“Nonsense,” Suzanne let out a most inelegant laugh. “You have been a widow these four years, dear friend. It is perfect. We can keep the cut more modest if you wish, and you can temper it with a wrap in a quieter colour.”
Madame Dubois raised a thoughtful finger to her chin. “I recall a gown made for a lady of similar colouring. It is plain that madame has not had a new gown in some while. Perhaps we might see whether it will do. I can have it altered and sent to Godfrey House in a trice.”
Elizabeth consented and soon stood before the tall looking glass in Madame Dubois’s trying room, where a pair of Argand lamps cast a soft, even light over the red and cream gown she wore. It was cut far more daringly than she had ever worn, revealing more of her décolletage than she liked. Elbow-length sleeves bore embroidery at the hems which climbed towards her shoulders; the neckline was similarly embellished, and the same delicate thread traced flowers, vines, and leaves from the hem part-way up the skirt.
“You look ravishing.” Suzanne’s eyes brightened with pleasure. “Elizabeth, I have never seen you look so well. I have an elegant pearl and ruby necklace that would be perfect with this gown. ’Tis indeed a good thing Henry loves me so dearly, or I should fear you might turn his head.”
Elizabeth laughed, hearing the humour in her friend’s voice and knowing she jested. “Then I shall take it.” Her boldness seemed to amuse the modiste, who called for her assistants to pin the seams for alteration and then helped Elizabeth back into her own gown. Heart lifted by that first venture, Elizabeth made several more spirited selections and quitted theestablishment having ordered ten new gowns, with gloves, slippers, ribbons, and combs to complement each.
“Very well done.” Suzanne congratulated Elizabeth in the quiet of the carriage. The latter felt completely exhausted. Every decision made contrary to what Fiennes would have allowed had cost her some of her strength. She longed to rest—and for a quiet afternoon with Elinor. She gave Suzanne a wan smile but spoke no more.
“It will become easier,” her friend assured Elizabeth. “In time, you will not think of him at all when making such choices.”
“I shall have to trust your word.” Yet even as she said it, Elizabeth wondered whether it could everbecome easier.And did she truly wish to continue, knowing how weary rebellion made her?
Suzanne seemed to understand her wish for solitude and went about her own business when they returned to Godfrey House. Elizabeth, however, could not rest. She felt agitated and paced her chambers instead. Elinor was asleep in the nursery, and her mother must have to wait to gather her daughter in her arms.
A sudden impulse seized her. Without pausing to examine it, she caught up her cloak, still wearing her walking boots, and quitted the house without a word to anyone. The way was short, and soon she stood before the dwelling where she had endured her brief marriage.
The door looked just as it had before—so did the polished brass knocker. Mounting the steps, she tapped lightly. It opened almost at once to reveal Harry Frost, the butler she had engaged upon leaving London, that the house might never stand empty when Mrs Heinz returned to her husband each evening. His eyes widened in astonishment at the sight before him.
“Mrs Fiennes!” he exclaimed. “We had no idea…” He broke off, recovering himself at once and stepping smartly aside to admit her.
Elizabeth crossed the threshold. Nothing had changed, yet it all seemed different. The air felt lighter, the rooms less oppressive. Shehad imagined decay and darkness—cobwebs, dust, perhaps even rats. Such fancies had suited the memory of what she had endured within those walls.
“Good day to you, Mr Frost. Is Mrs Heinz available?” she asked kindly after greeting the faithful servant.
“She is, madam. I shall summon her directly.” He took her cloak and bonnet and hastened away.
“Mistress!” Mrs Heinz came towards her, beaming. “Why, what a pleasant surprise! You look lovely, if I may say so.”
Elizabeth managed a ghost of a smile in return. “I am in town staying with Lady Westland. She is to marry, you see, and…” The words trailed off. She owed no explanation here.
“Whatever the cause, we are pleased to see you. You have the reports from Wilkens—is there anything I can do for you?” The good woman’s face shone with pleasure at the sight of her mistress.
“I shall want some tea presently.” Elizabeth paused, observing a glimmer of understanding in Mrs Heinz’s eyes. “There is business I must attend to first.”
“Very good, madam. I shall have Cook prepare something.” With a curtsey and a rustle of skirts, Mrs Heinz withdrew, Mr Frost following.
Left alone, Elizabeth stood a moment in the stillness.That is where I first met Kane and Sloan,she reflected, passing the study door. She stepped within the study. It appeared a normal room, yet its atmosphere pressed on her until she turned away and ascended the stairs to the master’s chamber.
It was cold and dark. The furniture stood shrouded in holland covers, a thoughtful precaution, since the room had not been entered for years. This room still held Fiennes’ personal belongings. Elizabeth went first to the wardrobe. She pulled the protective cloth off and let it drop to thefloor. With both hands, she opened the doors of the large wardrobe. Her husband’s garments still hung within, waiting for a master who would never return.
With sudden resolve, she acted. Elizabeth pulled the coats and shirts by the handful and flung them to the floor. Waistcoats followed; cravats, gloves, and hats soon lay in a heap. The wardrobe stood empty.
At the shaving stand, she paused only to sweep bottles of cologne, soaps, and razors into the pile. The scent rose sharply, turning her stomach. She added other trifles—brushes, papers, trinkets—until only a case of jewelled sleeve buttons and cravat pins remained. Those, she determined, would be stripped of their stones and sold.
Round the room she moved, relentless, until scarcely a trace of the man was left. Yet one shelf still waited. Upon it, beneath a draped cloth, stood the rows of journals and memorandum books she remembered all too well. She approached slowly, with a tremor in her hands. Those volumes held his schemes and cruelties; she had read enough to know how black-hearted he truly was.
With a swift tug, she drew away the cloth and watched as it billowed to the floor. She turned to the cold hearth. Kneeling, she found a few logs and the remnants of old kindling, brittle with age. With unsteady hands, she struck the flint until a spark caught, coaxing flame to life. The faint crackle broke the silence, and shadows began to dance on the walls.
She returned to the shelf and lifted the first stack. One by one, she tore out the pages and cast them into the fire, the covers following after. The smell of burning leather thickened the air. She drew back, a frantic energy rising within her. Back and forth she went—from shelf to fire—fire to shelf, ever faster, feeding the flames until the last journal was consumed.
Exhausted, she sank to the floor, weeping into the carpet. “Why?” Her cry was muffled against the rug. “Why did you take such pleasure intormenting me? You preyed upon my youth and ignorance—upon a foolish girl who first mistook your civility for friendship, which is all I ever wished from you, and robbed me of what should have been mine by right: the chance to grow, to choose, and to love in my own time. My ability to trust—to love—has been materially damaged and has left scars I am only beginning to mend. But you didnotbreak me!”
As she pounded a fist on the floor, arms enfolded her, and Elizabeth recognized Mrs Heinz. “I hate him!” she sobbed. “I hate him so much!” Trembling and aching, she sank into the older woman’s arms, grateful for the comfort they freely offered.
“You are allowed to hurt, mistress,” Mrs Heinz said quietly. “We all saw how he treated you, and you met it so admirably—with such strength. ’Tis dreadful to witness pain and be unable to help.”
