Through a haze, I heard a woman say, “Are you ill, Miss? May I help you?” Not waiting for my answer, she wrapped a supporting arm about my waist. “Henry, call a chair for the young lady. She cannot continue on foot. The poor thing is quite done in.” My weak protests were disregarded, and a sedan chair summoned to carry me to Pultney Street. I made no further objection as the kind couple helped me into it.
Although I rested my weary body on the way home, my mind could not be quieted. It had work to do, the most urgent priority being to reestablish some semblance of control over my unruly emotions before I reached my door. I prayed for the strength to keep new tears at bay until I could closet myself in my bedchamber, to be spared the need for any immediate explanation to my parents. I saw no sign of my father when I arrived and, thankfully, my mother was much occupied. I made my apologies to her as I hurried through on my way upstairs, saying only that I had a headache and intended to take a long nap before dinner.
When at last I gained the sanctuary of my own room, the dam broke wide open. Flood waters surged over me in successive waves of pain. The first carried home all the agony of my unrequited love. On top of that washed other suffocating layers: self-pity at having been ill used; grief for the death of tender dreams; anger at the cruelty of fate; and shame for my own stupidity at believing what had clearly been a lie. One after another, they crashed against me, each one eroding away a little more of my world’s foundation, like so much sand from beneath my feet, until I was left with no solid ground to stand upon. Completely overpowered, I collapsed on my bed, sobbing into my pillow until at length I fell into a heavy slumber.
~~*~~
I woke hours later, and the awful truth burst in upon me again, now in a colder light. Richard was a fortune hunter. He did not love me. In fact, he preferred another woman. On some level, I knew these were the unalterable essentials, but I could not face them squarely. Not yet. Each time I tried, my mind reeled wildly and my heart lurched with a fresh shock. It seemed impossible that I might come through the calamity alive; I could barely imagine surviving the balance of the day.
The clock struck four, suddenly filling me with alarm. Dear Lord! I would be expected downstairs for dinner shortly. Much as I wished to hide myself away forever, wallowing in my private misery, I knew I could not. I must be prepared to go down or be forced into making explanations. And it was far too soon, the gaping wound too new, to contemplate discussing my trouble with anyone – my parents, Susan, or even Agnes, had she been available. I could not have formed the words. How could I explain to someone else what I was as yet unable to comprehend?
Reluctantly dragging myself from bed, I inspected the damage done by the morning’s misadventures. It was not a pretty picture that I saw in the mirror. My gown was wrinkled and muddied, my hair in disarray, and my face… oh, my face! Bloated and blotchy from my fit of tears, the ill effects of which seemed only to have been compounded by my leaden sleep. Still, I had to try.
I methodically dressed myself in a fresh gown, arranged my hair into some order, bathed my face with cool water, and made an attempt at a cheerful countenance. A second look in the glass to examine the result gave little satisfaction. Yet I hoped my parents would not notice anything drastically amiss.
My pretense of normalcy was neither effective nor necessary as it happened. No doubt my complete lack of appetite and conversation would have given me away in any case. However, Mama had good reason to suspect the general nature of my malady, even without reading my symptoms.
“You needn’t pretend for our sakes,” she said after several minutes of watching me struggle. “We know why you are upset. Richard was here this afternoon whilst you were resting.”
“Oh?” I said warily.
“Yes, my dear. He said that the two of you had some sort of misunderstanding this morning. He gave no particulars, and I daresay he would never have mentioned it at all except that I guessed something was wrong. He looked so miserable, poor soul.”
“Waste none of your compassion on him, Mama!”
“I see you are quite vexed with him, and no doubt justifiably so. He claimed the trouble was entirely his fault.”
“An accurate assertion,” I muttered.
“Yes, well… in any event, he asked to be kindly remembered to you, and said he would call again tomorrow.”
“No! I will not see him.”
“There, there. You may feel very differently by then. I trust you will not be too hard on the young man, Jo. I am certain he will have a very good explanation to give for himself. And, you know, lovers’ quarrels mend quickly where there is true affection, so there is no need to lose hope. Now, my dear, we shall say no more about it if you like.”
I was vastly relieved by my parents’ disinclination for interference. Even so, I could not stand to remain long at table. I soon excused myself to return to the solitude of my own room, where I could be alone with my thoughts.
Where there is true affection, my mother had said. But was there ever any true affection in this case? That was the key question. There certainly had been – still was – on my side; my whole being ached to think how much. What about Richard, though? Could he really have been playing a part to me all along? No! In my heart of hearts, I still could not believe it of him. Or perhaps that was only the answer my vanity wished to hear.
Oh, what was to be done about this disaster? I tried to consider the question rationally, yet how could I when the very idea of seeing Richard again sent me into a panic? How could I bear to look at him, to see now the face of a traitor instead of the man I loved, to hear again the voice that had led me astray with such silken tones? I could never hope to retain any self-command in that charged situation when even under ordinary circumstances his presence had such a powerful influence over me. That very quality – his ability to intoxicate me so completely – had been my downfall. Notwithstanding my confident promise to my mother weeks before, I had indeed lost my head over Mr. Pierce. I could not see it then, but it was plain enough in hindsight.
