Lady Vivian

by Agnes Forest

  “You do that, my friend,” Calvin said, continuing to puff on his cigar.

  Sherbet strode from the room, all the while inspecting the other gentlemen and their plates of food. Sherbet had a funny way of deeply examining people, without having one clear thought in his head. That night, sadly, he would not make it to Sawyer’s side, ensuring his victory, but rather, he would end up at the Golden Pineapple and would eat Toad in the Hole.

  Calvin remained in the gentlemen’s club for some time, his legs crossed and his cigar slowly decreasing in length. He looked about the room as well, observing. But unlike Christian Sherbet, there were actual, tangible thoughts in his mind. He regarded his comrades, all of equal esteem. They were wealthy men, set for life and ensured of their own future success. Calvin had to consider Sawyer’s plight. The soldier was far less sure of his future. How dreadful it must be. And yet, Calvin admired it. Even envied it.

  “I was sure that the man would never go back for the lady,” the gentleman who had lost the bet proclaimed.

  “That is because you’re ignorant,” Calvin replied.

  “Oh, come now. There’s no chance that he can prevail,” the other man said.

  “That, sir, is true,” Calvin replied. Although deep down, Calvin sensed that, unfortunately, he would.

  Chapter Nineteen

  Vivian’s fingers touched the keys of the piano ever so gently and softly. She played with such precision and care because Vivian figured that she would soon be dead. Yes, in essence, it was the last song. Sawyer had not yet arrived, her hopes were dashed, marriage to Lord Phillip was inevitable, and she no longer had a soul.

  Lord Phillip and Lord Benedict sat with brandy and dessert, enjoying their entertainment and wondering why it was that Lady Vivian was being so docile. All throughout dinner she was and reserved, lacked a strong appetite, and replied ‘yes’ to everything that was asked of her. For Lord Benedict, this was troubling and comforting at the same time. For Lord Phillip, it was victory.

  Fanny knew that something was amiss and she didn’t like it one jot. For all that talk of duty and knowing her place, Fanny was the one that was most disturbed by Vivian’s turn in behavior. She herself barely touched her dinner of lobster with roasted potatoes; and Fanny loved lobster.

  “That is a beautiful song, child,” Lord Benedict said, eating his strawberry sponge cake with Devonshire cream.

  “I do thank you,” Lady Vivian said.

  She was in a trance. That much was certain. Lord Phillip smiled to himself. Perfect. She was ripe for him to pop the question that very night. Everything was going to plan; they’d be married by the end of spring and Vivian would be with child by summer. Lord Phillip could be off on business by the fall and would have a son by the next spring. How orderly.

  “What song is that, Lady Vivian?” Lord Phillip asked.

  “I do thank you,” Lady Vivian said.

  Lady Vivian had resigned herself to it all. This was un-Vivian-like of her, but she concluded that it was fate. Her place in society dictated it. And although the circumstances of her life would mean the death of her heart, God must have written it in the stars. What other explanation might there be?

  “I do thank you,” she said again, in response to no one. Lord Benedict looked on in terror.

  The behavior was akin to the shell that a turtle wears on its back, or the spikes of a porcupine. Just a pretty little sleep to armor Vivian’s existence, and she’d get through it all in the end.

  “I must say, that was a capital meal, Lord Benedict,” Lord Phillip said, immensely enjoying his strawberry sponge. It tasted of the sweetness of victory, and was paired expertly with the brandy. There would be cigars, more brandy, the marriage proposal, and then a pleasant rest.

  “I daresay, the lobster was some of the best that I have had. I do fear that most of the pleasure comes from dipping it into the warm butter. I did the same with the potatoes,” Lord Benedict said, reaching down and feeling his middle. Oh, it was expanding. What happened to his youth? His stamina? Lord Benedict assumed he was that vigorous young soldier but days ago. In truth, it had been years.

  For Fanny, this was not the case. She had always been plump, and in her mind, got thinner and thinner every day. Some nights she lay awake, fearing that she might starve to death if she carried on the way that she did. No, Fanny was in constant need of caloric replenishment. If not, God only knew the consequences.

  “There’s your sponge, then,” Fanny said, placing the dish on the piano in front of Lady Vivian.

