Glass Roses: A Victorian Fairytale

by Britain Kalai Soderquist

  “You need not concern yourself, Papa,” I said. “I am not yet twenty, you know, and I need not consider such things for now. Besides, what would you do if I were to marry and go off? I could not leave you to yourself, or you would become so distracted creating a compound for making a person fly that you would never leave your laboratory, and you know that to be true.” Papa nodded and tried to smile at the light tone I had used, but he still seemed sad. I did my best to lift his mood and to put the conversation out of my own mind as well.

  Of course, it was not easy to forget what he had said, and by Saturday afternoon I was feeling gloomy. Papa had gone back to his rooms to rest before tea (at my urging, for he was looking pale and drawn), and a break in the clouds tempted me to don my bonnet and pelisse and go outside.

  The breeze was cool against my skin and pushed the clouds along at a hurried pace. The green lawns about the castle seemed restricting in that moment, so I crossed the bridge and followed the road down the hill for some minutes before coming on the start of a small path to my right. I had noted this path twice before while taking Mrs. Kirke to the village. She had said it was one of many that lead through the woods and eventually down into the valley, but that they had ceased to be used in the last ten years or so. Even with the passage of time, I thought I could still make out the track and I determined to follow it until it was time to return for tea.

  The forest rose up around me as I followed the path down toward the valley. It was much steeper than I had anticipated, but the sight of the trees thick over my head, with rocks and little patches of flowers strewn throughout the undergrowth was quite charming. My progress was swift due to the slope of the land, and I was soon quite a ways down the hill. I paused to catch my breath and listened to the sound of the wind swirling through the leaves overhead. The woods were strangely silent, as though the wind had carried away the usual voices one hears in nature. Then my ear caught the sound of water trickling along to the right of where I stood. It did not sound very far, and I was intrigued by the thought that a stream had been running through the hills all this time, hidden from my sight by the trees. Perhaps it had once been part of the castle moat (which was now a grassy ravine and only held water during the most drenching of rains).

  It took me some time to find the stream, as the ground was uneven and thickly covered away from the path, and the hem of my gown was soon soaked through. Eventually I spotted a break in the undergrowth and quickened my pace until I could see the water. It bubbled merrily over a rocky bed and ran swiftly downhill from where I stood, carrying leaves and sticks that had been dislodged by the wind and rain. The stream was perhaps six long paces across, but it looked deeper than I had imagined it to be.

  I was curious to know how deep it was, so I bent down and retrieved a long branch from the ground. There was a large rock, slightly rounded, that seemed a convenient place to stand on the edge of the stream. I carefully stepped up and made my footing sure before bending over the stream to try and reach as close to the middle as possible. I had chosen a stick with a bend in one end and a long section of straight wood in the hope that it would help me reach further without having to risk falling into the stream. (I share these details because I am determined to show you how silly I was to think that these precautions would suffice.) Down went the stick until it touched the rocky stream bed, and up it came again.

  Just as I was beginning to straighten myself, a bright flash of lighting streaked across the sky, followed immediately by a fierce clap of thunder. The light and sound coming so unexpectedly on me, I started and lost my balance. Had I not already begun swinging my branch away from the stream I do think I might have fallen in. As it was, my momentum carried me backward instead of forward and my left foot stepped back off of the rock. I felt the toe of my half boot touch the ground and then my ankle folded beneath my weight. I fell hard to the ground and tumbled several feet down the hill before I was able to stop myself from rolling.

  I lay still for a moment to assess my physical state: my ankle was throbbing most dreadfully, my gown and pelisse were wet through, and I was certain I would discover several bruises along my arms and legs the next day. The state of my bonnet I could not begin to guess, as it had come undone in my tumble and was hidden somewhere in the ferns. Several strands of hair had come loose and were clinging to my face. These I brushed away as best I could.

  As soon as I had recovered my breath, I sat up and looked about me. My tumble had turned me in such a way that I was now looking up the hill instead of down. The stream was still in sight, but a bend in its course had led it further to my left. I could not see the path at all. Another flash of lightning and more thunder sounded quite close over my head. It would rain again soon, I was certain.

  My ankle was my first concern. I gingerly attempted to move it but the sharp pain that coursed through it was enough to discourage me. For a moment I considered removing my half boot to see if I could tell what sort of state it was in, but it seemed more prudent to leave the boot in place, for I did not relish the thought of wet stockings as well as a wet gown.

  I next determined that I could not continue sitting on the damp ground in such a strained position, and looked about for something more suitable to sit on. There was nothing. More lightning and thunder startled me again, and I sighed in frustration over my deplorable lack of sense. Why had I come out without telling anyone where I was going? It seemed the height of foolishness now.

  I will not bore you with a minute description of how I spent the next several hours being rained on by a veritable thunderstorm, shivering and in pain, nor how the thunder and wind seemed to swallow my attempts to call for help. I shall proceed to the point at which the light had completely faded underneath the trees, the dark relieved only by the odd flash of lightning. It was in one of those flashes that I suddenly caught sight of something that made my heart stop. The shout I had been in the middle of died in my throat as I peered toward the stream. Another flash of lightning confirmed what I had hoped I was imagining: a lean grey wolf was crouched among the ferns. Its yellow eyes seemed to stand out in the dark as the lightning faded, and a low growl rumbled in its throat. I swallowed and tried to quiet my breathing and hold very still. It seemed impossible that it had not seen me. Time seemed to stretch as I stared at those eyes, willing the creature to simply turn around and leave me be.

