Rakes and Radishes

by Susanna Ives

  He couldn’t take anymore. “Edward is here. I know. So is Lady Sara. If you’re going to cry, please go elsewhere. I’m quite at my emotional edge tonight,” he barked.

  She was silent, her usual topic of conversation removed. She sat in the chair before him, clasping her hands between her knees.

  “I didn’t see you in the ballroom,” she said. “Why aren’t you dancing?”

  “I can’t dance.”

  “Can’t dance? Of course, you can. I have danced with you many times.”

  “I broke a young lady’s toe last night.”

  “You didn’t!” Henrietta let out a tiny giggle, then another and another, like raindrops before the downpour, until her whole body shook with laughter. “You have to admit, it’s rather funny.”

  “I’m glad you find amusement in my humiliation.”

  Henrietta stopped laughing. “I can’t do anything right, can I? What will make you happy? Tell me what to do.”

  “You could leave me alone.” His words sounded harsh even to himself.

  She rubbed her tiny ruby pendant. “When did you become so mean?”

  He felt like a louse, but he wasn’t going to apologize. Not anymore.

  She left her chair and knelt by him. The firelight flickered on her pale skin. “Come dance with me, Kesseley. Edward’s here and—”

  “And?”

  “And I want you to dance with me.”

  “I can’t.”

  “I don’t care if you step on my toe,” she assured him.

  Kesseley sighed and put his hands on hers. “Toes aside, I can’t dance with you anymore.”

  “You’re just going to sit here in the darkness and be miserable. How will you find a wife this way?”

  “I can’t get a wife. You were right. About my clothes, my manners. Me. They laugh at me.”

  Her eyebrows shot down and her eyes turned fierce. “Who laughed at you?”

  He pulled away from her, wishing he hadn’t been so weak. “Forget it.”

  “Who?”

  “What are you going to do, challenge them to a duel?”

  “I might. Ladies in Norfolk are backwards, you know.” She laughed, inviting him to join. He didn’t.

  “I think it best if you just leave,” he said.

  She reached for him again. “Kesseley—”

  “Please leave.”

  She hesitated, then rose. She paused at the doorframe, looked over her shoulder at him and then disappeared into the corridor. Kesseley felt so damned pathetic. He sank his face into his hands.

  Not a minute later, she returned and came to stand before the fire. Her hands were clenched at her sides. “It’s true,” she said. “I did ask you to dress better and change your manners, and I said all sorts of horrid things. I regret every one of them. And if you want to sit in the dark and be alone and sad, I won’t stop you. But you are the most handsome man here, by far the kindest and the gentlest. And those ladies in that ballroom should be so lucky if you asked them to dance.”

  “I might have believed you had I not known Edward was here.”

  “You know, sometimes I wish—”

  “Wish what?” he shouted, bolting from his chair. “That I was the gothic hero of those novels of yours, so I could sweep Lady Sara away and Edward would come crawling back begging for—”

  “I wish that I loved you instead of Edward!”

  Kesseley’s heart felt like it dropped several stories and hit the hard ground. He’d never thought Henrietta could be so cruel.

  “Leave,” he growled.

  Chapter Twelve

  Henrietta sat at her desk in her morning dress, her pen poised over the letter to her father. So far, she had written one sentence: London is very exciting.

  She had run out of good things to say, although she could pen volumes describing the heart-crushing pain of watching Edward and Lady Sara dance. Henrietta had won eight straight rubbers that evening. London matrons and gentlemen loved her, yet it couldn’t compare to the adoration in Edward’s eyes when he gazed upon Lady Sara.

  Then Kesseley wouldn’t talk to her.

  That was the cruelest cut.

  The weather has been nice, she wrote.

  She could hear Kesseley shuffling about in his chamber. She tiptoed to their mutual wall, placing her ear to the plaster. She could make out scraping feet and murmuring voices. She had seen only the smallest glimpse of his room, through a cracked door—glossy heavy mahogany furniture and dark walls. Men’s chambers reminded her of those dark German forests in fairy tales where secrets were hidden amongst the overgrown thickets. Mysteries ladies learned upon the initiation of becoming a wife.

