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Chapter Text

Haynes Park was situated on a hillside; an inconvenient position to erect an estate and yet, it was no less impressive for it. Monumental, the manor could be seen from above the treetops that lined the nearby lane, its white-stoned exterior a striking contrast to the countryside surrounding it. Despite harbouring several adjacent fields for agriculture, the farms could not be seen, only the reticent solitude of the building itself and the sloping grassland around it, interrupted solely by the chirping of birds and the faint rustle of leaves. The sight caught Bonnie Donoghue’s eye as she passed, leaning closer to the window to catch a glimpse of its apathetic grandeur.

“That is Haynes Park.”

Bonnie peered over her shoulder, as if she were noting the woman beside her for the first time. Somewhat true; she had hardly paid attention to what was being said. Her companion had struggled to remain silent for the entire journey and with nothing worth listening to, Bonnie had sat in sullen silence. She believed there to be more important matters at hand, or, at the very least, to discuss, but she hadn’t the nerve to say so. Owing her companion a great debt, Bonnie felt the older woman had the right to say whatever she wanted- a fact that Holly Ainsley used to her advantage.

Having been Miss Donoghue’s childhood governess, she had managed retirement before returning years later at the news of the Donoghues’ passing. The couple had died from a smallpox infection whilst Bonnie was studying in Dublin, returning at the end of the year to find herself alone, barely a woman, and with a considerable fortune. Finding her old governess there, she employed her as a companion, though both often wished that were not the case. Not wanting to remain in her parents’ home, isolated with only the staff and Miss Ainsley as company, Bonnie had rented an estate in England by the recommendation of an old school friend. She had ignored the protests, of her friend and of Miss Ainsley, and chose a rural home rather than an apartment in London. The city was of no interest to her.

“The home of the Davers family?” Bonnie inquired, a genuine interest arising for the first time that day.

She quashed the delight she felt, having waited for an opportunity to broach the subject. Certain that Miss Ainsley would notice, there was a preference on the girl’s part that would be left to scrutiny and criticism. Bonnie had hoped that her associate’s broad knowledge of wealthy families would come to be of use, not wanting to explain why this particular home was of interest to her. Fortunate, as Miss Ainsley delighted in nothing more than common hearsay, leaning forward herself to catch a glimpse of the estate.

“Yes, that is correct. The Davers have lived here for five generations, though I believe they originated from Buckinghamshire. A fortuitous circumstance for the town, I should say. Without the Davers, the agricultural business would no doubt plummet- they are at the forefront of this town’s industry and with Lord Davers sadly passing away eleven years ago, it has fallen to the responsibility of the eldest daughter, Yvonne Davers. She is quite the woman.”

Bonnie drew her attention from Miss Ainsley to the window- the manor that lay in the distance, imperious in its precision. Her curiosity for the family was apparent; the feeling was so instinctive that she hardly noticed the honest sentiment that had settled in her expression, the way her gaze lingered. The landscape was beautiful, though she believed the estate to be the most pleasing of all. She expected no less from the likes of Miss Davers. Realising her distraction, Bonnie cleared her throat, humming a wistful agreement.

“Yes, she is.” Having spoken too fervently, her cheeks reddened and she hurried to assure Miss Ainsley that her reaction was nothing out of the ordinary. “What I mean to say is that I have heard of her in passing. She came to Dublin twelve years ago and made quite the scene. My cousin met her there- Louisa? They were invited to dinner by a mutual friend, though I was not invited; I was too young at the time. Louisa had recently come of age and she had many a word to say when it came to Yvonne Davers.” She fell into contemplative silence, attempting a smile when she realised she had done so. “I have been wanting to meet her for quite some time now.”

“I would inquire into an audience for you, but they are private people and dislike being disturbed. They rarely allow for visitors.” This peculiarity offended Miss Ainsley, her hands clasping tightly together as if she had been personally slighted. “Despite their distinction, in fortune and trade, they are rather unusual. I can account for that much.”

A want for privacy seemed a harsh reason to ascribe them as odd, though Bonnie knew that, for the eldest Davers daughter at least, the word was more than fitting. She did not condemn her for it; rather, she was intrigued. During her cousin’s subsequent visit, twelve years previous, she had detailed the fascinating and prominent life that Miss Davers had undertaken, much to the dissatisfaction of everyone else. Louisa seemed to agree with their objection, despite finding the woman charming, but Bonnie had been inspired by her worldly knowledge and vigour for life.

