“See to the matter, Mrs. Bates, I will be at my office in town.”
Mrs. Bates wanted to stop him, stop his form from leaving the household as she watched his tall frame walk outside. Didn’t he care that his wife was sick? Didn’t he care that in her feverish state she’d called out for her husband? Didn’t he care for her at all?
“My lady? I’m Dr. Jenkins, do you understand me?” A voice asked from the darkness of Angel’s sickness. She struggled to understand it and finally, long seconds after the voice spoke to her did she nod her head.
“Good, my lady, I’m going to check on you, alright? Mrs. Bates the housekeeper is in the room with us, my lady, but we must make sure you are alright.”
The voice was kind, gentle and Angel managed to open her eyes and take in the sight of an elderly man with bone white hair, dark skin and warm brown eyes. Nodding again, she closed her eyes, the movement a great feat to her wearied body.
Continuing his assessment of her, Dr. Jenkins asked many questions, some of which Angel was able to answer. Long minutes later, once more dressed and soothed into sleep by the medication which he’d given her, Angel relaxed, she was so tired, and her body ached and she felt nauseated. And Angel, who had rarely if ever been sick, found herself grossly impatient with her weak state, but could do nothing about it. She seemed to have a low grade fever for the past month or so, since she’d left from Hunter’s home to visit her aunt.
And once asleep, she did not hear the words spoken by the doctor to the housekeeper upon her sickness.
Dr. Jenkins waited for Asher well into the night; it was close to the ten before Asher finally returned to his home, looking tired, impatient. Dr. Jenkins wandered if he too, must need an exam as his wife before him as he was ushered inside Asher’s office.
“Mr. Hawthorne,” he said, slightly angered at this man for not checking in on his wife in the many hours since he’d been called to her bedside. Newlyweds, and already the gossip mills were right, this was not a marriage of love, but one hastily given because of embarrassment, dishonor, disgrace and a threat of being disowned.
“Dr. Jenkins,” Asher returned, nodding curtly. He’d known the doctor for over ten years, had thought of him as a friend, but Asher did not want him to ask questions even Asher had no answer for.
Silence reigned momentarily, the two men studying each other, before it was the doctor who spoke first. “Do you not have any questions for me about the state of your wife’s health?” He asked, trying to keep the incredulousness from his voice.
“I am waiting for you to inform me, doctor. If it was a grave illness I would have been called from my office.”
Dr. Jenkins looked momentarily aghast as the coldness of Asher’s voice. He paused, studying the closed features of a friend and patient. “You are right in assuming that matter, Asher,” he said, using his given name, hoping that familiarity would soothe whatever was wrong with this man’s soul. “However, the matter is important, dreadfully so, but not life threatening, not usually.”
“Stop speaking in circles and tell me what is the matter with her?”
“She is with child, sir. Over a month, nearly 6 weeks.”
The next morning Angel felt better, still slightly weak, she had an insatiable urge once she woke up to have dinner rolls and asparagus, but fought the need as she dressed and a knock was upon the door.
“Who is it?” She called, buttoning the last of her dress.
“Mrs. Bates, mistress, may I speak with you?”
Opening the door, Angel stared with curious eyes at Mrs. Bates, who immediately came in, closing the door behind her.
“Mistress, I came to check upon you, but thankfully, find you better.”
“Yes, why thank you, Mrs. Bates.”
“Would you like something to eat, it is now close to the noon hour.”
“Yes, please, that will be fine.”
Mrs. Bates hesitated as her cheeks flamed red, not meeting Angel’s eyes. Angel looked at her with open curiosity. “Is there anything amiss, Mrs. Bates?”
“Do you remember the doctor speaking with you the other day?”
Angel shook her head. “No, not at all. He must have given me some medicine to help my sickness, correct?”
“Yes, he did, my lady, but, uh…he also…I mean, I was in the room with you and he…uh, told, me, after…uh, his examination of you…that,” she paused, still blushing fiercely and not daring to meet her eyes. “It is just that, my lady, I do not believe you have anyone to speak with…I mean, another lady, even though I have heard you have an aunt in the English countryside. And it is just that, you seem, so alone…oh, forgive me, my lady, for speaking of such.” And then finally, in a rush, Mrs. Bates let the words escape from her mouth. “The doctor believes that you are with child, mistress.”
The words did not fully sink into Angel’s mind. “Excuse, me?” She said, feeling her limbs began to tremble as she sank heavily on the bed behind her. “I must, what did you say?”
“The doctor, you told the doctor during your examination that you’d missed your monthly and you had felt achy and your…uh, parts of your anatomy were tender, mistress. Oh, my lady, do forgive me, but the doctor does believe that you are with child, almost six weeks.”
Angel stared at Mrs. Bates with large eyes. It all made sense now, the constant tears she was shedding, her tender breast, her missed time of the month which she had not even thought of until now due to the extenuating circumstances she had found herself in.
“Oh. Oh.” She began, in awe, in shock, both fearful and strangely exhilarated at the same time. She was pregnant, she thought, her limbs still trembling but an ever so slight glow beginning in the furthermost reaches of her soul.
Angel realized that Mrs. Bates was still speaking.