  ***

  She heard his door close and she rushed to hers, opening it.

  He wore his old greatcoat. Rather hostile eyes glared at her from under his beaver hat.

  “Were you waiting on me?” he said, almost accusingly.

  “No,” she said, feeling telltale splotches breaking out on her cheeks. “Did you sleep well?” The image of him sleeping in that large mahogany bed only deepened her spots.

  “Well enough.”

  “I would like to go to the park this morning. Would you care to join me?”

  “Sorry, I have some appointments to keep. Please enjoy yourself.” He made a quick bow and then headed for the stairs.

  “But wait,” she called after him. “Where are you going?”

  “Is it important to you?”

  Henrietta blinked. “No.” She took a few steps down, until they were eye to eye. “I just wanted to talk about last night.”

  “I don’t,” he said, continuing down the stairs. “And if you must know, I am going to Gentleman Jackson’s boxing parlor.”

  Samuel ran up to Henrietta, tongue out, his thick tail whacking the steps. Henrietta sat and gave Samuel’s ears a nice rub.

  Kesseley paused at the landing and adjusted his hat. “Oh yes, your dearest Edward is coming for a visit today,” he said and then continued downstairs. She heard the front door close.

  She pulled herself up by the baluster and clung to it for fear she would fall down the stairs. Her insides ached, as if she had a fever, although she was perfectly well. If only she were sick and had to stay in bed. Perhaps she could conveniently die.

  “Miss Watson, is that you? Please come. I have something for you,” Lady Kesseley called from below.

  The parlor was unmercifully bright. Happy little rainbows of colors bounced off the crystal chandelier and onto the walls. Lady Kesseley worked on her morning correspondences at her desk. She held out an opened letter in her hand and said, “It’s for you. I accidentally opened it. He is quite an ardent suitor, your Mr. Van Heerlen.”

  Henrietta took it and rubbed the letter with her thumb, trying to smooth out the wrinkled and bent edges.

  “What’s the matter?” Lady Kesseley asked.

  “Kesseley informed me Edward was coming to visit.” Tears began to trickle from her eyes.

  Lady Kesseley’s reaction surprised her. “Let us leave,” she said. “We shall go to the shops.”

  Henrietta wiped her eyes. “I want to—I do—but I have to find out what happened. Even if it destroys my heart, I have to know.”

  She thought Lady Kesseley would be happy to see her so humiliated. Instead, Kesseley’s mother put a kind hand on Henrietta’s arm. “I shall wait with you.”

  She sat beside her on the sofa for twenty angst-ridden minutes. Though they didn’t speak, Henrietta had to admit that it felt nice to have her there, like a pretend mother.

  The anticipation was painful. Henrietta’s thoughts rushed about her head, frantically lifting up the letter to her father…the conversation with Kesseley on the stairs…the dress she’d chosen this morning, looking for those misplaced words she wanted to say to Edward. The perfect ones she had composed late in the night, as she stared up at the curtains above her bed. Succinct, beautiful words, capable of changing Edward’s mind. She was still searching when Boxly opened
the door and let Edward inside.

  Lady Kesseley squeezed Henrietta’s fingers and rose to greet him. Henrietta could barely manage to stand, holding on to the edge of the sofa. She murmured, “Good morning.”

  Edward looked so handsome, wearing a forest-green coat matching his lovely eyes. His cheeks were flush, and his dark curls hung loose and free about his forehead, as if he had just finished an exhilarating gallop.

  The smile he wore for Lady Kesseley disappeared when he looked at Henrietta. His jaw tensed and he swallowed, looking very much like a patient under the surgeon’s waiting knife.

  “Do you want me to stay?” Lady Kesseley asked Henrietta.

  Henrietta shook her head.

  She left, looking over her shoulder at Henrietta. “I shall be outside.”

  Edward set down his hat and smiled sheepishly, as if he were not sure where to start. “Cousin Henrietta,” he said. “You look lovely.”

  “And you look handsome. But then, you always have,” Henrietta conceded.

