Hello. I wrote a new chapter and I hope you will like it. Thank you all for the reviews. Um, wanted to reply to isabella: Yes, the gentleman really is dead. Well, Mary is kissing all of them now because she sees no point in keeping herself for her one true love anymore, if her first love died (and in her mind she thinks she has no chances of ever finding another love). By keeping herself I mean only kissing. She had only kissed him to being with and that act meant more to her than the sexual one.
Anyway, thank you for reading and please tell me what you think.
The pleasures of the flesh are known to many. They usually disgrace rationality. But what do two people do in bed when they have nothing to say?
What do they do when they cannot look at each other?
They look at their nails and scratch their ears, then they look at the ceiling and try to fall asleep.
That is how I pictured my parents to be earnest.
I wondered what it was like to tuck a child into bed and watch him sleep.
Shamefully, I had relished in that stupor of the mind and twisting of the body.
Sometimes my name came to mind; it was supposed to mean virtue, chastity. All the goodness was prevailed on it. She was looking down at me and thinking I had done this to myself. I could have lived an uneventful, peaceful life, but running away, eloping with myself always seemed better.
I sat up and spat in a little bowl by my bed, then I took a large gulp of water.
'How old are you?'
The man was tying his shoelaces with a particular minuteness.
'Nineteen.'
'You look younger…Say, can you help me with these shoes?'
I bowed down and obliged.
'I'm a widower,' he explained. 'My wife died three years ago. I have one son, Henry. He's a rascal, but he's alright. I love him dearly. He doesn't take after me at all.'
'He should have a mother,' I answered smiling.
He slowly wiped his sweaty brows and sighed. 'He can't bear any other woman. I've tried to persuade him but he's hankering after his mama and there's nothin' I can do bout it.'
I nodded sympathetically.
'I'll bring a likeness of him tomorrow,' he said somewhat cheerful.
'Tomorrow?'
He had been coming regularly for the past five days.
'You won't be here?' he asked.
'No, no, I always am,' I said smiling. He took my hand and caressed it slightly.
'You aren't pretty,' he observed taking my chin with his cold fingers. He traced his fingers down to my collarbone. 'But you're a sweet girl.'
'You think so?' I asked playing with his cuff. His pulse was heavy.
'Your kind is becoming scarce,' he said rising in a sitting position. I put my arms round his back playfully and my head on his shoulder.
'You remind me of someone,' I whispered almost inaudibly. 'His name is Mr. Darcy.'
'I do not care,' he muttered massaging his temples.
'Precisely,' I said kissing the skin under his neck.
'Why are you different?'
'Pardon?' I asked surprised as I opened the window.
'Why do you insist on making conversation? You think it's polite?'
'I think it's pleasant.'
'Why do you try to be so affectionate?' he asked, running a hand through his hair.
'I am affectionate. Shouldn't I be?'
'You hardly know me,' he replied setting his back against the pillow.
'I beg to differ. I might have been acquainted with you for years without coming to know you. I've come to know you best in this hour.'
'Oh, shut up, you don't know what I have to go through every day, from dawn till dusk.'
I sat on the bed next to him demurely.
'Is there nothing that shall cheer you up?'
'I doubt I could ever smile again,' he replied sourly.
'Well, that's a shame…'
Suddenly, I jumped on him and started tickling him as hard as I could. He laughed with tears in his eyes, begging me to stop. He almost rolled off the bed but I relented, eventually.
We looked at each other as he walked away from the bed. The silence was very bothersome.
Then – he started laughing again. I joined him.
The sheets were very soft tonight and my chin was in my hands. I was laid on my chest, staring at the wall as he wrote on my naked back. Quill in hand and paper rustling softly he was trying hard to compose a letter.
'Are you sure it sounds alright? Don't you think she'll mind if I use such daring suppositions?'
'If you do not tell her now, you may never get the chance to. That ship will not wait for her, it will take her away and then – what will you do?' I berated him smiling.
'I suppose I can't swim after her. I find it silly – how men are so intrigued by new lands. It's just the same, I say. You've seen one green forest, you've seen them all.'
'Is that the same for women then? You have seen one, you have seen them all?'
'Oh, n-no, no,' he quickly opposed. 'Women are different.'
'Be careful not to be disappointed when you find out they are the same.'
The old count had trouble sleeping. He had ruined his fortune and now he was next to nobody, but that was not the cause of his insomnia.
He came to sleep here and I sat next to him reading books to him. They were books on economy and history and while not always riveting, they offered a pleasant lecture.
He could only find his rest here. He said my voice had syrup in it, not a cough one, but syrup nonetheless.
'After I die, you can have these books if you like,' he told me once. 'You see, I like to show my gratitude, but I suppose you wouldn't take them.'
'Oh, but I would. I would take great care of them, Sir.'
'Good. When I die, which will be soon, no one will remember me or recall my name, my face or anything else. Lack of fortune and bad habits have rendered me like this. But I'd rather be remembered by someone like you.'
'And why is that?'
'Because you make poor old men sleep.'
'Will you put in a good word for me in Heaven, Sir?'
'I'll try, I'll try. But I can't promise anything since my own actions have not been the kindest and I fear the saints shan't be very fond of me. But you know, I am quite content.'
