CHAPTER FOURTEEN #5
Isabel looked down at her clasped hands, worrying at one ragged thumbnail with the other.
She hadn’t picked at her nails in years, but the habit had returned with a vengeance since the last time she’d seen Constance.
“I have . . .” She took a deep breath, steadying herself.
“I had been working at the tailor’s shop – you know that, that’s why Elizabeth was watching Walter for me.
But Hilda learned of it, and she . . . objected.
So I’ve no cause to go out now, and no reason to ask Elizabeth to mind him. That’s all.”
“It’s not all.” He was watching her closely. “What cause did Hilda have to object?”
“She felt . . .” In spite of everything, a hysterical giggle rose up in her throat.
It would have been so ridiculous, if the consequences hadn’t been so dire.
“It was – it reflected poorly on my character, to be so often visiting a house where –“ She lost control of herself then, and made a noise that was half-laugh, half cough. Matthew looked alarmed. She didn’t blame him. “Constance – Mistress Rykener, the tailor – has a brother who lives with her – Hilda felt that my visits were intended to provide an excuse for assignations with him. And she did not think it – fitting. So . . .” She shrugged. All traces of laughter had left her. “She instructed that, if I were to continue in these visits, I was not welcome to linger under her roof. And, of course, Walter would remain even if I left. So there was no real choice to be made. And now . . .” The thumbnail she’d been worrying at split, a small bead of blood rising from the nail bed.
She watched it with a detached sort of interest, as if it were happening to someone else.
“I have nothing to occasion my going out of the house. So I seldom do. I – suppose I wished for an afternoon’s visit.
For . . . old times’ sake.” She shrugged again. “There’s no more to it than that.”
Matthew was silent. She kept her eyes on her lap, watching the blood from her nail creep slowly down her finger.
If it fell, it would blend into the brown of her dress; there was no cause for concern on that front.
And even if it did stain, what did it matter?
There was nowhere to go and no one to see or judge her for shabby clothes.
At last, Matthew spoke. “It’s all spite.
” When she glanced up, his mouth was set in a line, and his face was reddening – but he wasn’t shouting.
She was glad of that, at least. She didn’t have the strength to pacify him.
“What she says, it’s – she doesn’t believe that.
You know she doesn’t. It’s only an excuse to keep you chained to your place, because she can’t see you happy without wanting to crush it. Of all the churlish, vicious –“
He stopped then, and took a deep breath, as if drawing his anger back into himself. She was so surprised to see it, she almost missed his next question, which was, “What does the tailor – Mistress Rykener – make of all this? Surely she’ll be sorry to lose the benefit of your labour.”
Isabel opened her mouth to reply, then snapped it shut in horror as she felt a sob well up in her throat.
She swallowed convulsively, but it didn’t do any good – her eyes were watering, and her mouth spasmed without her consent.
She only managed to hide it by hastily putting her elbow up on the table and leaning her face against her hand.
Even then, a choked sound escaped her throat, followed by a strangled gasp.
She squeezed her eyes shut, breathing in deeply through her nose in a vain attempt to calm herself. It didn’t work.
“Isabel?” She felt her brother put a tentative hand on her back. “What’s wrong? What did she say? Surely she can’t blame you –“
That sentence, innocently spoken, shattered the remains of her resolve entirely.
She buried her face in both hands, shoulders shaking, little hiccuping sobs leaking out between her fingers in spite of her best efforts.
She didn’t want to think about how her face would look if she raised it.
She couldn’t think of anything else, because if she wasn’t preoccupied with hiding, then her mind returned inexorably to the memory of how Constance had looked at their last meeting – the expression on her face, like Isabel had delivered her a blow to the stomach.
Her parting gift of love before Isabel had torn herself away from her.
Isabel had done that - it was her fault.
She had offered love and companionship and all the while, she had known she was free to offer neither.
