2.
~ Ariadne knew that Arthur didn't like to talk about the poor that teamed the streets of New York. Thusly, he didn't like for her to even think about the poor girl, with no shoes, selling pretty violets on this blustery cold evening.
She was too thin, and her her clothes were thread bare. She looked as though she had stepped right out of a Dickens novel and brought with her the large masses of unwashed, hungry and blighted souls who failed to find prosperity in this new land.
She knew her cold hearted husband thought that the poor chose to be poor. There was no earthy reason why they should be poor in a city and country that was over crowded with work for immigrants. He believed they were unwilling to change, unwilling to work hard and chose to drink or lay about instead of building themselves up.
He wouldn't listen to her argument that they didn't speak the language or understand all the laws or customs.
To Arthur, that was no excuse.
"They must learn, or parish. That's natural selection." he had said.
She rolled her eyes at the memory and nudged the footman to slow the horse.
"What are you doing?" Arthur asked as she fished into his coat pocket and came up with a five dollar bill. A hefty sum that she knew he always carried around with him just in case. To her husband, who made a good living and lived modestly, it was nothing. To this child, five dollars meant food for more than a week.
"Flower girl?" she called out to the girl who's flaming red hair was sticking out from under her shawl.
The child ran in her bare feet that were blackened by the street.
"Flower, misses?" she said in a thick Irish accent.
"Yes, please." Ariadne said and the girl passed her a lovely violet that was blooming with color.
Ariadne handed the girl the bill and nodded for her to keep it.
"I want you to buy some shoes. It won't do to have your feet freeze. A proper lady always keeps her feet covered." Ariadne said in a voice she hoped wouldn't hurt the child's feelings. She didn't want to shame the little girl for something she couldn't help. But encourage her to become better.
"Yes, Miss." the girl said eagerly and ran away as if from the scene of a crime.
"She'll take that money and give it to her father. It will be in the bar man's till before midnight. She'll still be barefoot and hungry. You've just thrown money away." Arthur said darkly as he watched the child run off to a dilapidated building.
Doubtless she would bring it to her long suffering mother and food might be gotten before it was lost to the drink.
"It's the latest fashion, dear." Ariadne said cooly. "Throwing money away."
Arthur seemed amused by the comment and she saw him smirk a little as the driver kicked the horse into a trot again and they were driven to their home.
~ She didn't like to admit that Arthur was right. Didn't like to agree that the little girl might go shoeless all winter. She hated to admit he was right.
Since their first meeting a year ago, she had seen him as her enemy more than her anything else. Someone she must keep at a distance and do battle with at all times.
She placed her hand to her cheek at the memory of first meeting her husband.
~ Her father had stuck her hard on the face because she had talked back to him. He was a large, beefy man who grew easily frustrated by the daughter who read too much, and refused to know her place.
"Tom!" mother had cried and tried to stand in the way so Ariadne wouldn't be struck again. "She's young, she doesn't know what she's doing!"
"Going to meeting where women talk about standing in front of court houses!" her father roared. "Standing on the streets holding signs like an advertisement! Like a common street whore! I harbor a snake in my house! I won't have it!"
Ariadne had cowered away from her father's wrath. She had long ago accepted she wasn't loved by him as her older brother was. Her father had no time for a daughter and she knew he saw her as a burden. Trouble until she was married off to a good family.
"Tom! No!" mother was crying as her father threw the flyers Ariadne had been keeping under her bed into the fire. Brightly colored sheets of paper advertising the suffrage movement.
"You will not pollute this house with this trash. It is your duty to care for your parents and family. Not to interfere with the world of men! Sky above, what would people think of you? Parading around demanding the vote? You're telling the world that you could never marry and you wish to be born a man! People will think you a sapphic!" he bellowed.
A few days later, Arthur had come to dinner.
Ariadne had judged him to be a reserved young man who didn't show any interest in her at all. He didn't engage her in conversation the way other potential suiters were keen to do. Instead, he and her father talked about the bank and interest rates all evening.
Afterward, mother told her she would have to start seeing a special doctor who treated ladies with hysteria if she didn't stay calm and allow this Mr. Brandon to spend time with her.
Ariadne wasn't sure what that meant at the time, but wasn't keen to find out.
Arthur came to dinner most nights. After their meal, her parents would force the two of them into the parlor to exchange uncomfortable small talk about the weather and dry, boring small talk.
She knew her father wanted her to marry this emotionally distant young man. A young man who would listen to her talk about her friend's garden, but who she knew, would never tolerate talk about immigrant rights, poverty, class warfare and worst of all, women's rights.
Still, Arthur wasn't too much like her father. He wasn't given to fits of violent rages and never drank. He was modest and calm as anyone she had ever met. She would have been a fool not to marry him.
~ She looked at her husband. His features pulled into a look of general grumpiness. She opened her mouth to apologize once more, but closed it again. Arthur wasn't the type to accept an apology. His love and trust wasn't easily won.
~ Mrs. Marsh greeted them in the foyer as soon as they were home. Arthur had paid the taxi and Ariadne had beaten him to the door. Child like, she wanted to get as far away from him as possible.
"Oh, I was worried, Ma'am." the elderly lady said as Ariadne shrugged off Arthur's coat. Her husband, ever spry with his long legs, was right behind her and took his long coat, neatly hanging it on the rack by the door and smoothing it out.
Ariadne was grateful Mrs. Marsh was there. Arthur would never punish her or raise his voice to her in front of the staff. She was safe for now.
"Mrs!" the widowed housekeeper exclaimed. "What has happened to you?"
"A bit of a debacle at a friends winter canning party." Arthur explained for her. "It seems the ladies were too enthusiastic about how much canning they could do for charity in one afternoon and Mrs. Brandon neglected to wear and apron."
Ariadne glared at her husband.
He never called her by her name in front of Mrs. Marsh or anyone else. He only called her 'Dear' when they were alone. She rarely heard her given name on his lips.
She saw him give her a scornful look as he walked past Mrs. Marsh and peep into the kitchen.
"You've been up to no good, Mrs. Marsh." he teased as the smell of a beef stew perfumed the house and made Ariadne's stomach growl.
She hadn't realized how hungry she was until just this moment.
"Oh, yes." Mrs. Marsh giggled like a school girl and Aradidne felt a little better. The old woman had been a poor widow for five years now. Arthur had hired her to be his live in maid so she wouldn't fall destitute. In return, she cooked and cleaned for him and Ariadne saw the pair were more like mother and son that employer and employee.
"Mrs. Marsh, would you mind running a hot bath for Mrs. Brandon? She's had a long day and I would like her to be dressed properly for dinner." Arthur said as he unbuttoned the cufflinks on his shirt and prepared for his nightly ritual or reading the newspaper and perhaps a few pages of whatever book caught his eye.
He was a creature of intense habit, one that Ariadne could almost set her watch by.
'Six o'clock, come home. Six fifteen, ask about dinner and read until seven. Eight o'clock, read and make small talk with me about whatever sewing project I'm working on, or more reading. Always asking if I want to read the society sections.'
Her lip quivered at the thought of how nice some of those evenings were. How thoughtful Arthur was to give her the parts of the paper he thought she might like.
She shook her head.
'No, can't think like that. I'm a modern woman. Not a silly girl who loves to read about weddings and birth announcements. I want to read abut government and court cases being lost.'
"Come along, dearest." Mrs. Marsh said taking her hand and leading her upstairs.
Ariadne looked back at Arthur settling himself down in his chair to read the paper. She happened to glance at the clock.
Six fifteen, right on time.