by Moira Brennan
"Lying makes a problem part of the future; truth makes a problem part of the past."
-Rick Pitino [American basketball coach]
1880 - London, England
The door slammed shut behind him. Although the drizzling rain was cooling to his heated face, Edward Ellingsworth ducked his head further into the warmth of his collar and hurried farther away from the young man's club he had once enjoyed attending. But no more. He made a mental note to rescind his membership in the near future.
A gloved hand on his shoulder interrupted his thoughts. Edward whirled, a scowl on his face, walking stick clenched tightly in his hand. "What?" he all but snarled.
The younger man backed away, startled. Even in the gloomy weather, his eyes shone a cheerful blue but as he looked at Edward, they were strangely clouded. "I say, Edward, are you feeling all right?" He hesitated but pressed forward. "Your behavior back there was quite…."
"In bad taste? Unacceptable? Vulgar?" offered Edward, his cheeks flushed angrily. "Shall I go on, Colin?" he asked sarcastically, dimly aware that his gentle mother would have winced to hear his voice…. Good heavens… No! He mustn't think of her now…
"Not at all!" protested Colin McKenna. "It was out of character for you, yes, but… well, I didn't expect that. Not this soon after…." He trailed off but they were both finishing the sentence in their heads: "the accident." For a long moment, the rain fell silently between them, the clamor of a usual London afternoon fading in the background: horse hooves clopping on the slick stone pavement, news boys shouting out lurid headlines, street peddlers hawking their wares, and above all this, the ponderous gong of Big Ben sounding the third hour of the afternoon.
Edward sighed, his shoulders slumping wearily. "I never should have said anything about that wretched dream," he said quietly. The rain had soaked through his hat and was now dripping steadily off of his nose.
Colin didn't argue. "I'm sure it was nothing, Edward… We all know you're a good chap… not the sort to… to do that sort of thing…" He trailed off again, uncomfortable. "Are you going to tell Miss Maddock?" he asked suddenly.
Edward stiffened. "Don't be a fool, Colin. She's my sister's governess!" he hissed.
Colin shrugged as if to say, "what does that matter?"
"Besides," continued Edward, feeling the need to defend himself suddenly. "She's too educated for my tastes. A woman shouldn't have the… stubbornness and… and audacity to say and do the things she does."
Colin smiled. "But she has quite a pretty face, does she not? I've heard the lads say a few things-"
"What! What have they said?" Edward all but pounced on Colin. But seeing his friend's gleeful smile, realized that he had given himself away. He backed away, calming himself.
"Catherine--Miss Maddock is a servant, Colin. 'Twould not do for her to be harboring attentions for me… nor I for her." Edward checked his pocket watch and grasped his walking stick firmly. "I must be going, Colin. Mother insists on my presence at tea. Good day." Without waiting to see Colin's response, Edward strode off, his steps purposeful despite his sodden footwear.
Finally, he reached the street where his father's house stood straight and proud even with the black mourning wreath hung on the door and the black curtains darkening the windows. It was one of the largest homes on the block and still well kept despite the master's untimely death and the subsequent deterioration of the mistress's health. Edward opened the door, ambivalent feelings of relief and anxiety assailing him. A large ornate mirror draped with black crepe hung on the wall right across from the doorway mocked what he had once been. His face had lost some of its youthfulness, lines of worry starting to appear at the corners of his mouth where his perpetual grimace held the skin taunt. His once handsome brown eyes were clouded, his eyebrows furrowed, even his usually wild mop of unruly curls seemed to weep as they dripped steadily onto the rug. Edward tried to ignore the mirror. It was still not too long ago that he hadn't recognized the face in it…
"Good afternoon, Master Edward. Is everything alright?" asked a prim, carefully modulated voice that Edward had known since he was a child. The man's back was slightly stooped with age but his hands were steady and his eyes were clear. He was in black mourning livery, and would be for an entire year as the rest of the household would be. The death of a family member demanded such necessities, or rather, Society did.
"I'm fine, Cummins, I just decided to come home early today," replied Edward, conjuring up a reassuring smile for the old and faithful butler as Cummins dutifully removed his dripping coat and hat, tsking good-naturedly the whole time. "How is Mother today?" he asked quietly, glancing quickly into the nearby open door of the parlor to ascertain that it was empty: it was.
The sparkle in Cummins's eyes faded somewhat. "The same, sir," he replied quietly. "She persistently keeps up a running prattle about Master Charles, God rest his soul, as if he were still alive whenever anyone is around to hear her."
Edward didn't reply but the way the shadows darkened on his face was enough.
"Shall I draw you a hot bath, sir? You'll want to get out of those clothes. They're positively soaked through!" Edward surrendered to the ministrations of the faithful servant and was surprised to realize that he did feel better; the hot water warmed him up and eased the tension that knotted his muscles. But it wasn't to last. He had just gotten dressed when Cummins came and told him quietly that Mother was up and was waiting for him to come to tea. Inhaling deeply, he nodded and set his face into a smile that felt more like a grimace.
