Could she handle receiving twenty or more letters, each accusing her mother of some offense or another in explicit detail?
Agnes did not know if she could.
She put the letters in her drawer, with the offending letter that had started it all on top. It could wait. Her whole life had gone by so far without her knowing, and she was no worse the wear for it. She had lived over twenty years without needing to know. She had lived over a year knowing her mother was hated without knowing why. A few more days or even weeks, to decide on the best course of action, was a mere blink of the eye in comparison.
And she did not need to decide just yet. She could use her time better than that. She could make up her mind what to say to whom. She could write a more personal letter to each of them, appealing to whatever humanity they might possess, and perhaps ensuring she received a more prompt, more honest reply.
Looking at the clock, Agnes realized that the duke and Georgia would be back already. They had probably already enjoyed their lunch, and in half an hour it would be time for Agnes to practice some more reading with the girl. Only an hour, to ensure she maintained her routine, but it was time nonetheless.
Walking into the library and seeing them there, the duke's presence made her heart ache so painfully. As soon as she entered the room she sensed a shift in the mood from the brother and sister's usual relaxed, happy mood together. It was as though she carried a cloud of gloom with her and had cast it over them.
Her eyes locked with his. He knew she was hiding something.
She could not resume the afternoon lessons under his watch. She needed privacy, separation from him. If they were not in the same room together, then her silence would no longer be deceit.
"Your Grace," she said, curtsying. "I have been thinking and I am wondering if perhaps Georgia would do better in her lessons if we did not have any company."
The duke raised an eyebrow. "I beg your pardon?"
"I simply believe that Georgia may need some time with me on her own. She cannot continue to rely on your support," Agnes said. "Whenever there is a dispute, or she is having a difficult time, I notice that she rushes to you. She needs to learn to endure her own troubles on her own, and to overcome them, rather than to run from them and hope you can solve her problems for her."
The duke shrugged. "But I will always be here to solve her problems for her. It does not hurt her to learn that she can rely on her brother whenever she is uncertain or afraid."
"That is precisely what my father believed, sir, and it rendered me lonely, and unable to bond to my own sex, until three years ago," she replied sternly. "Girls and women need to learn to socialize with other girls and women. We need to learn how women speak and act and think when men are not around."
"Is it much different to how you are when men are present?" he asked in a tone of voice that suggested he was genuinely curious.
"Not by much, but there is a difference. And if she is to someday become a lady, and she wishes to make friends, she will need to learn how friends treat one another," Agnes explained.
The duke nodded. "I believe I understand."
She could tell that it pained him. He did not like being away from Georgia, and, what is more, he relished the time he spent with Agnes. They had become his family. Had she been tel
ling the truth, she could have excused herself for causing his suffering. After all, it made perfect sense. Even the duke believed it wholeheartedly.
He made his way to the door whilst Georgia was distracted and proceeded to look back for a moment, smiling warmly at Agnes, before he left. He would no doubt find something else to busy himself with. He would not enjoy the separation at first. But Agnes was confident it could easily become a routine. And it did no harm. If only she had been telling the truth, she would have been pleased with the result.
But it was all lies, to protect herself and her ego. And that hurt even more. He seemed reluctant to leave their company. He loved his sister, and cared deeply for Agnes also. She understood that he did not want to be away from what little family he had left, especially not after losing his parents. No doubt he wanted to always be there to protect his little sister, and he would be continually distressed until they were reunited.
Agnes tried to justify this to herself, noting that he would have to be away from her at times when he did not wish to be and that this would simply help him come to terms with that.
But that pained look on his face as he had left lingered in her mind.
Once again, the thought crossed her mind that he might feel fondly for her as she did for him. But now a thought that had once been an unspeakable glimmer of hope, a secret desire, brought with it nothing but pain and shame. What if he did love her? What if he wished to be with her, now and forever? What if he was willing to overlook her lowly status in order to wed her?
She could not imagine it. How could she continue to keep her troubles a secret as she walked down the aisle beside the man of her dreams? How could she deceive him into marrying someone who came from such a dark and revolting past?
Perhaps he did love her, maybe as much, possibly even more than she loved him. Perhaps he was contemplating the best way of overcoming their class divide, of presenting her as the noble daughter of an earl he believed her to be. There he was, treating her with love and respect because he believed she was something which she was not, because he trusted her, because she could not open up and confess the truth to him.
If only he knew what sort of a ruined, broken, fraud of a woman she was, he would not be able to love her for a second longer. Agnes felt her heart breaking in two. Nobody could ever love her. Not coming from a background like that.
Chapter 19
As a week passed, Agnes had hoped to relieve herself of the guilt surrounding that horrible letter. That was not to say she believed the guilt would ever vanish. But she hoped that it would.
All that this time did was further cement her belief that there was something seriously wrong with her mother. After all, it was to be expected that one or two people might believe a person to be terrible beyond redemption. But for a whole family to turn against her mother, Agnes knew something serious had to have occurred. It did not matter if it was abandoning her child, or something else, whatever the earl's wife had done was enough to set an entire family against her.
