She stands there torn between heart-wrenching sadness and a deep, pervasive feeling of emptiness. Like all the good feelings she’s ever had have left and now there’s just a hollow pit in her chest.
How does she move on from here?
The door opens, but she can’t quite tear her eyes away from the pile of clothing on the floor—from the dress she was wearing when the sky caved in.
It’s only when hands gently loosen her laces that she seems to come back to herself. Mrs. Gilpe turns her by the shoulders, wrapping her up tight, and Gwen presses her face into her shoulder. Mrs. Gilpe sways them side to side, like she used to when Gwen was small. She’s always been stern and uncompromising, but in these moments, she’s soft and warm and so so safe.
“Come, let’s get you into something comfortable. Sally’s bringing up your favorite biscuits.”
Gwen feels a genuine smile spread over her face and lets Mrs. Gilpe help her put on a fresh petticoat. They layer an old housedress on top, comfortable and worn. And by the time they’ve gotten her hair down, Gwen feels like she can breathe again.
Mrs. Stelm slips into the room with a tray of warm biscuits and tea for three. Bless both of them. “Your father thought you could use some comfort,” Mrs. Stelm explains as she places everything onto the bedside table and shoos Gwen onto her bed.
Gwen smiles as Mrs. Stelm and Mrs. Gilpe climb up as well, reminding her of when she was small and they would tell stories. Mrs. Gilpe rarely joined them, but it was always so lovely when she did. Comfortable and close and like family.
Mrs. Stelm holds out a biscuit, and Gwen takes it, biting into the buttery shortbread and spilling crumbs onto her dress. She feels her shoulders come down as she chews and gamely takes another one when offered. The food does help. After a few minutes and some gulps of tea, she feels almost human again.
The sadness hasn’t lifted, but she feels like she’s back inside her own head now, can feel the rise and fall of her chest and the soft mattress beneath her. She sinks against her pillows, pulling her knees up to her chest as she looks at Mrs. Gilpe and Mrs. Stelm, who simply watch her with glum smiles.
“A little better?” Mrs. Stelm asks.
Gwen nods. “Thank you.”
Mrs. Gilpe smiles and holds out a hand for Mrs. Stelm to pass her a biscuit. Mrs. Stelm rolls her eyes, grabbing three and passing only one to Mrs. Gilpe. Gwen laughs.
“Spoilsport,” Mrs. Gilpe mutters.
Mrs. Stelm giggles and breaks the third cookie in half, passing that over as well. Mrs. Gilpe grins and leans in to kiss her cheek. It’s so fast Gwen could have missed it, but Mrs. Stelm blushes a little, the two of them sitting closer than she realized. They’re happy together, serving and sleeping together. Living this life they’ve found a way to share.
There must be a way she and Beth could be together like this, always.Companionsshe hears in her head and frowns. She doesn’t want them together around Montson. She just wants them together.
“Do you regret it?” Mrs. Gilpe asks, the question loud against the quiet room.
“No,” Gwen says, the answer immediate and firm. She wouldn’t give up last night for anything. To know that joy—even if this is the heartache she feels forever as a result—it’s worth having known it even once.
“Then it’s worth the pain,” Mrs. Gilpe says easily.
“You’ll know happiness again,” Mrs. Stelm adds. “Companions can build their lives as they please. Your father would surely finance a few more years for you before you find a match, and perhaps you could settle close to Miss Demeroven.”
Gwen feels her stomach clench. It’s one thing to grapple with the idea of Beth and Montson together. She doesn’t think she can bear the thought of herself with a man. She doesn’t think she could ever—the way Beth touched her, the way it felt—she couldn’t do that with a man, couldn’t feel that with a man.
“There are worse ways to live a happy life,” Mrs. Gilpe adds.
Gwen sighs. “It’s not fair,” she says, wincing at how petulant and petty she sounds. She’s no child.Fairis not something she’s ever expected out of the world.
But she didn’t expect Beth either. Didn’t expect to feel this way. To know that beyond simply being a woman—second class, chattel, property—she could feel even less like a person in the eyes of society. These wants, these new needs, no one will respect them, save the women on her bed and her father.
“Your father loves you,” Mrs. Stelm says. “And we love you. And no, it isn’t fair. But you won’t be thrown in prison.”
“That’s a grim silver lining,” Mrs. Gilpe agrees.
Gwen blows out a breath, trying to find her resolve and her fortitude. Tries to find some gratitude that this only costs herher happiness, not her life. But all she wants to do is rail at God for the injustice of all of it. Of a title she can’t inherit, of a husband she needs for security, of a love that cannot exist and a lover who will belong to someone else in far too many ways.
She searches for words and comes up short, exhausted and overwhelmed by it all. Mrs. Stelm smiles softly and hands her another biscuit, waiting until Gwen takes her first mouthful.
“So was it wonderful?”
Gwen chokes, spluttering as she coughs. Mrs. Gilpe whacks at Mrs. Stelm, all three of them laughing.
