Susan’s eyes grew wide in horror, wondering if she were a girl in reduced circumstances, and if Mrs. Butters meant to tie her to a stool and have her stitch away from sunrise until midnight as so many seamstresses did. As though anticipating her, Mrs. Butters added, “My relations, the Blodgetts, will offer training, comfortable working conditions, adequate light and air, and healthy meals, in exchange for diligent labour and exemplary skills. They are partnering with Mr. Wilberforce’s Society for Bettering the Condition and Increasing the Comforts of the Poor, to create a workplace founded upon humane principles.”
“This all sounds most commendable, ma’am, and there are many young persons who—”
“These young persons will require persons not quite as young, to supervise and train them, and I had proposed your name, Fanny…”
“Oh! Mrs. Butters! You must excuse me, I could not undertake such a responsibility,” Fanny responded, almost automatically.
A piercing look from Mrs. Butters.
“Do you mean to say, you do not care to accept this offer of employment, or you feel yourself unequal to it?”
“Well, I…. I…. “
“Do not decide now. Consider it. I was under the impression that you would like something to do with yourself every day, now that you are neither a governess nor pretending to be married. And I have told my relations that you could not be expected to work the long hours customary in the trade, but nevertheless your talents could be put to good use.”
“Thank you, ma’am, I am most obliged to you. I would like to learn more of your scheme—I suspect that you, in your benevolence, were actually the one who proposed the entire idea.”
* * * * * *
Edmund’s wife was waiting for him at Thornton Lacey when he returned from Everingham, as the cheerful housemaid informed him at the door— “So good to see the mistress again sir, I’m sure you were missing her, you were that quiet when she was away.”
She was not in the parlour, which was still in a half-finished state, so he climbed the crooked staircase to their bedchamber and wondered, would she be penitent? accusing? conciliatory? And he found her sitting on their bed, looking more beautiful than he had ever remembered, clad only in a flowing silk brocade wrap with her hair unbound. She waited for him to close the door behind him, then commenced eagerly, in her low, soft voice:
“Edmund, you remember when I said that selfishness must always be forgiven, because there is no hope of a cure. I could not bear to share your love with anyone, not even your foolish little cousin.”
“Mary, this estrangement is dreadful to my feelings, and contrary to everything we looked and hoped for in the marriage state,” Edmund began, suddenly feeling like a pompous fool. He paused and started again. “But first, Mary, may I say to you how sincerely, how deeply sorry I am about Henry’s accident.”
Mary dissolved into tears and Edmund caught her up in his arms and held her while she wept. It was some time before she could speak again.
“Edmund, I cannot bring myself to leave you. I need you still. Please tell me that you still need me. I am your wife.”
“Can we begin again, Mary? Could it be possible for us to forget the past and begin again? The most important bond between a husband and wife is mutual confidence, sympathy and trust. We took a sacred vow before God to be loyal to one another. What can this mean, but to be truthful, to have no secrets worth the name, no reservations, no holding back.”
Mary stirred restlessly and slipped out of his arms. “What, Edmund, are you going to lecture me, at such a time?
“When we were last in the same room, Mary, I had just learned that you had been lying to me, repeatedly, about my cousin. A wife who will lie to her husband about one particular, may well lie about many other things—or so he will come to fear. Doubt will inevitably chase away—”
Mary sprang from her seat, her countenance changing from supplication to disdain, with a rapidity that startled Edmund. “Tell me, Edmund, if you cannot trust me, why do you trust Fanny? She deceived everyone, did she not, by pretending to marry my brother? She lied to you, to Sir Thomas, to your sister, to the world. Have you forgiven her? Do you respect and trust her? There is no question, is there? She may do as she pleases, so long as she fawns on you like a lapdog. She feeds your vanity and you will not hold her to account.”
Edmund did not need to be reminded that his wife was one who, in flights of passion, made remarks which she was likely to regret when her temper cooled. He abhorred this type of temperament, even as he acknowledged her skill in inflicting deeper wounds in every sentence.
He turned away, determined not to dispute with her when she had lost her composure so utterly, and to seek the solitude of his study downstairs. Again, like quicksilver, his wife changed from resentment to contrition — so quickly, that he had to doubt the sincerity of any of her feelings—did she love him? Could she love?
“Please, Edmund.” She stood, beautiful and beguiling, and gracefully untied his cravat. She had started to tug at his sleeves, to remove his jacket, and he grabbed one of her arms to stop her. At his touch, she submitted and looked up at him pleadingly. He was seized with desire for her, and at the same time he despaired, for he was thoroughly convinced that he had been deceived as to the character of his wife. But had she deceived him, or had he deceived himself? And if he had suffered as a result, had she not
