Chapter three:
As the vast gardens at Hockley House lay out before them, the early June sunshine seemed to welcome them both outside with open arms. The hills which her ladyship had spoken of, rolled out across the entire landscape and one almost wished to run out and wonder why Jack had chosen to stay rooted, even just temporarily in a place as stuffy as this. The gardens were oblong with potted plants, various scented and wild flowers decorated the outer layer of the garden and then centre beyond the fruit trees were a fish pond filled with koi.
The grass was freshly cut and it scented the air, tickling their senses in the early morning breeze. Both of their feet seemed to move in an uncertain unison of steps, both with clasped hands either behind or in front of them and Jack kept his stance from her widened, fully aware of her position as well as his own, despite their queer familiarity beside each other.
"So, where exactly are you from, Mr Dawson?"
Her ladyship finally spoke as they reached the section of the garden which probably couldn't be seen via the windows from the house. Jack watched her profile; how fragile she appeared to be in comparison to when they had first met. He wished to enquire of her health and the child but held his tongue, at least for now and he followed her lead of the conversation, completely curious about her need to speak with him.
"Chippewa Falls in Wisconsin." Jack had told her that when she had been in labour but he wished to not repeat that part, avoiding the topic until she was the one to bring it up. "But I've been on my own since I was 15. My folks died when the house set afire, and the farm where I grew up was wiped out."
Her ladyship stopped, her green and blue eyes as wide as saucers. "Oh, do forgive me for prying. I am terribly sorry for such a loss."
"It's all right. Thank you." She meant her apology and he appreciated the condolences, for they had been perhaps the first he had ever received. "But once they passed, I just lit on out of there and I haven't been back there since. You can just call me a tumbleweed blowing in the wind."
Her ladyship smiled, genuinely. Her body draped in a sunshine-coloured day dress which would have perhaps looked ridiculous if it was worn by another but something about the fire of her hair set the colour off. A belt at the midsection showed just how tiny her waist was and the way her cheeks dimpled and sank when she moved her face proved just how little strength she had regained. His lordship had yet to make an appearance from London and although he had made discreet enquiries of her health since the arrival of her daughter, Jack had yet to have seen her ladyship personally until this morning. As another pause set in, Jack sensed her nerves at bringing up whatever was upon her mind.
"Well, we've walked about a mile around the gardens and talked about how I grew up. I was about to start talking about the weather but I reckon that's not why you came to talk to me, is it?"
Jack adjusted his starched collar and ignored the constriction of it. Her nerves were obvious, and he nodded for her to speak of whatever it was but before that, partly, he needed to ensure that she felt at ease.
"Well, Mr. Dawson, I—"
"Jack." He nodded for her to use his given name. He was, after all, not a man of any significance.
"Jack." She glanced to him; a nervous smile crossed her lips. "I want to thank you, not just for coming to my aid when no other person did but for-for staying and for the way that you handled such a delicate matter. I shall see that you are rewarded for your heroic deed—"
Jack stopped in front of her, taking a moment to lean about the branch of an apple tree. "I don't want your money. It is enough to know that you and the baby are all right."
She looked to be confused. Delicate and lovely in the shade of the trees. "But you were wonderful and you were heroic."
Jack laughed, not meaning to sound so ungrateful for the compliment. "Your ladyship, I am nothing more than a footman who was used to delivering animals on the farm back home. It worked on the same basis. I never expected the thank you but you are welcome. I only ask that you and the baby are very well."
Studying his face, he turned to play with a weighty green apple which pulled the slim branch to his shoulder. "She is thriving, thank you for asking. I wish I could say the same but I shall regain my strength soon."
Jack furrowed his brow, and he watched as she was curious about the apple. But he was curious about her. "I hope so, too. I see Trudy walking with her in the pram up and down the main route to town most mornings."
Her ladyship smiled, fondly. "Yes, she does believe in getting some fresh air. Perhaps that is why my daughter is thriving and I am not," she smiled, raising her brow as she slowly started to walk again past the apple orchard and into a narrow bush. "This is my first time outdoors in four weeks."
