The morning after, I fulfilled my promise to accompany Aunt Petunia on her errands, and I forced myself to smile and act as if all that going back and forth between the finest merchandise and the obsequious treatment received amused me. The only thought that could calm my restless mind was the certainty that even if I met Mr. Frederick Woodhouse again, he would never subject himself to further questioning. In those circumstances, paying back Miss Wangles' generosity with some light entertainment wasn't only the most honorable course of action but also the only appropriate one. I needed to occupy my thoughts somehow until a more favorable opportunity presented itself to understand what had happened to Emily.
Petunia Wangles was particularly animated that day, convinced that all the flutter about muslins, hats, and flattering fashionable cuts would improve my spirits. I couldn't help but feel guilty for how dishonestly I was abusing her hospitality, keeping the somewhat dark nature of my intentions to myself. It seemed to me one of the great injustices of life how easily pleased faithful and loving people are, while we dedicate most of our efforts to court those who will never return even a third of such adoration.
Lost in those thoughts, in which curiously the Woodhouses were somehow involved, I suddenly found myself alone in front of a shop window. Aunt Petunia must have entered the shop a little earlier, without even realizing that her reluctant companion had finally abandoned her. I was about to join her inside when a hand on my arm forced me to stop. As I looked up, a tall and burly servant returned my gaze. His harsh manners contrasted with the elegance of his livery. My intuition told me it could only be Warner, Augusta Woodhouse's private beast.
"These streets are not safe, Miss Eyre," he said. I had to look away, fearing that I might become hypnotized by those unpleasant snake-like eyes. "Especially for a young lady. Perhaps you should return to a more... suitable environment."
I would have liked to leave or talk, but his formidable corpulence deprived me of voice and movement. I must confess that at that moment, I was completely terrified.
"It wouldn't be the first time that a young lady who is imprudent enough to travel without proper protection has an accident," he muttered without relaxing the pressure on my arm. "A robbery, or even something... worse. It has happened before. It could happen again."
I don't know if I would have eventually freed myself from him, or if he would have let me go once his message had been delivered, because Miss Wangles emerged from the store at that moment. She looked at us, confused, and the servant left without acknowledging her.
"I thought you hardly knew anyone in London..." Aunt Petunia ventured approaching me.
"Apparently, he just wanted to warn me that these streets could be dangerous for a young lady alone," I explained, being faithful to the form if not the true content of his message.
"Oh, dear," Aunt Petunia's face darkened. "And I've committed the incredible clumsiness of... Your mother trusts me, how would she feel if you also..."
She could no longer speak, and I regretted my foolishness. I hadn't calculated the impact of my words before talking.
Linking my arm with hers, I tried to make amends for it.
"It's of no importance. Have you finally succumbed to that charming pink feathered hat?" I asked with more than acceptable enthusiasm.
Although not fooled for a second by my clumsy stratagem, she smiled.
"It's so difficult to find something flattering nowadays," she said, shaking her head. "All these new fashions are so extravagant..."
But soon her thoughts drifted away from those pleasant matters, as the rain began to fall heavily on us. The carriage was two steps away, yet we returned to her house soaked and feeling the weight of our wet clothes mercilessly pushing us toward the ground.
Petunia Wangles had always been cautious when it came to preventing colds, but after Emily's death, those good habits had become a true obsession. Aunt Petunia now feared a chill the same way other people fear spiders or snakes.
She didn't rest until she had personally supervised my change of clothes and my full consumption of a restorative broth, and not satisfied with those basic preventive measures, she had gone to her personal apothecary's office in search of a remedy in which she recently placed all her faith. If the worst were to happen, no one could accuse her of lacking zeal in my safeguard.
During her absence, I found myself in the uncomfortable position of receiving one of her visitors. To my initial surprise, it was Miss Woodhouse, and to my complete astonishment, she had come with the sole intention of offering me her condolences for Emily's death. As you can imagine, I received her visit with mixed feelings. Fate was providing me a magnificent opportunity, but I was unsure if I could seize it.
Once the tea was served in Aunt Petunia's drawing room, Charlotte Woodhouse and I began our conversation using the trite customary expressions that were expected from both of us in those circumstances. I couldn't help but notice the resemblance between her and her brother Frederick. Although Aunt Petunia was right and she wasn't a beauty, her features and her own person, small and delicate, were not completely devoid of charm.
For a moment, she was deep in thought, and when she spoke again, she seemed to leave all social conventions behind her. It was with a sincere expression of pain that she said:
"I am deeply sorry for your loss, Miss Eyre."
Her stance emboldened me to also express myself more honestly.
