Chapter 17
When she walked in, Nicholas was neither surprised nor impatient, as if he had expected her precisely at this moment and had set the hour aside.
“Maria,” he said. “Will you sit, or walk? I can do either.”
“I will sit, if you please.” She took the chair he had drawn forward. It seemed impertinent to choose another when one had been chosen for her.
Nicholas did not return to the desk. He took the chair opposite, bringing himself level with her.
“I trust all is well with you?” he asked.
Maria could see the concern in his voice. She cleared her throat.
“Lovely weather we are having…”
Nicholas shot her a look, as though he could see right through her bluff. “Yes, but I suspect that you are not here to discuss the weather with me, are you?”
“I might be,” she shrugged her shoulders. “The weather is just as fine a topic as any other. I should think.”
“Yes, but as I am coming to understand you,” Nicholas leaned towards her direction ever so slightly, “I have come to believe that you are good at evading topics of importance. Which is not a bad thing by any means. But given that you are my little sister, I would urge you to speak freely with me.”
She nodded. His words had given her some confidence, which was much needed in her situation.
“Well, what would you say if I asked you something about the past?” she ventured.
“I would say that it is not a wise thing to remain in the past too much,” he replied. “But if it is something that you are curious about, then I shall indulge you this time.”
“I wished…” she began, then faltered at once, “I wished to ask you something about our father.”
It came out rather abruptly.
His gaze lowered to the fire and returned to her.
“Very well,” he said. “What would you know?”
“I never knew him,” she said. “And since he is no longer living, I don’t have any way to know more about him either. I thought…” She clasped her hands and unclasped them just as quickly. “I thought I might ask you instead.”
“You may ask me anything you please,” he said.
She breathed more evenly. She had many questions and did not know where to even start.
“I suppose I should begin with what he was like to you.”
It was another way to ask, if I hadn’t been in the nunnery, what would he have been like to me? But surely, that would be too embarrassing to say out loud. So she would settle for this instead.
Nicholas considered.
He was not,” he said at last, “a man who tolerated accident in his vicinity. People were arranged. Days were arranged. He believed that what did not present itself to him as an ornament or an instrument had mistaken its purpose.”
“And you?”
“I was a son,” he said. “Sons are both ornament and instrument; we are trained to be agreeable to the eye and useful to the hand. I do not offer that as a complaint. It is merely a description. There are houses where it is a form of love.”
“And this house?” she asked.
“In this house,” Nicholas said, with care, “the form was attended to with great skill.”
She understood him, or thought she did. One need not be harsh to be cold; one need not shout to be heard everywhere.
“Was he…” She stopped. Kind was a word one may apply to a gentleman and mean a great many small courtesies. “Was he ever tender?” she asked instead, and felt the question in her face like heat.
Nicholas looked at the fire.
“He admired the idea of tenderness,” he said. “Its representation, on occasions that required such shading. I cannot say I knew it as his habit.”
Maria had no memory to lay against this. She had learned tenderness from women, and often in the negative.
“Did you fear him?”
“Yes,” Nicholas said. He did not make a drama of it and only said it like a statement. “As one fears the weather when it is known to change, and to change without warning.”
“And did you love him?” The moment she had said it, she would have called it back. She had never thought herself entitled to questions such as this, but it was difficult not to ask. At least once.
He reflected, his brow easing rather than creasing.
“I believe that is a difficult question.”
“I am sorry…” Maria said, embarrassed that she had perhaps overstepped. But he interrupted her.
“I try to act as though I am unobserved by him. It is the only way I have discovered to be honest.”
“You talk as though you did not know him well either,” Maria replied in surprise. “But I suppose still better than me, who did not know him at all.”
“It was a distant relationship,” Nicholas admitted with a sigh. “When he was most himself, he disliked being contradicted; he disliked the appearance of owing anyone anything; he disliked company that did not remind him of his consequence. It may be that these are common tastes among men.”
“And our mother?”
“Spoke to him as one speaks to a duty that must be managed,” he said quietly. “She possessed considerable poise. It served her.”
“Were they happy?” she said.
“At first,” he said. “They married for love. Everyone called it a love match. They liked being seen as the pair that surprised the world. It pleased them to have the story told that way.”
“And after the beginning?”
“After,” he said, “the story had to be performed. The marriage changed its use.”
“Did he love her?” Maria asked. She felt suddenly afraid to know the answer, though.
“He loved how they looked together,” Nicholas said. “He admired her effect, I suppose.”
“And did she love him?”
“She believed in being married to him,” he said. “She treated the form as a duty and bore it as a good woman will. There was strength in it, but it was not a happy strength.”
Maria drew a breath and kept her hands still.
“So it was not a happy marriage then?”
“Would you really wish to know the truth?” he challenged.
Maria steadied herself and braced herself with courage.
“Perhaps,” she nodded. “It is better to know the truth than to be fed a lie.”
“There were lovers. Over the years. They came and went.”
“You saw them?” Maria said, shocked.
“I saw enough,” he said. “A boy in such a house learns footfalls he would rather not know.”
She was quiet for a moment.
“Then I am relieved I was not here for it,” she said.
“I am relieved,” he answered, “that you were spared.”
“What were they like together,” she asked, “when there were no guests?”
“He kept the weather,” Nicholas said. “If he was pleased, the day went on. If he was not, everyone adjusted. She kept the form. She made things smooth. She did not show hurt. That, too, became part of the form.”