She had built a life where she was not free to do anything at all, and she’d lost Constance in the process – and along with Constance, the last bit of happiness she would ever grasp at. And it was her own fault.
She was so preoccupied with her own thoughts, she hadn’t anticipated what Matthew would do next, which was pull her roughly into a hug.
Her immediate instinct was to struggle, but it passed quickly; she didn’t have the strength for it.
She turned her face against his chest instead, letting tears leak from her eyes and soak his tunic, until her body finally stopped shaking with sobs and she was able to breathe deeply again.
Still, she didn’t stir. Part of it was practical – so long as she stayed where she was, Matthew wouldn’t catch sight of her tear-stained face – but a greater part was simple need.
She was tired, so tired and unhappy and lonely, and she needed her brother more than she’d ever realized she could.
Matthew didn’t speak while she cried herself out, or in the quiet moments after as she sniffled and scrubbed her hand over her wet face. When he did speak, his voice was measured. “If she blames you, then she must not know what it is you contend with. Did you ever tell her?”
“I did, at the last,” Isabel mumbled. At last, she sat up, rubbing her hands over her face again. “Before that, I had – alluded to it, I suppose. I did not wish to burden her with my troubles. And I made – promises, or suggestions of promises, that I ought not to have.”
Not for the first time, she thought of Constance in her house – Constance sitting alone at her kitchen table, listening for Peter in case he took a turn – going to bed alone each night, with nothing but a cat for company.
Isabel, at least, had Walter to love; but Constance only had Peter and Jack, and they were both wrapped up in each other.
There was no room in that for another. She had been so relieved to have Constance near, to go and sit with her and talk to her when life with Hilda and the girls had become too much.
She hadn’t thought what it meant to Constance, to have a friend, or a lover.
And she hadn’t thought what it would do to her to have that lover suddenly abandon her.
“It was selfish of me,” she said. “I ought not to have – but we –“ She took a deep breath, measuring her words carefully. She didn’t know how likely Matthew was to guess at the true nature of her relationship with Constance, but it was not a risk she cared to run. “We worked well together, but we also – cared for each other, a great deal. More than we ought to have, really, after a few months’ acquaintance.” She shook her head.
“So, when I announced I would not be returning, she felt the loss – keenly.
We had had discussions about –“ She shook her head.
“We were being foolish – I was being foolish, to encourage it. But we talked of my taking up more work with her after this current job was done – even talked of Walter and I coming to live with her. Foolish, as I said. Hilda would never have allowed it. But I – I allowed myself too much, and then to suddenly retreat and leave her with nothing – if she does blame me, I cannot fault her for it.”
She chanced a look at her brother. His expression was – not what she had expected. She didn’t truly know what she had expected, but it wasn’t this contemplative look. It made her slightly nervous.
“But you wanted to?” he asked. “Go to live with her, I mean? Only – when I’ve offered in the past, you refused.”
In spite of herself, she let out a short laugh. “It’s hardly the same, is it? To – establish a shared household with all having equal shares in the work done isn’t at all like living on charity. Besides, you have Elizabeth, and Marian – I would have been in the way.”
“I would not consider it charity,” he said, “to house my sister, whose actions secured me this house and the trade I ply – which in turn is what allowed me to marry and have a family of my own. I should think that no less than my duty, given all that you sacrificed for me.”
She had never really thought of matters like that before.
Yes, she had given a great deal for her brother’s sake – but hadn’t that, as well, been no less than her duty?
Just as caring for Walter was her duty now?
The idea of anyone owing her something was simply foreign to her nature; it would never have occurred to her, absent Matthew’s prompting.
“All the same,” she said, “the two are not comparable. It is the difference between – if you had found yourself in a bad way, and come to live with me while I was married, it would not be at all like you marrying Elizabeth, do you see?” That, again, was brushing up against the truth of what Constance had meant to her – still did mean to her, for all that her feelings were now useless.
But she hoped at least that it would help Matthew understand.