9. A Thriving Weed
A THRIVING WEED
F or some foolish reason, I acted as though I was making a choice. Struggling through my conscience, trying to decide what to do, which way I should turn. I had no choice. I knew that. I certainly did not wish to die. Accepting Azriel’s proposal was truly the only option that assured my survival.
What kind of survival that would be, well, that was certainly debatable. The violent death on the gallows, or the violent affections of my stepson - what a choice indeed. Azriel now owned me, and my future, and no amount of tossing and turning through a sleepless night would change that.
He had wholly ensnared me, and worse than that, he had shamed me, touching me in a way no one else had. It was worse than his father taking my maidenhead, and yet I could not explain why. Neither had been with my consent, both men had equally forced themselves on me.
But what had happened the previous night recalled all the sordid tales of warning the nuns at school had threatened us with.
Told in hushed voices, eyes wide underneath their habits, cautioning us young ladies from ever touching ourselves “down there”, or indeed letting anyone else do so.
That way lay madness. Brain fever. Sin. All manner of ailments.
It was something only whores did. It was something ladies of good standing would never seek.
Therefore, it had not been a surprise when marital coupling with Acton had not been pleasurable, for I had never expected it should be.
And despite all my misgivings and the unrelenting nausea each encounter left in its wake, it had been decent.
Proper. What the nuns had said it should have been. Acton had done his duty, and left.
He had not pinned me down and forced my body into a state no decent woman should find herself in.
My cheeks flushed as I thought of how Azriel had touched me. How he had threatened me. To drive me to such a peak while holding complete power over me - I had thought I hated him as much as I could. I was now discovering I could hate him even more.
But I could not decide whether he had done it for his own pleasure, or if he intended to drive me mad. Could he ravish me to the point of insanity, as the nuns had insisted? Would I lose control of my mind as I had of my body?
“You’re awfully quiet today, madam,” Mary said, running a brush through my hair. “All day, you’ve barely said a word.”
“My mind has been rather occupied today.” I chewed on my lip. “I think I should like to go out tomorrow.”
“Out?” Mary regarded me in the mirror with alarm. “Oh madam, people were already talking when you were seen on Newgate Street with Mr Caine, I don’t think that would be wise.”
“To church, of course.” I laughed lightly, twirling a stand of my long hair around my finger. “I seek some peace in all this turmoil.”
Mary’s face softened, and she nodded, returning to her brushing. “Of course, madam. I think that would do you good.”
Seeking absolution would do me little good, but it would help to pretend. What would they all say, the people who had spied me on Newgate Road, when they discovered I had married my stepson?
Worse still - what would Mary say?
I slept fitfully that night, dreaming of chains, of being buried alive, of drowning. Of beating bloodied hands against the roof of a coffin while Azriel’s laughter echoed in my ears. I woke to a bright dawn, and a brilliant blue sky, which simply made me angry. Even God was laughing at me.
I dressed in one of my simple mourning gowns, and set off for the church after breakfast. Mary insisted on accompanying me, and chattered cheerfully as the carriage rolled down the street.
I barely heard a word, wondering what I would even say to the priest, what I could tell him, what kind of forgiveness I could even seek without revealing my secrets.
More and more and more questions built up in my mind, more wretched, errants paths seeking an escape, an answer, a fragment of clarity.
There was none to be found, of course, but the mind of a captive is not a logical one.
Always seeking to survive, even when all is lost, and seems impossible.
Outside the walls of Linmere, it seemed to me even more poignant, as though I were sleepwalking through a world that would soon reject me.
The sunny churchyard made me feel no better.
Mary chose to remain outside, basking in the sunlight which danced amongst the brightly coloured autumn leaves. I stepped into the mercifully empty church alone.
Father Price was busily arranging bibles in the pews, his mostly-bald head bowed as he worked. He lifted his eyes at the sound of my footsteps, and his deeply wrinkled face warmed into a smile as I walked down the aisle towards him.
“Mistress Caine, how wonderful to see you.” He brushed the dust from his hands, leaving a faint shadow on his black robes. “A fine day, is it not?”
“Yes, extremely fine.” I cast a flickering glance at the statue of Jesus hanging from the cross, and swallowed hard. “It is a relief indeed after all that endless rain.”
“It certainly is.” He clasped his hands before him, and raised his eyebrows. “The sunlight, I feel, always helps a mourning soul.”
“Yes, I suppose it does.”
“Is that why you are here?” His eyes softened, and he nodded. “To seek closeness to him?”
I was unsure which him he meant at that moment. The Him hanging from the cross at the front of the church, blood pouring from the wound in his side, or the him lying in the mausoleum, rather too close by for my liking.
“I…I…” I sank into one of the pews, and sighed heavily. “I feel so lost. And so trapped.”
Father Price sat down beside me. “Trapped?”
I lifted the veil of my bonnet, somehow unable to breathe with it covering my face. “I am not even sure why I am here. I seek closeness and comfort, but I do not feel it is possible.”
“You have suffered a great loss, it is not unusual for loneliness and grief to be overwhelming,” he said gently.
I wanted nothing more than to be able to lift the burden of my sins off my shoulders, and to atone for all of those I was about to commit. I gazed up at the statue, at Jesus’s dead eyes, his outstretched arms, and shook my head.
“It is more than that, Father.”
“There will be better days again, I assure you.”
I let out a hollow laugh. “Oh, how I wish that were true.”
“But it is.” He gestured to the open church door behind us. “Look around you. The rain has stopped, and the sun is shining once more. This is the lesson we must take from times like this. That the sun will always return.”
