The People of Dewbrook

Chapter Twenty-Five

During the last few days that have passed, Dewbrook had undergone much more than it had in years. Even though it was a town of many happenings and vices, its residents could not quite process the latest string of them, what with so many things of such terror having happened in such quick succession. It was going to haunt everyone for at least the rest of the year, if not their entire lives, and they had no idea what to do with it. 

The Rochesters had left Dewbrook for good, being forced to stay with Mildred's cousins in London due to their lack of income, humiliated upon having arrived. Mildred's relatives did not look too displeased to see them, given the situation, but they, especially Mildred, could not help but feel that it was not proper. Still, there was nothing else that they could do with their miserable lives, except for begging in the streets, which they did not even consider as an option.

They, especially Mildred, helped with all the necessary preparations for the period of their lives they were going to spend under the relatives' roof before they got jobs that paid well enough and earned enough to live a middle-class way of life in a middle-class house, which did not seem to be happening soon, but it was the best option that they had. The relatives' house was a nice place, taking care of all their needs, suitable enough whenever they did not remember the extent of their misfortune. 

Stephen still led a dull and meaningless life and Mildred still took much of the care of the house and the children still played as children did, only with fewer resources. Stephen still desired Caroline even in his sleep and his wife was still forced to endure it, but she knew that change could not happen overnight, so she was ready for however long her husband's redemption was going to take, as long as it happened soon enough.

Two weddings had been organised by the Wells family in August - one for Harold and one for Rosemary. The first one came to be a while after Fanny's confession, which happened on a random day. Fanny had come to visit Harold, which at first seemed as mundane as the birds and the flowers and the light of summer that brought even more goodness to her appearance, but when he saw how solemn she was, he could not help but feel worried.

"What is troubling you, my dear Fanny?" he asked, his voice laced with sorrow.

"I cannot bear my feelings," she wept softly in her beautiful voice. "So much had happened during this wretched month of August, especially the sudden murderous intent and brutal death of a person I used to consider my best friend, and that is not even all of it. You see, I have been deluding myself this whole time. I am a woman in love, and I thought I could live without my beloved, but I cannot. It is you, Harold, for you are such a lovely and kind soul that I cannot stop dreaming of, and I want to spend the rest of my days with you by my side. What have you to say of it?"

"I love you too," he said, overwhelmed with joy. "I too want to spend the rest of my days with you. In fact, let us get married the following week. Does that not sound like a great idea to you?"

"Thank you," she said, crying tears of happiness. "That is wonderful! I am going to be unendingly mirthful as your wife!"

"Yes, you are," he whispered gently into her ear. "Such a lovely woman should not be anything but mirthful, and the horrors that we have faced are going to be much easier to remember when we are together. Together, we can do anything, you will see."

And she did. After the luxurious marriage that they had held, she saw nothing but mirth, at least in the beginning. The horrors returned to her only vaguely, just like with him, and their days were spent with love and tenderness, blinding them to anything even remotely wretched. Their mirth did not go uninterrupted, but all the moments when it was there made everything worth it, and it was sure to remain that way for the rest of their lives. They may not have had the chance to have children, but it did not matter amidst all their passion, a particularly sweet passion that they loved to share after having deprived themselves of it for years. Their current mirth was all that mattered.