'How so?'
'I could never understand religion to my taste since my family professed Irish origins and therefore Catholic pretenses. The church was a cold, dismal place for my eyes and ears and I never prayed in despair or misery, never asked for help from God whether I needed it or not. Yet, it always warmed my heart to know someone loved me. It warmed my heart to know God loved me, unconditionally. And I was given this gift only because I lived.'
'Yes, we only need live,' I said lost in thought.
'I can't say I regret many things that I've accomplished. Perhaps I should have had a child. That would have brightened me up. I would have bought him many things and so my money would not have been spent on less than moral actions. I had a cousin, a young, beautiful lady who joined me once on a tour of Europe. She almost gave birth to a son for me, but she died and the child died and I was marginalized by my uncle to the point where I lost a considerable amount of fortune. It was amusing when you think that my uncle could barely bear my cousin. He had always wanted a boy. That is why he envied my father. In the end, I guess we can't know who will follow us to the end. Our own parents are biased. Bur it is rather nice to have you here.'
I kissed his hand softly.
There was a great racket on the corridors. Someone was screaming very loud, though the scream seemed helpless, as if the person knew they wouldn't be heard.
I walked out of the room and saw three girls rushing into another chamber. My curiosity made me follow them. I stopped on the threshold and saw a young woman beating the floor with her hands as the other three girls tried to stop her.
She wasn't crying. She was very angry. No matter what the girls did she had no intention of stopping.
Claudia told me later that afternoon the cause of the outburst.
'Madeline is sleeping now, but I daresay that she won't be better when she wakes up. You see, her sister used to work here with her. They were inseparable. They did everything together and aided each other like no other sisters. But Tina, her sister, was very unhappy here and always dreamt of going away and starting life again. Eventually, she did run away. She traveled to America and tried making a living there. She usually sent her sister some money but very little to be spoken of. This broke Madeline's heart. But there is more. Tina eventually managed to marry into a good family and became the wife of a small, but well-off farmer. When Madeline heard of this, she thought Tina would immediately send for her and they would live together on her husband's ranch. Yet when Madeline wrote to her sister, expressing this wish, she received no substantial answer, only a small epistle saying she could not stain her husband's home in such a manner. Madeline was livid, naturally. She was filled with rage. To know that you have taken care of your young sibling all your life and they desert you without a look back…'
I shuddered as I listened to this sad and cruel story about a wicked sister. I thought this was only a fairy-tale, nothing real or possible. Yet the reality was that Madeline would never see her sister again and Tina would live in this self-indulged world, where the past never existed.
But this sad affair rendered me almost miserable. I had not one sister, but four. Would all four of them reject me in this fashion? Would all four of them desert me?
No. Madeline had not chosen to be what she was. I had. I couldn't expect them to accept me. I could not accept myself either, if I were in their place.
That night I went to visit Madeline. We had never talked properly but I knew her by sight. She was a hardworking woman that had few friends but was respected by all. She was always very clean.
'Good evening,' I began as I sat beside her bed.
She inspected me from head to foot and coughed.
'Have I died? Are you an angel?'
'No.'
'But you are wearing white.'
'I cannot stay much, Madeline. I came to see you. Are you well?'
'I do not know you,' she said furrowing her brows. 'How do you know me?'
'I …heard your sad story and I must say I was very moved by it. You did not deserve such cruelty from someone you loved.'
'No…Now I know who you are! You are Frank's sister. Tina told me in one of her letters that her husband had a pretty, pale sister that always liked riding horses.'
'I'm afraid I don't enjoy riding horses.'
'Oh. Then Tina must have lied. Why would she though? I'd better write her a letter and ask her. She does not usually lie without a good reason.'
Madeline made to get up but she felt too weak and ill to do so. She asked me to fetch paper and ink for her and so I did.
She dipped her quill and began her letter. She read it aloud and asked my opinion.
Dear, darling Tina,
Tonight of all nights, I was visited by your sister-in-law. She came to put me right on my supposition. Apparently, she does not enjoy riding horses. I thought you had told me she did, but she corrected me. Do you think she has changed her tastes? If not, please tell me what made you lie. Is it because you do not like horses yourself?
I miss you dear sister. I hope your sister-in-law sends you this letter.
Kindest care,
M.
'Please send her this letter,' she begged me, tears in her eyes. 'Please.'
'I will.'
'Promise, please.'
'I promise.'
I folded the letter in my hands and waited as she played with the quill.
'Is it painful to die?'
'Pardon?'
'Is it painful?'
'I can't say I know.'
'I hope there is nothing wrong with me, but you see, I have a very bad feeling about my state. I think…' she said stretching to grasp a handkerchief that was placed under an oil lamp, 'I think this can't be good.'
She opened the handkerchief and I saw a large blood stain on it.
'I coughed it an hour ago. Do you think it troublesome? This was my favourite handkerchief.'
I looked down at her white hands holding the red piece of cloth and I almost wanted to cry large, warm tears.
'N-no,' I lied. 'I don't think it should trouble you. You're just tired. You'd better rest for a while.'
'Wake me up when Tina's letter arrives though,' she said wistfully as she turned her back and went to sleep.
'I will,' I whispered.