  Neither the wolf nor I was prepared for the sudden crack of a gunshot that sounded from the direction of the path. The wolf’s grizzled head turned swiftly, looking for its foe. A second shot, closer this time, and the wolf launched itself away toward the stream, snapping and snarling in anger at having its hunt interrupted. My pulse was racing and I realized I had been holding my breath. Footsteps crunched through the undergrowth toward me, and I blinked as the bright light of a lantern was brought close to my face. The sound of a horse split the night. A gloved hand held out an object to me: my bonnet, slightly crushed, dirt scattered along the straw brim. I looked up at the owner of the hand and saw the stern frown of the Duke’s face. In that moment I felt that I had never been so grateful to be frowned on in my life.

  “Miss Copley, are you injured at all?” he said gruffly.

  “My ankle,” I said, brevity winning over details. The Duke set the lantern down beside me and moved around to examine it without saying a word. He lifted it with surprisingly gentle hands and began to roll it to one side. My sharp intake of breath was enough; he set it down again and stood.

  “Take hold of the lantern. I shall have to carry you,” he said. I nodded, too cold and sore to think of what such a statement would mean. Tying my bonnet securely under my chin, I lifted the lantern and balanced it with both hands. It rattled slightly in my grasp and I realized that I was shivering more violently than ever. The Duke bent down and lifted me easily. He turned to the right, and we made our way back to the path where his black horse waited obediently. The Duke did not say anything as he set me in front of the saddle and climbed up behind. Perhaps he knew th
at I was shaking too hard to manage the horse on my own. Taking the lantern in his left hand he wrapped his right arm around my back. He took hold of the reins and nudged the horse forward. The incline of the hill caused me to lean back against the Duke’s chest, which seemed as warm as a furnace compared to the cold ground I had so recently experienced. A wave of exhaustion rolled over me, and I found myself drifting in and out of consciousness with the motion of the horse.

  Eventually we reached the castle, which seemed as bright as a bonfire after the darkness of the woods. Several other lanterns bobbed in the courtyard and I could make out the groom and the footmen, as well as the figure of James Kirke coming forward to help us. The Duke handed James the lantern while the groom took the horse’s head. Dismounting swiftly, the Duke lifted me from the horse and I was once again borne aloft by his strong arms. Mrs. Kirke was waiting in the front hall, along with my father, well wrapped in a dressing gown and looking as though only severe urging had kept him from joining the search for me. The Duke carried me into the drawing room and placed me on the sofa.

  The fuss that was made over me, the blankets and shawls, mugs of broth, the arrival of the doctor and his pronouncement that my ankle was severely strained but not broken, my father’s relief, my pain and exhaustion all combined to give me a very hazy memory of the rest of the evening. What I do recall are the Duke’s dark eyes as they watched from across the room, never leaving my face, and his strong arms as he carried me up the stairs and deposited me in my room after the doctor’s examination, both of us dripping water on the carpets and not speaking a word to one another.

  16 May

  I had to leave off from my letter to receive Dr. Jones and have not been able to pick up my pen again until this morning. Mrs. Kirke has been making such a fuss over me that she insisted I wait to resume writing for fear that I would become overtired with the exertion. I might have disputed such logic had I not been suffering from a streaming cold at the time. My delay has proved useful, however, for I have received your most recent letter and am able to include my reaction to your news.

  I could not be more shocked and delighted at this turn of events! You are indeed most fortunate to have escaped from Fanny, Hettie, and Aunt Sylvia in such a fashion. You must promise to write to me regularly and share all the details of your comings and goings. I have read that the society in Vienna rivals that of any fine city in the world, and that the most talented of Europe’s creative minds congregate there with great regularity. Let us hope that Lady Warner is as tireless in her desire for society and entertainment as Lady Rousseau has proven to be so that you may enjoy every delight the city has to offer.

  I do regret that Baron Wilhelm must suffer disappointment to affect this change, but his gracious acceptance of your refusal shows him to be a true gentleman. And I do not blame you in the slightest for your decision to reject him. You are quite right to do so with such feelings as yours. I have always admired your ability to behave with both ladylike dignity and confidence in your enjoyment of activities that some would find odd. Indeed, I have often looked to your example when uncertain of how to behave (Heaven knows Aunt Sylvia is no proper choice for a model of deportment). Although I believe a gentleman like the Baron could have learned to understand such things, perhaps his position in Germany would indeed have required you to give up some of your more creative activities. (And who would I have to go riding astride with if you were to give it up?) I also had not recollected that such a marriage would take you away from England so permanently. No, it is best that you did refuse him.

