He slept for a while afterward, a contented smile vaguely settled behind his slumbering features. I watched him for sometime, my head growing ever more clearer, my thoughts sharpening from their previous blurred fragments. A chill descended upon me slowly as I stared at the man sleeping a foot from me. I felt sick; rancid all over. Shakily, and careful not to disturb his blissful ignorance, I slipped my feet to the floor. The carpet caressed my cold toes as I padded to the door. Physically, I felt my strength shimmering through every limb, new and bursting with renewed enthusiasm; nothing like my faded self from the past weeks. Catching my face in the mirror, my thoughts were confirmed. Subtle hints of rose were beginning to take up their old hue in my cheeks, my eyes reflecting the light again; spangles of hazel glinting in my stare. But their glittering did very little, if anything, to mask their coldness. I breathed raggedly, looking away, the age-old misery settling in the pit of my stomach.
I wandered numbly through the hall, watching the idle dust motes as the sun lit them from behind. The air was cool and still, and far off, perhaps at the end of the garden, a bird emitted a pondering song. I reached the end of the hall, finding myself faced with the door to James' study. An urge, amidst my dulled emotions, grasped me. I had a sudden desire to pore over maps and trace their familiar aged parchment; pretend I was planning a voyage to the end of the earth, with just the keening wind for company. Freedom.
I pushed the door open and blinked dimly around the mahogany-laced walls. It was spacious and musty, and I noticed a distinctly prominent smell of Whisky. Several bottles lay upon a nearby shelf, three of them bled dry of their contents. I sat down in James' large chair by the desk, feeling tiny. I stared up at the bottles again, in idle curiosity. Clearly he had not handled my illness well….
Something white sat beneath the farthest bottle. In fact, it was several somethings. A wad of envelopes, bound in secretive haste, were half hidden by the whisky. Instinctively and not quite understanding my bored motives, I reached for them.
Mrs Norrington
Mrs Elizabeth Norrington
Elizabeth
My name. My name scrawled upon every envelope. The looping E brought a sob to my throat, and I dropped them to the floor, sinking back into the chair. Will had been writing all this time. Shuddering, I knelt to pick them all up, shakily caressing them in my lap. I felt his warmth, his desperation. I saw that every letter had been slit open, and agonised fury at my husband welled up in my eyes.
I read them, losing count after I'd opened the fifteenth.
I love you…I love you….always and forever, I will love you, he had signed every one in tender misery. My desolate tears smeared his words.
I opened the final one, dated only three days ago.
Run away with me.
