Chapter five:
Sat across possibly the largest dining table which Jack had ever seen, with a large, white porcelain plate. About seven lots of cutlery and a glass of wine from the cellar in a glass which he was sure to have polished just that morning, he had wondered just how he had gotten to be sat here at Hickory House at the Hockley table across from another man's wife who was freshly bathed, refreshed and achingly more beautiful due to the sun catching her face and causing her complexion to actually have some colour.
As the first footman brought in the single main course; beef pie and potatoes with a selection of vegetables, Jack could only assume what he was thinking as he served his own like at the table where the lady of the house was. His eyes slipped across the table, then up to the footman and to the doorway where Mrs. Ball lingered, almost tutting her disapproval. Dressed in his flannel shirt and usual brown trousers with suspenders. His boots were more battered than he recalled the last time he had worn them, and the only thing he could say was that he was freshly bathed, shaved and his clothes were clean. He was a stark contrast to Rose; almost an embarrassment. Almost a laugh. But as the dinner was put before him, and Ben, the first footman, took a last look back from the heavy wooden door, he smirked before disappearing into the hallway and back down to the servants' quarters. Usually, Jack would have been the one to follow them out at that moment and he diverted his eyes away, to stop himself from running out along with the servants.
''That will be all, Mrs. Ball. You may close the door; I shall call when I wish for the plates to be collected.''
Mrs. Ball nodded; her lips thin. ''Very well, milady.''
With a dramatic curtsy, Mrs. Ball went leaving them both alone to simply stare at the dinner. His slightly large hands went to the fancy cutlery and it clattered as he touched them all delicately, feeling already out of place.
''You're supposed to start from the outside and work your way in.'' Rose smiled, gently, but not once did she seem to pity his lack of knowledge about such things.
''I did wonder if they're all for me. Or if I was supposed have several pairs of hands to eat dinner.''
Smiling behind her wine glass, Rose took a sip, holding the stem of it. ''Of course not, the longest fork is the dinner fork. We won't be needing any more. This is far from a formal dinner."
Taking the longest within his left hand, he watched Rose as she used hers expertly to delicately cut up pieces of meat and he had barely even managed to put the linen across his lap as he had seen others do when he had worked as the one offering the dishes rather than eating at the damned table.
''I don't think I would last very long at these dinners.'' Jack confessed, brushing his hair away from his face and glancing up to Rose. He was slightly hypnotised as he noticed for the first time that the electric chandelier lights had dimmed leaving just large candelabras on the sideboard and the centrepiece of the table.
''Yes, they're not the most pleasant of experiences.'' Rose paused, leaning forward and her eyes sparkled in the lowered light, bathing her in an orange glow. She wasn't wearing a dress which would be deemed acceptable to attend a social gathering in, or even dinner with her husband, he would guess, but it was pretty in its simplicity with stitched roses about the chest, and a pale pink in colour, it matched her rosy complexion.
''I guess you get used to them, though, right?''
''Yes, they become like breathing. But it's not as natural.''
''I usually throw together cheese on bread and eat it as I polish my boots for the next day.''
''Does the polish not get on your hands?''
''Sometimes.''
''And you eat the sandwich still?''
''I'm not choosy about food.''
Rose wrinkled her nose as he spoke, and he noticed that as she ate, her back was completely straight, her chin up and her eyes focused completely on him. This felt formal, if not for her then for him.
''Look, Rose, you didn't need to invite me to have dinner, I would have been just as happy-''
''-it wasn't just to thank you.'' Rose placed her cutlery down and gazed across the table. ''I enjoy your company. It is so rare for me to be outdoors these days, to be able to speak freely and to have a person who understand me and I, them.'' Picking up her fork again, she poked at the meat with it before gazing up to speak. ''I know this is quite an unlikely friendship. It is highly inappropriate given our—well we are quite opposite-''
''Go on, I am a poor guy, you can say it.''
''A person of limited means. A hired member of staff here.''
''Yes, there are barriers. Social barriers and all. I thought that they have to be abided by or God help us.''
''No, I fear that I do not follow the societal rulebook as much as my husband does. Much to his dismay, I am quite the outcast amongst them all.''
''You're like a cat amongst the pigeons, you mean?'' Jack smirked, and as he took a forkful of his dinner, he welcomed it more than any meal he had taken whilst in England. It was wonderful to have a heated meal as well as be drinking a wine that didn't taste like some sort of acid as he had done in Paris. But he had paid very little or not at all and he was a man to take advantage of any situation which appealed to him.
''Well, that is an unflattering description,'' she raised a brow, but he knew just how little offense she had taken to it. ''But yes, quite accurate.''
''You don't seem to be quite her ladyship.'' Jack used a mocking tone that caused her to raise her chin a little higher and she caught his gaze unwaveringly so.
''My husband would agree if he was sat here with us.'' Rose agreed quietly.
''But if he was here, then I wouldn't be.''