“He told, Asher?” She asked her eyes wide.
Mrs. Bates nodded hesitantly. “Yes, mistress, your husband was told.”
Mrs. Bates did not want to add that upon telling Asher had not been seen since last night. He’d left his house after being informed and had told no one of his where about and had slept away from his home and had not been seen at his office either.
“Where is he, my…my husband?”
“I do not know, my lady,” Mrs. Bates informed her kindly. Sympathy in her eyes. But Angel did not want her sympathy. “He will be home, soon, mistress, give him time. It is harder for men, remember that. Oh, I am so sorry to tell you like this, my lady. It must be dreadfully hard for you, being away from home and all. Please, have faith; everything shall be for the best. I promise you, just have faith.”
Asher came home that night, close to midnight; sleep had escaped him while thoughts and emotion had battered away at him relentlessly. It bode him no well, as he made his way upstairs to his bedroom and stared at the door that connected his room to Angel’s. He dare not enter it. Not for the sake of sanity.
Angel had not seen her husband in a fortnight, not since the news of her pregnancy, she was hurt that he could not speak to her in a matter so important to the both of them, so important to the future, but he ignored Angel as he’d promised, as if he had no wife at all, no future child. Angel wrote nothing of this in her letters to Hunter, her aunt and her father and made happy mention that a child was to be expected. She’d received no letters back from Hunter or her aunt, even though she’d written four to Hunter and two to her aunt. Her father’s response she knew she’d have to wait for four more weeks before finding a letter from him.
Finding herself increasingly isolated, Angel escaped through her music, the large piano in the music room, occupying most of her time and seeing to the few needs of the household which was already run like a well-oiled clock. Asher had given direct orders that she was not to leave the household without him but since he was never home, Angel could go no further than the gardens. And since she had no one to speak to other than Mrs. Bates and the servants, Angel grew quiet, reserved and somber. The once happy Angel, the once fearless Angel and stable w
oman had become emotionally unhinged, had become dark and fearful, and scared of the future, scared of the present scared of loving a man who hated her so much he didn’t even want to live in the same house.
The thought tortured her, gave way to darker hurtful thoughts and if had not been for the calming serenity of her music, Angel would have fallen down a long, dark hole of misery. She gave smiles to the household, kind words to the help, warm eyes to another in pain. It was only in the dark, alone, by herself, did she hurt, did she keep everything bottled in, every day of hurt, with no one to speak to, no one to turn to did the pain amass in her soul.
Four weeks after the knowledge that she was with child and with still no word from her husband, Angel found herself once more in the music room, she would often play music light, cheery and keep the doors open, hearing more than one passing servant whistle along with the harmonious sounds of the music something which strengthened her, made her not feel useless and alone.
“Stop that!” An angered shout was heard right beside Angel as she jumped in fearful shock, her eyes opening wide to find the haunted visage of Asher, standing above her, anger, hatred in his every motion. Her fingers instantly froze, as her breath came out in shallow gulps, as she stared at this man she had not seen in four weeks, his eyes wide, hate filled, his cheekbones sharp slashes, his mouth thin and bitter. “No more, music,” he commanded, slamming down the top of the cover of the piano, as Angel scuttled away from the piano, standing in the corner next to it, as she stared with wide eyes as he closed and locked the cover of the piano. Locking her out.
“Please, don’t!” She cried, running towards him to plead with him. Without the piano, without its words speaking through her she would be lost. “Please, don’t do this to me,” she pleaded, but he pocketed the key and stared at her with eyes that would show her no mercy.
“I hate these sounds, I hate your fingers upon these keys, and I hate you.” He stated coldly, staring at her with unfeeling eyes. “I want silence in my household. Do you understand, silence!” He turned and she heard the slamming of the front door seconds later.
Slumping heavily upon the piano bench, Angel tried in futile to open the cover but with no key, it would not budge. Sighing wearily, she placed her fingers upon the keys as if they could magically appear underneath her hands. Biting her lip, she finally gave up, walked away from the piano and closed the door to the music room.
She wouldn’t allow herself to cry, not anymore, without the piano in her life, she offered to help Mrs. Bates in whatever way she could, and took the initiative to clean floors, dust furniture and scrub window panes to keep herself busy and her dark thoughts buried beneath fake smiles and cheery eyes.
Asher came and went, and Angel stayed well out of his way, she would often hear his cold voice speaking with a servant and wouldn’t allow herself the memories of the Asher she had once known, the one who’d seduced her and made her believe that she was once special to him. This Asher hated her, it seemed even her face pained him somehow, caused words to tear strangled from his throat.
When he did speak to her, it was always demeaning, always in clipped words that held not an inch of softness. And Angel tried, tried so hard to please him, tried so hard to make him see that she would never deceive him, but it did not matter, he rejected her at every turn and at every turn she went up against a stone, coldly immobile brick wall.
She could not imagine why Hunter, nor her aunt had written her but continued writing weeks after her first letter. She still waited in vain, however, for a letter from her father and every morning asked Mrs. Bates if there was anything for her. There never was.