Agnes knew, in her heart of hearts, that whatever her mother had done was enough to bring shame on them all.
Nevertheless, she sent the letters out, to make sure that she knew where this story was coming from. She did not rewrite them. She knew that whatever she said, the result would likely be the same. She did not expect an honest reply. She did not even expect a reply from everyone, perhaps just one or two letters in return. But at least she would receive confirmation of what she had been told or something else to explain her mother's poor reputation among her father's family.
She waited and waited, but no replies came. She knew she had to be patient, that people did not discuss these matters so readily. Fear and doubt burned in her chest. She knew it was possible that there would be no reply, or that the letters would deny that her mother had done any wrong. But even without news from any of her family, she felt her guilt, her shame, and her fear swell and grow within her heart, consuming her, destroying her. And everyone else felt it too.
The house, usually cheerful and busy, seemed to slowly fall into a slower pace, everyone seemed to be more sorrowful. Or perhaps it was simply that Agnes's own mood had left her seeing life through a black lens of some kind, like stained glass tinting her whole world with the shadows of her own doubt and fear.
Besides knowing that she was suffering, the duke seemed oblivious to the turmoil that Agnes was going through. But, then again, he seemed oblivious to everything. Was he, then? Or was he simply hiding his true knowledge and concerns so as to not burden her further?
He had been doing as she suggested for the entire week, simply coming in at the end of each lesson, checking what the girl had been doing, praising her heartily for being cooperative, and approving the next plan.
Agnes enjoyed these moments, watching him looking over the paperwork she had set out, the big drawings of words and letters, as he asked Georgia to try and read them. She was not very good, but she got closer to the correct sounds each day.
Today, in particular, the duke seemed very happy with what he was reading. Agnes mused how surprised she was at his cooperation. Something in the back of her mind told her that he knew she had lied. He might not know why, but he knew that Georgia's welfare was not the only reason he had been asked to leave the lessons.
He locked eyes with her and smiled, handing the papers back over. "You are doing so wonderfully with her," he said. "I could not be gladder to have you as my sister's governess."
Agnes felt his words stab her guilty heart. "Thank you, sir. I am simply doing what anyone else would in my position."
"No, you are not," he said. "You are doing so much more."
He was right. She was doing so much more than she was admitting to.
At least one thing was true: Georgia was faring better for not having her older brother always watching her. She began to blossom as a girl should, becoming always bolder, stronger. Agnes had not counted on this exactly. She had hoped for it, but it had not been the primary reason for her choice.
Georgia took the sheets from Agnes and began to leaf through them, as though once again revising her vowels and animal names, an expression of concentration on her face.
"See? She is even trying to study on her own after the lesson is over," her brother beamed. "You have turned her right around."
It was true. Georgia was no longer the girl she had been when Agnes first met her.
And now Agnes saw none of herself in this child anymore. She saw a brave, strong child. She saw a girl who was eager and happy to learn, who adored praise and who was going to go on to do great things.
She saw a girl who was noble, who bore all the physical and personal characteristics of a noble lady, ready to emerge. A child who would be raised by a duke in a duchy, and probably wed another noble, have many children with him and command a vast territory in the name of queen and country.
That was not who Agnes was anymore. No, she had never been exactly like this. Agnes had no potential, even as a child, even back when she believed she was brimming with potential.
Agnes's future never held marriage to a duke or inheriting the earldom. Agnes's education would never be put to good use managing a house and lands. Agnes would never have children to raise, or friends by her side, the respect of men and women alike. Her father had protected her for as long as he could, but even if his death had been more natural, she would have fallen all the same.
Georgia was different. She was a truly noble girl, and not even losing both parents before the age of four could set her back. It was nothing like Agnes had ever been or could ever be. And it hurt a little, and made her proud a little. She was happy for Georgia but, for the first time, sorry for herself.
Looking up at the duke again, she saw he was staring at her, concerned. Would he feel sorry for her if he knew where she had come from, how doomed she had been from the very start? She smiled softly at him and he smiled back. Seeing the love with which he looked upon her made her heart melt.
; She only wished she deserved to be loved by him.
***
The next morning, she awoke, as usual feeling drained and depressed, putting on a brave face, knowing she would have to hide her true thoughts from everyone all day.
But today was different.
The letter arrived. Just the one. In the same handwriting as the first, without a signature. She had hoped to receive a letter that was slightly clearer or a collection. But no, the only person who had dignified her with a reply thus far was the same person who had sent the first letter.
Agnes contemplated throwing it straight on the fire, not even opening it. For what? This cruel person would only be attacking Agnes and her mother again. They would not have anything else to say to her. And if they did, could she even trust it?
But perhaps there would be something new, or an apology, or... something. Agnes opened the letter, fingers shaking.