There was little to be said for the wilderness that she had inhabited during her childhood, remaining within the sheltered simplicity of their tower house, and the successive confines of Lough Leane and the desolate landscape that surrounded them. Ethereal in its natural simplicity, there was much to be admired in the castle and its neighbouring lakes, except there was no other person there for miles. Despite belonging to the gentry, the Donoghues were often mistaken for labourers and recluses. The family name would undoubtedly be insufficient in serving her at her new home, assured that the presence of an Irish neighbour would be unsettling, even with the knowledge of her stature and dowry. To think that Miss Davers was to be her neighbour imbued her with inexplicable relief.

Bonnie repeated her concerns to her companion, neglecting to divulge her thoughts on Miss Davers. In response, Miss Ainsley snorted. If she were making light of the situation, she was doing a poor job of it, and her large hand slapped down on Bonnie’s knee, a gesture she did not appreciate.

“Oh, my dear, you have much to learn. A young girl as comely as you and with the fortune that you have inherited… Once you are wed, nobody shall care.”

Marriage ensured that she would occupy an English name and with it, a position within the English aristocracy. Bonnie did not care for the name nor the stature, but in her saying as much, she would only serve to offend Miss Ainsley, who held great ambitions in her potential union. Her reasons for not wanting marriage would be questioned and she would find herself considered peculiar in her own right, a prospect that terrified her. Miss Ainsley would surely have a stroke if she were to hear Bonnie’s reasoning for leasing an estate directly in the heart of Bedfordshire, a decision that had baffled friends and relatives alike.

Obscured by the grove which aligned the lane, Haynes Park drifted from view, despite Bonnie’s efforts to keep the manor in sight. Its striking white and black exterior was difficult to miss but within seconds, it had disappeared behind the tree tops. Disappointed, Bonnie withdrew, her back thudding against the carriage wall as she returned to irritable silence. Her earlier fascination was altogether gone, though that did not mean she thought any less of the estate they had left behind.

In her agitation, she heard nothing of what Miss Ainsley said, staring obstinately at the black material that lined the carriage wall. Somewhere in the distance, she heeded the sound of a child playing. Bonnie’s curiosity was heightened by the zealous commotion, encouraged to find interest in something other than the interior of the coach. As the carriage drew closer, she hoped to catch a glimpse of the frivolity, finding that, when she did, a splintering sound, nauseating in its intensity, resonated in the otherwise quiet road. The carriage leant sideways, rolling over some object that lay in its path. Bonnie slid into Miss Ainsley’s side, despite her effort to remain upright. Expecting a chastisement, she found none; her companion unnerved into silence. The jolting motion of the carriage was accompanied by a blood-curdling scream and Bonnie felt her pulse quicken, realising the atrocity of what had happened.

The coach came to a halt, the stamping of the horses’ hooves falling silent. From outside, the coachman could be heard shouting, an urgency in his voice that caused Bonnie to stand, crouching underneath the low roof. She flung open the door, her feet landing heavily in the dirt, fragments of grit flurrying around her polished boots and the hem of her skirt. Regardless, the only concern she held was for the boy who lay upon the ground, his unceasing screams resounding in her ears. He was hardly three feet from the carriage, and beside him, the coachman had crouched down to examine the injury. The driver noticed her approach, assuring her that she must return to her seat, an insistence that only served to incense her.

“He needs assistance,” she contended, dropping to her knees. The sight of the boy weeping, his chest heaving sharply, caused her as much distress as he was surely feeling. “He needs it now.”

The coachman was panicked. “The town is some miles away; it is unlikely that we will get to the doctor’s in time. The boy will bleed out.”

His voice lowered towards the end, considerate, even in his alarm, for the boy’s feelings. Bonnie glanced across, seeing the crushed leg that lay limply on the dusted road. She winced at the hint of bone that jutted from beneath his tawny brown trousers, certain, from what she could perceive, that it was protruding from the middle of his thigh. For what she lacked in medical knowledge, Bonnie was sure that the child needed immediate surgery. It would be untrue to think that nothing could be done; Haynes Park was a short distance away, and they would have the tools necessary to care for the boy whilst waiting for the doctor.

She turned to the driver, resolute. “You must go to Haynes Park. Whoever you find first, at the house or at the farm, you must bring them here and have them carry him to the house. Do you understand? We shall concern ourselves with the rest later. From there, we shall call for the doctor.”

He nodded frantically, twisting his cap between trembling hands before clambering to his feet.

