What does Shakespeare advise to do when you are, ah, heartbroken?
I've never thought I'll have to look up the answer to the question of no account in my life: science, astronomy in particular, has always saved me from the harsh and tenacious reflections of reality I have to face every day. Here it was absolutely useless; the ultimate shock palsied me didn't seem to be surmounted anytime soon although deep inside I expected something of the kind to crawl up to me. Albeit Anna Strong's pious intentions were clear to me, I decided to indulge in her cajoling voice and let the gestures take off my guard, blind and mesmerize me, bludgeon me to trust to the glow I spotted in her bright orbs shining brighter than a star in the sky. At the same time, her nature was clandestine to me; and nevertheless, I knew – from the very beginning – she never loved me at all. She respected me all the way; in the ides of August noticed her curiosity towards me, but it was nothing more than her courtesy mingled with sheer surprise – I treated her like a lady. But her love – it was not the prize I could ever get. Her love was to be bestowed on another man in the town of Setauket, although she had expressed the gentlest care during my convalescence and recuperation.
I wish I didn't hear the rumors – I wish I hadn't been able to sift them thoroughly and scrupulously as any military officer has to. I wish I had never caught a bit of them – including those of Captain John Graves Simcoe molesting her. I somewhat missed it out. I somewhat relinquished the hold on the town letting this vile brat – I am sorry to say so but I cannot find the word describing him better – stay so close to her, probably threatening her, trying to intercept her outside the tavern she worked at. It must have been a quotidian thing for the citizen of Setauket to face, but I wanted, God sees that, I wanted to protect it, to preserve it, to make it a better place to live. Was I too bad for them to rule the town? Did I deserve to be treated the way I was treated by Anna Strong? Did she have the right to do what she did? Sitting there and looking at the stars, I found a few reasons for her behaving so – and, in all honesty, I approve none of them, even grasping the crux.
On the other hand, Anna's attitude to me is still an incredibly vague subject to reconsider. Those who know her well enough to judge her deeds must ascribe some money interest to her intents. At least, that's what Richard did – as a good friend I always suspected in him, he took my side no matter the consequences and repercussions following the decision, never reneged – and forthwith awarded her with a title any woman would be ashamed to bear. He called her a harlot, a whore; the worst, the cheapest one – and constantly failed to see the real status quo.
She was trying to indemnify me. With the zeal I rarely spotted in people.
She was striving to protect me from the vermin hiding in my closest ones. My God, do you think I'm easier to manipulate than a pipe? You can push my buttons, but you can't play me for a fool…
Albeit it hurts me to accept the fact, she never truly felt a slightest touch of affection for me. She was ready to flee with me, to run for her life – to abscond to Scotland if necessary! Frailty, thy name is woman! Were you afraid, Anna? Did you want to save us both – or yourself only? I am not aware of your notions, and what I observed was an alteration: when I was about to yield and let me deceive me the simplest way possible, she defied. She betrayed. She lied. She made me a traitor, a pervert; she stung me as painfully as a venomous viper. Did she muse my impeccable reputation of a man of honour would stand the test of her ploy and public prosecution? It did. But did my heart?
I remember her velvet brown eyes staring directly at me. I recollect the ceremony so vividly as if took place yesterday. For a bride, her smiled seemed forged, and I mistook it for nervousness – or excitement. I recall Richard, highly displeased – and foreseeing the following.
"I'm sorry, Major. I can't."
What, thought I at the moment. Blind, happy, I could not believe that she, Anna Strong, the woman I had shared the night sky with, was cruel enough to say it was me who arranged the wedding with an already married woman. I still sometimes read abhorrence written on the guests' faces – and only one visage wasn't turned to me. A pair of eyes was glaring at Anna with visible, burning enmity, rancor and aversion. Richard Woodhull didn't accuse me of it. Either he confided in me to a fault, or detested and despised Anna so much, but I perfectly recall his pursed lips – and a grimace of disdain – the unrivaled contempt a human could produce and express. No mistrust, but peerless anger slowly morphing into fury. I've never seen him like this hitherto.
The man in the red uniform leaned back in his chair: his life was abrim with situations to speculate on, but one memory shone the brightest. It gleamed in the darkest nook of his mind, still causing pain and disbelief. What was she defending him from? Why did she come to him with a… proposal? Was it a part of her devious plan someone had contrived for her? Had she ever been genuine with him? Had any of her emotion been intrinsic? Did she act when they were watching the night sky with the scattered stars upon the blue canvas of it?
Hewlett sighed. That's why he loved science: it never attempted to hurt him and disappoint his expectations. If there was a mystery not to be unraveled, at any rate, it didn't endeavour to stab him in the back.