“Did they quarrel?” Maria asked.
“Rarely aloud,” he said. “He disliked scenes.”
“And you, as a boy? Where did you stand in it?”
“Where I was placed,” he said.
“You feared him.”
“Yes.”
Maria looked at the fire.
“When did their marriage change? Was there a moment?”
“No single moment,” Nicholas said. “A series of adjustments, I would assume. The lovers were a routine occurrence by the time I was old enough to know anything.”
Maria nodded slowly. “And he… why the lovers?”
Now that she had started to question things, she did not know how to stop herself.
“Because he would not be denied what he wanted,” Nicholas said. “And because it was easy for him to find applause. There was always someone to open a door and look the other way.”
“Did anyone ever speak to him about it?”
“Not in a way he would hear,” Nicholas said. “
“I keep wondering what would have become of me here. If I had grown up in that house,” she finally admitted out loud.
“He would have arranged your days and your prospects. If you bore it, he would have called it success,” Nicholas replied with ease.
“Then I am spared one kind of training,” she said. “I will not call it luck, but I will call it a mercy.”
“Yes,” he said.
She lifted her chin a little.
“I did not come to accuse him through you. He is past my questions. But now that I know, I do not wish to repeat their marriage.”
“Then you will not,” he said.
“How does one keep from it?” She tried to smile and did not quite manage it. “It seems too easy to fall into shape.”
“By staying small and steady,” he said. “And hoping to have a healthier marriage than those that were before you.”
“Can one learn that without seeing it?” she asked, suddenly vulnerable.
“Yes,” he said. “It is learnable work. I am still learning it.”
She looked at him, lost in thought.
“Forgive me,” she said, after a moment. “I am clumsy with these questions. I have never had a man to ask.”
Nicholas shifted.
“If there is awkwardness, we may keep it between us until it wears itself out.”
“I am not certain mine ever does,” she said, sighing.
“You do not need to prevent me from seeing it. I have seen it too often from the other side.”
“I have been told that men like him are inevitable. I would be grateful if you would tell me they are not.”
In earnest, she was thinking about Stephen again. Would their marriage follow the same path? The thought of him taking on other lovers made her shudder, and the thought of herself… no, she did not even want to consider the possibility.
“I cannot promise you what the world will not allow,” Nicholas said. “But I can tell you that habit is not fate. I do not live as he lived. There are others who do not.”
She turned that over.
“Do you forgive him?” she asked.
Nicholas sighed loudly at that.
“I cannot say I have done so,” he said. “But I try not to carry their burdens anymore. I suggest you do the same.”
“Would you have preferred to know me then?” Maria asked. “As a child, I mean. Perhaps we might have been closer if we had begun earlier.”
“I have thought of it,” he said.
“Because it cannot be helped,” she said in agreement.
“Yes. But we cannot change any hour that has gone. But, yes. I would have liked to know you sooner.” He added, more steadily, “I am grateful you are here now. Safe and with your family.”
“Thank you,” She sat a little straighter.
She tried a new question.
“What were you like as a child?”
He looked faintly surprised, then almost amused.
“Mischievous,” he said. “Quite a handful, if you ask those who knew me then.”
Maria’s mouth curved despite herself.
“Such things were not permitted at the nunnery. Mischief was a fault that made more faults. We were told it split the soul into smaller, weaker pieces.”
“That is strong language for a broken rule,” He winced a little.
“It was strong enough to do its work,” she said. “I kept far away from it. Far away from laughter, sometimes, if I suspected it would lead in that direction.”
“I am sorry for that,” he said quietly. “Every child should have a little room for foolishness.”
“I am learning late,” she said.
“Learning late still counts,” he answered. “I am learning late as well. It is not the same skill, but it is not a lesser one. In earnest, a part of me remains glad that you did not grow up in this environment. I do not wish the anguish on you. ”
She studied his face and then said, very plain, “You truly are relieved I did not live here.”
“I am,” he answered. “I would not have had you watch people come and go as if the house were a corridor. It was hard enough as a boy. For a girl…” He stopped, shook his head. “No. I am glad you did not learn those lessons.”
“That is thoughtful of you,” She nodded once. “Thank you.”
Nicholas shifted as if deciding whether to risk one more honest sentence.
“Maria,” he said, voice lower, “I would like us to be closer. I am not very good at the work of it. I may say too little or too much. But I would rather try than keep a proper distance and call it respect.”
Awkwardness rose between them. She felt it; so did he.
“I should like that,” she said finally, careful. “I do not promise to know what to do. I am still learning what brothers are.”
“As am I,” he let out a laugh.
Silence came again, but it was lighter than before. She stood; he rose as well.
“I have taken a great deal of your time,” she said.
“You have taken none that I wanted elsewhere,” he replied.
“Thank you, Nicholas.” She steadied her gloves. “For telling me.”
“If more questions come, do not polish them first.”
“I will try,” She gave a small nod.
He half-offered his hand, then thought better of it and let it rest on the chair back. “Shall I walk you to the door?”
“No,” she said, with an apologetic smile. “I came by myself. I should like to go the same way.”
“As you please.” He hesitated.
She turned and went to the door. The latch clicked cleanly. She did not hurry, but she did not look back either.
As she walked, her thoughts fell into order.
I want a family, she thought. She would not repeat their parents’ mistakes.
Nicholas had chosen another weather. She could, too. She could be different.