Lady in Rags

Chapter Nine: In the Bones

Verity cried until they were well out of Houglen, and rolling fast down the country highways to Blackpool. At first, she cried deep, shuddering sobs of embarrassment and shame. Very soon they dissolved into silent, fast-flowing tears of self-pity, a feeling intensified by the sight of her husband calmly reading a book in the opposite seat. From there, she began to get angry, at her husband, at her grandmother, at her father, at the general world, and finally herself. She wiped her cheeks dry with furious, angry jerks of her wrist, and loud sniffs and swallows, only to get angrier on discovering more tears inexplicably falling. But at last they were exhausted, and with it her emotions – all of them, except a strange, painful relief, vibrating through her body and soul. Never again. Never again.

She lay back against the coach seat, her fingers trembling where they touched the cold glass of the coach window. She did not recognize the countryside. They had left the valley.

She gave a full body shudder, and let out a banshee sigh that fluttered the pages of her husband's book, and caused him to look up in alarm.

"Are you hysterical?"

"No." She swallowed. Her throat ached. "Not anymore. I'm all cried out."

The tears were beginning to dry on her face, leaving her cheeks swollen and sensitive to every brush of air against them. She patted at them tentatively with her sleeve. Her husband shifted in the seat across from her. He folded his book, with a finger in it to mark his place.

"You - You don't need to be afraid," he said awkwardly.

"I know," said Verity.

They lapsed into silence. She listened numbly to the repetitive rumble of the wheels against the road. It soothed her, and she felt her heart slow in her chest, her breathing coming deeper and easier. She should speak to him, yes, she should make conversation. He seemed to expect it of her, for his book remained folded on his lap. But she spoke only with herself. She discussed. She theorized. She argued. What was the proper topic of conversation, in the circumstances? What could she say? It was a deep philosophical debate and was slow in coming to a conclusion. The very moment she arrived at it, Mr Armiger opened his book again.

"That's the problem," Verity said, hastily, before he could begin to read. His lip quirked, in what she did not think was a smile, and he put the book down again. This time, he did not keep his thumb to mark his place.

"What is?"

"That I know I don't need to be afraid. I'm going to have to explain it or you'll think me weak and stupid, because I cried so much. But I've been afraid all my life. I was afraid of hunger. I was afraid of money, of not having it, and needing it. I was afraid people, already thinking badly of me, would begin to think worse. I was afraid of my father... not of what he might do to me, but what he might do to himself. And now..." She shrugged. "Well it's all happened, hasn't it? All my fears have come to pass, and even some things I had been too blind to fear."

Her voice rose, rang shrilly in the confined space of the coach, and she controlled it by force, swallowing her anger. She said, very quietly, very bitterly,

"So you see, I don't have anything left to be afraid of. The worst has happened, and now I am quite safe in the knowledge it will never happen again."

He considered her, the way she had seen him consider a chess board or a hand of cards, as a puzzle to be solved.

"That's the problem?"

"Oh yes." She broke out in a laugh that surprised herself. "Because, you see, I'm still afraid. I'm terrified. It's in my bones. It's in deep. How do you learn happiness? I know I'm happy, or as close to it as I can be, but I can't feel it. It's like an amputated limb. Oh god, I'm – I'm babbling. Please don't think me stupid. I tried – I tried to explain myself to explain why I'm not stupid and now I sound worse!"