The Edges of Grace

Chapter Two

Mason

My sister stands in front of us, icy and stiff, her eyes slits of grey against her pale, round face, her dark hair bunched in an unusual top-knot. Usually she doesn't bother brushing it at all; especially when Edmund visits; she's distracted to say at the least. But today she is displaying a side of her rare even to me.

Her gaze is so piercing; I feel myself flinch. I protectively coil towards Felicity, surprising everyone involved. Our skin is so close, I can feel the heat off her blush; and that makes me foolishly glad for no good reason. Lack of social contact, I tell myself, reminding myself that she is the orphan cousin my mother has left everything to. I distance myself a little from her.

My sister watches, her eyes hawk-like. "Mileva," I tell her, "This is Felicity, our cousin." I mean it to sound accusing, because she's lied to me. But her eyebrows are raised in theatrical surprise, and I have an uneasy feeling that it's not only related to the time of her arrival. I feel my heart wrenching for poor Felicity, who couldn't help but throw herself down to earth. I wish I could sometimes; perhaps that is the cure to a heavy heart after all.

"Ah," she says, "When the gardener alerted us that there was someone in the garden; especially in the rain, I was worried a tramp or vagrant might have come in," a cold smile glitters on her face, "I'm sure you know how it is." Felicity is staring at her in the same stunned state as me. I wonder where my moody, wilful sister has picked up this coldness. And then I wonder if it was there all along, and I've been blinded.

"My sister worries incessantly, dear cousin," I tell her, making it apparent that I won't tolerate the insult of my remaining kin at the hands of my perverse, unreasonable, and frankly jealous sister. I know she is; there had been a few doubts, but all have been erased at the sight of this face of her.

Her white knuckles as she wrote the letter. Her eyes when the will was read out. I should have known. My sister's mind will overpower her heart.

"Miss Rosetta," I call out, my eyes never leaving my sisters'. Our housekeeper arrives in a surprisingly short time; I try not to get irritated that she was obviously eavesdropping. I am usually milder towards those of her stature, but the mere sight of my sister makes me prickly.

She bows as I say, "Please show dear Felicity her chambers in The Garden Room." I smile warmly at her, hoping my obvious care for her comes across as kind and not overt. Her light hair brushes past me as she walks away, led by Miss Rosetta. I supress the strange will to wind it around my fingers. You're going quite senile shut up here in Mansfield, I tell myself.

I square off against my sister, crossing my arms. I take complete advantage of my height, which is a good foot more than hers, despite her being elder.

"Well?" she says, turning away to infuriate me further, "She's had quite an impact on you. Tell me, do you suspect me of lying to you?" I glower at her, hoping my answer is evident. She turns back to look at me, and bursts out laughing, her cold laughter echoing off the walls. "Dearest brother, I would never lie to you."

"Except that is a lie too," I tell her. I expect her smile to freeze, for her to go solemn. Instead, she grins deeper, like a Cheshire cat. "How well you understand me," she murmurs, gliding towards me. I know her tricks. She will remind me of mother's death, make me guilty. I'm having none of it this time.

I stand stiff as stone as she brushes past me. She whispers in my ear, "Our mother's chosen heiress is no fit to be a servant. And you know that." I wince and step away, making my disgust obvious. "You refer only to her outward appearance," I say, "Her patience and tact, her sagesse...all of it makes her more stately than you'll ever be. And if it's her lack of refinement that bothers you...I assure you, it's only passion for life, and maybe you should consider harbouring some of it." And before she can retort, I storm away, a pulse beating in my forehead.

I don't know why I'm so upset on behalf of Felicity.

I don't know why she has triggered all this rage in me.

All I know is I must see her again, make sure for myself my sister doesn't come in the middle of the night with a dagger in her hands to usurp the estate. Earlier merely thinking of this would've had me feeling dreadful with myself. But now I am just not certain.

I knock on the door, and allow myself a moment to congratulate myself that I allocated her The Garden Room. She would undoubtedly love it. She opens the door, half-surprised, half-pacified.

"Oh thank you," she says, opening the door wider and leading me to the chairs by the study, "I was feeling awful up here." "Oh no, was there any shortcoming in the service? Hasn't Rosmerta fixed you with a hot bathe yet? Hasn't she fetched some warm milk?"

I embarrass myself in my readiness to please her, but thankfully she's touched. Smiling that demure, thoughtful smile of hers, she says, "Your concern alleviates all the troubles of the journey, kind cousin. I have cleansed the journey away," I should have noticed; she's in a nightgown. I discipline my eyes, which pursue her silhouette under the flimsy material. Trying not to feel disgusted with myself, I tell her, "You were drenched. Surely you've had milk by now?"

As if pre-planned, Rosmerta utters a small shriek at my sight, skidding to a halt with a jug and pitcher atop a tray. "Miss Rosmerta," I say, trying not to smile at the comical scene. She dithers and walks in, slightly shaking. "It's awfully cold," she says, pouring steaming milk into the pitcher, "Thought the lass must have some milk to avoid that death of flu going around."

"Thoughtful," I say with a small smile as she hands Felicity the pitcher, "But I must insist you refer to my cousin as my lady at all times." She bows nervously, but Felicity stops her midway. "Oh no," she tells, her voice grainy with empathy, "Kind cousin, I truly deplore such displays of hierarchy. I bear no grudges against you for complying to your family's traditions, but I am of a different disposition. It shall give me utmost happiness if she calls me by my name."

Rosetta giggles with delight and I don't smile. I stare at this wondrous creature in front of me as I nod, lost in abstract appreciation. Almighty has been partial with her. I wave Rosetta off. I'm starting to witness what perhaps made mother choose her.

"That was humbling," I tell her, taking a seat. She takes a sip and nods, and instantly I am forced to chuckle, because a milky moustache now adorns her face. She scowls adorably as she wipes it off. "I'm glad you share the thought," she tells me, a warm smile returning to her face, "Humility really is nature's most underappreciated gift to mankind."

I could hear her speak till eternity. I could watch her for eternity. I don't feel like myself as I ask, "So why did you feel awful up here? Is it not to your liking?"

The entire room is floral themed; flowery, lace drapes for curtains, mauve, floral bedspreads. A leaf-shaped mirror. Floral wallpaper, but green. I've always appreciated this room; its subtle warmth, its simple beauty.

She shakes her head exuberantly, like a doe. Heavens, everything about her is lovely. "Oh no, this is the most exquisite form of beauty I've ever witnessed. No, it's definitely not that. It's just..." she gestures wildly with her hands, passion overtaking her, "...this affluence scares me. Isolates me. I've never been in such a large closed space alone before. I find myself thirsty for the crowded nooks and corners of my orphanage...I find myself missing it." The last two words said softly, as if letting out a private thought. Her eyes are misty and I am spellbound.

"This is your home now," I tell her decisively, "And I shall always, always be there for you. You're my kin, mine and my sister's too...she is many a times a strange woman, and doubtlessly she'll offend you...but I assure you nobody craves a sister more than her." She smiles weakly and nods, and takes another sip.

I reluctantly leave, knowing that I mustn't alarm anyone. Walking back to my private chambers, I glimpse my sister from my window; her silhouette against the Observatory. I want to hate her, to tell her how unfeeling she is, how unnecessarily grim and dark. I can't. All I feel is pity.

I intend to fall asleep feeling sombre and responsible, but the invitation in those golden tresses dance behind my shut eyes until sleep finds me. 

So far so good? I love you all, hit that yellow star! Hope you have a beautiful day :)