  “I do thank you,” she replied as quiet as a ghost.

  Vivian stared at the pudding and continued to play her melodious, dolorous song, like a dirge. The entire house was haunted by it. The servants had chills.

  The strawberry cake was a bright ruby red, intermingled with angelic white. The Devonshire dollop melted atop the warm sponge and created a white waterfall of cream that pooled into a milky lake. The very image of it would once have lifted Vivian’s spirits, but not that evening. It reminded her of death. Were there others for whom strawberry shortcake was reminiscent of death? No. Only Lady Vivian.

  Lord Phillip lit his cigar and carried on with Lord Benedict, discussing business and the politics of the day. Every so often he’d glance over to Vivian, looking beautiful, serene, and hollow, and he’d be filled with joy and pride.

  Finally, the moment felt right and it was time to speak.

  “Ladies and gentlemen, allow me to say a few words,” Lord Phillip began, standing to his feet. It was odd that he should present himself as though before a crowd. There were only four people in the room.

  “I do thank you,” Lady Vivian whispered to herself.

  “As you all know, I have been spending a great deal of time here at the Stockwood Park and have taken such relish in it. The remarkable meals, the exquisite tea, and the expensive brandy,” Lord Phillip said, holding his drink aloft. “I have treasured it all. Even the sausage at teatime.”

  Lord Benedict nodded in approval.

  “And now it’s time for me to undertake what you have all been patiently waiting for.”

  This was it. The servants peeked their heads around corners and through doors, Fanny sat clutching a warm glass of milk fearing that she might crush it with her hand, Lord Benedict needed his pills, and Vivian was in a coma.

  “I want you to all understand that I’m a man of honor,” Lord Phillip went on, drawing out the ordeal. “I am not a soldier, have never been a soldier, nor did I ever want to be. In fact, oh if I could just grasp . . . but there it is again, I’m thinking that it may be so or it mayn’t be . . . “

  He got off course.

  “And therefore while we’re on the subject of the Spartans, I fear that it all comes back to the happenstance on the Isle of Man, some years back with soldiers there . . . there were soldiers with their bloody uniforms and their cannonballs.”

  “Lord Phillip!” Fanny cried, unable to endure it for another second. There he was keeping everyone on edge, and he had the gall to go into his ramblings.

  “Yes, and so,” Lord Phillip said, clearing his throat and raising his brandy yet again. “I would like to announce to all of you that, after much deliberation, I am taking Lady Vivian’s hand in marriage,” Lord Phillip said, grinning like a schoolboy.

  The music stopped playing. All eyes turned towards Lady Vivian. Even Lord Benedict did not know what she might do. The servants held their breaths. Georgette nearly fainted from the lack of inhalation.

  Silence and stillness. Then, Lady Vivian, still in a trance, went to pick up her strawberry sponge cake and slowly ate it, looking off into the distance.

  “Have you anything to say, daughter?” Lord Benedict asked. He was only answered with chewing sounds. Everyone watched whilst she finished her dessert. Vivian placed the plate back on the piano and continued her sad song.

  “This is dreadful,” Fanny said under her breath.

  The discomforting moment was punctuated by the entrance of
the butler.

  “A gentleman at the door,” the old servant said.

  “Well who is it, then?” Lord Phillip replied, like it were his own home.

  “A Lieutenant Sawyer Cook,” the butler replied.

  The music stopped yet again. Vivian awoke from a dream.

  “What was that you said?” she asked.

  “I said that a one Lieutenant Sawyer Cook is at the door, M’am,” the butler repeated.

  “We do not wish for visitors,” Lord Benedict said, his voice tremulous.

  Vivian ran out of the room. It was not a swan-like run. It was like the run of a man being chased by a bear. It was an animal-like run.

  Lord Phillip’s instincts set in. He placed his brandy on the table and ran after the woman. Lord Phillip himself had quipped on a previous occasion that men must not chase after their women to seize them by the hair and pull them into their caves, but that was precisely what he was doing.

  The incredible dash went down the long hallway. Vivian was running at a feverish clip - really rather impressive, the speed - and Lord Phillip followed all the while. His gait was not nearly as impressive and there was something clumsy in his step. He even knocked over a rather expensive Oriental vase in the hallway.

