by Jane Keeler
She watched the sky open up, an unavoidable pelting from the charcoal coloured sky. The rain was no colder than the water, but the river began to swell with the addition of these droplets from the sky. It sucked at her, and she was no longer sure she could resist. Her skin felt heavy, the fabric that clung to it waterlogged and dragging her down. Rest was what she needed. Her eyes began to drift shut in the river for the second time that day, only this time it seemed impossible to open them again. As her face dropped below the surface of the water she felt the same relaxation that had been present earlier, a sense of peace and warmth blossoming inside her.
The sound was muffled, the splashes louder than the voice. Who was Marianne? Her eyes were weighted, and she was unable to open them to find who was talking. She tried to lift her hands towards the source of the movement, but they felt limp and cold. Her mouth twitched, and she let out a stream of bubbles to the surface as she the splashing neared. Strong arms wrapped around her, wide hands supporting her weight. The air was cold, and Angelica tried to struggle back into the freezing water as Henry held her. Her face was white, the blood drained from her cheeks and purple lips which trembled as he held her. She gasped rapidly, quick intakes of air which he hoped would help her.
He had panicked, wasting time as he stood frozen in a pool of memories. She would be in a better state now if he had rushed to her immediately, instead of watching her head dip under the surface like a fool, mouth agape in shock and horror. The current flowed quickly around his waist as he waded out, taking care to hold her out of the water lest she should try to jump in again. The rain pelted them still, saturating them through to the bone. Angelica shivered in his arms, the first of a series of chills that would not stop as the neared the house. Halfway across the fields, Henry decided that making it to the house was not worth it. He walked into the stables, greeting the stable hand and the horses which stood safe and warm within their enclosure. Ignoring the persistently curious looks of the stable hand, he requested a blanket. The stable hand looked affronted, confusion taking over his looks.
“You can’t mean for the lady! The blankets here, well, they’re not exactly what you’d find in the house sir, I can’t think that you’d want them on her.”
“That is exactly what I mean.” Henry cut off the stable hand’s talking. “If the cold gets to her any longer because of your blathering, you may as well dismiss yourself and walk home.”
He was shocked into speed then, a rustle of movement followed by a warm blanket appearing over a wooden gate.
“Thank you.” Henry was curt, but as polite as always. The boy looked pleased with himself, disappearing back to the horses with a nod.
Henry looked down at Angelica, her curled figure so limp and frail. Her breathing was returning to a more regular rhythm in the warmth of the stable, no longer shallow and desperate. As he placed his hand on her forehead, the cold clamminess of her skin shocked him. Lying down, he wrapped his arm around her in an effort to keep her warm. Her eyes shifted under their lids, a smile playing on her lips, and he wondered what she dreamt of. Her body shifted into the curve of his, fitting perfectly. Against him like this, she was still cold, and he felt a slight tremor running through her body. He held her body tighter, not wanting to let go. His arms around her weak body meant she was safe. Here, she could not slip under that dangerous pull of the tide and leave him. Though he could scarcely admit it, what happened today had frightened him. Losing Angelica would bring memories flooding back, creating new scars atop the old ones.
He didn’t know when he fell asleep, but it was light outside when he awoke. The sunlight fell in shafts onto the green grass, damp from dew. Angelica lay in the same position as she had been the previous night, though she looked healthier. The colour had returned to her cheeks and her lips were no longer purple. As he watched her sleep, he could feel her warm breath on his face. She began to stir in his arms, and he let go, standing up quickly. Her lips moved, indecipherable noises reaching his ears. He touched her side. “Angelica?” He intoned gently, waiting to see if she was awake. She made the same noise, slightly louder. Her hands gripped his wrist and slackened again, still trying to speak. A moment of stillness passed, where her eyes stopped their ceaseless moving, her eyelids still.
Her eyes opened slowly, the bleariness written on her face. “Henry,” she smiled, her mouth dry and tasteless. She tried again, louder. “Henry,” he stepped forward and took her hand, pleased that he felt a warm, steady pulse beneath his palm. She is recovering, he thought. She will be fine. There was a light in her eyes that he had not seen for a long time. Her face was turned towards him, those intense pupils fixed on his face. Reaching out, he brushed a strand of hair back from her face and laughed.
She looked confused, but he just gestured around him. “Look at where we slept! This is a mess.” Laughter bubbled to her lips as she considered the situation, but it faded to a hoarse cough as some water removed itself from her lungs. The horse blanket lay on the straw ground, the coarse wool melding with the floor. She attempted to hide her cough with more laughter, but Henry’s concern was too quick.
As the morning grew later they began the walk towards the house. “The servants must be confused,” remarked Henry.
“They haven’t seen a change in routine from us since we got married.” Angelica remarking, the atmosphere fading to an awkward silence as they contemplated the truth in her words.
When they stepped in the door she suddenly seemed different. Tension crept into her posture and body language and she seemed in a rush. She walked quickly up the stairs, her head bowed, without looking back at him for even a moment.
