Epiphany #2
And at the same time, that lightness and tree-ness stretching inside her promised she could trust this choice.
Her gut had never been so clear—staying was right.
So surely this separation would be best for both of them.
Maybe even—Kestrel paused, trying to breathe through the pain, and noticed the chill of tears leaking over her cheeks.
She wiped them away, took a shaky inhale, and let herself think it—Maybe it wasn’t too late for Hank and Greta Great-Family.
He could still have that Kern perfect life.
Kestrel would stay, if she could. Therefore, the kindest thing she could do was quickly let Hank go. Despite her trembling hands and the fierce pain in her heart, she managed to dig paper and pen out of a desk and jot down a note.
Hank,
I’m not going to the airport. Let’s say the ball was our closure.
After all, that’s what you really came for. I release you to your
future, and I sincerely hope it is a good one.
K.
Relief came immediately. No surge of contentment or anything pleasant rushed into the opened space inside her, and the grief still felt almost too heavy to hold.
But at least there was space to hold it.
She lay back on a divan, letting the heaviness of that boulder press her down and the relief calm her muscles.
Her under-slept body even dozed for a time.
When she finally emerged from the library, she bumped into Mrs. Martinez who was carrying a stack of papers.
“Oh, hey! This is perfect. When you’re at the airport, will you give this note to Mr. Kern?”
Kestrel’s hand still shook as she held it out, but once the lady took it from her, Kestrel felt surety pour through her like a warm rain. Yes, despite the pain, she had chosen right.
“And I’m sorry if I kept Mr. Kern from being your dance partner last night—”
“No, no, no,” said Mrs. Martinez with a wave of her hand.
“I didn’t come here for romance. I’m already married.
We’ve been together for twenty-three years, and this year for the first time we decided to take separate holidays, to see if we’d want to do more things separately in the future—perhaps permanently. ”
“I see.” Kestrel frowned. “And was that a good idea?”
“Separation can be very clarifying.” Mrs. Martinez smiled. “I love her so much.”
She showed Kestrel one of her papers. It looked computer printed though wrinkled, as if it’d come from the bottom of a suitcase. The image of an upraised fist was surrounded by words: Rise Up! The Aristocracy Is a Disease!
Kestrel laughed. “You made these in advance?”
She shrugged. “I’m a history professor. My wife is in finance, and she bought me this trip because I’ve always yearned to experience living in another time.
But I couldn’t in good conscience step backward without trying to upend malignant social systems. I already handed these out to the servants at Windy Nook, so I wanted to pop over here.
Economic equality is simply marvelous. Farewell, Miss Spinster.
Sincere best of luck, and bollocks to colonialism and the patriarchy! ”
“Bollocks!” Kestrel cheered. She realized it was probably the first time in her life she had said that word and made a goal that it wouldn’t be her last.
“Oh! I nearly forgot.” Mrs. Martinez pulled a couple of folded-up papers from of her bag and handed them to Kestrel before bustling her way into the kitchen.
Kestrel assumed they were extra pamphlets and tucked them in her corset. Finding the drawing room empty, she sneaked in to peek through the windows. The car was already out front. Gussie had climbed in, and soon Mrs. Martinez joined her.
“There you are, Miss Spinster,” said Edwin.
“Yeeee,” Kestrel said in surprise, startling away from the window.
Edwin stood at the drawing room threshold, wearing his chauffeur cap. “Mrs. Wattlesbrook has been waiting for you in her study.”
“Oh, right,” said Kestrel. “I forgot. Or maybe I blocked it out.”
“It might be too late now. Miss Chen has to catch a flight, so we’re headed to the airport. I have your luggage by the front door.”
A sound of footsteps echoed from the hall. In sudden fear, Kestrel dropped to the floor, hidden behind a sofa.
“Er, Miss Spinster?” Edwin said.
“I’ve had an epiphany, Edwin,” she whispered. “I’m not leaving.”
“All right?” He sounded concerned for her.
“Don’t worry. I’ll figure it out later. Leave my bags here and pretend I’m in the car. Okay bye.”
She crawled deeper into the drawing room, staying low behind another sofa. Once she could hear the car’s tires crunching on the gravel, she let herself take a deep breath.
Surely Hank was already at the airport, having gone in the first car. With a ticket in hand and bag checked, despite her absence he’d feel compelled to fly home, and once he was far from the magic of Austenland, he would agree that they had no reasonable future.
Staring into the hearth fire, her grief-stricken mind noted how in order to produce pleasant warmth and comforting orange and gold light, it had to totally trash the wood.
She scowled at the black ashes. You can’t have a fire without destroying something, and apparently you can’t follow a life-affirming epiphany without killing some hope.
