Dear Future Husband

31. Please Vacate My Seat

20 July 1891

"Miss Woodhouse, you do not really mean to sit there, do you?" Rosalie said. Her emotions felt as though they had been washed ashore on the whims of the current, going up and down with the tide. "Please, vacate my seat immediately."

"Your seat?" Tatiana repeated, raising her thin brows. "Tell me, what is on this seat to mark it as yours?"

"Well..." It was true that seats were neither assigned nor labelled, but at Sherborne, events had a certain way that they were carried out. Life had a schedule. A routine. How dare Tatiana disturb that routine by sitting in her seat and forcing her to take another, less satisfactory one? "I always sit there."

"That does not equate to ownership of a chair, Miss Winthrop," said Tatiana with a smirk. "Emma here was just telling me all about her fiance. I'm sure you wouldn't wish to miss such a scintillating conversation."

"What key are you wearing around your neck?" Ignoring the frisson of jealousy that ran through her at Tatiana's claims, Rosalie demanded the answer. "I haven't seen you with it before."

"Oh, this old thing?" Tatiana touched the key on its chain at her throat. "I found it in my luggage."

"Why would it be there?" she said, her voice not one of confidence as she had hoped it to be. Instead, the noise that came out was nothing short of desperate and shrill. "How did you come across it?"

"Why so curious, Rosalie? Do you think this key is yours as well as the seat?" The older girl scoffed. "Please."

"Actually, that is my key and I would like it back." She took a deep breath, trying not to let her voice quiver. "If you would please be so kind to oblige."

Tatiana ripped the key off her necklace. "Very well. For what it is worth, I am sure it is only some poor maid's possession that she left in my room when cleaning."

A frown knit her brows. "And you took it anyway?"

"What does it matter?" Tatiana shrugged. The shrug of a girl who had been raised to believe that she was entitled to whatever she wanted, whenever she wished to take it, regardless of anyone else's feelings or any consequences imposed upon her by society or her authority. "I thought it was a pretty trinket and besides, those poor maids are always cleaning and working so hard, why would they need a piece of jewelry?"

The stones on the key dug into Rosalie's palm as she slid it into her pocket. From the corner of her eye, she saw Lily flush red. Out of what? Indignation? Anger? Whatever it was, it echoed the anger that was pumping through her veins. "I am going to find a seat elsewhere and enjoy my supper in better company."

"Rosalie, wait, please," Emma said, standing from the table. She reached for her, but she was too far away. It was too late. "I can explain..."

"There is nothing to make excuses for." She sat at a different table, next to strangers who eyed her as if she were a pariah, and ate her lukewarm supper of boiled potatoes, a slice of roast, beans, and toast. As her fury cooled along with her dinner, she began to regret her actions.

Outside, a grey sky and rumbling thunder promised heavy rains. Lily always hated storms and would always curl up into her sheets, pulling the covers over her head until the storm passed. Meanwhile, Emma could sleep through almost anything,storms included, nearly missing class one morning until the three of them jumped onto her bed and forced her to wake.

Now, Rosalie sat alone, staring at her empty plate with the remains of watery gravy and crumbs strewn across the porcelain. She pushed it away from her on the wooden table, rumpling the linen runner than spanned the length of the table. Standing up, she trudged back to the dorm in the sleeting rain, not even a hood to protect herself from the rain.

Branches bowed down by water, leaves were stripped off by the wind and scattering on the ground. The water poured down in rivulets over her hair and skin. She gave up on keeping dry and instead allowed herself to cry for a second in the rain, blending her tears in with the raindrops. What must her friends think of her?

When she arrived back in the dorm, all three of them were there again, huddled together on Lily's bed. Rosalie stood in the doorway, realizing all three of them were dry and must have left before the storm. Emma stopped speaking when she realized Rosalie had entered, her brown eyes wide and expression inscrutable. Lily stared at the hem of her dress, picking at an unravelling thread.

Finally, Mary broke the silence. "How are you, Rosalie?"

"Drenched." To prove her point, she wrung out her hair into the washbasin and shivered.

It shattered the tension in the room, allowing all four of them to break into giggles that Rosalie's response was probably undeserving of. All four of the girls began speaking at once, filling the room with chatter and more warmth than the lit candles and crackling fireplace could provide.

Emma bounced off the bed, running toward Rosalie and embracing her with such force that she was nearly knocked off of her feet. "I'm sorry... It's only that, Tatiana told me she had heard something about Alonzo... I know it was wrong to gossip, but it's only that I was so curious. You know how she is. Can you ever forgive me, Rosalie?"

"Of course," she said, but her voice was muffled in Emma's shoulder. The key dug into her hip, in its secure, buttoned pocket of her petticoat. "Of course, I understand perfectly."

"Oh, thank you!" Emma released her and then held her by the shoulders, an inch taller than Rosalie. "You're rather damp, aren't you?"

"I walked through a blo–through a storm, Emma!" she said, laughing again.

Mary gasped. "Rosalie!"

"I didn't actually curse," she muttered, though she knew she nearly had. "Though I apologize to you, Mary, and to all of you, for storming off as I did."

"It's fine," Lily said, still staring down at the loose thread on her dress. "You're... you've always been a good friend, Rosalie."

"Thank you, Lily." They all embraced, and she felt almost as if she were at home.

***

20 July 1891

Dear future husband,

I write to you after a very eventful day! I must confess, my eyes can barely remain open, so this missive will remain brief.

First, let me tell you that I nearly lost the key to the compartment in which I keep these letters to you, which would have been disastrous. Thank goodness, I found it quickly. Although, I am quite curious as to where the key could have been mislaid and why, exactly, it was mislaid so that it wound up in the room of Tatiana Woodhouse, of all people. However, that is a mystery to be solved for another time.

I hope you are not in the habit of commonly misplacing things, or else we would both never be able to find anything! And that would be most irritating, as I know my own habit of misplacing things is already a source of annoyance for myself and those around me.

You will hopefully have no such enemies–or I suppose I am not supposed to have any enemies, being that I ought not to hate her, for Christ commands us to love our enemies–as Tatiana Woodhouse. Truly, I cannot strike this curious occurrence from my mind, nor can I believe it is only a coincidence. No, there must be something more sinister afoot!

What is your opinion of it? Am I only longing for some conspiracy so that I might feel as though my life is more exciting than it really is? Do I wish for adventure and secrecy and spies so that I could be in some Sherlock Holmes novel of sorts?

Well, if such is the case, I do hope I shall be cured of this ailment and that this whole matter may be resolved swiftly.

I pray for you, as always, to be healthy, fortunate, and well. May God grant you a life free of such secrets, lies, and crimes that seem to haunt the fringes of my own.

I remain,

Sincerely Yours,

Rosalie Winthrop

Signing her name with a flourish, she tucked the letter away, locked the compartment, blew out the candle, and crawled into bed. That night, she dreamt of running down a dark alley with no end, being chased by a man whose face she could not see.