The Sculpture and The Sculptured (l.s)

twenty-two

A month passes with no letter from Harry. Louis wrote to him, promising him a visit soon. Mrs. Walker, as expected with her age, took a sharp decline in her health recently. With no one to leave her inheritance to, Louis has been swimming in legal documents to help her sort out her business. Every morning, he also feeds her followed by listening to her talk about her husband. Every day, her breathing becomes more shallow but she hates doctors so she keeps her illness a secret from those outside of the house.

With her now fully bedridden, Louis has graduated from apprentice to near owner of her shops. With the empty bowl of broth in his lap, and her nearly cold hand in his, they sit in silence as Louis listens to her mumble a prayer. Louis says nothing, but he prays for her too.

"Louis," the old woman uses her husband's handkerchief to cover her cough and motions to her maid, "I have something for you."

Clueless and exhausted over the sudden change, Louis can say nothing as the maid leaves and returns with some folders. The women in the room help her sit up, and hand her a pen. "You know too well how these business sharks swarm me these days, looking for a chunk of meat from this poor fish."

"Yes, Mrs. Walker." She uses whatever strength she can muster to sign a few pages. The maid collects the folders after the silent signing, and hands it to Louis while taking the dirty bowl.

"The only one who isn't swarming me is you, but why would a lion hunt like a shark?" The woman smiles, and pats his leg. "Mary-Anne is going to have those documents finalized today, and everything I have will be transferred to you."

Louis gawks, and looks at the folders. "What— Excuse me, Mrs. Walker, but this isn't why—"

"I know. You did this because you care. I know." She calms him like a mother calming her child. She touches his face, and he clenches his mouth shut. "I still owe Mr. Walker, you see. Let this not only be your present for completing your apprenticeship and caring for me, but my retribution as well."

Louis can hardly grasp what she means as she lays into her pillows, and relaxes with her eyes closed. He's so lost at the sudden inheritance, knowing the elderly woman is by no means poor. He does know, however, that he cannot argue with her. So, he takes her hand and finally lets some tears fall. "You would have been a wonderful mother, Mrs. Walker."

"My apologies." Mr. Williams walks down the stairs as Louis looks at some paintings hanging in the entertainment area. The man is sloppily dressed, as expected since Louis showed up just before the sun. He's exhausted, having left Mrs. Walker after she urged him to do the right thing. With her money and company under his name, even her home, Louis is now financially independent. With this freedom, he can do what he's been so hesitant to do since his first arrival in Port City. "What brings you here? Alexandra is asleep, and has lessons today so—"

"What I came to discuss doesn't require bothering Ms. Williams." Louis swallows hard at the shocked, and offended look on Mr. Williams' face. The muse takes a deep breath, and holds out his hand. In it is a small piece of paper. "I apologize. I cannot marry Ms. Williams."

"What?" Mr. Williams face turns red, but he doesn't take or acknowledge the paper.

"This is my formal denial." Louis continues to explain with his hand out. The man continues to ignore it as he glares at Louis. "Ms. Williams is a sweet woman, you've raised her well, but I cannot marry her."

"Your father—"

"My father has misled you. I deeply apologize." Silence fills the house, and the maids in the room have all stopped working to watch the two. Mr. Williams clenches his fist, clearly wanting to hit Louis, but the young man holds firm. Rather than forcing the man to take the rejection, he sits it on the table, and fixes his jacket. "Many eligible bachelors will come for her hand. I'm sorry this couldn't be what you wanted. Have a good day."

Louis stands in front of the window by the entrance, watching for Mr. Rodgerick's carriage to return from his father's home. It's been a week since he rejected Ms. Williams, and he's sure his father has heard the news. If not, Mr. Rodgerick is sure to notify him. With his nails in his mouth, Louis anxiously nibbles on the tip of his fingers. Outside is quiet, which is usual for this time of day given that noon on a Monday is normally business hours. Some men who can afford to come home from lunch arrive to greet their wives and children, but Louis' butler cannot be seen. The sky is cloudy, and Louis wonders if it will rain. If so, he hopes Mr. Rodgerick is prepared and won't arrive soaked.

Hours pass like this, and Louis leaves his post only to eat his supper and serve Mrs. Walker hers. She eats a single bite of it before growing annoyed, and mumbling from him to leave. Louis takes no offense to it. Many of the maids who experienced Mr. Walker's death tell him that agitation is normal in a dying person, and the lack of appetite and thirst is the body preparing itself. It makes it no easier for Louis, though. He wonders if the unusually stern attitude his mother gave him while she was bedridden could have been a sign of her time as well, but he immediately erases such memories from his mind when he feels a need to cry. He doesn't want to relive his mother's death, nor does he want to see the woman who has given him literally everything she has pass.

"It's going to be alright, Mr. Tomlinson." A maid says as she washes some vegetables for dinner. "This is a part of life, and you've done well by Mrs. Walker in the short time that you've been here. Your sincerity is duly noted, and you'll be blessed."

Louis purses his lips with a nod, not finding any comfort in her words, and hands her the full plate of food Mrs. Walker never finished. He returns to his post at the window, and sees a carriage arrive. It's one of his father's, but the man riding it is not Mr. Rodgerick. The muse opens the door, and rushes to meet the footman before he can even depart from the carriage. The young man, no more older than Louis himself, takes a deep breath when he meets the muse's eyes before removing his hat. He squeezes it hard, and Louis knows the news is nothing good.

"Mr. Tomlinson has sent me." He clears his throat, and reaches in his pocket. He holds out an envelope, stained with a few drops of red. "Mr. Styles gave me this. I was ordered not to open it."

Louis takes it with shaking hands, opening to see the smallest and most urgent letter he's ever received from his lover.

Louis,

I'm sorry. I love you.

Forever yours,
Harry