  Vivian dashed into the parlor, glancing at a few paintings as she did so.

  Paintings, Sawyer, hope, life! Vivian thought to herself. She could feel it all coursing through her veins.

  Lord Phillip ran by a painting of a soldier.

  Soldiers, brandy and whisky on holiday. The Carolinians, and Trafalgar Square, of all places! he thought with rage.

  Their mad dash continued into the library. There was no point going to the library because it was not on the way to the front door, but Vivian loved the feeling of running and she knew that she was beating Lord Phillip, so she visited one last room.

  Vivian jumped upon a ladder and rode it from one end of the library to the other. Lord Phillip wished to do the same but found that there was not another ladder on that side of the library. He could either wait for the ladder that Vivian rode to return to his side, or he could just forgo the ladder and continue running. He chose the latter (because he thought it clever) and continued running while pulling books from the shelves, throwing them onto the ground.

  Vivian hopped off the ladder, ran out of the library, and closed the door behind her in victory. Lord Phillip stopped at the closed door and beat upon it with his fists. What the devil was he supposed to do? He pulled his hand through his hair in thought. Then he realized that the door was not locked and he exited.

  Vivian opened the door to Stockwood Park, her heart pounding in her chest. Lord Phillip was behind her in no time, but she did not realize it. Time stood still. Like that fateful night at Almack’s, there was only herself and Sawyer; the two remaining people on earth.

  Vivian stepped out onto the front step. The evening air felt cool and crisp. A faint mist could be detected, and it left drops of moisture on Vivian’s face. She looked down the stone steps and found Sawyer, leaning on the balustrade and looking remarkable.

  He had washed up. His hair was perfectly set, navy waistcoat was buttoned to perfection, boots were polished, and he was clean shaven. Sawyer smelt of soap, had cleaned his fingernails, and was the very image of the perfect gentleman. A shiny coin. Vivian wished to put him in her pocket.

  “Good evening,” Sawyer said, his eyes bright with wonder.

  “Good evening,” Vivian replied, no signs of the empty vessel that she was just moments before.

  “I have come to pay a call,” he said.

  “I’m ever so glad that you did,” Vivian replied.

  Lord Benedict and Fanny arrived at the door as well. Fanny was exceedingly out of breath, even though she did not run to the door but simply walked down the hall.

  “What is going on here?” Lord Benedict asked. He knew perfectly well what was going on, but there was nothing else that he could think to say.

  “I have come to speak with you, M’Lord,” Sawyer said, walking up the stairs with remarkable grace.

  Each step that he took was wildly exciting to Vivian. The sound of his boots made her whole body quiver.

  “In regards to?” Lord Benedict asked. Again, he knew the answer to this.

  “Your daughter,” Sawyer replied.

  Fanny got the hiccups. It always happened to her when she was nervous and very happy. The hiccups would continue throughout the following events.

  “Ho, there,” Phillip said, stepping out and moving Lady Vivian towards the side, like she were an inanimate object; a lamp, perhaps. “We had an understanding between us,” Lord Phillip said. He stared deeply into Sawyer’s eyes.

  Reputation. Reputaaaaaaaaaation, his gaze said.

  “I fear that we didn’t have any understanding in the slightest,” Sawyer went on. He was not intimidated by Lord Phillip’s red gaze, for indeed, the man’s eyes were red with hot fury. “I am of the opinion that Lady Vivian would be content and happy as my wife.”

  Vivian almost fainted with joy. Sawyer went on.

  “Not only would the lady’s happiness be assured, but also the dignity and legacy of the Ravenswood family. Despite intimidation, I am able to say with surety that my name is associated with honor and courage. I am a man that has seen and accomplished a great deal, I have acted on all occasions as suits a gentleman and a soldier, and I daresay, the Commonwealth of Britain is a better place thanks to my service and strong character. I am not a man of breeding, nor even a man of wealth. Rather, I’m a man of substance, and I would like to use all these qualities in order to ensure the future contentment of Lady Vivian Ravenswood.”

  And I have a pond.

  Silence. The sound of the breeze in the trees. Fanny hiccupped. Vivian’s heart was dancing.