  He nodded in a determined fashion. “I apologize if I seemed surprised meeting you in the park. I hadn’t expected to see you, of course. I—”

  She held up her hand before his face in an effort to stop such senseless words. “I just want to know. Did you ever love me? Truly?”

  He took a deep, uneven breath. “Everything was so different back in Ely. I thought that I had all I would ever have. Then my poetry got published, and I came to London and—I don’t think you will understand—but I feel like me, the real me.” He held his hands to his chest. “My poetry, my life, everything has changed. It’s like I’m alive. Don’t you feel it?”

  Her throat burned. “I’ve never seen you so happy,” she admitted.

  “Yes! So you see, I’m who I wanted to be, finally. I thought it wasn’t possible, that we had to live the life doled out to us. And we don’t—I don’t! And I can’t go back. The thought terrifies me. I can’t be that man stuck in Ely, looking out at endless fields of sheep and cows, everything real about me reduced to a few lines on a piece of paper.”

  “What about me? I thought the same things, wanted the same things. Do you think I am so happy with the life I have inherited? Caring for my father, waiting on the mail, living my life in gothic novels,” she cried. “We dreamed together. It was supposed to be us living in that townhome in London. I can be part of London, too. I’ve been invited to ever so many parties. We can—”

  “I love another. Truly love, deeper than I thought imaginable. If you could only feel the same, you would understand that nothing that came before can hold any sway to it. It consumes me, impassions me.”

  “You can’t just forget the past!”

  “But you can. You have to.”

  “I wish I could put my feelings for you in some box and forget about them! Is it really that easy?” she yelled, cringing at the echo of her own voice, stringent and hurt. She spun around, hiding herself from him. “You were my dream, Edward. And you let me dream it. You have to take some responsibility for my hurt.”

  “Fine. I will admit that I may have encouraged you. And I am sorry for the feelings or intentions you have harbored. But I didn’t ask you to marry me. I cannot be held accountable for something I didn’t do.”

  Henrietta bit down on her trembling lips, her eyes growing hot. Edward put his hands on her shoulders and turned her to him, until she could see his face.

  “You were always so beautiful when you were sad.” He wiped a tear before it fell. “I do care for you, Henrietta. I always will in my memories. You were the first person I gave my poems to. Do you remember outside church that Sunday? You were the first to believe in me, and I will cherish that, faithful Henrietta.”

  He hadn’t answered her question. “Did you ever love me?”

  “No,” he whispered.

  “Perhaps you should leave now.”

  But he didn’t, he just tightened his hold on her arms. “I know I have no right to ask, but I hope I may count you among my cherished friends.”

  Henrietta nodded, unable to speak.

  He took her hand and kissed it, then retrieved his hat and paused at the door, giving her a soft smile. “Goodbye.”

  And then he was gone.

  Henrietta stumbled, catching the marble mantel and leaning her head against the cold stone. She felt Lady Kesseley’s hands on her back, trying to comfort her.

  “We are but friends,” Henrietta whispered. “Please, I want to be alone.”

  If only she could walk sixty miles back to the Great Ouse River and watch the water flow by under the heavy oak branches. Perhaps Kesseley would sit beside her, in his old muddy clothes, and talk to her again.

  Instead, she would have to settle for the grimy Serpentine and a footman, for Lady Kesseley wouldn’t let Henrietta go alone for fear some scary man might take advantage of her.

  And there was, of course, Samuel.

  So a skinny, red-headed footman, no taller than Henrietta, was summoned and given a leash. He would be no match for the hound, Henrietta thought. But the moment Samuel bolted for an odiferous mounting block, the footman yanked the leash and ordered him to stay in a deep voice. Samuel sat, making it abundantly clear he had no respect for Henrietta.

  The park didn’t turn out to be the place of quietness and reflection she had hoped. It was a rare cloudless day in London. The sun beamed down on the city and the ton came out like new spring growth to bask in it. Henrietta recognized faces from the previous nights. Suddenly she felt awkward walking to the park with just a servant.

