Aftermath

16. Mistakes Almost Repeated

A loud rapping on my door woke me. 

"What is it?" I croaked. From far away, I thought I heard my name being called. 

The rapping continued, forcing me to throw off the blanket and slide out of bed. The night's events had left me feeling like sopping wet bed linens hung out to dry, and for some reason I thought the person knocking so insistently was Agatha with a breakfast tray. Perhaps I was hungry. 

By time I'd thrown on a dressing gown and made it to the door, the rapping had almost turned into a pounding. 

"Yes, yes. I hear you, Agatha!"  My throat still hurt and I could feel the headache I'd gone to sleep with start to come creeping back to say good morning. 

I had only barely slid back the double bolt on the door, when it was shoved open from the other side. Suddenly, I found myself pressed against a man's body, one of his arms holding me to him in a firm, determined grasp. 

"I'll kill him! I'll rip his head off! I promise, Olivia, he won't get away with it! I'll kill him!"

My face was cupped in a large, rough hand and lifted up. I found myself gazing into James' terrified, cleanly-shaven face. 

"They said you were injured! That he'd hurt you! Is it true?"

I hadn't fully taken in the words he was angrily spiting out, as the only thing I was thinking through the fog of sleepiness was: he's had a shave; someone must have loaned him a razor. 

Without my being aware of it, my arms had automatically wrapped themselves around his waist and I was pressing myself against the warm, comforting hardness of his chest. 

James groaned, "If he's hurt you, I'll break all his bones, so I will." 

As I slowly woke up -- his hand rhythmically stroking my back, my hair -- his words and the situation began to sink in. 

He'd clearly heard about Montgomery, and probably in much more vivid colours than the episode warranted. Outbursts like that were not uncommon. Triggering, but part of our normalcy and something we lived with. The men did, however, have a way of talking up every minor occurrence until it was national news, especially when I was involved. 

And they say women gossip.  

Oh, why was he threatening Montgomery with bodily damage when the poor man had done nothing?   Did he not remember what it had been like in the trenches?

I knew I should have untangled my arms from the embrace, set him straight on the matter, and asked him to leave, but I hadn't been held in so long. I couldn't convince my arms to move, my body to separate from his. He felt so very, very good. 

The exactly location of my room wasn't common knowledge. That, like the double bolts, was a minimum of safety I'd conceded to. But, he'd remembered. Remembered exactly which one out of all the identical doors on the second floor hall was mine. 

He was murmuring my name softly into my hair.  Olivia, Olivia... 

The image of the red scarf appeared in my mind, and of his pleading for me to forget him and let him go. And now the feel of anger and fright that sat in the muscles that held me, the tone of sadness and care in his voice, convinced me it was all too real.  

It had been serious for him. I was suddenly sure. 

I'd brought a young lad to fall in love with me, and I'd not even noticed. 

"I'm sorry," I said, looking up at him.

"It's not your fault. It's that damn insane bastard's fault. When I get my hand on him..." 

"No, no, James. Forget that. It's nothing. "

Our faces were only inches apart. I wanted to tell him so many things, but none of them came out. I simply l looked into his storm-cloud eyes. 

He dipped his head, and kissed me. 

My whole being went into that long, gentle kiss. When I began to feel James' body respond, I  knew I was ready to throw all caution to the wind and take him again. We were only a few paces from my bed, the blankets thrown back and inviting. 

I was only a moment away from opening my mouth and telling him what I wanted, when he suddenly moved away from me, awkwardly hopping backwards with his crutch. He looked away, eyes darting all around once again like a cornered animal. 

A strong, deep blush began to rise on his cheeks.  "I'm sorry," he panted. "I should never have..." 

I also didn't know what to say. I felt like some part of me had been ripped cruelly away, the heat from my body, from my desire, exposed to cold, frosty air. 

"Olivia, please tell me, are you hurt? The others said you were bleeding. That he'd struck you." He couldn't look at me. 

I shook my head. "A few dings and scrapes, that's all. He was having an episode. They believe he was triggered by the gas flames on the stove. He's not responsible." 

James' eyes flitted back to my face, and flitted away again, like a butterfly unsure of where to land. He didn't look convinced. 

"And . . and your father? What is he thinking to do about the man?"

"Nothing. My father died two years ago. Spanish Influenza."

The butterfly made its decision, alighting on me again.  

 "I'm sorry. The man in charge, then? What is he thinking to do?"

"I am the man in charge. And nothing."

"You're. . . .? You mean...you mean, you're, you're running all of this? Alone?" James stared at me, his eyes widening in surprise.

I laughed a little at that.  "No, of course not. Most of the staff and servants are still here and there are all the men, as you've seen."

"That's not what I meant. Have you got no man here to run things? No head of the family? Did an uncle or cousin not step in when your father passed on? A man to see to the finances and the like? " 

"No, James. No uncle, no cousin. My father spent most of the war in India and left the running of things to me. You all were told you were on Mr Altringham's estate and that was correct. Now, however, it's Miss Altringham's estate. I'm the head of the family and see to the finances and the like."

James shook his head in disbelief. "But what about your extended family? How could they leave you alone to manage everything yourself?"   

"Easily," I smiled at him, and suddenly remembered what I must look like, all sleep-mussed and disheveled. I looked around for a shawl to throw over my shoulders. 

"But, Olivia, you can't! You can't manage everything yourself!" He shook his head again. "Is there no man you can ask for help? That's impossible! You must have some sort of -"

I held up my hands.  "Neither of us can change reality, James. It is as it is. I'm alone. That's reality.  And reality since the war has not been pleasant. For either of us."

A less-than-discreet cough came from the open door. 

"Am I interrupting something?" asked Agatha, her eyes lancing James, as if he really were a butterfly and she a pin stabbing him to a board. 

"Lt. Davis was just leaving."

"I should hope he was." 

James turned to me. "I mean what I've said." 

Then James turned and hobbled out of the room, he and Agatha locking gazes as he went. 

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A/N  Forgive James here. He is reacting as men of his time would. The thought of a woman running things without a man at her side was a very foreign concept that only really started to change after WW1.