After about a half hour, it was obvious that sleep was not in Victor's foreseeable future. His brain was going much to fast for him to shut it off. So he merely lay on his back in bed, one arm thrown over his eyes.
He'd been thinking over what Victoria had said. Or rather, hissed. Everything she'd accused him of, every hurtful word, it all boiled down to one question:
Was he happy?
And that one question led to another, influenced by Victoria's little tirade from earlier: Would he have been happier had his life taken a different course? All those years ago, had he made the wrong choice?
"Wait," Victor said, not even fully aware that he was thinking aloud. He uncovered his eyes and stared at his bed canopy. "I couldn't have made the wrong choice--I never made the choice in the first place."
It was true. Emily had decided. Not Victor. And she'd been right. That was why he hadn't just gone ahead and drank the Wine of Ages anyway. As much as he enjoyed Emily's company, and had been resigned to a life (or death, rather) without Victoria, when all was said and done it was Victoria that he was in love with. What he wanted, truly wanted, was life with Victoria, not death with Emily. Victor made a small disgusted noise. There was something else he should have brought up with Victoria. Why did he always have to miss the obvious defenses in an argument? Oh, well. If she was still speaking to him, he'd tell her later.
It seemed as though there was no place for that train of thought to go. On the one hand, the more he thought about it, he did feel...dissatisfied. Not unhappy, just not...well, completely happy. Yet, never once since he and Victoria had gotten married had he questioned whether she was the person he was supposed to spend his life with. He had never needed to. Everything between them had always been so comfortable, so natural...even in the early days, it was as though they'd known one another for years. Though, as had just been disastrously proven, the memory of Emily was still a bit of a fault line in their marriage, Victor and Victoria were still happy with one another. And there was no doubt that he loved his children. They were his and Victoria's, after all. Besides, he liked being a father. He'd been quite surprised when he'd come to that realization, but it was true. Fatherhood was a role he enjoyed very much. One that he felt comfortable in. Well, most of the time, anyway. No, his feelings of late ("melancholy", as Victoria had put it) had nothing to do with Victoria or the children. Victor was positive of that much.
So what was the problem?
For several more moments, Victor just let his mind drift. What in the world did he have to be dissatisfied about? He had a wife that he loved dearly, intelligent and reasonably pleasant children, money, a comfortable lifestyle...By all accounts, he had nothing to complain about. He was precisely where he always thought that he'd end up in life. Happier than he'd imagined, but this was pretty much the life he'd expected.
With a small groan, Victor turned over onto his side. He was no closer to self-understanding than he had been a few weeks ago, when all of this oddness had started. Finally, Victor decided that the best course of action would be just to forget the entire thing. To just "get over it", as his mother had advised him to do any time in his childhood when he'd had a problem. Deny its existence. What else could he do? Wallowing in confusion and bad feelings wasn't doing any good. After all, he managed to completely alienate Victoria with his behavior. That was the last thing he wanted.
So. That was that, then. Forget all about it, and go about repairing the damage he'd caused.
But that was another problem. Taking an active role in anything had never been Victor's strong suit. Usually, he realized ruefully, he usually just let things happen to him. Victoria was always the one to take definitive action--it was yet another one of the ways in which they balanced one another out. And, if he was honest, yet another way that he had always managed to duck many responsibilities, preferring to let her handle things. No wonder she'd apparently grown to resent him a bit. After thinking it over, Victor decided that, for better or worse, he was going to let this whole business blow over on its own. There was no need to go back over everything again, dredging it all up. It seemed useless. He'd pretend that nothing had happened. That seemed to be the easiest course of action.
So he was decided on that point, too. But even with a solution (probably not the best one, but a solution nonetheless) at hand, he still couldn't bring himself to get up and join the world again. Perhaps better to just lie there for a while. Everyone else would probably be fine without him.
Suddenly there was a sharp rap on the door, the one that led out into the hallway. Victoria? he wondered, but then decided that it probably wasn't her. She usually used the door that adjoined their rooms. And she usually knocked gently, instead of the staccato pounding that was currently going on.
Sitting up, Victor swung his legs over the side of the bed and planted his feet on the floor. He ran a hand over his hair and tried to smooth some of the wrinkles out of his coat in an attempt to make himself look a bit more presentable. Finally he looked toward the door.
"Come in," he said. His voice came out sounding a little hoarse, and he cleared his throat. Perhaps it was Mrs. Reed, summoning him for teatime...or had he missed teatime? He had no idea how long he'd been in his room.
Victor was rather surprised when it turned out to be Mary. Victor and Victoria were relatively lax about the usual rules of propriety--one of them being that children Mary's age should always stay in the nursery until summoned. And no children were supposed to come unattended into their parent's room. Victor didn't mind, of course, but it was still somewhat surprising. She'd never come in here before--she usually just tried to talk to him through the door on the rare occasion that she happened to pass by when it was closed (probably, Victor assumed, just to be sure that he hadn't inadvertently fallen out the window or something when left to his own devices).
Seemingly full of purpose, she strode over to him. There was a brief silence as she just stood there next to him, looking up into his face.
"May I help you?" Victor finally asked, not sure what else to say.
"You missed tea," Mary told him.