Their private moment was over. Angelica felt it as soon as she walked through the door, the surreptitious glances of the servants on them. She had to rush away, up the stairs and to safety, where they could not watch her in her undergarments any longer. A blush came over her face as she considered what they must think of her. Did they know she’d been in the river? Shame rose up inside her, and she forgot to thank Henry for his actions.
It struck her as strange, what he had done for her and how he had handled the situation. He had pulled her from the churning river, and taken her to safety. She had never thought him to be so observant as to notice her in the river. He must have been fields away, how could he have known? When he lifted her out of the current and into his arms, he had felt so sure and safe. She had relaxed, automatically. After that time she remembered little, just painful gasps for air and a sense of relief. Dreams of blank safety had run through her sleeping mind, and she supposed it was because he lay beside her. The sensation of the blanket upon her cold skin, and then his body behind her, were things she found comforting when she woke up to pitch black in the middle of the night. He had been there for her, caring and loving in a way he never had before. Her risky experience in the river seemed to have sparked something for him, though she did not know why.
She did not know if she had called out to him as she went under. Maybe she had. All she knew was that she had tried, moving her mouth with little power. Perhaps it was unlikely that sound had come out. Either way, he knew where she was, and he had saved her life and ensured her recovery. Though she felt a deep sense of gratitude, she was not indebted to him. He had done what he thought was right and she respected that. Still, there was something else, a change in feeling within her. She felt closer to him than ever before in their marriage.
His strength and determination was something she had never seen before. There was a fire in his eyes as he rushed to her side, pushing through that powerful water to bring her to safety. Her weight had seemed like nothing in his arms, with her sopping underdresses surely heavy and difficult to move. It seemed easy for him. Maybe it was insignificant too, just another role he had to play. Surely there was something more to it. She had felt his worry, and his relief too, when they reached the stables. His arms around her were not only for warmth, she hoped.
Thanking him for her life was something she could h
ardly fathom. How could one give enough credit for such a deed? If he expected thanks, he did not vocalise it. As they had walked closer to the house their conversation became more stilted and far less open, more like what they were used to. Angelica was not sure that she wanted to go back to that. The house made her close up, widening the gap between them many times. The eyes of servants, and later tonight, the eyes of guests, only served to widen the ingrained rift that spread between them. It couldn’t be impassable though. That deep chasm was something that Angelica was now all too determined to bridge, whatever it took.
The evening began with its usual routine, nothing out of the ordinary as they socialised and mingled with guests. It went slowly for Angelica, her mind consumed with thoughts of how she could see Henry again. It sounded foolish, she knew. He was her husband, and they lived in the same house. How could it be difficult to arrange a time to see him? Some of their guests, she knew from the gossip of servants, slept in the same bed every night though they had their individual rooms. That had always seemed wanton and frivolous before, but now she considered how easy it would be to become fond of each other in such close proximity. She wanted to see Henry tonight, though she was still a little shaken from the previous day’s events.
It frustrated her that there had to be so many other people in their lives. Usually it was a welcome distraction from the uninviting atmosphere, but with a goal in mind, tonight it upset Angelica. She hoped that she was not too abrupt with the guests, but she was sure they would understand if they were in her predicament. She jiggled her foot as they sat around the table, trying to ignore the raised eyebrow Henry shot at her impatience. For the first time in all the time she had known him, he joined in the dancing. She was sure it was only to whisper in her ear, but he seemed genuinely concerned. “Are you well? You seem anxious.”
Swapping partners, she was thankful that she did not have to reply, and annoyed that he had noticed her mood. Her face must have looked sour, for her partners did not seem relaxed when they danced with her. They may well have recognised the look from their own wives’ faces, she thought to herself. Her dancing was clumsy, her usually light feet seemingly weighed down like bricks. This evening, everything including her own body frustrated her.
The vibrant colours of dresses and suits so often pleased her with their brightness, but tonight they seemed gaudy, fading into a haze of confusing swirls. Her head was spinning as she looked around the room, and she began to feel woozy. No one noticed as she cradled her head in her hands for a brief second. The colours seemed to pound as she looked up again, straight at Henry. He noticed her widened eyes and the weakness of her gait, but did not comment. His hand brushed her cheek and recoiled, his brow creasing. “Angelica, your face is heated. How are you feeling?” She smiled at him, trying to reassure him that all was well. It came out lopsided and abnormal, her eyes too bright and glassy. His voice faded further away as he took her arm, leading her out of the room. She swayed dangerously, near falling over with an unsteady lean.
Henry looked at Angelica with concern. She had seemed fine this morning, but now appeared crazed and feverish. As he led her away from the dancing room, where she tended to linger, she was nodding her head enthusiastically, wanting to get away. He talked to her, though he was unsure whether she was responding or not. They walked through the winding corridors until they reached the stairs. Her unsteadiness did not lead him to believe that she would be suited to climbing the stairs at this point, so her summoned a servant to help him. She began to laugh as they walked up, a kind of delirium taking over her. The heat seemed to be getting to her mind. She kicked her feet out as they lifted her, swinging them gaily through the air. It was all Henry could do to contain his laughter. She seemed ridiculously happy for someone who was suffering the effects of going for a rather too long swim in the river during a storm.