The silence fell thickly and Jack knew that it was completely the truth. He wasn't offended by any of it in the slightest, in fact, despite the uncomfortable setting he was enjoying his time alone with her. The flush of her cheeks made her appear healthier. The dizzy spells which she seemed to be so prone to had been kept at bay and as she sipped her wine, she flushed more beneath his gaze or perhaps it was from the alcohol working its way into her system when she had eaten very little. The paleness of her dress accented just how slender she had grown and his mind, again, fell to what her husband would think if he saw just how much had changed in these weeks since his departure.
''Tell me of your interest in art, I do love to hear you speak with such passion in a subject that, I too, take such delight in discussing.''
Jack paused to think. ''Well, I worked my way across Europe, trying to figure out what the fuss was about. Trying to draw what I saw and put it on the paper.''
''Did you find the answer?''
''I loved Paris. The bohemian way of life. I saw the cubists, the Dadaists. Impressionist make sense to me in a weird way. Art galleries are all right, and all, but what better than to see the art as it is created and appreciate the true journey rather than just as it sits on a wall looking decorative.''
That was just as Rose felt. Decorative...
''Well, I own several Monet pieces that I purchased in Paris. I could show them to you, after dinner if you like? I was not able to see the creations but I think they're wonderfully transcalent. When I look at them, I feel as though I am inside a dream.''
Rose was compelling in nature, as bright as the flame burning atop the candles. The offer to view the paintings lit a fire in his own belly; of fascination and of a connection that he hadn't felt before. Still, he concentrated on continuing their chatter.
''I met Monet, whilst in Montmartre, well I saw him, through a hole in a wall, I was peeking through.''
''How exciting. Did you manage to speak with him?''
''Not at all, I would have fallen over myself if he had turned to face me.'' He laughed, sipping the wine which slipped brilliantly down his own throat and then, as he noted her empty glass, he immediately stood and send the glasses upon the table clattering as he reached for the tall, dark wine bottle to refill their glasses until his finger touched something warm. Startled, he noticed that his hand was atop hers as she had also reached for the bottle at the same time. His skin was heated, as though he had received a shock of electric and was more curious about it than surprised.
''Let me pour.'' Rose tightened her grasp on the bottle beneath his and he could only let it go and watch as she held the entire thing to her stomach. ''I couldn't possibly invite you to dinner, then expect you to serve.''
''I am used to it, you can't...''
Rose came to him, with a determined, steely glance and took his glass, pulling it to the edge, where she then slowly poured the wine into the glass, fuller to the brim than a footman certainly would.
''I have to make myself useful.'' Rose poured her own glass before setting it down. ''As long as I play the role of the China doll it's all fine but when I open my mouth to express myself or an opinion on something that matters at dinner, my husband looks at me like my hairs on fire. I am desperately tired of been told what to do, what to want, what to feel. I am tired of been dismissed and my decisions been ignored.'' She stared at him directly. ''I decided that I am fully capable of pouring a glass or two of wine.''
Jack lowered his guard. His entire persona seemed to have disappeared as he surrounded and soaked himself within the innocence and the vibrancy of the woman in front of him. Taking the glass, he raised it in a toast. ''To you, then, Rose.''
Rose's delicate hand came to her chest and she used her other to raise her glass to meet his. His own smile faded, and a pinch so hard overwhelmed him, as though he wished, no, willed to ensure that she was this happy the entire time. Why should she deserve less? The depressive state followed, until she responded.
''To me. To my ability to serve wine.''
''To serve wine to the top of the glass.''
Taking an unladylike gulp, Jack could only gape as she placed it back on the table and poked about with her dinner. He willed her to eat and she did, taking a forkful or two before the silence was cut again by her lovely voice.
''Oh, how I wish that I could soar into the sunrise, just the way that you do.''
"You make it sound so appealing."
''You are not bound the way that I am, socially tied to another. Bound to this place, now.''
''I have no ties, no, but there are some things that I have grown fond of.'' Jack watched as she narrowed her eyes and prayed that she didn't pry further. This wasn't the time, nor the place for them to dissect that matter. There would never be a time to discuss that, for it could never be more this this.
''California is quite ahead of its time. Did you know that women can vote there?''
''Yes, I had known.'' Jack gained her stare and examined her in perusal. ''You would like it there.''
''Say, we shall go there some time to that pier in Santa Monica? Even if we only ever talk about it.''
''No, we shall go.'' Jack told her with an urgency within that surprised him. ''''I'll take you horse riding on the beach, right in the surf. We can drink cheap beer and ride the rollercoaster until we throw it all up!''
''You have to teach me to ride properly then.''