"Did I?" he asked in return. "I'm sorry." But why didn't anyone come to get me? Victor couldn't help wondering. Then, apropos of absolutely nothing, he had another thought: They really didn't need him all that much. It was a hurtful thought, and even as he had it he doubted how true it was. But still...it seemed, especially in light of what had occurred that day, Victor needed Victoria and the children more than they needed him.
As though reading his thoughts, Mary said, in a very reassuring tone, "It's all right. Mother said you were napping. Did you have a good nap? I did. Naps are good." Before Victor could reply, or even shake himself out of his dour mood enough to reply, Mary gave a little start, as though remembering something.
"Here, I brought you this," she said, reaching into one of the pockets on her pinafore. When her hand reappeared, Victor saw that she was holding a scone. She held it out to him. "You like them, and you didn't get any. I wanted to put jam on it, but it would have been too messy, Mother said."
"Mother let you put a scone in your pocket to bring me?" asked Victor, amused and somewhat pleased. He took the proffered scone and thanked her.
"She thought it was nice of me," Mary replied proudly. She brushed the crumbs off of her hands, then stared at him again.
"Goodbye," she said, apparently finished now that the scone was delivered. She turned to leave.
"Wait a moment," Victor said, putting out a hand and catching her by the shoulder. Mary turned around, looking curious.
"How...how is everyone?" he asked. It seemed the easiest way to pose a question about what he really wanted to know to a four-year-old. Mary furrowed her brows.
"Fine," she replied, obviously a bit confused by his question.
"Then everyone made it downstairs for tea?" he asked, thinking of Lydia with her cane, and Catherine in the wardrobe.
"Except you," Mary nodded. "It took Lydia a long time on the stairs. And Catherine didn't want to come down. But then we all told her there were scones. Then she did." Victor couldn't help smiling a little at that one. Then he sobered again.
"And...how is your mother?" he ventured.
"Fine. Shouldn't she be?" Mary sounded a tad nervous now, as well as confused. Victor felt like slapping himself in the forehead. What was he doing? The girl was four. It was Victor's responsibility to see how Victoria was. It wasn't Mary's job to be his little spy.
"Of course," he quickly said, trying to sound as cheerful as possible. "Merely...checking." Luckily Mary seemed satisfied with that.
"That's nice," she told him approvingly. There was a pause, one that, brief as it was, was apparently long enough to outlast Mary's short attention span.
"I'm going to the parlor. I've things to do," she said importantly, parroting a phrase that Victoria used often.
"Really?" Victor said, amused at her choice of words. "I believe I'll come with you. I've...things to do, as well."
He got up, and the two of them walked to the still open door. Once in the hallway, Victor couldn't help but notice how quiet it was.
"Where is everyone?" he asked Mary. "Are they still in the parlor?" Mary shook her head.
"No. Lydia is. She couldn't go for a walk with her cane," she said.
"They're out walking?" Victor asked. With Anne and Catherine looking the way they do? he thought, surprised. Victoria will probably be stopped for questioning, if the constable sees them. With an unpleasant jolt Victor remembered the incident with the doctor earlier in the day. He'd put it out of his mind. There was something else he had to find some way to deal with. As much as he'd like to, he probably wouldn't get away with ignoring that one.
"Yes," she said, her tone suggesting that Victor was a bit of an idiot for not paying attention to what she was saying. Then, yet again, Mary seemed to read his mind. "Just around the garden, though. Catherine still doesn't want anybody to look at her."
"Oh," he said. For a moment he toyed with the scone that he was still carrying. "Well...she'll feel better soon, I suppose," he added reflectively as they neared the top of the stairs. Victor was just about to take a step down when Mary stopped.
"My leg still hurts," she said suddenly, as though just thinking of it. Victor was sure she just had. He rolled his eyes, but did so affectionately. He decided not to bother bringing up that she was getting to be a young lady, and should walk about a bit more on her own. After all, she was the last one he'd be able to carry around. He figured he'd best make the most of it while he could.
So without saying anything, he merely smiled at her and held out his arms. Returning the smile widely, Mary fairly jumped into them, nearly knocking Victor down the stairs.
Once she was settled securely on his hip, Victor handed her the scone. "Hold that for me, will you please?" he asked. With a nod, Mary stuck the scone back in her pinafore pocket, then wrapped her arms around his neck. For whatever reason, Victor was suddenly struck by the thought that, despite what he'd been telling himself all afternoon, he was needed. Even if only as a cheap alternative to public transportation. He held Mary a bit tighter for a moment.
When they were halfway down the staircase, there was suddenly a burst of what sounded like staccato thunder from outside. Victor stopped, startled by the sudden noise. Both he and Mary stared, wide-eyed, at the door. After a moment he realized the noise wasn't thunder (the day was clear, after all), but footsteps out on the porch. Victor had barely registered that thought when whoever was out there began banging thunderously on the door.
"What in the world is going on?" Lydia called from the parlor, sounding both nervous and annoyed. But her voice was drowned out by a shout from the other side of the door.
"Open up in there!" came a voice that Victor didn't recognize immediately. Whoever it was didn't sound very friendly.
"Oh dear," Victor said, as Mary tightened her grip on his neck. "What now?"
