Second part of the sequence.
As usual I own nothing.
Chapter 14
"India, Honey and John are here for dinner too. I hope you don't mind," said Maybelle as she ushered Scarlett and Rhett in to her cramped parlour. "Honey and John are returning home to Macon tomorrow and I thought it would be nice to see them before they set off." Scarlett bristled at the mention of Honey's name. So much for the simple evening Jack had talked of.
"A good idea, Miss Maybelle," Rhett said, sensing Scarlett's temper beginning to simmer. "Darling, you don't see enough of your son's relatives." He turned towards her and grinned maliciously.
"I see plenty of those of his relatives I want to see," she whispered, out of earshot of her hosts, before forcing a smile.
They walked further into the room and were met by Jack who was carrying glasses of punch for the guests. "Good evening, Scarlett," he said, smiling widely before he turned to greet Rhett. Honey, dressed in a high-necked taupe dress that drained all colour from her lifeless features, was perched on a chair to the side of the room, watching Scarlett like a hawk. René came over and kissed Scarlett's hand before India exchanged a kiss with Scarlett on her cheek.
"Honey," said Scarlett, nodding at her in acknowledgement when she finally allowed her eyes to catch Honey's glare.
"Good evening, Scarlett," she said, before she returned to her conversation with Maybelle.
Scarlett stood by Rhett's side, thankful that she had not come alone. Even now, months after she had started her concerted effort to win back the favour of the Old Guard, she still at times felt like a pariah. At least she was in Maybelle's good grace. Thank goodness Rhett had donated all that champagne to the ball!
Rhett was deep in conversation with Honey's husband, John, whom Scarlett had always liked. He had a no nonsense approach to life which she knew appealed to Rhett but it had always bemused her as to exactly what he had seen in Ashley's colourless sister. She was only half-listening to their conversation – something on bank lending rates – but she wasn't interested enough to pay too much attention. She felt tired and her feet hurt in slippers that were too tight. She looked around the room to see if she could sit down but the only chair available was between Honey and India and she neither had the energy for the inane conversation that would inevitably flow from India, nor the energy to bat off Honey's simple-minded but cruel barbs.
The invitation to dinner at Maybelle's had tickled her vanity. She had yearned for months to be embraced by the Old Guard but if this was the reward then she would rather remain an exile. She looked at the old grandfather clock, ticking softly in the corner of the room. She would have to suffer for at least three more hours before she could make an elegant exit.
As her mind wandered, she studied Maybelle's house. She had been in it before, when she had attended the sewing circles but she had always been too busy biting her tongue and trying to blend in with the other ladies to take much notice of her surroundings. Like Ashley's house on Ivy Street, there was no entrance hall. Instead, the front door opened straight onto the parlour. The parlour was cluttered with two mismatched settees and a couple of chairs but they looked like chairs that were comfortable to sit on, rather than the trophy chairs that furnished Scarlett's parlour and which gave her back ache within five minutes from sitting down in them . On one side of the room stood a beautifully carved flower stand that Scarlett thought she remembered from Mr and Mrs Merriweather's house and, tucked beside it, she saw a small black leather shoe – the keeper of which must have been the Picards' eldest child, Raoul. And then she saw a small doll, forgotten and pushed underneath the stand which Scarlett guessed must belong to Anne-Marie, the treasured daughter of the Picards and the same age Scarlett's last baby would have been if she hadn't miscarried.
There was nothing grand about the house but it had a homeliness that Scarlett knew her mansion had always lacked. There were books all around and a handful of scenic paintings – including one of an old plantation that, at first blush, reminded her of Twelve Oaks – and cushions that, though faded, were elaborately embroidered with oriental flowers. Scarlett wondered if Maybelle had done the appliqué – she had always been skilled with a needle. The curtains that hung at the windows were a rich amaranth cotton – a hue only a few shades lighter than the silk portières that hung in Scarlett's own parlour but, whereas Scarlett's appeared garish and offensive, Maybelle's were welcoming and comfortable.
As Scarlett surveyed the room, Maybelle came towards her, smiling so genuinely that her eyes twinkled. "I was so pleased you could come, Scarlett and I apologise for the short notice," she said. "I wanted to have you and Captain Butler over for dinner to thank you for the champagne. We raised such a tremendous sum at the ball – of course, helped by Captain Butler's generous bid for the first dance!" She leaned in to Scarlett and then added in a hushed tone, "I hope you didn't mind me dancing with your husband. I didn't know what to do when he bid for me!"