Still, face Richard I must… if not tomorrow, then soon. I could not expect to make the difficult decision before me without knowing the whole story, without hearing his explanation for what he had done, without assessing – this time with eyes wide open – his true sentiments toward me. The exercise, though painful, must shed some light on my predicament, although it was hard to imagine that anything I might learn could make much difference. Nothing could change the fact that I would soon be forced to choose between two equally unacceptable alternatives. Should I consign myself to a loveless marriage, or endure the pain and disgrace of a broken engagement?
19
Cards on the Table
At my insistence, Richard was turned away when he presented himself in Pultney Street the next morning and again the following day. Still, I had no peace. The more I anguished over my limited options, the more convinced I became that no course of action could be settled upon until I had seen him. By the third day, I felt strong enough that I thought I might endure his coming. At all events, there seemed little advantage in further forestalling the inevitable, as if by refusing to see him I could perpetually deny whatever of his father’s evil intent or his own culpability the interview might forever confirm. I judged it best, therefore, to get on with it, unpleasant as the ordeal must be.
Convinced that a business-like detachment was my best hope for managing the awkward situation and my own precarious emotions, I hardened myself and composed a careful plan. I would receive him, but keep a safe distance between us at all times. I would make it clear from the start that I was in full control, and that he must dance to my tune. I formed what questions I would put to Richard and in what order. And I imagined how he might respond to them, trying to anticipate the worst and ready myself for it.
Papa made no difficulty when I informed him that I should like to be allowed to see Mr. Pierce alone. Mama optimistically declared that a private meeting was the very thing needed to ensure our reconciliat
ion. So, when at eleven o’clock he came again, he was directed to the study, where I had seated myself behind the large mahogany table.
The first sight of him, looking just as appealing as ever, struck such a sympathetic cord in my heart that I questioned at once whether I could maintain my composure, much less my resolve. His air of contrition, his countenance of concern, those dusky brown eyes that I knew so well… A torrent of tender feelings rushed over me, momentarily obscuring his misconduct and my injury from view.
“Josephine, my darling, I fear there has been a terrible misunderstanding,” he began. “Things are not as they may seem. You must allow me to explain.”
“Wait,” I interrupted, holding up a hand and briefly closing my eyes to refocus my thoughts. When I felt I was once more my own master, I continued. “You will have your chance to explain yourself, Mr. Pierce. However, I have something to say to you first.”
“Just as you wish, my sweet.”
“I know what I heard the other day.” I checked his immediately objection. “No! Please do not insult me by denying it. I think I can bear anything better than more deceit. If there is still any chance for us, Richard, there can be no more lies. You must understand that, and do me the honor of answering my questions as honestly as possible. Will you?”
“Yes, of course, my love.”
“And for heaven’s sake, do refrain from using such endearments. At the moment, you have no right, and I find it most annoying.” He made no protest. So far, so good, I thought. Richard stood before me, submissive and penitent, and I was in command – of myself and of the interview. “Now, I have gathered this much. You have run up debts through gambling; the estate needs a fresh infusion of capital; and, consequently, you set out on purpose to capture a fortune by marriage.” I paused to see how Richard would respond to this test.
He fidgeted uncomfortably, turning his hat in his hands, and looking from me to the floor and back again. At length, he said, “You put it very severely, but… yes, I suppose that is essentially the case.”
I felt a little something die within me. In spite of harboring no real hope that it could be otherwise, it still hurt to have the brutal truth confirmed beyond a doubt.
Richard hastily added, “And I am sorry for it, my d… Miss Walker.”
After taking a moment to recover from this first blow, I invited the next by asking, “How did you settle on me as your object? How did you learn of my fortune? The truth, please,” I reminded him.
Another uncomfortable pause ensued – no doubt another struggle between conscience and saving face – before he answered. “I had already made plans to come to Bath, my father considering it the most promising place for me to meet a… suitable lady. I then happened to mention my upcoming trip to an acquaintance of mine, a Mr. Evans, who had lately returned from visiting some relations in Hampshire. He informed me that, while there, he met a fine young woman of good fortune who was likewise bound for Bath. Although his own run at you had been unsuccessful, he suggested that perhaps I might have better luck. Do you remember Mr. Evans?”
I nodded with chagrin. “He came with the Bickfords to our take-leave party, but I had not given him another thought from that day until this.”
“Well, be that as it may, his report of your attractions quite intrigued me. From his description, I thought we might suit nicely.”
“Yes, I was rich, and I am sure that suited very well indeed.”
“No, it was more than that. With Mr. Evans’s account in mind, I thought, ‘This Miss Walker sounds most agreeable. If I must marry for money, I could probably do much worse. Perhaps we might even be happy together.’ So, I determined to look out for you when I arrived in Bath.”