  My ankle is much better after several days’ rest. I am now able to move from my room to the sitting room with only the help of a maid, although I have not attempted the stairs as yet. On my first day out of my room, Papa wished to take our evening meal together in the sitting room. I did my best to dissuade him with a reminder of how we must not leave our host alone. He agreed and we said no more on the subject. I removed to my room when he went to dress for dinner, but a knock came on the door just as I was settling into a chair by the fire. Papa came in.

  “Lord William has beaten us to it, Isabella,” he said jovially. I looked at him in confusion. “We are to dine in the sitting room with His Grace this evening at his personal request.”

  (I find I must hurry my account, for I can hear Mrs. Kirke’s voice directing the servants at the opposite end of the hall. No doubt she will look in on me very soon and scold me for exerting myself.)

  Our dinner was an informal one that night, and the small setting seemed to suit the Duke. He actually came close to a true smile several times throughout the meal and offered me more opportunities for real conversation than ever before. I found myself quite caught up in watching his face. He really is quite handsome when he is not scowling or frowning. I believe I had remarked on the possibility of this to you before, but I now know it to be quite true.

  We have repeated this same routine every night since that time, and every night the Duke’s manner becomes a little less stiff, less disgruntled. He and Papa have truly formed a close friendship, and we have had several almost lively conversations about literature. I will not say that he is perfectly easy or that he does not regularly fall into periods of moody silence, but it is quite an improvement over his behavior in Kent. What will Helen say when she returns? She will hardly recognize her host for the same surly gentleman he used to be.

  I must leave off now, for Mrs. Kirke’s step is drawing closer with every moment. Write to me soon and tell me all about the wonders of Vienna and any adventures you have on the steam engine (I am quite jealous of that aspect of your journey).

  Love,

  Isabella

  P.S. I ended my letter before I remembered that I had forgotten to mention your new slippers. Are they truly made of glass? I have seen cunning things made of glass before, but never anything that was intended to be worn. Have you tested their strength yet? Will they indeed take your weight?

  Oh, and if it is not too much trouble, would you mind dreadfully if I inquired after my new gown? I had quite forgotten about it until now. Do you know if the modiste has sent it on? I would so hate to discover that it had been lost in the post.

  21 May, 1845

  Voight Inn, Augsburg, Germany

  Dear Isabella,

  Papa and I have been obliged to stop for several days in Augsburg due to a disruption in the usual schedule of the railway. We expect to be on our way again today. This unexpected delay in our journey has allowed our mail to catch us up. Papa received a most gracious reply from Lord Warner saying that he and Lady Warner are looking forward to receiving us, and has written to inform him of our latest travel plans. I was most excited to see that your letter had made it on through Paris even without a proper forwarding address, but was most distressed by the news you shared. Indeed, it took a walk in the nearby hills that lasted the better part of the morning before I was able to calm myself after reading the whole of your story.

  My dear cousin, I simply cannot express my gratitude to the Duke of Stirling for his timely arrival and rescue of you. I do not doubt your ability to care for yourself in normal circumstances, but a severely strained ankle in a thunderstorm does not count as a normal circumstance. I am not usually given to feelings of faintness, but I will admit it was a near thing this time. I do hope you will listen to Mrs. Kirke’s advice and not overexert yourself. Of course I do not think that writing letters can harm a strained ankle, but the essence of her advice is quite sound.

  To answer your request for stories about my railway adventures, I shall tell you a little about the experience. We joined the railway in the German town of Stuttgart, and are some of the first passengers to ride the newly-constructed line to Augsburg. The railway company has not declared the line officially open, but they are allowing passenger trains to make the journey in an effort to detect areas of difficulty. It is one of these mechanical difficulties that caused the delay in our departure. Papa inquired as to the safety of the line and was told
that it was an issue with the engine, not the line itself. The line between Augsburg and Munich is better-established and should not delay us any further.

  Even with the mechanical issues, I find I quite enjoy railway travel. The steam engine is extremely noisy, between the whistles, the chugging of the engine, the clatter of the wheels on the rails, the rush of air from the engine’s passing, and the jets of steam that Papa says must be released regularly to regulate pressure while at rest in a station. It is a tremendous experience to watch the land sweep past in such vast quantities, even if one is viewing the event through a soot-covered window. Trains are also very dirty, for the power is created by heating water in a boiler, something like in a tea kettle, and the heat comes from a coal fire in the engine itself that must be constantly fed by a man whose only job it is to shovel coal onto the fire. I imagine it to be extremely hot and dirty work, for the grime is noticeable on the windows even at the back of the train. The first-class carriages, at least, are kept relatively clean and comfortable inside, although the motion of the whole assemblage is somewhat jostling. It is no worse than a carriage on a country lane, however, so I do not mind it much.

  I must end, for it is nearly time to depart. Do write again and tell me of your recovery and how you are spending your time until you are fully well.

  All my love,

  Eleanor

  P.S. I am heartily glad to hear that every moment of your time in the castle is not filled with so much silence as it used to be. I begin to think more kindly of the Duke than I did before. Perhaps he is indeed out of practice with being in society. Have you discovered anything new about his mysterious past? We may finally learn something more if he has become more willing to engage in conversation.