The House Guest (Unedited)

Chapter 11: The Aftermath

The weather certainly suits my mood. I climb through fields, not minding that the rain slashes against my bare face and arms. The whisper of my passage echoes through pales of grass, and the horizon stretches ahead of me like an oil painting - as it drains of colour, devoid of any expression or emotion except grey emptiness itself. The scene is almost pastoral, like something out of a children's storybook. I wipe the rain from my already tear streaked face.

Had I been too harsh with Henry? 

Our exchange was nothing short of disappointing. It seems that our friendship isn't meant to be, with him continually too self-assured - always finding ways to hurt me, whether intentionally or unintentionally. I am certain that his kiss was simply a lapse in judgement, but I mustn't give him the impression that I am interested in a pointless fling, one which could harm both of our reputations. I think of Kitty, whose prospects would be disgraced if Henry ever engaged in a romantic tryst with a penniless, unmarried "green girl."

I trudge through the rain, lifting my head to the sky, praying for wisdom. My throat aches - an awful feeling devouring the insides of my stomach - and dehydration threatens to drain my already exhausted strength.

Finally, through the clouds of fog, I glimpse the estate, candlelight gleaming through the swiftly falling night. 

Mud stains the hem of my drenched travelling dress, and my hair clings to my wet skin - cascading down, as most of it has escaped from my bun. I must look a sight, and as I am thinking this, I decide it to be best to creep into the house as silently as possible. 

'Tis my plan to tip-toe inside, as I am sure my party is gathered in the grand hall for dinner. If any of them are to inquire after my absence at Church, I shall pretend that I was ill - and hadn't wanted to be a bother so I walked back to the estate. I swing the servants door open, step furtively through the corridor, and then, conceal my figure in the shadows as I feel through the darkness for the mahogany banister. Suddenly, my foot catches on a loose board of wood, and I tumble to the floor. Upon impact, a cacophony of noise erupts. I examine my skirt, which has been ripped, along with a soiled knee and blistered, cut hands.

"Oh my goodness! Mother, hurry! Helene has fallen!" Kitty, who clutches a China doll peers down at me with a shocked expression. Lady Caroline joins her momentarily, as I gather myself from where I was sprawled on the stairs.

"What in the world? Helene, what on earth are you doing? And, where have you been? I've been worried sick over you!" Lady Dorothea exclaims, a horrified expression contorting her already severe countenance.

"Well, I stepped out to take a walk. Actually, I wasn't feeling well, so I left church early, and well, I fell on the floorboard. Really, I wasn't trying to be a bother to anyone," I explain, catching my breath after my stumble - and struggling with how tight my corset has become.

"Helene, you shan't be so revealing in front of the men," Lady Caroline gasps, pointing to my exposed leg where the gown is torn, "And what happened to your hair? You appear as disheveled as a village woman."

Susanna snorts, amused with my difficult predicament.

I pull my leg underneath the fabric of my dress, blushing beneath the scrutiny of the entire party - including William, Lord Caldwell, Henry and Mr. Aldridge, who were apparently concerned with all the commotion I made.

"I apologize, your ladyship," I reply bitterly, sarcasm lacing my words, "But I had no intention of disturbing any of you. Now, goodnight." I bow deeply, watching Lady Dorothea and Lady Caroline exchange scandalized glances.

"My word. That girl is far worse than I thought," I hear Lady Caroline hiss, not bothering to lower her voice as I march haughtily away.

"I've always known she was trouble." Lady Dorothea agrees, clucking like a farmhouse hen. "Perhaps my efforts have been wasted."

"Now my dear, they cannot have been wasted. You took the wretch in out of sheer kindness and the goodness of your heart, when her parents died. But some children are too wicked to be good, and it seems that Helene Lovell is one of them." Lady Caroline consoles her cousin, patting her on the back. 

Beneath the whispers, I hear the gentle chuckling of both Henry and Mr. Aldridge.

I will no longer meekly tolerate with Henry's games, or Susanna's hurtful remarks, or Lady Dorothea's unabashed abuse. I may be a penniless orphan, but I am also Helene Lovell, a woman far more than her rank or income.

~~~