Even for You
"I'd give a limb to rewrite that whole chapter of my life. But I can't, Mr. Molesley. Even for you."
She had to walk away- firmly, not looking back. She had to immediately try and forget the way his face crumpled into that sad little grimace. She had to do it, because he was a good man, and she wore a stain that would never wash away. There was no bleach that could scour a life clean from the dirt of a prison, from an earned judgment, from a decision that would color her life in workhouse grey forever.
A limb was the least of what she would give to be able to smile into his eyes without a shadow between them. And she thought the sacrifice of three years of her life, a bad character, and an unholy servitude to a man who would yank on the strings of their past to bring her here and use her would be the worst price she would have to pay. She had no idea before he brought her coffee and smiled uncertainly at her, before he stood between her and Thomas as if she had a right to be on his arm. She had no idea how much a gentle look could pierce her heart, or a trusting ear make her fear her guilt was screaming like a sidewalk barker pushing bent goods.
If she could give a limb, she would and gladly. But she could not, would not, stand before Joseph Molesley and pretend to be something she was not. In the face of his kindness, she could not throw it back into his face with a lie, not even one of omission.
Accustomed to keeping her feelings inside, she bit her fist and turned from the lights and conversation of the gathering staff. Just a moment in the dark, and she would be able to put on her mask, the one that hid that she was there only on sufferance and at the mercy of her Ladyship. The mask she hated most when she wore it to smile at Mr. Molesley. It was some small relief to not have to wear it around him anymore.
She groped in her sleeve for a handkerchief, but one appeared in front of her as she searched. Mr. Molesley stood, offering her his own.
Gratefully she took it from his hand and turned her back to him to wipe away the evidence of sadness she felt she had no right to. He shook his head when she tried to hand it back.
"You keep it," he said with an attempt at a smile.
She murmured her thanks. "We'd better get on, or they'll start diner without us." She stopped as his hand reached out and gently touched her arm. Just as quickly, he took it away and watched her as she turned to look him in the face.
"I'd never ask a limb from you, just so know, Miss Baxter. You shouldn't have to give up a limb to be a different person than you were, like you said. And I believe you."
She stared at him, barely remembering to breathe. He looked earnestly at her.
"Besides," he went on, the nervous quiver returning to his voice, "I rather like your limbs the way they are."
She was unable to stop the smile that spread across her face and he grinned shyly back at her. Wordlessly, he gestured that she should go ahead of him into the bustle and brightness of the servants hall.
It was good to step out of the darkness.
She decided to keep the handkerchief.