The Sculpture and The Sculptured (l.s)

nineteen

Louis sips his tea as the clock ticks. The streets were quiet, businesses were closed, and Louis finds himself sitting alone in the hot kitchen after the maid got up to make him tea. Unlike at home, where servants have close quarters outside on the outskirt of the property, Mrs. Walker's maids and butlers sleep on the floor of the kitchen or under the stairs. This is due to not only how little property Mrs. Walker owns, but the fact that the house itself is small. While her business is large and holds many offices, the widow lives modestly.

"Louis?" He looks over his shoulder to see Mrs. Walker a few steps above the the bottom of the stairs. He hides his love letter from Harry, and clears his throat to cover the awkwardness. He nods his head before turning back to his tea, and sipping it. "What's going on?"

"There's no need to worry." He mumbles, but hears her approaching. "I just couldn't sleep."

She sits across from him, but he doesn't looks at her. With a sigh, she taps the table with her finger as if waiting for him to speak before holding out her hand. "I know an affair when I see one. Hand it over or I'm writing your father."

Louis nibbles on his lip, and brings the letter to his chest. Her eyes stare at him with an expecting look, and she looks at the letter before meeting his eyes again. She's unwavering. "Mrs. Walker, please—"

"Give it to me, Louis." The motherly, resolute tone reminds him of when his own mother would reprimand him and he automatically holds the letter out. She takes it quickly, raises her eyebrows, and opens it to read it. It's the letter Harry left him with right before he departed from the house, he hasn't received one since but he is expecting Mr. Rodgerick to return with one since Louis sent his own letter not too long ago. He looks at the floor, trying to find a pattern in the wood to distract him from her reaction. In these kind of situations, Louis would be reported, flogged, and possibly burned at the stake depending on how much he sinned.

He expects her to scream, tear up the letter, insult him, and throw him out while ruining his reputation and his father's in the process. Instead, Mrs. Walker chuckles and smiles softly. When she finishes reading the letter, she places it down and slides it back to him. Louis takes it immediately, and folds it gently as he clenches his jaw. Without a word, Mrs. Walker stands and walks back up stairs. With so little said, Louis thinks the worst: she's going to tell father, Harry is going to be killed, I'm going to killed...

"Louis." The muse jumps slightly, and looks to see the widow standing in the hall. She motions for him to follow her out of the kitchen, and he looks to see a pile of envelopes in her other hand. He obediently listens to her, and follows her to the entertainment space where they sit. "My husband died with his own secret."

The envelopes sit in her lap, and she gently touches them as she gets lost in her thoughts. Louis shifts uncomfortably. "Mrs. Walker?"

"We learned to love each other in our own ways, like all arranged couples do. He just loved me differently for a reason I never expected." She takes a deep breath, and sifts through the envelopes before finding a loose picture. She hands it to him, and Louis looks at it: two old men standing close together with stone faces yet their eyes glimmer. "There was a war during the early part of our marriage. Mr. Walker left to fight, and they met each other on the battlefield. My husband came home, but his heart never came with him. It stayed in London his entire life."

Louis gives her the picture back as well as a sympathetic look. She just returns are breathless laugh, and places the envelopes in his lap. "I gave him such a hard time because I wanted to live comfortably, and I was jealous. When he passed, I promised to do more if I ever came across a chance to redeem myself."

Louis doesn't say anything for a moment, trying to find the words, and sighs. "He told me to marry her."

"He's a poor man who can't afford to care for you if your father disowns you. Of course he's going to say that if he believes it will give you a better life, one you're used to at least." Mrs. Walker shakes her head. "You're clearly dating a man who has experience in the real world. As a lover, you make sacrifices for the betterment of your partner. This man you adore so much is most likely brewing in envy, and hurt due to seeing this arrangement take place. How are you going to make him feel secure in your relationship?"

"Excuse me." Harry looks down from his ladder, and wipes the sweat from his brow so he can see properly. Below is Elizabeth standing with her arms behind her back, and barely meeting Harry's stare.

"Good morning, Elizabeth." Harry greets her with a nod. "Is there something you need?"

"Yes," she takes a deep breath and lifts her head to fully look at him, "I came to apologize for my behavior the last time we spoke. I overstepped, and took liberties that I shouldn't have. Please forgive me, Mr. Styles."

Harry watches her for a few seconds before chuckling. "Ah, you're still thinking about that? I forgot about it the next morning so you can stop tiptoeing around me. I have no animosity towards you."

Elizabeth sways a little as a gentle breeze blows her skirt. She purses her lips as Harry turns to continue chipping away at the stone. The stone is beginning to take a more refined shape now, and he's gotten far in the few days he's dived in. The maid walks closer, now more relaxed with the cleared air, and looks at the base of the stone where a paper laid open.

"What's this?" Harry looks down, and he drops a tool in the process. Luckily for both parties, it misses Elizabeth and the stone. Instead, it lands a few inches away from the young lady onto the grass with a thud. She jumps back slightly, distracted, and Harry takes the opportunity to hurriedly climb down the ladder and snatch up the paper.

"It's nothing." Harry quickly folds it and puts it in his pocket. "Just a letter."

Elizabeth quirks a brow, her interest obviously piqued, and her eyes fall to his pocket before looking back up at him. She giggles slightly, and crosses her arms with a teasing look on her face. "An affair, perhaps? Nothing but a love letter makes a man move so quickly."

"Your imagination wisps you so quickly off of your feet. They say women shouldn't think so much about those kinds of things." Elizabeth blushes at his words, but Harry plays the dangerous game of indulging her. With his hands stuffed in his pockets, Louis' letter in his grip, he leans in slightly towards a woman who he knows holds affection for him, and smirks as his curls fall in his face. "Perhaps Poppy, here, isn't such an innocent flower?"

The maid blushes a deep crimson, and takes a few steps back. Harry laughs softly, and grabs his fallen tool. He motions towards her as he makes space and takes a step up on his ladder. "Have a good day, Elizabeth."