"Yes, there is nothing quite like fresh air." Jack wrinkled his nose as he glanced about. Sensing how she watched, he turned to query the one thing he had yet to. "Does the child have a name yet?"
Her ladyship blinked, before smiling slowly. "I named her Adeline."
"That was my grandmothers name." Jack turned to her, with soft eyes.
"Oh, how surprising. I rarely hear it."
"Yes, Adeline Dawson. She was Adey to all who knew her.''
"Adey." Her ladyship repeated. "I like that. I fear my husband won't though.''
Jack watched as her light smile faded into nothing as her eyes went to the soft grass and she seemed to be the same Mrs. Hockley he had seen previous, although on this lovely day she was not wearing a humongous hat to cover her face. He could fully witness her melancholy state at its full blaze and then, she seemed to remember that he was here with her and the smile re appeared as she raised her eyes, tilted her head and became the great lady once more. The facade had dropped though. Just that once. The barrier had been down. The guard not fully up and Jack had taken a slight step inward. As vigilant as he had been in the past, nothing had prepared him for the feeling stirring within his stomach and it was fully clear that her sadness was of her husband. The great man who she had married and who seemed to hold such power over her. He wished to ask why he had yet to see his child. How had the man even left his heavily pregnant wife alone. When he thought of it, his jaw grew tight and so he fixated on just how lovely she was bathed in sunlight as they approached the line of trees which provided a well needed shade.
"I know what you are thinking." She broke the silence with a cut throat tone. "Poor little wifey, left alone and now I have—"
"No!" He stopped her instantly, his voice overbearing hers as he sensed her upset. "No, I never felt pity or upset, your ladyship. I just felt empathy. I wanted to help. I wanted to keep you..." pausing, he realised with just how much passion he spoke and so he slowed his tone, "I wanted you to be safe and the child."
There, with the most vivid eyes Jack had ever seen, she watched him so intently.
"Would you do something for me, Jack?"
"If you like."
"I would like it if you didn't use my title at all. Would you address me by my name?"
"Mrs. Hockley?"
"No, my given name is Rose."
Jack almost recoiled. "Is that not against the rules?"
Rose pursed her lips at him and then, she laughed; unexpectedly and he had almost forgotten the topic of their conversation. The laugh was dripping with a light sarcasm, but still, enough to capture his interest. "Societal rules. Yes. But I feel we are far more familiar than society deem appropriate. We are stood far too close together for a lady and a footman and you should certainly have not entered my room that night but yet I find myself to be most grateful that you did."
There was a glowing fire about her then. Perhaps it was part of her charm; that little flare of fire that he had seen now beyond the vulnerable facade. The woman wasn't as feeble as most made out. She was a rule breaker, at most.
"Well, Rose..." He tested the name, witnessing her smile as she raised a brow as though she knew this shouldn't be done and didn't give a damn anyway. "Are you liking the English countryside so far or do you miss the smoky city back home?"
Jack could tell that she was surprised by his question and his interest in her. That was what he was most; interested in the internal working of a woman who was saddened beyond anything he had seen before and yet put on a smile like a mask.
"I do enjoy the country. I enjoy the air. I like to be alone in my thoughts when I glance out to those hills and try to not rush out to them. I do find it hard to miss home, Philadelphia is a faraway place to here not just in miles but in actuality, too." She paused, raking in the beauty about them in the soft shine of summer. "I probably should miss my mother, and I suppose that I do, but not too much." She delicately laughed.
"How so?"
"Mother can always be counted upon to cause quite the stir. Nothing is ever quite to her satisfaction. She would find a million faults in perfection whereas I care so much about the imperfections. Isn't that what makes us all separate from the ideal? Why should one wish to be ideal when it's those qualities which make us individual. Division amongst classes for example..." Rose paused again, to watch Jack and immediately seemed to scold herself. "Forgive me, I haven't indulged in proper adult company for so long I seemed to have lost my ability to filter my own thoughts."
Jack was amused, shoving his hands into his pocket he cocked his head. "Isn't filtering an imperfection which you just admitted to liking?" He walked on ahead of her just a step or two before she started after him and he could tell that she was unsure of if to scold or not. "Don't be anyone but yourself with me, Rose."