"Fiddle-de-dee, Maybelle. I didn't mind at all. I can always dance with him," said Scarlett as she failed to recall the last time she had actually waltzed with her husband. Then, trying to replicate the genuineness of Maybelle's gratitude, she said, "And the champagne was our pleasure." Maybelle beamed at her again.
"By the way, is it still convenient for you to host the next Widows and Orphans sewing meeting on Wednesday? I mean I can try…"
"Of course. I'm looking forward to it," Scarlett lied. She wondered if anyone would come – she sensed people tolerated rather than welcomed her. And then an idea of bribery came to her. "I'll get Minnie to make some of her lemon cake."
"Oh do! I've heard it's absolutely delicious. I'll come over at two o'clock and help you set up," Maybelle offered and then took Scarlett's hand and squeezed it. "You look beautiful tonight, Scarlett. As always. I love this colour on you."
"Do you?" Scarlett said, surprised. "I wasn't sure."
"It suits you perfectly. But then of course, you can wear most colours. Nothing looks bad on you."
Scarlett smiled. "Thank you, Maybelle." She wasn't quite sure why she deserved the praise but it gave her a warm feeling. She could get used to socialising with Maybelle who, she had noticed, didn't hold back on compliments. It was refreshing to be in a social situation where a woman wasn't competing – a vastly different experience from her times spent with the Mamie Bart's of the Atlanta world.
"Excuse me," Maybelle said before she approached her husband and gently tugged at the arm of his jacket. She whispered something in his ear which made René smile and then he followed his wife into the kitchen. Scarlett saw him put his hand gently on Maybelle's back, guiding her and then he leaned in towards her again and she saw his mouth move. She couldn't work out what he said but it provoked an affectionate giggle from his wife followed by a look of happiness and adoration. They had been married for over ten years, and, despite their struggles and tribulations – including the loss of their first born - they had survived. Together.
Scarlett sighed. She had never come close to achieving harmony in any of her marriages. True, Charlie had died before she had barely fluttered her eyelashes at him, whilst Frank's ideas of a wife were vastly different from what his reality turned out to be. And with Rhett, they had been too preoccupied with hurting each other and lying to each other to ever be able to live together in anything other than mutual apathy.
As she turned her attention back to the conversation of economics John and Rhett were engaged in, she felt someone's hand brush across her arm. Jack was by her side.
"We'll be sitting down soon. Why don't you come through whilst I open some wine?" he said. For a moment, Scarlett hesitated. He had a lascivious glint in his eye that unsettled her. She looked up at Rhett in the hope that he might draw her into the conversation or accompany her into the dining room, but he was too engrossed to even notice her presence. She shrugged and then smiled wanly before following Jack.
The room must have been a quarter of the size of Scarlett's lavish equivalent but the table was set with Maybelle's best china and silverware. The bakery can't be doing badly, thought Scarlett, as she noticed the hallmark on one of the knives.
Jack popped the cork and poured two glasses, before handing one to Scarlett. "I'm impressed with your store, Scarlett. It's got a good selection of home wares. I think I'll need to come back later this week and stock up on some of your…er... crockery." He winked at her and she felt herself redden and her hands immediately moisten with sweat.
"How much longer are you going to be in Atlanta?" she asked, trying to steer the conversation away from anything controversial and wishing Rhett was by her side.
"It depends what comes up. At the moment, I seem to have plenty of… things to keep me occupied"
Scarlett almost choked on the sip of wine she had just imbibed. She wasn't used to such blatant flirting and it made her uncomfortable. Occasionally, when Mamie Bart's and Sylvia Connington's husbands had been worse the wear from drink, there had been ribald remarks, directed at Scarlett but she had had her marriage – and Rhett – to hide behind. But now, she felt naked. She affected a nervous laugh just as the rest of the party entered. Scarlett saw Honey look right at her but Rhett then stood in front of her, blocking the glare. As René squeezed past Scarlett and Jack, he knocked Jack's hand, spilling blackberry wine down his starched white shirt.
"Oh Jack. I'm so sorry," René said, immediately grabbing a napkin and trying to stop the stain from spreading.
Jack laughed. "René, don't worry. I'll just change shirts. I won't be long."
As he left the room, Rhett whispered to Scarlett, "A reckless man who covet's his neighbour's wife gains four things – and it looks like Mr Picard has just gained punishment." Scarlett looked at him, with a baffled expression, as Maybelle, who had been helping Grace in the kitchen, finally entered the room.
"Aah, good," said Maybelle. "I see the wine has already been opened. Why doesn't everyone sit down and I'll get Grace to start bringing the food in?"