Maybe those were just the rules of epiphanies, but Kestrel didn’t have to like them. Rules were bollocks.
I’ll be okay, she told herself. I’m not destined for a lifelong love. He’ll move on, and I’ll manage.
Still, her heart creaked with pain. As if in echo, a floorboard creaked. She peeked over the top of the sofa and saw Mr. Culpepper stumbling into the room. He still wore the black-and-white formal attire from last night, though his cravat was undone and his glasses askew.
“At last, there you are, Miss Spinster,” he said, his voice dry.
“Mr. Culpepper?” She stood up. “Did you legit spend the night in the pantry? Because you look like you legit spent the night in the pantry.”
“I know you will not toy with my heart,” he said. “Please tell me that you love me.”
“Culpepper, it’s done. The session is over. Everybody’s gone home.”
“Except you,” he said, gazing at her adoringly.
Kestrel winced. “I’m really sorry. Mrs. Wattlesbrook warned me not to get physical with the actors, but I was feeling low, and I used you for comfort. I shouldn’t have kissed you.”
“Quite the contrary, mon ange, I nearly flung myself upon you! Please apply balm to my wound and tell me, do you love me?”
And because Epiphany was a day for truth telling, Kestrel answered bluntly, “No.”
Mr. Culpepper let out a dramatic sob and stumbled away, reciting a poem, “‘My love is as a fever, longing still / For that which longer nurseth the disease . . .’”
He passed Tom in the front hall. Tom watched him go, turned to look at Kestrel, and broke out laughing. He was wearing a purple hoodie and jeans.
Kestrel pointed after Culpepper and said, “Tom, what in the actual—?”
“He does that. Nearly every session. And then he mopes for days after till a new lady comes along.”
“Did he have wife who died for real?”
“Lord no. All part of the act. He’s a bit of a tosser, if I’m being honest.”
“I knew a guy like that in high school drama class,” said Kestrel, joining him in the front hall. “He fell in love with everybody he did a scene with, and by the next week he’d moved on.”
“Falling in dramatic love is a real danger in this place.”
He smiled at her, and she felt her legs go cold.
Was he confessing that he’d fallen for her?
That would be incredibly awkward, because despite his all-around wonderfulness, she felt zero desire to rebound-date Tom.
Or anyone. On a cellular level, she still felt magnetized and pointed toward Hank. Maybe she always would.
A short, happy-looking brunette in a green jumpsuit and puffer jacket was coming in the front door, and Tom’s whole face lit up to see her.
“Kestrel, this is my girlfriend, Jennie. Jennie, Kestrel was a guest.” He put a hand beside his mouth as if whispering a secret only Jennie could hear. “One of the bearable ones.”
He winked at Kestrel. She blinked back. Bearable?
“Nice to meet you,” said Jennie, who was darling in every way, with starry dimples in moon-sized cheeks. “Tom had nice things to say about you.”
“Yeah, I love the ones who can take a tease and banter back,” he said. “Not so uptight and insecure that I have to be over-the-top gooey to keep them from feeling slighted. We had some good laughs.”
“Aw, sounds so fun!” said Jennie. “Sorry I had to take him away from you on New Year’s Eve, but I needed him with me in the A and E. You see, I’m pregnant!”
“We’re pregnant!” said Tom. He put his arm around Jennie’s shoulders and kissed her on the cheek.
Tom must have mistaken Kestrel’s sickened look for worry, because he quickly consoled her by saying, “The baby is fine! It was a false alarm.”
“I had one of those at-home baby heartbeat things I bought online,” said Jennie. “And I couldn’t find the heartbeat all day, but of course it was a dodgy bit of rubbish and the baby is perfect. Nineteen weeks!”
“Congrats!” said Kestrel, though still feeling sick. Accosting a dad under the kissing bough now felt like a criminal offense. “Tom, I’m so sorry I made you kiss me.”
“All part of the job.”
“He said it was a very nice snog,” said Jennie.
“Are you quitting Pembrook?” Kestrel asked Tom. “I mean, now that your girlfriend is—”
“Up the duff?” said Jennie, patting her belly. “Nah, he likes his work. And I don’t mind if he gets a bit handled. Warms him up for me.”
And he did indeed seem warmed up, because now he was kissing her neck, much to her delight.
“Some of the guests have literally grabbed his arse! Or even his knob! Like he was just some massive sex doll. Completely mental! Thanks for not being a complete nightmare.”
“My pleasure,” Kestrel said. “I’ve been working all my life on not being a complete nightmare. And sometimes, I even succeed.”
Jennie laughed. “You are a riot! We should set you up with one of our mates, go on doubles. If only you were staying around.”