As I
wandered through the gardens, breathing in that wonderful smell you
only get from beautiful flowers, I espied a young man reading
intently. Of course, I knew who he was, everyone knew- but I knew him
best. This was Edward Masen, who had befriended me when the girls
would not let me play skip-rope when we were 5, who had taught me
arithmatic when we were 8- his forte, and who had taught me to read
at the age of 10. I could not afford to go to school and so I relied
on the intellect instilled in Edward as soon as he could
walk.
Various tutors, nannies, and foreigners had imparted so much
knowledge that Edward started craving it, devouring books in order
that he might be a great philosopher like Plato.
I walked up
to him quietly. It would be almost sacriligious to disturb him once
he was in his reading. Books gave him such a queer look- all
wide-eyes and parted lips.
'Hallo, Edward.' Edward turned round to
face me.
'Amelia! Damn fine day, isn't it?' He looked up at the
expanse of a hot blue sky, the sort you get in June.
'What are you
reading?'. I tried to look over his shoulder and read.
Edward
snapped it shut.
'If you must know, it's Dostoevsky. Crime and
Punishment.' He laughed to himself, which frustrated me. However, out
of politeness, I let it go.
'Do you know whether I should use
'etre' or 'avoir'?'
Edward scoffed.'You need to tell me the
context'
'For reading.'
'Okay, 'lire'. So it's 'avoir'.
Maintenant, je lis. Ce matin, j'ai lu'
'Simple'
What a
beautiful dress, I sighed. It wrapped around my waist, swathes of
silky jade-green.
However I felt awkward and embarrassed in it.
Perhaps this was just nerves. Tonight was the debutante ball, where I
would be 'presenting' myself to eligible suitors. My sister Elizabeth
had hers two years ago, and was now married to the smarmy, 'but rich'
as Mother so often reminded me, Rupert.
I was coming out early because Mother insisted that if I did not, Henry might marry drippy Mary Roberts: 'and that would never do!'
Previously I had been looking forward to the debutante ball. It seemed as if it would be so romantic, and I knew who I was going to choose, I'd known since I was six. Except he no longer would be going.
The gardens I previously described belonged to Edward's house. My own were just as extensive, but there was something more magical about his. Perhaps because of the countless myths, of lovers meeting here against their parents' wishes, of a fight over a woman...or perhaps it was just because he belonged to them.
'I fear I ignored you earlier,'
Edward apologised, later that afternoon. I was hardly concerned with
it; the debutante ball was more exciting.
'That's fine. I know
that happens to you when you do your reading.'
He smiled.
'You
understand me. I can be awful sometimes but you don't mind.' This
appeared to confuse him, though of course to me it made perfect
sense.
'Of course I don't mind. You aren't awful to me'
It had
been a swelteringly hot day, but we were relieved by a gentle
breeze.
'That's come in from the sea, you know'
'The sea? But that's miles away!'
Edward laughed. 'Can't you believe that it can? I thought you were romantic like that'
Yes, I was romantic like that. But I found it hard to tell him.
'Why, yes, I think…I love it when you talk about things like the sea, and how clouds are formed. It makes you happy.'
He held my hand. It was warm, despite the fact that the breeze was becoming stronger.
'You make me happier than the sea and the clouds, and everything,' Edward told me.
There was a pregnant pause…he was unsure whether he should still hold my hand and so loosened his grip…I clasped my smaller hand around his.
'You'll look beautiful tonight at the ball. What will you wear?'
'Don't ask that!' I laughed. 'You'll see me tonight'
His head hung low, and he dropped my hand.
'I cannot go'
Why couldn't he go? I wanted to know. Did he not love me? Did I not love him? Was it not just as simple as that?
'Why?' I asked, trying to mask my disappointed tears. Now his feelings for me felt uncertain, and it was unbearable for me to doubt all those years I'd known him.
'Our family can't go. People say my parents are spies for the Germans.'
'That's ridiculous!'
'I imagine Mrs Lurberry started it. She was slighted by my father when she was a debutante, and she never forgave him. Apparently he looked exactly as I do now.' Edward smoothed out his shirt, and retied his bootlaces. As he did this, I watched for the paternal resemblance. They looked very alike, and his father might have looked like this, but it was nothing but a surface similarity.
'So, you will not go? Am I to marry Henry then, to live with him forever until we die? And I can only ever see you as an acquaintance?!' The thought was agonising, because it was more than likely to happen. You marry whoever is eligible, that's that.