Increasingly isolated, increasingly hurt at the pain which Asher inflicted upon her whenever he could, Angel turned into herself, where the pain did not seem to hurt so badly. Her fingers, from habit, would play notes upon bookshelves and desks and tables and doors, her eyes would search and make sure Asher was nowhere to be found, her mouth would speak no words other than those she hoped he wished to hear. Her life, her pain, and the only thing holding her together was the happiness she felt upon the knowledge that she was with child. Even Asher could not strip that away from her.
Chapter 8
“Gabe, I have written letter after letter to her and yet, she has not written back once. I do not know what to believe. That the childhood friend that I have been so close to, no longer wants me as a friend, and now sister in law. What am I to think?” Hunter asked in distress to her husband as they lay in bed together, Gabe’s arms wrapped consolingly around his wife’s slight figure.
“We must give them time to be alone, Hunter,” Gabe began.
“But it is nearing two months since their marriage. And Anthony even says that he sees little of Asher, even though they live minutes from each other in London. And he hasn’t seen anything at all of Angel. I must know why she isn’t writing me. If it is some fault of mine than I must have the matter rectified, Gabe, please. May we travel to London, I fear for Angel. This is not like her to write. How alone and isolated she must feel. And her aunt tells me she has not written to her either, her aunt taking your stance that we must give the two time alone.”
“Then we shall go, if it is your wish. We will leave with the children by the end of the week and you shall see Angel and know that everything rests well with her. They are newlyweds, and even though their marriage may have gotten off on a rocky start, I am sure by now, they have finally figured out that they belong together.”
Asher could not sleep well, hadn’t slept well for weeks if truth be told. His conscience, guilt and anger seemed to battle at him every day, tell him such conflicting thoughts he often wanted to scream out loud, to cease those voices that gave him no rest.
It is not her fault.
She is innocent.
You must give her leeway.
Trust her.
Hold her responsible for your pain.
They are all alike, women, deceptive, cruel.
Do not allow her to hurt you as Deborah once did.
Give her no passage.
Hurt her before she hurts you.
Do not trust her.
The child, what of the child?
Innocent, both innocent.
Give her leeway.
Show her no mercy.
Kill her love as yours had been killed.
Give her back her music.
She made her grave.
It was your fault, your own doing.
It was her fault, her own doing.
Someone, help me.
Forgive, Asher, forgive.
I cannot!
I will not!
Forgive, Asher, before it is too late.
Never.
I will never be weak as I once was.
She is innocent.
She is nothing more than a viper.
Damn, her, damn her.
He chose to listen to that voice which held him in bondage. Forgiveness was not found in him.
Angel walked to Asher, quietly, for the past week she had been getting up the nerve to speak to him of her pregnancy. She was now over three months and Asher had never once spoken to her about the child. Her belly was slightly rounded, her breast larger, however, Angel’s appetite was shallow at best, as she forced herself to eat for the sake of the baby, so even though her belly was ever so round, her cheekbones and collarbone showed the narrow stance of her body. He never looked at her, or if he looked at her, he never made comment about the changes to her body. Asher had stuck by his word, that he wanted nothing from her, not companionship, not her love, not her sex.
She felt useless, next to nothing, but that did not stop her from wanting to understand him, to get him to speak to her about the child she would soon give birth to. She found him in his study, the door slightly ajar, and walked on silent feet to his desk, well away from him, but close enough. But not too close. He didn’t seem to hear her, or perhaps was ignoring her as he poured over business matters.
“Excuse me,
” Angel said quietly.
Watching his hand still, Angel tightened her hands together, into one small ball, to keep them from trembling. He had so much of her, such a horrible control over her life which she resented.
“What is it, my lady?”
That hated phrase, ‘my lady’ she hated when he said that, because she knew, he would rather call her that than to ever speak her given name.
“I-I wish to speak to you…about, the baby.”
He finally looked up, finally met her eyes, his cold, unemotional. As still as the dark, deep bottom of the ocean. In them, she saw her future of pain, loneliness, isolation and fear. In them, she saw darkness.
“And so, you are still with child?” He asked.
It shouldn’t bother her how cold he could be, because she couldn’t manage to keep back the flinch of pain. She was not like Asher, she could not hide her emotions, could not be hateful and mean tempered.
Nodding, she braved a smile, when inside her heart was breaking. “Yes, yes, I still am,” she managed to say, a shaky breath being pulled from her body.
“And is it my child?”
Oh, God, why was he doing this to her? “Yes…yes, it is,” she said quietly, the pain was so horrible. Why couldn’t he just love her, respect her, just a little bit? What was wrong with her for him to hate her so much?
“What is it, then, you wished to speak of?”
Why had she made herself go through this, why? “I wish to know, if my father could be here, upon the delivery…and Hunter and my aunt, sir.”
He paused, she waited with bated breath. Please, let him not deny me this one thing, what will I do, all alone, what will I do?
“Matters of child birth…they have been occurring since the dawn of time. Since Adam and Eve. Being without a close one during your travails will not make your birthing easier…or harder, my lady. And so, therefore, I must deny your request. I will send word around after the birth of your child. If you need a doctor before then, inform Mrs. Bates.”
Angel of Ash Page 19