"Don't dawdle, Edward, dear, Miss Maddock and I have been waiting impatiently." Dorothy Ellingsworth was still a beauty in her middle age, only the slight shifting of her eyes and the constant fluttering of her hands convinced the observer that something wasn't quite right with her.
"Yes, Mother. I'm sorry. Good afternoon, Miss Maddock," replied Edward dutifully, sitting himself down across the table from Catherine Maddock, the governess he had hired to take care of his younger sister since it became obvious that his mother was no longer capable. Catherine was a slim young woman with dark brown hair styled simply and small grayish colored eyes that flashed like storm clouds when angry. Her nose turned slightly upward, so that when she faced you it gave the impression that she was bracing herself for a battle of wits. Her arms were shapely, however, and her hands were gentle. Edward had never heard her speak with undue harshness towards his sister.
"Good afternoon, Mr. Ellingsworth," she replied quietly, reaching for the silver teapot on the tray.
"You don't have to do that, Catherine, my dear," Dorothy said, pulling a nearby bell. A maid appeared shortly and began to serve in Catherine's place. "You're Edward's special guest and I will have you treated as such."
Catherine flushed, as did Edward. "Mother," he began gently, placing his hand over her small one resting on the table. "Miss Maddock is the governess I hired for Lissy. Remember?"
Dorothy's forehead wrinkled in worried thought. "She is? Why would Lissy need a governess? She's only five years old!" She withdrew her hand from Edward's and twisted them together in her lap.
"Mother, Lissy is nearly ten years old. I can't be here all the time to watch her and you… you're much too busy, Mother, to have to worry about her."
"Silly boy!" Dorothy laughed but the sound was empty. "Your father will help take care of her… By the by, where is that man? He should be here any moment now. He promised to take me to the park today--"
"Mother-"
"He needs to have a word with the gardener as well. Those rose bushes are getting too large-"
"Father is dead!" shouted Edward, standing up abruptly. "Don't you understand? He's gone! He's never coming back!" His mother's face wilted and she suddenly looked very old and very tired. Edward turned sharply and left the room.
He was staring into the dying embers of the fire in the library when he heard a soft step behind him. "Go away, Cummins. I wish to be left alone," he said stiffly, throat tight. When he did not hear anyone retreat, he looked up, a reprimand on the edge of his tongue. It died away when he saw Catherine Maddock standing there, her eyes sad but brave. Edward looked away.
"What do you want, Miss Maddock?" he asked, a little more tersely than he had intended. She stiffened slightly, her mouth turning down at the edges.
"What I want, Mr. Ellingsworth, has nothing to do with the matter at hand," she replied crisply. She closed the door behind her and walked closer to him.
"Edward," she said softly. "What's wrong with you? You've never been harsh with your mother before…"
"I am not feeling myself today," he said, not facing her, convincing himself that it wasn't entirely a lie.
She withdrew slightly, a hurt frown puckering her usually smooth forehead. "But, Edward-"
"It is none of your concern, Miss Maddock," Edward snapped. "Your job is to teach Lissy, nothing more and if you cannot even fulfill that simple duty than you shall be replaced. Is that clear?"
Catherine's face went perfectly still and pale. She might have been set in stone with two glittering jewels for eyes. "Yes, sir," she replied. He heard the rustling of her skirts and she was gone.
Edward clenched his fist around an empty decanter sitting on the mantelpiece, wishing for the blissfulness of drunken oblivion but he knew that not even alcohol would deaden his pain… and terror. He began to pace, arguing with himself. He couldn't possibly tell Catherine about his dream; it was bad enough that she knew about the accident. Edward ran a hand through his hair. The accident was his shadow, a never-ending nightmare that had taken his father's life, Edward's memory, and his mother's sanity. He remembered little of the accident itself and the events that led up to it. He remembered only being in a closed carriage with his father. There was a loud noise, some shouting and then he remembered no more until waking up at home on a settee in the parlor, his head swathed in bandages and Lissy hovering over him with tears on her fair cheeks. It had taken time but Edward had gradually regained his memory; his past, growing up in London, his adolescent years with the stern tutor Mr. Rivers. But his father had died in the accident and the shock of it had sent Dorothy Ellingsworth into a downward spiral of instability. Not only was her mind going, but her body was too. She seemed to have lost the will to live even though she seemed to believe that her husband was still alive.
He heard Lissy's innocent laughter from somewhere in the house and he shuddered. He dare not tell Catherine about the dream.