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Somehow, Scarlett got through dinner without having to say much of anything to anyone, least of all Honey, whilst Rhett disarmed everyone with his charm. Initially reluctant to be drawn, he was coerced into regaling tales of his blockade running adventures for the benefit of the swooning women and the admiring men that sat around the table. Scarlett sat back and listened, hearing with fresh ears about some of his daredevil escapades and felt a flush of pride.
"You were so brave, Captain Butler," said Maybelle and then, turning to her husband's cousin, she asked, "Did you know that he bought me the material for my wedding dress? From Paris no less!" Jack shook his head.
"And all the little gifts you brought back for Aunt Pitty!" exclaimed India to Rhett. Scarlett smirked at India's enthusiasm, recalling all the snide comments that India had made about such gifts whilst speculating on the true nature of Scarlett's and Rhett's relationship.
"You were so brave," repeated Maybelle, quietly, her brown eyes wide with admiration. Maybelle definitely has a soft spot for Rhett, thought Scarlett, amused.
"Not brave. More foolish. I was just in the right place at the right time," said Rhett and he suddenly looked awkward at the praise being heaped on him. "Now," he said, turning to his wife, "Scarlett was far more intrepid. Staying in Atlanta with Miss Melly and Wade whilst the city fell and everyone deserted." It was now India's turn to look uncomfortable. She shifted position in her chair and reached across for the pitcher to fill up her glass with elderflower cordial. "Miss Pitty had left and Scarlett was all alone and, after delivering Beau, she fled a burning city in a rickety old cart pulled by a half dead horse right under the noses of the Yankees."
"But you helped her, Captain Butler," remembered India, who had heard of, and been bored by, the heroism of Scarlett from Melly on numerous occasions and knew Rhett's role in their escape.
"Against my better judgment. I thought it was lunacy but…well, when Scarlett wants something she doesn't give in. Do you darling? Besides, I only helped her by stealing the horse and the cart. The rest Scarlett pretty much did on her own." Scarlett stole a look at her husband and for once there was no mockery in his eyes, but something else. It was as though he had drifted off into his own thoughts and he was remembering the pluck and determination of the young girl who had spirited her family away from the ravages of Sherman.
"That was a lifetime ago," said Scarlett, wishing to break the pregnant pause that had engulfed the room. "I don't remember much of it." But she did. She would never forget that dreadful day or the absolute fear that gripped her whole being. And, despite Rhett's retelling of the story, she knew that she would never have made it without his steadying presence by her side. Surely he knew that?
Just then, a little voice piped up sleepily from the edge of the room. "Mama." It was Napolean. He was standing in a grey flannel nightgown looking up at the adults, trying to locate his mother whilst sucking his thumb. Maybelle immediately stood up but was unable to make an easy exit. Quickly, René was by his son's side and scooped him up into his arms, brushing the black curls away from his eyes. "Papa, I had a horrible dream. Lots of big monsters," he said, burying his head into the warm nook of his father's shoulder.
"There, there," René said, stroking his son's back. He then turned to his guests. "Sorry everyone, please excuse me," and he left the room with his precious package wrapped tightly round him.
The whole scene reminded Scarlett of Bonnie – aided by the fact that Napolean had been one of her daughter's most favoured playmates and instinctively she looked across at Rhett. But if he had thought of their daughter, he didn't show it. His impassive mask was firmly affixed.
After dinner, the men got up to smoke on the porch and drink port, leaving Scarlett with Maybelle and her two childhood neighbours. Honey had barely spoken to Scarlett all evening. As Maybelle left the room to make some tea, Honey pounced on Scarlett.
"So Scarlett, still trying to tempt Jack?" Scarlett rolled her eyes. Oh good grief, wouldn't this woman talk about something different. Scarlett had barely spoken to Jack all evening.
"Still as bitter as ever?" Scarlett said, the words tripping off her tongue involuntarily. Honey glared at her old rival with the same intense hatred that her sister had been known to direct at Scarlett, before their rapprochement and fragile ceasefire - when they realised they both had a responsibility to look after Melly's widower and son and when India realised that perhaps, after all, she had misjudged Scarlett and Ashley.
"You're like a cat on heat! Hanging on his every word. It's quite frankly ridiculous!" Scarlett glanced at India who sat mute, desperately trying to stop the curves of her thin, bloodless lips turn up. Of course, Scarlett couldn't expect India to defend her. Their relationship hadn't exactly developed into a friendship. A hundred thoughts passed through Scarlett's mind, and, despite the surge of Irish blood that rushed through her veins, she managed to bite her tongue. She would be mortified if her hostess heard the war of words and she wanted to keep Maybelle's good opinion of her.
