1831- Alana Kennedy is the richest lady in Sheffield. But being married to a political family, her husband barely has ever treated her reasonably. She doubts he might have an affair with a woman behind her back. So she decides to follow him on his n...
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My mother-in-law, as soon as she learned, loved the idea of me accompanying him to Egypt. Her sweet-crimson face gleamed with joy. However, Mr, Kennedy ended up muttering "Shrewed woman" somewhere in between, before scurrying to the stairs angrily.
I kissed my mother-in-law's cheek in appreciation, whispering all of it. I surged after him, afraid that he might still leave me behind. No sooner had I entered our room, I found him sitting on the bed with shoes on, hands tucked under his chest, and cheeks so puffed— he looked like a still child. Noticing me, he instantly collected himself, feigning the usual bore face again.
"Mr. Kennedy," I smiled at him, "Do you know how much I love you?"
He rolled his eyes, knowing the taunt very well.
I moved to the wardrobe, pulling out my clothes and handing them to the maids. He sat there silently, observing the rush for some time. Long after a good time, suddenly he said, "Well, what had to you told Mother that she's gotten so keen with your scheme?"
"Scheme? Mr.. Kennedy your styles are worse than my father's. A subtle reminder that his clothing trade had sunk for this very matter." I crept closer to the bed, slowly leaning, keeping my words a whisper. "I told her that we may breed offsprings."
He must have speculated it earlier, for instead of feeling shocked, he grimaced.
"You're the only man I've seen not excited. Are having troubles, Mr, Kennedy?" I whispered again.
His face tinted, yet again taking in my dig yet again, "Just get on, do your damned work." He moved me away gently. "Go."
Spinning woefully, I strolled back to the wardrobe, clutching a gown so he might not view my face.
"Did any letters come on my name?" He asked.
"I am not accountable for the mails. Either ask John or someone else." I said, closing the shutters.
"He said he withdrew some discreetly."
I looked at him again, "That was from my sister. I wouldn't want anyone to see it."
"Hm." He nodded, thoughtfully.
I sighed, gathering the unnecessary dresses. It was a solid catastrophe. Even though I tidied mine, it was all Edward's that made the mess. He stacked all his filthy clothes in the wardrobe. I do not usually touch his belongings, supervise or tidy them, and neither do I care as once he scolded me terribly for doing so. It was quite an earlier time in our marriage.
However now soon as I opened his worbrobe, the sinking smell came up, I instantly regret it. This man!
By when I was finished, he was already deep asleep, quite in the same position he had been sitting. I dragged a hand across my face— tired. Now when he'd wake up, I would be exhausted. How are we supposed to go? We could never come to an alignment.
Like this, we never realized when we got used to each other. There was once a time, we couldn't talk out of shyness. He took a few glimpses of me sometimes as if I was a new moon. A moon, however; fated to be forgotten over every course of nights that choked my heart and soul, sagging to a grave of darkness.
He would ask me occasionally if I was fine like they do to the moon— "Dear moon, I can't carry this pain. How are you today? Are you happy?" As if silently telling 'Why can't you take away my pain?' I am not a crescent, but my father had told me a thousand nights that I do smile like it. But since I'm not a moon, you have been able to give me the same pain you carry.
Maybe he had concerns, maybe he hadn't. But concerns do not stay when we stay back.
I walked into the library relentlessly. But a shrill trespassing breeze quietened me. The windows were wide open, meek chirping of summer birds frilling the courtyard. So I neared the window, staring outside, feeling the wind.
I stood there.
But the longing did not go away. Rather it grew.
I sat down on the desk. Why this man had to torment me every feasible moment? I can't wait. What is the sin called— to give someone hope and then let them yearn?
Sleeping! Is it time to be asleep? Staying up drunk all night and sleeping during the day? I just want to go and see Egypt. This place is sickening me. Surprisingly my eyes land on a black diary— his diary. I quickly picked it up and scurried through it.
Hell! It's only his schedule log. As useless as him.
[Brother would kill me if I forget]— I laughed at this. The note was penned beside 7 pm at the port.
He was writing of day on the night, because naturally (as he says) he can't in Grosvenor Square at midnight. Then realizing it perhaps, crossed it out. That's what drinking excessively does.
As I flipped the pages, I noticed a ripped page– a letter? Another letter that was written in a foreign language. It took me so long to understand that it was Hindi.
A few more pages after–another. Then another.
I do not understand the language. But since I came here, I have seen piles of letters from India. It was all for him. I have shown all of these to my mother-in-law, and she said 'Hide them all, Never let him see it'. I have been hiding them and lying to him for so long. I don't understand why. However, it is obvious that my mother-in-law hid something from me.