  Instead they headed north on Park Lane. A whole street of mounting blocks Samuel hadn’t sniffed. They entered the park near Grosvenor Street where the beautiful green trees arced protectively over the path. Around her, children played on the grass, running and laughing, while middling husbands and wives sat on blankets and ate from baskets. Their happiness only made her sadness more pronounced, so she hurried along.

  Finding no unoccupied bench by the Serpentine, Henrietta sat in the grass under a quadrangle of trees. The footman took Samuel to the water’s edge so that he might bark at the swans and test his paws in the water. Her whole body ached as if she had been beaten with boards. I do care for you, Henrietta, Edward had said.

  You just don’t impassion me, consume me, Henrietta added. You are as dull as an ewe chomping the grass in one of Kesseley’s fields. You are everything I despise.

  It felt as if Edward had reached inside her heart, yanking out all her soft memories and yearnings and then tossing them aside.

  Like you tossed aside Kesseley? that cruel little voice added.

  Henrietta winced, feeling she could sink from the layers of emotions weighing her down. This had been a horrible trip! She wished Edward and Lady Sara had made it to Gretna Greene, for there would have been nothing she could have done about it. It would have been done, a clean and fast sever with a sharp blade. Kesseley would have gone to London and found a wife, with no further guilt on her part. And she would be at home, entertaining Mr. Van Heerlen, receiving the affections she once thought so vile.

  But that was before she really knew Mr. Van Heerlen. Before the vulnerable look in his eyes the morning he asked for her hand.

  She opened her reticule and dug out his letter.

  My Dearest Miss Watson,

  It has been a week since you have left, and I admit you fill my thoughts constantly, for I have only the possessions you have left behind to comfort me. In the evenings, when the work is done, I persuade your father to tell me stories of young Henrietta.

  I worry for such a pure, untouched young woman in the lecherous streets of London, and wish I could be there to protect you.

  Your father’s work dazzles me. How such genius could go undiscovered for so long baffles me. I feel like I have discovered some treasure and I agonize whether I should give him to the world or hoard and protect him. It is hard for brilliant men in the world—as I have learned—for so much is wanted from you, so much pressure, always more
questions to answer. Especially for your father and myself, on the brink of greatness. My impatience grows, yet I work calculation and calculation until we are certain.

  I only hope that my endeavor will win the favor of a most endearing young lady and that she will hold my hand in this step into history.

  Pieter Van Heerlen

  PS: Your father would like to know where you put his blue knitted nightcap.

  She read the letter again, letting her fingers linger on the lines. It felt nice to be wanted, like beckoning her in from her emotional snowstorm to a roaring fire and blanket.

  A small squirrel crawled cautiously near and sat back on his hind feet, pointing his twitching nose in the air, searching for a nut or crust of bread.

  Henrietta cocked her head at him. “Squirrel, should I just marry Mr. Van Heerlen?”

  A nut flew over her head and landed on the ground near her feet. The squirrel nabbed the nut and scampered up a nearby tree with his treasure.

  “You shouldn’t ask such questions of squirrels,” said the gray-bearded artist-philosopher bearing a handful of nuts. “They’re terrible. They chase female squirrels all across the park. Take up with any old squirrel that flicks her tail their way. They’re not too discriminatory.”

  “I actually think that was the crux of my question.”

  “Should you marry a gentleman just because he can write a fancy word?” he said, looking at the page lying in the ground beside her.

  “Never mind.” Henrietta gathered up her letter. “I don’t think we should share personal situations, as we are strangers.”

  “Too bad, because I can see you are dying for advice. Grapes?”

  From within his bag of exotic treasures, he took out a beautiful green vine filled with plump purple grapes and dangled it before her. “Take one.”

  Henrietta chose a juicy, fat grape and popped it in her mouth before she could think better of taking fruit from a possible lunatic. The sweet juice tasted cool and vibrant on her tongue. The man took two and chewed them, then neatly spit out the seeds, splashing the lake’s surface. “So you were going to ask me for advice because I gave you a grape,” he said, sitting down, crossing his legs underneath him.