"I think I might go and see if Maybelle needs help bringing the tea in," Scarlett said with a forced cheerfulness. She stood up, just as Maybelle shuffled in with a tray of tea cups and saucers and a large pot of tea.
Maybelle, oblivious to the earlier scene, set the tray down and started pouring and distributing the tea.
"So how long is Jack going to be staying with you?" Honey asked, her voice resonating with sweetness.
"I'm not sure," said Maybelle, as she poured the final cup for herself. "Possibly another week or so. But he's no bother and the children love having him around. It's so sad what happened."
"What happened?" India asked, her attention suddenly caught.
"Didn't I tell you? I was sure I had. It's really rather tragic. His wife died in childbirth. Almost three years ago now. It's taken him a while to get over it."
"That is sad," India said as she sipped on the hot drink.
"I told him he needs to find himself another wife. He's still young. But he hasn't really seemed interested."
"Well, I expect if Scarlett was free, she would be quick to make him husband number four," said Honey.
"Honey!" exclaimed Maybelle, her cheeks flushing with embarrassment. And then she looked at the recipient of the barb.
"Oh, don't worry about me, Maybelle. I'm used to Honey's nasty remarks, ever since we were children and the boys all preferred to play with me," said Scarlett without batting an eyelid. She looked at the clock and wondered how much longer the men would be. For the second time in the evening, she wished Rhett was by her side.
"We all know Scarlett has to have her new man lined up before she discards the old one. I mean she married Captain Butler just a year after the death of poor Mr Kennedy. I suspect that Jack is her next victim."
Maybelle didn't know where to look and was by now as red as the strawberries they had had for dessert. India, sensing their hostess's discomfort, said, "Honey, please. It's all water over the dam." Scarlett just looked coolly at her new nemesis.
"At least I can get a husband," she said wryly. "I can't help it, Honey, if Charlie and all the others preferred me." She smiled sweetly even though her thoughts were of wanting to throttle the old cat.
"You trapped him!"
"Honey…" but Maybelle neither had the words nor the backbone to stop the onslaught.
"How did I trap him?" Scarlett said, beginning to relish the argument.
"You did. You were so flighty and sly and were desperate to marry before the war broke out in case you were left an old maid." Scarlett wanted to laugh out loud at the absurdity of the accusations. Oh, if only Honey knew how she regretted accepting the proposal as soon as she had said "yes".
"What like you, you mean?" Scarlett retorted.
"Oh…." Honey's mouth and eyes narrowed in pure hatred whilst India looked on – a mixture of shock that her sister was saying all that she had wanted to say to Scarlett over the years and vague disbelief.
Honey quickly recovered. "And then everyone knows that you married Mr Kennedy just to keep Tara. You sacrificed your sister's happiness for your own personal gain. You acted like a prostitute!" Scarlett felt herself colour at the accuracy of the charge. She could never think of her marriage to Frank without feeling utterly humiliated at the memory of offering herself to Rhett not more than two weeks before. And she had prostituted herself with Frank too! She had lured him into her lair and as soon as she had the ring on her finger, her sugar-coated act all but vanished.
"And then Captain Butler! Well, the only reason people can think of as to why you married him was for his money." The last remark hit Scarlett the hardest. She had never really known at the time why she had agreed to marry Rhett, other than that he had caught her at a weak moment – feeling vulnerable, insecure and full of self-hatred as well as drunk. Yes, the idea of his wealth had certainly been alluring but now, when she looked back on it, she wondered if there had been more to it, even then. She could remember the dizzy feeling she got when he kissed her and how her heart beat faster whenever she was in his presence and how she used to miss his company when he went away and how she had strange pangs of jealousy if she saw him talk to other women. She had probably been in love with him when he had proposed to her. If only she had known what love was!
"I don't think you have any clue what you are talking about Honey and I would thank you to hush up."
"And now, with you practically divorced from Captain Butler, you're keen to get your grubby little paws on Jack Picard."
Scarlett leaned in to the source of the vitriol and said in a low, threatening voice, "How dare you! Why would I want to divorce my husband? I don't want nor need anyone else thank you very much."
"Why would I believe that? You have a habit of being in love with someone other than the man you are married to, don't you Scarlett? I can't believe the leopard has changed her spots!"
"Why you…" Scarlett said, baring her teeth and knowing that only the sight of blood on that pale, translucent skin would appease her wrath.
"Honey…" India said, no longer smirking but squirming at the scene her sister was making.
"It doesn't stop you flirting, whether you're married or unmarried! You still think you're the belle of Clayton County, don't you? I know you swapped the name cards at the table. No one else could have done."