"Did you know my sister well, Miss Woodhouse?"
"Yes, she often attended our balls... Such a sweet, cheerful girl," she replied, her gaze fixed on some indeterminate point in space, as if lost in a happy memory. "Miss Eyre, truth be told, I don't make a habit of socializing with too many young ladies, so someone like your sister... She seemed to bring a breath of fresh air."
"A breath of freedom," I thought bitterly, "that I never missed the opportunity to reproach her for."
But Miss Woodhouse, judging by the hardened expression on her face now, was no longer thinking of my sister.
"I've heard about what happened the other day and the inexcusable way that woman..." Charlotte Woodhouse pressed her lips and didn't speak again until she felt in control of her emotions. "I wanted to personally apologize for Mrs. Woodhouse's behavior, Miss Eyre. It must have been particularly painful for you given the circumstances."
"Miss Woodhouse, there's no need..."
"There is every need," she interrupted stubbornly, "I can't imagine what I would feel if I were to lose Frederick or Ashton..." As she spoke, she began unconsciously twirling one of her rings. It wasn't difficult for me to deduce that it was a gift from one of her brothers. "I'm aware that my apologies hold little value in the face of your suffering, I'm aware of that, but they're the only thing within my reach at this moment."
"In any case, I shouldn't have shown up at your home the way I did," I said with a sad smile. "I can't help but wonder if it all wasn't but a strange misunderstanding between Mr. Frederick Woodhouse and my sister."
Miss Charlotte Woodhouse fixed an astonished gaze on me.
"I'm very sorry, Miss Eyre, but I can't quite understand what you're trying to say..."
Slightly embarrassed, I found myself confessing a recurring thought I had been trying to hide from myself since the moment I first spoke with Frederick Woodhouse.
"Sometimes I believe your brother never had serious intentions toward poor Emily."
Miss Woodhouse stood up from the sofa as if my presence had suddenly become venomous to her.
"That's not possible, I was convinced that..."
Feeling the weight of the remorse of betraying my little sister once again, I anxiously asked, standing up as well:
"Did Emily or your brother ever speak to you about it?"
If Charlotte Woodhouse had been an indirect witness to the proposal, Mr. Frederick Woodhouse couldn't dare to deny it any longer.
Miss Woodhouse seemed to review a myriad of events, words, and looks that she had once believed to be significant. Now, as I could easily read in her disturbed expression, they didn't seem so significant anymore.
"There was a moment when your sister's words..." she said sitting again, and I followed suit. "But now that I think about Frederick's behavior after her passing, I realize that I must have been mistaken. He must still be thinking of Rosaleen..."
Tears welled up in her eyes.
"I'm so, so sorry..."
I couldn't allow her to punish herself for reaching a false conclusion, especially because when it came to Emily, I never stopped doing so.
"Miss Woodhouse, you have nothing to blame yourself for."
"Yes, I do," she said avoiding my gaze. "I could have spared you all this terrible experience, Miss Eyre. If I had known that their commitment existed only in Miss Emily Eyre's mind, I could have tried to convince her of Frederick's indifference. But I didn't because I was blind..."
I surprised myself and her by laughing. By the concerned way she looked at me, I could tell that she was doubting whether the blow of my sister's death had been too strong for my nerves.
"Miss Woodhouse, Emily never paid attention to a single word or piece of advice that didn't perfectly align with her desires. I was never able to convince my sister of anything during her short life, and I suppose I had more influence over her than most people."
Thinking aloud, I added:
"Perhaps all that sad misunderstanding was an act of mercy after all. She died convinced of his love and his sacrifice for her, and despite appearances, that was the only thing Emily ever truly sought. Being appreciated and loved for who she was, without deceit or duplicity..."
Deeply moved, Miss Woodhouse took my hand.
"I'm glad I had the chance to meet you, Miss Eyre, even if it was under these terrible circumstances. If you ever need anything..." Charlotte Woodhouse stopped as if the harsh reality of her situation had fallen on her again like a lead weight. "Unfortunately, I don't have my own home or the freedom to manage my own time or visits. And I suppose I never will."
"But Miss Woodhouse, you're still so young..."
Charlotte Woodhouse smiled but shook her head.
"Don't waste your compassion on me, Miss Eyre. I have everything I need at home. It's always been that way and always will be."
Thinking about how happiness can be so easily found when we consciously choose to limit our expectations, I saw her take leave. It was only later, as I sat on my bed to reflect, that the sudden awareness of my own stupidity hit me. My mind had been so full of my sister during our conversation that I had completely forgotten to ask Charlotte Woodhouse who Rosaleen was before we parted ways.