  Off in London, it was like Christian Sherbet had heard the entire speech. He sat alone at the Golden Pineapple and wept like a child. Simultaneously, at Almack’s, Calvin Cain swore allegiance to the devil. In the club’s supper room, Lady Elizabeth Danvers smiled to herself, sensing that love was again possible.

  In essence, Sawyer’s fine speech could be heard and felt across the land. The continent shared a collective sigh.

  But Lord Phillip was not aware of all this.

  “Speak English man, I can’t understand a word you say,” Lord Phillip said in a huff. All turned to him as though he might be the most daft human being on the planet.

  “Sir, I am immune to your threats. I’m too much a gentleman to share that you have threatened to sully my name and reputation. I would never say that upon ruining my reputation you would also ruin Lady Vivian’s reputation and the Ravenswood family’s good name. Only if I were going for the jugular would I admit that you threatened Fanny’s reputation, as well.”

  Fanny almost hit Lord Phillip. Didn’t he know that she could be deported to Scotland?

  “This is nonsense,” Lord Phillip said, feeling all eyes on him. “I said no such things.”

  Lord Benedict was skeptical. It sounded like just the sort of thing that Lord Phillip would say.

  “I challenge you to a duel!” Lord Phillip cried, reaching for his sword at his hip and finding that it was not there.

  Lady Vivian’s eyes went wide. She was filled with fear. Although she was confident that Sawyer would win the battle, she still did not care for the notion that he could be hurt. Not after such a thrilling speech.

  “Sir, I think it not a good idea,” Sawyer said, putting up his hand.

  “Nonsense. It’s the perfect idea. You’re afraid,” Lord Phillip said.

  “Come on, old boy, do you really think that I’m afraid?” Sawyer asked.

  “I have no doubt,” Lord Phillip replied. “Look at you, you’re shaking.”

  Everyone looked to Sawyer, who stood as still as a Roman monument, eyebrows knit.

  “Well, I suppose that I have no choice then,” Sawyer replied.

  “Ha ha!” Lord Phillip cried in victory. Although, it
finally dawned on him that he was perhaps not victorious at all.

  “Well, that’s settled then,” Lord Benedict said, feeling tired and wishing the theatrics to be over with.

  “Off in yonder field,” Lord Phillip said. “At dawn.” He pointed off into the distance, and although the black of night covered yonder field, Sawyer was sure that he’d be able to find the spot come morning.

  “Very well,” Sawyer replied. “I am looking forward to it.”

  “As am I sir, as am I,” Lord Phillip said, returning to the estate. The fellow would have a mighty difficult time sleeping that night, but he wore his lucky sleeping cap.

  Lord Benedict, ever so weary, returned to the house as well. Fanny remained with the girl, hiccupping.

  “I don’t know what to say,” Vivian whispered. “You have filled me with new life.”

  “That was my hope,” Sawyer replied, stepping up to her.

  “But now I’m fearful. Please promise me that you will be safe,” Vivian said.

  “I promise,” Sawyer said. He leaned in quickly and kissed Vivian on the lips. It was a short, vigorous kiss, and Fanny gasped.

  Sawyer turned to Fanny and gave her a short, vigorous kiss on the lips as well, and Fanny gasped again.

  Within the blink of an eye, Sawyer was back down the steps and acrobatically mounted his horse, riding off into the distance.

  Both Fanny and Lady Vivian sighed in wonder. Fanny secretly hoped that Sawyer would marry her, as well.

  Chapter Twenty

  Dawn. Action. Fate.

  Oh, come off it, man, Sawyer thought to himself. No use in overthinking things. He was prepared to meet the challenge, but Sawyer couldn’t help but contemplate the importance of that morning.

  It was the morning that would determine his future, and Vivian’s future. If he prevailed, they would live happily ever after. If he failed, well, he’d be dead.

  Either way, someone was going to die. He wished that it might be Lord Phillip. Yet still, Sawyer did not like to see death. More so, he hated to be the cause of it. Sawyer had killed many men in the war. Each time, he would capture the face of the fallen soldier in his mind. Those faces would come back to haunt him in the night. They never seemed like enemies, those men. Rather, like soldiers doing their duty, not unlike himself. In essence, every time that he killed another man on the battlefield, he killed himself.