Jack walked a little ahead, looking about and relishing the freedom of a morning out in the wonders of nature, despite standing in possibly the most manicured garden he had ever seen. He was interested in the workings of her mind and been out here with her seemed to be doing the trick to unleash something of what had so obviously been repressed inside of her.
"I didn't wish to offend you. I simply see no division amongst classes or at least I try. My husband has a very different outlook as I am sure you have encountered."
Jack stared straight at Rose, trying to ignore the sting of how she spoke of her husband.
"Do you love him?"
Rose's eyes widened. "Pardon me?"
"Your husband. Do you love him?"
"How could you ask such a thing? I sought you out to thank you and you are questioning my affections for my husband. I find you to be utterly rude." Her voice had changed in pitch, almost as though she was trying to control the exasperation.
"It's a simple question."
"This conversation is truly unsuitable."
"Why can't you answer the question?" He laughed, and she could only gasp.
"Because it is absurd that you should even ask. We do not know each other. We are not having this conversation. You are presumptuous."
"Twice you have now insulted me." Jack raised his eyebrows, as they seemed to have come to a place beneath the fruit trees and onto a gravelled pavement where potted plants lined the path which led down towards the ponds. They circled, as they spoke; neither seemed to notice.
"Well, you deserve it."
"Right."
"I think that I should leave, now. Jack, Mr. Dawson, I sought you out to thank you and I have done so."
"And presumed me to be rude and presumptuous."
"Well...'' Rose gaped at him, mouth wide, before closing it and coming to some reason before she opened her mouth once more. ''Actually, this is my garden. You leave!" She extended her arm, pointing behind her, even though it wasn't the direction back to the house.
Jack backed up against the wide trunk of a tree and folded his arms across his chest, amusement shone in his eyes. "I find you now to be the rude one."
Rose stared at him, wide mouthed and utterly shocked. Jack raised his eyebrows contemplating what would come out of her mouth next and when nothing did, he found just how serious her face had fallen but her eyes didn't waver from him. They were green, he decided, for now. They seemed to go between a dark, ocean blue to a sea green.
''What are you doing in England?'' The tone of her voice was just as demanding as it had been minutes before. ''What brings a young man to these parts of another country to work as a footman when you said yourself that you're like a tumbleweed and simply go with the wind?''
Jack assumed the question was not just a diversion from the one which he had sent flying at her, but also, a way to perhaps intrude on him, too. ''I work my way around from place to place.''
''How do you have such means?''
''I have stowed away. Rode on tramp steamers.'' He flipped his hair from his eyes and contemplated lighting a cigarette but thought better of it, knowing of Rose's willowy state. ''I left Paris in March, made my way across the channel on a ferry. I found myself heading further South and finally, I was here. I heard that American's were in the village and thought about finding myself some steady work for a while. I was drawing to support myself mostly.''
''So, what are you an artist or something?''
Jack smirked, amused. ''If you wanted to call it that.''
''What do you draw?''
''From life, mostly. Like, now, if I had my stuff, I could sketch you, just stood there with the wind in your hair and the trees and the sunlight bouncing off you. Everything else would fade off into the background and it would just be you.'' As Jack spoke, he was aware of how enthralled by his work she seemed to be. It occurred to him that she may have an interest in art, or some of it. Perhaps that could be a topic started, another time. Another reason to have a conversation with her. For now, though, he found his fingers itched to pick up a piece of charcoal more desperately than it ever had in Paris; surrounded by that much life and beauty. He was been a voyeur to the bohemian way of life, taking slowly steps towards it before submerging himself entirely and losing himself drenched in the fascination before slowly, he had torn himself away to find himself here; three months later. As Rose stood ramrod straight, without even so much as leaning against the tree which was directly behind her, her eyes were illuminated by the sun's rays through the breezy leaves and he decided that if he had his materials and had drawn her right there and then; from it would emerge the best thing which he would ever capture onto paper. It wasn't just her startling beauty, because that could never be transferred onto paper. It was the sadness behind her eyes and the way she looked lost, even though she was home. Even though she outwardly had everything that a girl of her station could ever want.
