"Just when I have decided that you are bad for my health, you continue to surprise me." A hand goes to my temple, massaging gently until I can feel the tension ease. The wine glass in my hand is half full. Or half empty. I'm not sure anymore. I've gone through two bottles of last year's crop so my sense of judgement is rather subpar.
The portrait in front of me was never meant to be mine. But I claimed it anyway, wresting from the widow's clutches. "He was my brother," I had snapped at her when she protested, her greedy hands grasping at the painting's wrappings. I lied to her. I keep lying to myself. He was like a brother to me but more than that, he had always been my John.
The widow died last night. Jane Offerty, widow of Lord John Malcolm Offerty, passes at age 30. The papers had printed it boldly, making sure that everyone knew that the Offerty line was no more. I had wanted to crumple the paper into a ball and order it burned in the garden incinerator when the maid had brought in a letter from John's solicitor.
John's instructions had always been clear, unusual as they were. "Everything is yours, even the title, should I pass without a child." I remember the day he said it, sitting behind my desk while his solicitor presented paper after paper to sign. I did not contest it. Did not bother to query his logic. I was his oldest friend. The one he'd always joked would outlast him and everyone we knew. He had been right, in his own way. I turned to look at my desk and set my glass down beside the newspaper and the letter informing me that I was the new lady of the Manor.
What would I have given to have John again? I did not want his money or his title. Indeed, I have been, for the last few years, trying to untie myself from the memory of him. To extricate myself from the memories that were not to be. My inheritance had provided for me well. A flourishing Vineyard and a stately home. It had been all I had wanted. All I had needed.
I can hear footsteps coming towards the study and my hand strays to the knot of my robe resting on my stomach. Two sharp knocks at the door and it opens to admit my Lize. Her eyes look me over, asking if now was the time to bother her mother when I gesture to her to come forward. Looking at her makes me feel a stab in the chest and I draw a painful breath to ease it.
"Is it true, Maman? Is Lady Offerty really dead?" Lize hears too much. She was not to be made aware, not until I could tell her myself. I would be surprised if she had gotten it from a bit of morning gossip between the maids. "I read the paper before they brought it here," she says with her eyes downcast. She is apologetic, scuffing the toes of her shoes on the carpet to show her discomfort. It is in moments like these that she is most like John. It was always in the little things.
I leave the back of my desk and come to kneel in front of her. Like this, we are the same height. We can see eye to eye. We can tell no lies. I hold her head in my hands and kiss her forehead. "Yes, my dear. It is true. Your Aunty Jane is gone," I confirm the news. I look into her eyes and see no sadness. Lize might be a child but she has always felt strongly towards Jane. Jane herself had never liked Lize. She had always suspected. Had always seen too much of her husband in my daughter.
Lize spends the afternoon with me and leaves when her nanny comes to fetch her for a walk. When the door closes, I go back to my desk and sit. My hand goes to my drawer and I yank it open. It's empty save for a pen knife and a letter. I reach for the letter, to read it for the second time today. Gently, I place it side by side with the other papers on my table. "Oh John," I whisper and the tears begin to flow.
I had begged him to let us be. To let Lize and I lead a separate existence from him. But he had refused, much to my chagrin. Lize hadn't been born but her parents were fighting over her future. "You and the baby are my family, just as much as Jane is," he had argued that night. "Jane is your family, John," I had shot back hotly, "I am not the one you married. She is." John simply shook his head and held my hand, pulling me into him. "Just stay, Marie. Please."
'Just stay' I heard every time I considered packing up for another country.
'Just stay' had echoed in my head as I watched him accept his commission and go off to war. Two months later, the news came. Lost at sea. Never to return.
The weight of the memory pressed down on my chest until I felt this mad desire to leave the study and go out into the garden. Lize would be there, as would the children of the neighbours. The garden had been our safe place as children. John would leave the boredom of his lessons and escape to my garden, staying until evening when he was sure the servants would have stopped looking him. I was always more serious and would be waiting with books for him. When I cross the garden gate, I hear the low murmur of Lize's voice as she discusses the news of Jane's death with her playmates.
Two years ago on this date, John left to serve his country. "It is my duty and I am proud to do it." Foolish man. Always so eager to do the right thing. The night before he left had been tense. Between rumpled sheets and broken glasses, we fought as we had never done. "You blockhead!" I had screamed at him. "Have you no heart? No conscience? Jane is mourning the loss of your child and you want to leave her alone?" I had spat at him in anger. John said nothing. Instead, he had put his clothes back on and left the house.
Jane blamed me for John's leaving. To anyone who would care to listen, I was the seductress who had convinced her husband to go and join the army. The talk affected Lize, as she knew it would. Invitations to parties and outings thinned and stopped coming. Lize and I became pariahs, locked away in our house. Jane, poor Jane. If only she knew we just the same. Two women fighting for the affections of a man who economised them.
Lize is tucked in beside me, her soft breathing weaving into a song. She is full of life, full of love, full of forgiveness. She and I had spoken of Jane before she slept. "Aunty Jane was not a bad person. She was just hurt," she reminded me. Sometimes I forget that that had always been the case. John preferred my company, my bed and my entertainments above hers. I had chalked it up to our years-long friendship but she had seen right through it and fought back. We both loved John, loved him to the point of madness. But I had always been on her side. Even when John was stealing kisses that weren't his, even when he had promised that Lize would always be taken care of. I had urged him to go back to her and treat her well. I tuck Lize's hair behind her ear and kiss her hair. "You are right, poppet. I did hurt your Aunty Jane."
The servants have their orders. No one opens the door, no matter what sound they hear. I lie back into my wall of pillows, waiting. Just waiting. The crickets are singing up a storm outside, so much so that I nearly miss the knocking. Quietly, I lift the myself from the bed and reach for my robe. The knocking is soft but persistent, almost as if the person outside is considerate but still in a hurry. I need to be quick. If the doorbell rings, Lize will wake. If she wakes up, she will want to come with me. This night is for me alone. So I hurry, flying down the stairs on padded feet and hoping no one can hear me.
I freeze when I get to the door, one hand hovering above the knob. It's only been seconds from the ticking of the hall clock but it feels like I've been standing here for years. Detached, I watch my hand take hold of the knob and twist it slowly. Cool air comes in when the door swings open. Cool air and a hand coming forward to hold my own.
"John." His name leaves my lips, wonder and thankfulness between each breath. He is here in the flesh yet thinner, and more haggard than I've ever seen him. I want to say something but I can't. So he speaks for us- for myself and Jane who did not live to see tonight. "I am sorry I took so long," his voice cracks on each word. "The road home has been a rather long one." His lips pull into a sliver of a smile and his feet bring him into the hall. My voice finally finds itself and when I try to speak, a sob escapes from my throat. "John, oh John," I cry into his shoulder. A hand is on my back and another on my hair. Together, we sink to the ground, crying each other's names until we can cry no longer.
Jane, poor Jane.
I won.