Edward sat up straight in his bed, gasping for air. He'd had the nightmare again, the elusive memory that came back in brief snatches that filled him with utter horror. The hands… his hands… covered in blood… the fear, nausea and a receding fury… his father's body… Edward broke out into a cold sweat. His large room seemed suddenly stifling, claustrophobic. Without taking his usual care to groom himself, he dressed quickly and pulled on a long coat with trembling fingers. Out onto the street he strode, with long purposeful steps that held no direction. He walked without seeing where he was going, several times almost running into other early rising people on the sidewalk. One look at his pale face, firmly set jaw, and glittering eyes was enough for them to mumble an apology and mutter the rest of their way about the quality of people on the streets these days. After what seemed like hours of meaningless wandering, he blinked and found himself outside the door to Catherine's flat. Lissy had told him the night before that her governess had seemed sad and had wanted to stay in her own rooms instead of the ones she kept at the Ellingsworth home like any normal governess.
The door opened to reveal her landlady and Edward realized with a start that he must have knocked and not been aware of it. The landlady, looking somewhat indignant at the early morning visitor, glared at him a moment and then spluttered in surprise as Edward blindly pushed past her. His long strides quickly found Catherine's door and he banged on it with his fist, ignoring the threats of the landlady. Catherine's door opened a crack and she peered out, blinking groggily and clutching a robe around her neck.
"What do you want?" she asked, frowning in confusion as she saw Edward, not bothering with the necessities of conventional greetings.
"I need to speak with you," he replied urgently, his throat tight. Catherine looked at his face, seeing the urgency in his eyes and nodded, opening the door wider. The landlady's threats had now turned into distant cries of "scandal" and "why me? I'm a decent woman!" Catherine pressed a sovereign into the woman's fat palm and the wailing stopped immediately. "This is a friend, Mrs. Woolum, and we'd appreciate some tea."
"Right away, Miss…" Mrs. Woolum, although somewhat placated by the coin, nonetheless opened her mouth to deliver a lecture on letting strange men into one's rooms but Catherine shut the door firmly behind her. Edward was still standing just inside the door; he had never been inside before and now wondered at how small and sparse her current living arrangements were. This was the sitting room with only two wooden chairs opposite a scarred table in front of a fireplace whose ashes were still smoldering. The door to the bedroom was still open and he could see her small bed, its sheets rumpled and tossed as Catherine had hastily risen to see what lunatic was calling at this hour. Edward smiled bitterly.
Catherine tied her faded robe a bit more securely over her plain white nightdress and prodded at the reluctant fire with a poker. Edward stared at her with growing irritation; how could she worry about warmth when his entire life was crumbling before his eyes? But she didn't say a word as she quietly turned the lamp up a bit higher and took the tray from Mrs. Woolum who had entered, fair bursting with badly hidden curiosity. Catherine shooed her away and listened at the door to make sure she had gone. Setting the tray on the table, Catherine poured a cup of tea for Edward first and then herself. Her hair was down in a long brown braid with loose wisps trailing across her cheeks making her seem more vulnerable and feminine than he could remember. It merely fed his irritation.
They sat quietly for a few minutes and Edward sipped his tea without tasting it. Catherine sat back, her hands folded in her lap. "To what do I owe the honor of this visit?" she asked quite casually, never taking her eyes from him. Her body, however, was tense, remembering the harshness of his words yesterday afternoon.
"I…" he hesitated.
Catherine waited patiently for him to continue. Edward was annoyed. "Remember the accident? How I lost my memory of that night?" His voice caught and he coughed quickly to cover it. "Fragments of a memory are returning, mostly in nightmares…" He trailed off, feeling the sweat gather on his brow. Catherine frowned and leaned forward slightly but Edward stood abruptly and started pacing in front of the fireplace.
"Edward," she said forcefully. He stopped and looked at her. "What is it?" She no longer looked to be on the defense, she looked worried for him.
He shuddered. "Heaven help me, Catherine, but I have never felt such terror in my life," he whispered hoarsely. With those words that he had spoken, Catherine immediately stood and went to him. She took his hands in her own, holding them tightly. Edward found himself studying them absently. Her hands were slim and he knew that they were extremely gentle hands. He had watched her from a distance a few weeks ago when Lissy had had a slight fever. Her hands had patiently stroked Lissy's forehead, smoothing away the sweat-soaked curls and holding her hand when fever-induced nightmares made the little girl cry out. He shook himself and told her the bits of memory that had kept returning in nightmares.
She gripped his hands. "We will get through this, Edward. I promise you…" Edward felt his load lighten. Just the thought that she would be there every step of the way, encouraging, perhaps sometimes bullying him roused his spirits from their depths of despair and fear. He gripped her shoulders and, without thinking, pressed a gentle kiss to her forehead. Grabbing his coat from the back of the chair, he quickly exited without looking back. If he had he would have seen Catherine gripping the back of her chair with one white-knuckled hand and the other touching her forehead in wonder and longing….
© 2001, 2002 Moira Brennan