''I have had many portraits, Jack, far too many of them which make me look like a porcelain doll.''
Jack had seen many of them hanging in the hallways. ''You wouldn't look like a doll. When I draw, I want to see everything that's right there. The laughter lines, the sadness etched across a person's face. A wrinkle. A scar. Each mark tells a story. Each person is different.''
''Imperfect.'' Rose stated, quietly. And Jack almost disagreed, because he had never witnessed anything as perfect as Rose Hockley in his entire life but that was never a confession which he would voice aloud.
''Yes,'' Jack came forward, standing away from the tree and finding himself about two feet in front of her and that caused her to glance up to him. ''Isn't that what you like to see?'' He was teasing her and she could only comply with a single nod.
''Indeed.'' Rose was wringing her hands at her middle and he wished to stop her. Sensing her nerves, he was about to ask about his jobs for the day until she continued the conversation with a rush of breath and ushered them forward towards the ponds. Like a child, all he could do was follow her. ''So, tell me about Paris. I was lucky enough to be there myself just last summer.''
''Well, Paris for me was more about living on the streets and putting it onto the paper. Do you know what I mean? I don't care about what's hanging in the Louvre, how many bucks the damned thing sells for. I care about what the real artists are doing. The ones who struggle, who worship the real work and the talent of others.''
''You sound very passionate.''
''I am. Why are we here if we have no passion?''
Rose appeared startled. Like a frightened doe in a lamp light. ''Yes, I could not have said that better.'' she stepped ahead of him. ''Oh, how I wish to be an artist, someplace. Living in a garret, poor but free. I just have very little patience and no talent with my hands.''
''Art is an expression. A way of life. It's not just what you paint on canvas. Look how beautiful music is, to hear and to sing. Have you ever seen a moving picture? Just how they perform so beautifully and you are taken to where they are whether it's a silly performance or two people so passionately in love? That's art. Not just what you see on paper.''
''I used to feel that I had something in me. I wanted to use my hands for work and not just the pianoforte at tea. I felt as strong and as sturdy as a horse and now, I am as delicate as a daisy some days.''
''You will be again. Giving birth isn't as easy as most make out.'' Jack told her sympathetically. ''Not only did I remember seeing the animals back home recover and tend to their young but my own mother, too. She had another child after me but he never took a breath outside of her body.'' Jack bowed his head, having never spoken of his brother until now.
Rose glanced at his solemn gaze and stopped, just once and instinctively she patted his elbow as some sort of comforting sign. It wasn't much, but to him, it was everything.
''I am so sorry. Your poor mother...''
''She took months to recover. From the birth and then losing Frank. Pa tried to help her, and eventually, she got strength back. You will, too. Time heals everything.''
''How do you speak so wisely beyond your years? How old must you be?''
''Twenty years old. I am an old soul, I guess. Pa used to say that.''
As they continued their walk, the shade passed leaving them exposed to the beautiful warm spring sunshine. Sensing her discomfort without a hat, Jack watched as Rose took shelter beneath a section of branches.
''My mother curses me for going out in the sun without a hat. I burn terribly easily.'' Her eyes swept across his face and he was sure that there was a rise of flushes across her cheekbones. ''It appears that you have spent a lot of time in the sun.''
Rose was acknowledging his skin tone and he smiled. ''Yeah, I worked outdoors a lot. A squid boat in Monterrey. I went to the pier in Santa Monica and did portraits there for ten cents apiece. I logged in Italy. Fished in France and did a couple of shifts in a pub. I was working on the farm before and after school from been five to fifteen and then, I wound up here. My skin had to adjust I guess to the warmer climate and been outdoors more than in.''
Rose, however, looked typically as though she hadn't been out in sunlight for so long. Her pale beauty suited her though. The porcelain translucency of her face captured him.
"I wish that I could be like you, Jack, to head out for the horizon whenever I feel like it. I may have travelled but I do not have the luxury of been able to examine each corner of each country as you have."
Jack watched her, sensing the sadness there and it was then he knew that it wasn't for her lack of wanting but for the fact her husband must have some hold over her. A hold that was held in place with an iron fist.