''I will, that I will promise. I don't break my promises.'' That much was true. With all intentions, he would have taken her to the stables right there and then, saddled two of the horses and ridden off into the hills but he knew that it wasn't the right time. There could never be a right time to take a lady riding out of her own secure place, especially a new mother but she was right. Why should she be held in such a prison. Sure, the house was lovely, but it was another barrier. Another layer. Another reason for her to stay inside the barricaded walls of a stately home surrounded by hardly anything but fields and dirt. It shouldn't appeal to a woman, but it did to her, and to him, too. So, they would explore whenever the chance arose.
''No, I'll take you. It's a strange place. You're caring of the women's right, aren't you? Been a woman suppressed it is hard to not feel a kinship with them.''
Jack took a deep breath, he gazed back at the almost empty plate but Rose's eyes remained on him.
''Yes, it is.''
As both of them felt something, present, something particular; the power was almost too much to bear, as they both glanced away, quickly. Both too weak to acknowledge anything in that second.
''How do you have such an outlook on life, Jack?''
''I don't know. I just carry everything that I need with me. Air in my lungs. Few blank sheets of paper. Waking up on the road, you don't know what will happen. You don't know who you will meet. That is the best part.''
''And here, we all know each other. The servants know my business and I know theirs. No doubt there will be chatter tomorrow about this dinner.''
''I have escaped been centre of the gossips so far until-'' Jack was about to say until he came to her room that one particular night that an urge told him to go. That night which had irrevocably changed his life in a way that he didn't quite know why or how. It was the matter of how captivating she was, without trying to do anything other than navigate her way through a prickling situation and Jack was suspicious, today aside, of when the last time she truly laughed had been. A man married to a woman of Rose's calibre should be proud, pleased and bending himself backwards to please her in return. Not restrict her in such a way as described. Even if there would be restrictions; the woman had been left to bring a child into the world alone. To raise it. Caledon Hockley was not a man, and nor would he ever be.
''Until you delivered Adeline.''
Jack found her slight honesties endearing. Rolling his shoulders back, he fought off the tension which was gathering there. She watched him, wary and unsure.
''Yes.''
''They can be quite the vultures.'' Throwing her linen atop the dinner plate, she stood, abruptly and was about to pull the call bell when she ceased mid foot and turned, spinning almost about to topple over, he guessed until he moved and gathered her to his chest in a single movement. Taking three steps to her, they were a few metres apart when he took her left hand in his own and slowly, almost painfully so, brought it to rest upon his lips and allowed her skin to linger there just a moment before he kissed the back of her hand and then lowered it back to her. Mesmerised, Rose was unable to look away from him.
''I thought you were about to take a trip to the floor, I am sorry.''
''Perhaps I was,'' she was breathless against him. ''Goodness, the wine has made me light headed.''
He met her wide-eyed glance with a steady interest that caused her toes to curl inside her leather shoes. Fighting for composure, Rose looked away from him. But she remained sharply aware of him, the relaxed alertness of his posture, the unknown pulse secreted beneath the layers of his clothing.
''Well, I had best get back to my place downstairs, milady.''
Her eyes flew open, however, as she felt a gentle touch at the edge of her jaw. Jack's fingers were nudging her face upward, his thumb brushing the tip of her chin. The unexpected intimacy sent a little shock through her. His flame-bright gaze had seized hers again.
''Jack, must you go?''
''Doesn't the carriage turn back into a pumpkin?''
''Yes, at midnight.'' Rose parted her lips, as though she was gasping for air. ''And it is only a quarter to eight.''
''Have you finished with dinner?''
''Yes. I struggled to eat the bites that I did. I feel a little more than unsettled.'' The vehement honesty of her answer surprised both of them. The night deepened—one of the lamps above had burned out—and the conversation devolved into something halting and broken.
''You seem nervous.''
"Because you can make me feel, well...," she looked at him, unsteadily, "are you trying to make me nervous?"
"No." As if the word required emphasis, he repeated softly, "No."
Jack was at a loss to comprehend why this woman should have captivated him so thoroughly. All he knew was a fierce longing to reach something in her. To protect her. To just be with her. These moments shared, even along in candlelight were just priceless. Her eyes shone in the dimness and he wanted to just stay there; talking, sharing their life experiences. He could talk to her about anything. Stood side by side, especially beneath such a beautiful light and it was almost reminiscent of how after dark, he would sneak downstairs to find his mother and father dancing beside an orange glowing candle and then, he was suddenly asking something...
''Do you dance?''
Rose glanced to him, perplexed. ''Pardon me?''
''Do you dance?''
''Why...well, yes, when it is expected of us to socially participate. And, when there is music...''
Jack slowly held his hand to her, and she queried him silently. With a lot of hesitation, he sensed her body go rigid.
''There is no need for music. There is no need for steps.''
''But at dinner dances, the waltz or the foxtrot is-'' She paused, wide eyes, and suddenly, she was softening her features.
''All you have to do is to go with it.''
''But I don't know any steps. How do I coincide with you?''
Rose continued to almost panic as she felt his hand at her waist and as soon as it was there, felt complete trust in him, once more.
''Shh. Just don't think.''