"Apart from me," Jack said. The four women turned round to where the voice came from and Honey instinctively put her hand to her mouth. He was standing in the doorway, next to Rhett, who was looking on the scene in mild amusement. Jack sauntered into the room, all eyes still firmly fixed on him. "I switched the cards because I wanted to carry on talking business with Scarlett. She owns a store…" Honey nodded slowly. "And I wanted to discuss buying some wares for the saloons I am building." Scarlett didn't dare look at him in case she started laughing. It was all so preposterous! He hadn't once talked business for the whole two hours they had sat next to each other – or when they had danced. He hadn't even realised she owned the store until Maybelle told him last night.
"Oh…" said Honey, looking like someone who wished the ground would make way for her body. "I thought…I…" She looked down at her empty teacup and Scarlett felt triumphant.
India nudged Honey in the waist and then whispered hoarsely. "Honey…you need to…" and she cast her eyes over in the direction of Scarlett.
"I'm sorry Scarlett," she mumbled as she reached across the table for the teapot.
Scarlett tried to regulate her breathing but her anger had been substituted for jubilation. She had been exonerated and now Honey, with her bile, was shrinking visibly back into her chair. "No need to worry, Honey. A perfectly innocent mistake," said Scarlett trying and failing to sound gracious.
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"An interesting evening," Rhett commented when they were in their carriage. It was past ten o'clock and Scarlett felt exhausted. She wanted to nestle her head against Rhett's shoulder but instead she rested her head on the opposite side. Despite the jostling of the carriage, she was struggling to keep her eyes open. "It's amusing to see how men immediately flock to your defence. Little do they know that you need no defending. I was surprised that you didn't engage in fisticuffs with Honey."
"I was tempted," she said, yawning. "But I am trying to behave like a lady." He laughed softly as she closed her eyes.
By the time they reached their home, Scarlett had fallen asleep but was woken up by Rhett's gentle prodding as the carriage drew up outside their house. The house was dimly lit - the servants had extinguished all the candles save for the ones flickering in the hallway and the landing, which had been left on to light the passage to bed.
Rhett closed the front door behind them and then they started their ascent to their rooms, in tandem and in silence. Scarlett's thoughts turned to the evening they had just had and the warm intimacy Maybelle and René shared, the cosy home they had built and the family they were raising. Wasn't that what a marriage was all about? Support, love and companionship? Instead, she had a marriage that was held together by propriety - ironic considering neither party had ever cared two hoots about propriety. And then her mind drifted to the two nights they had spent together since her husband had returned. Had they really been as meaningless to him as he had made out? On the night of the ball, she had felt stripped of everything – and not just her clothes. They had done things to each other which she hadn't thought were even legal, the memory of which made her blush and then he had just walked away and barely acknowledged it, other than in ill-considered and off-handed mockery.
She sighed and she felt Rhett turn towards her. "Hmmm? Did you want to say something?" They were at the top of the staircase now, a couple of feet away from her bedroom.
"I was just thinking…" Scarlett mused but then stopped herself. How could she explain what was in her mind without him laughing at her? How could she explain her lamentations to this man who had rejected her and hurt her and who had made her feel useless?
"Go on…" he encouraged.
"It's just…" She hesitated again as she considered whether she could trust him if she spilled her thoughts. But she felt too delicate to continue or even to try to explain it. It was all hopeless. The mess they were in was all hopeless as well as exhausting. "It doesn't matter, Rhett," she said finally. "Good night."
He looked at her and then cupped her chin in his right hand and pulled her forehead closer to him before he kissed it.
As his lips pressed against her skin, Scarlett suddenly felt the rising sobs that she had pushed aside for the last couple of days rise in her throat. She knew that the fact that they had shared a bed meant nothing to him but, despite her inward protestations, it had meant something to her. Why was she still in love with him? Why did she crave his presence, his touch, despite everything he had put her through in the last six months? In an instant, her whole body gave way to fervent silent sobbing, her body shaking from the vehemence of it. She turned away from her husband and tried to turn the handle on her door but her hand slipped and she couldn't open it. She tried again and failed again. She needed to be away from this man who had systematically destroyed her over the last year and who she had also systematically destroyed over the past five years. She didn't want him to see her like this - weak, sad and lonely.
"Scarlett," he said, his voice concerned and absent any note of mockery. "Scarlett," he said again, gently. He made a move to bridge the gap between them but she stepped away.
"Don't come near me, Rhett," she managed to plead, her voice quaking with emotion. She reached for the door handle again and this time, she managed to grip it properly and turn it. "Good night," she said as she walked inside her sanctuary and closed the door behind her.