They struggled up the stairs, surely seeming to outside eyes like a trio of drunkards. Panting, Henry rested on the landing with Angelica, then made his way to the second flight of stairs. By this stage, the servant looked quite frightened, probably sure that he had been serving lunatics for all his time. Eventually, and without ease, they reached the top of the stairs. Henry dismissed the servant, and led Angelica to her room. He could only imagine the gossip that would be running through the drawing room at this second. Henry lay her in bed, fetching one of the maidservants to look after her. A wet flannel was placed on her forehead, and she still retained a crazed smile. She reached out to him, and he squeezed her hand, leaving the room.
Angelica woke up in the darkness of her room, her face wet and clammy. She flung the flannel which lay across her forehead across the room, confused and disoriented. Her hands moved around her, searching for another body, some sign that Henry was still here. No warmth reached her fingers, and she realised that he had left her there. What had happened? She didn’t remember leaving the dance, only that the colours were very bright and that it hurt to see. Reaching to her bedside, she found the bell and rang it to summon one of the maidservants. Out of breath, she sank back down into the pillows which propped up her head, falling into their luxurious comfort. She could not make out the servant who appeared around the corner, carrying a dimly lit candle. Slowly, Angelica sat up and grabbed her wrist. “Bring Henry to me.” She whispered, smiling. The servant just pulled away from her grasp and left with a nod.
Angelica lay back again, content that Henry would be with her soon. She heard his footsteps down the hall, but she was so tired. She faded away into a dream as he approached, though she had felt she was ready for him.
When she woke again, the room was filled with bright light and Henry was nowhere to be seen. She felt anger rise inside her. If only she could have stayed awake, her and Henry would be waking up together just as they had in the stable. They would be growing closer, rather than apart as they seemed to be now. She was weak, unable to see her husband even when she intentionally called him to her room. Her body was covered with a sheen of sweat, but her fever had broken. She felt fine, and Henry should have understood this. Sitting on the edge of her bed, she began to calm down. Sickness was not an excuse for this kind of behaviour, though right now she wished it was. She would apologise to Henry for waking him in the middle of the night.
Confusion overwhelmed her. Henry was not displaying that same affection he had the previous night, or surely he would have stayed with her to monitor her wellbeing and reassure her. Tears came to her eyes, and she began to sob. Crying felt good at this point, some assurance that she was capable of normal emotions. She had been through an ordeal, and needed time to recover. But she had wanted Henry, and he had not responded.
In her muddled, changing thoughts, this was all she could focus on. Henry must now despise her, after the embarrassment she had caused him at the dance. She had not been a good hostess, and now she was being a terrible wife. Tearful and distressed, she called on one of the servants to help her dress. Her kind, steady hands allowed some relaxation as she put on a simple gown. It was futile to try and impress Henry with clothes or looks, as unmoving as he was. She let out one last sob about the state of her marriage and then composed herself, checking the mirror to see a blotchy, wet face. Taking deep breaths, she descended the stairs carefully and went to breakfast. To her surprise, there was no breakfast served. Instead, it appeared the kitchen was preparing for lunch. She had slept much longer than she thought.
He was waiting in the dining room to see her. “How are you feeling?” She pushed away his hand from her shoulder. “Angelica?” His worry was evident on his face, confused that he had done something wrong.
“You should be concerned, leaving me alone like that. Anything could have happened to me.” If he was worried now, he should have shown it last night. Her usually musical voice was cutting, filled with discords and unease.
“You were cared for, were you not?” The concerned furrows in his brow were all she saw, interpreting them as an abrupt kind of anger. His gaze was intense, and he evalua
ted the signs of her previous illness but saw none.
“Henry, I wanted you to stay there and look after me yourself.” Her tone was accusatory, and daggers flew from her eyes.
“Your behaviour has been odd lately. None of this would have happened if you hadn’t decided to swim in the river.” His voice had raised, she thought triumphantly. She could go louder.
“Maybe I wouldn’t have if our lives weren’t so boring. I can’t stand another year of that.” Her posture was nearing aggressive, the frustrated tears filling her eyes again. She had wanted this fight to happen, he realised. Henry felt affronted. There was nothing for it, he decided, turning his back on her and walking away. It was as though her brain was addled. He could not pick what the change in her had been, but this was surely its manifestation. Henry had felt that their relationship was at last reaching affection and fondness, only to have this feeling upturned by Angelica’s words.
As he walked out of the room, he felt that her anger had transferred onto him. What she was doing was spiteful, and he didn’t understand why she had begun to act so strangely. He had saved her life, and then she had been happy, and then sick, and now, it seemed, angry? Whatever afflicted her, he hoped would not pass on to him. Her discontent at their marriage was centred around a situation that he had always believed she was created. Now he was forced to wonder if he, and his darkened past, were not the reason for the distance in their relationship.