I looked at him earnestly, dashing away an errant tear with my gloved hand. “Are there any sins that are unforgivable, Father?”
His brow furrowed briefly. “My child, all sins are forgiven, once they are brought to God.”
“All sins? Are you certain?”
He exhaled heavily, and took my hand. “My child, whatever it is you feel you may have done, you would not be the first widow to sit on this pew and weep over it. Loneliness has the ability to drive us mad.”
I blinked at him slowly, then realised his implication.
He thought I was seeking absolution for taking a lover.
He thought my grief and loneliness had driven me into the arms of another man.
I balked for a moment, wanting to insist that nothing of the sort had happened, but then that would simply be another lie, and another sin.
I was truly tallying them up these days, and the sin of moaning in Azriel’s bed somehow sat deeper in my chest than the murder of my husband.
What a mess I truly was.
I began to shake my head, and Father Price squeezed my hand with a smile.
“It is not my place to judge.” He patted my hand, shaking his head. “Your husband knows you adored him, no matter what has happened.”
My cheeks burned, and I felt beholden to defend my honour in the face of this accusation, no matter how gently it was being delivered.
“No, no, Father you misunderstand, it was nothing of the sort.”
“Ah, I see.” He allowed himself a satisfied smile. “That is good. I see a strength in you I do not often see in women as young as you.”
I bristled at his words on behalf of all my sex, but did not say anything. I merely dipped my head, looking at my gloved hands.
“God wants you to be happy,” Father Price said softly, and I could not help the cynical laugh that bubbled up my throat.
“Does he?”
“Of course he does. I know it can seem cruel when the ones we love are taken from us. But that does not mean that God does not want us to be happy.”
“Then what does it mean?” Anger began to rise in me, colliding and curdling with the shame of what had happened with Azriel in his bed. “What does God intend when he places us in an impossible situation? When one can see no light, or feel no air?”
“My dear, your situation is far from impossible, no matter how it may feel that is it at this moment.”
“Oh, but it is, Father.” I shook my head, gazing up at the stained glass windows. “I am in an impossible situation, and I think God is punishing me.”
“God rewarded you with a wonderful husband,” Father Price said emphatically. “I do not believe for a moment that it was ever his intention to punish you with his death. It was perhaps a lesson, a harsh one, but do not the most beautiful flowers grow under the harshest conditions?”
I laughed cynically. “Roses die at the drop of a hat, Father. Weeds, though, they thrive.”
Father Price laughed merrily, and slapped his knee.
“Your wit has not left you, in that we may take comfort.” He chortled to himself, and retrieved a bible from his pocket.
“In that case, madam, I shall pray for you, and shall hope that you continue to be the hardy weed that thrives even in these harsh times. ”
“Thank you, Father. I feel I may need a great deal of prayers.”
His brow furrowed again, and he paused with his thumb in the bible, eyeing me with concern. “Mistress Caine, if anything is amiss, if there is anything you must speak about, this is a sacred place. You may tell me anything without any fear.”
That, of course, was not true. As much as I wished to unburden myself, my sins were now too great.
I sighed, and shook my head. “Your prayers will bring me great comfort, Father. Thank you.”
“It is the least I can do.”
I dropped several coins into the tithing box by the door as I left. Mary was still happily wandering about the church yard when I emerged, and met me with a wide smile.
“This day is so wonderful, madam. Shall we take tea outside when we return home?” She asked brightly.
“Certainly, Mary, that sounds delightful.”
The trip home was filled with yet more merry chatter, Mary regaling me with all the news from town that she had heard from the other servants.
I barely listened as I gazed out at the sun-dappled streets.
I wanted nothing more than to escape the house, to go somewhere, anywhere, rather than heading back to those gloomy rooms. It was nearing midday, and Azriel would be returning that evening.
In a few hours, my fate would be sealed.
The carriage pulled into the drive, and George was there to meet us at the door.
“Madam, a letter from your father.” He handed the envelope to me with a smile. “A comfort you no doubt need at this time.”
I suppressed a groan, and smiled at George instead. “Thank you, indeed.” I looked over my shoulder at Mary. “ Fetch the tea, would you? I would like to read my father’s letter alone.”
“But of course, madam.” She hurried in the direction of the kitchen, and I made for my room.
But somehow, my feet carried me to Acton’s study.
I stood there, staring at the desk, where I had seen Azriel do unspeakable things only days before. It was somehow a sign of my fate, of how far I would now fall, of how I was about to lose my good name and everything that came with it.
I sank into the armchair by the fire, and opened my father’s letter.
My dearest Evangeline
It was with great sorrow that I received the news of your husband’s passing. I know how much you loved him, and what a good husband he was to you. I am only sorry that I was not there to comfort you during your time of greatest sorrow.
My health has worsened, and the doctor has advised against travel or strain of any kind. But Adelaide has informed me that you intend to take a house in Leicester, and it will do me good to have my only child close to me again.
Be strong, my own heart, and I shall hope to see you very soon.
All my love
Your Father
With a strangled cry, I balled the letter in my hand and threw it across the room.
“Fool!” I shouted, clawing my hands into my hair. “You cursed, stupid old fool!”
I was here because of him. He had sold me into a loveless marriage and left me at the mercy of Azriel Caine. I had no protections, no money, only a good name and a pretty face to commend me.
And now my father was joyfully expecting my return to Leicester, when all he would now hear from me was my dramatic fall from grace.
I hated them. I hated all of them.
And the one I hated the most was due to return by nightfall.