“Then you found me, procured an introduction with the assistance of the unsuspecting Mr. Graham – poor ‘simple’ fellow – and have been leading me a merry dance ever since. And I, so obligingly naïve, offered not the slightest resistance to your charms. How you must have laughed and congratulated yourself for the ease of your conquest!”
He winced at the charge. “It was not like that, really!” His voice wavered as he continued, leaning forward across the table and looking intently into my eyes, “You were obliging, yes… and lovely, and bright, and utterly delightful. I could not believe my luck when you agreed to marry me. I may have started with wrong motives, but I ended with such an honest regard for you that my proposal was quite sincere. You must believe me, Jo.”
I wanted to… desperately. His story sounded entirely plausible, compellingly heartfelt, and even romantic, which made it all the more seductive. The division between us was miserable. He had suffered for it as well; I could see the pain in his countenance. In that moment, I very nearly gave way. Indeed, had there not been a ponderously heavy piece of furniture between us, I might have fallen into his arms directly, apologizing for ever having doubted his affection.
Then I remembered Miss Fennimore.
The thought woke me from my poignant reverie as effectively as cold water thrown in my face might have done. “What about Miss Fennimore?” I challenged him. “I presume she is the person to whom you alluded, the woman you preferred.” Much depended on his answer. I watched his reaction with a pounding heart. He seemed genuinely taken aback. Perhaps he had not anticipated such a pointed reference to his ‘old friend.’ “Come now, Richard. It is useless to deny it; your guilty look has already confirmed it.”
“I… I was not going to deny it. I only want to explain. Whilst it is true that at one time I might have preferred the company of Miss Fennimore to any other woman of my acquaintance, that was before I came to Bath, before I met you, Jo.”
A smooth parry. “But if it is all in the past, then why your comment to your father only two days ago?”
“It was an argument! People say all sorts of things they do not mean in the heat of the moment. By throwing Miss Fennimore back in his face, I merely hoped to win my point, reminding him what I had supposedly given up to meet his demands. I never could have married Miss Fennimore. She is not at all suitable to be mistress of Wildewood, as you could certainly judge for yourself. So, in truth, it was no sacrifice.”
“I see. Very neatly explained.”
“Then you do understand… and you will forgive me.”
“Understanding is not quite the same thing as forgiving, is it? Do you have anything else to say before you go, Richard?”
“Go? Surely you would not send me away, not now you have heard my side of the story.”
“I shall indeed. I have an important question before me, and you must go so that I can think properly. I must determine what is best to be done. I shall not see you again until I have decided… and possibly not even then.”
“Good God! You are not seriously thinking of breaking off our engagement, are you?”
I did not deny it.
“How could you even contemplate such an odious thing?” He stalked up and down the room, running an unconscious hand through his thick hair. “Consider the consequences. I know you are angry, and I daresay you have every right to be. But this misunderstanding will pass and in time be quite forgot. We can still be happy together. I am sure of it.”
I shot to my feet. “How can I marry a man who does not love me?” I cried out, cutting to the core of the matter.
“But I do!” he declared, stopping to face me again.
I sighed and sank back into my chair, rubbing my temples. I was suddenly very weary. “Perhaps you do, Richard, in your own small way, but not as I thought… and not as you ought. I cannot help wondering if I could be content with such feeble affection. I hesitate to risk my whole future on that kind of speculation. You are the gambler, not I.”
Richard continued to profess his contrition for his misdeeds, his mortification at having failed to fully redeem his honor in my eyes, his concern for his father’s reaction to the possibility of a broken engagement, and his undying devotion to me until the front door shut between us. From his manner, I was persuaded that, unti
l the last moments of our conversation, Richard had never doubted the outcome. He had never questioned his ability to bring me round to his way of thinking. My strength had surprised him. Whatever the eventual conclusion of our little drama, I could at least take satisfaction in that.
20
Taking Advice
Although I had narrowly retained my composure in Richard’s presence, it had been a desperate battle, the continuance of which I could not long sustain after he quit the house. As soon as he was safely away, I surrendered to the misery that pressed upon me from all sides. I sobbed aloud, my tears flowing feely and without end. I made no further attempt to hold them back or to conceal my grief any longer. The whole world was tumbling down about my ears. What possible difference could it make if everybody knew it?
The interview with Richard had provided no means of consolation, only more pain. It had effectively stripped away the last vestiges of my hope for his innocence, and it had served to confirm the difficulty of my circumstances without showing me a clear way ahead. It seemed I was no nearer a solution than I had been before.
My parents, witnessing all this, no doubt began to grasp that there was more gone awry than they had previously supposed. Mama gathered me into her comforting arms and patiently rode out the storm with me.
I knew it was time for a family conference. My parents had a right to know the situation, and I needed their advice. So, when at length I was sufficiently recovered, I told them what had transpired the other day at Richard’s house and the gist of his explanation just given. I finished with my quandary over what, if anything, should be done about it. Mama looked too shaken to speak, so I turned to my father.
For Myself Alone: A Jane Austen Inspired Novel Page 12
