Two Eves
There were two choices for her evening; two options that fell every night and were not in her power to decide upon.
The first was a dimly lit room where music danced. Where invisible colours teased from the notes and spiralled lazily through the air. She wished she could see the colours that her sister spoke of and Walter understood. Perusing letters by the candlelight, chasing down a mystery. Where they seemed the only three people in all the world. These nights were agony. Head propped in her hand as she watched Walter watching Laura, both with desperate longing. Wishing he would look at her that way instead but understanding it all the same. To watch them felt like an intrusion, like she should not be there. She was in a room of the people she loved most in the world and yet felt entirely alone. It ate into her.
The second type of evening often followed the first if she allowed it, which inevitably she did. Those nights Walter would choose to remain up when Laura retired, moving through to the billiards room. Marian would escort Laura up to bed before stealing back down herself. If her sister knew then she would want to join them, and Marian needed this time to let her loneliness be soothed, to be allowed to pretend. The minor deception caused her the occasional pang of guilt as she went silently back down the stairs, but Walter's smile at her presence the moment she opened the door sent it scattering into non-existence. It was not lost on her that neither of them saw the necessity of a chaperone.
These evenings were amber liquid in shot glass tumblers. The heat of a fire. Snap of billiard balls. Thunder tumbling somewhere nearby though no rain hit the windows. A tension of the storm in the air and the storm inside her. A sweet agony where Walter was hers alone. They talked of things that were not for Laura's ears, because neither wished to trouble her. Marian would bask in these moments when she could, enjoying the bond they shared. The mystery of the Woman in White tied them, a secret between them, drawing them closer, yet pushing Walter further away at the same time. Concern for her sister would devour him, flinging him from her, far back into his mind, with a slam of a glass and retirement to bed. On other nights it would spring him back, reel him to her side and keep him there.
Billiards was always played, and played poorly. She would gently mock him about his instruction and wish that he would be provoked to stand behind her, rest his hands on her waist and guide her in shooting more clearly. Laura would just ask him to show her. Marian dared not but she relished every word of affectionate teasing they exchanged. Some nights, less than she wished but more than they ought, the words slipped too far, and she would be left to wonder at his abrupt silences. Eyes would lock, and breathing grow audible. The air became intentional, on the edge of something dangerous. He only broke it half of the time, the half where she didn't. Eyes would be averted. Excuses made about bed. Another drink would be poured, or a comment made about the game. She marvelled at the multitude of different ways to break something fragile before it could become something else.
These second evenings were hers to delight in the moment and pain her at the end, because inevitably, as she was left to climb the staircase alone, there would be a question burrowing in her mind, eating away at her insides. If she had allowed those restraints freed as Laura had, allowed propriety to be merely a word, dressed as a woman should dress and taken less care of her speech, would then he have fallen in love with her instead?