“Yes, ma’am.”

The driver almost stumbled in his hurry, though he had a duty to the boy left amidst the dirt; he would not fail him more than he already had. Left alone, Bonnie carefully lifted the boy’s head, assuring him that all was well and that she had sent for help. He whimpered, occasionally crying louder, but he allowed his head to rest on her lap, the thickness of her skirt and undergarments allowing for comfortable padding. From the carriage window, she heard Miss Ainsley exclaim in horror.

“Why, there is blood everywhere! How did we become involved in such a calamity? That man better return post-haste; he must answer for this transgression.”

Bonnie was certain that the boy had played his part, undoubtedly too transfixed in his game to care for the horses that headed his way. Nevertheless, it was a harsh consequence for his momentary distraction. She did not attempt to answer Miss Ainsley, whose head disappeared with a scornful huff. Instead, she continued to soothe the boy, hoping his screams would come to cease. They never did.

Time and Miss Ainsley had a commonality, it seemed, for it was inconsiderate of the boy’s pain, unhurried in the duration it took for someone to arrive. Bonnie felt a faint discomfort in her legs as they stiffened to her position. She knew it was selfish to think of herself, however, when the boy had crushed his leg but her restlessness was borne from concern- for him, mostly, and for the tedious position that she had undertaken.

Relieved, she heard the decrepit creak of a cart, the rattling of its wheels an indication of its frenzy in reaching the boy. Bonnie peered down, her hands that supported his head brushing reassurance with her thumb. She was unsure as to who the individuals were, precisely, but she told the boy that they had come, nonetheless. Observing his leg one last time, she doubted he would recover from the damage, though she trusted he would survive and for her, at least, that brought some solace.

Three men sat atop the cart, her coachman at the back, and beside the handler was a young lady, who, at closer inspection, was merely a girl. She was no less determined, it seemed, for she was the first to leap from her seat, fussing over the boy, repeating his name as if he had forgotten who he was, before realising Bonnie was there. Her hazel gaze met Bonnie’s and she was momentarily bewildered at the sight of her, the astonishment disappearing with a loud whimper from the boy. The girl thanked Bonnie for her assistance, ushering her away, less a request than a demand. From her attire, it was clear that she was the youngest Miss Davers, unthinkable for a plain farmhand to wear such garments. This fact did not perturb Miss Davers, however, as she ordered him to be carried to the cart and taken to her estate. She cared little for the dirt that was smeared across her hands and skirt as she did so, mounting the cart once more to sit beside the boy, only to remember that Bonnie was still standing in the centre of the lane. As for Miss Ainsley, she had remained in the carriage, peering intrusively and unhelpfully from the window.

“Miss Donoghue, I assume?” Miss Davers called across to them. “Your coachman will bring you to Haynes Park and we shall see to the boy there. You are very welcome to stay until we arrange for your carriage to be replaced. It appears that your wheel has been damaged.”

Before Bonnie could answer, the girl had fallen heavily onto her seat, the rose-coloured ruffles of her skirt quivering in response. Neither her nor the men acknowledged Bonnie further, the cart turning and darting down the lane. She watched them leave, remaining where she was, blinking from her reverie at the impatient call of Miss Ainsley. The coachman was waiting too, a nervous sweat beading at his brow. She said nothing when she entered the carriage, reassured to find that her custodian was too anxious to make conversation. They continued their journey in comforting, yet strained, silence, the slight tilt of the splintered wheel making for a precarious excursion.

It had been an aspiration of Bonnie’s, in the past six years, to visit Haynes Park, reciting countless imaginings of how she would first come to be presented to the family, an obscure desire that she could not fully define. She felt it was inevitable that she should visit there and even more so that she would chance across the eldest Miss Davers. In spite of her unremitting fantasies, this option that now presented itself had never occurred to her; this was not the favourable circumstance she had hoped for. Quite the opposite.

Chapter Text

The boy was taken to the servants’ quarters, his unyielding howling passing from the grounds to the underbuilding. Carried from the cart to a bed- kindly submitted by one of the maids who they had passed in the servants’ hall- he was laid down carefully, the farmhands and Miss Davers fussing over him. She would often fixate on the thigh, purely by chance, simultaneously repulsed and inquisitive of the bone that had torn through the skin. Left unattended by the servants and with her mother’s wish that she remain in the house, Penny Davers had taken to exploring the various journals that had been left in her sister’s study, half of which were medical. She was not a nurse, though she believed herself to be one.

“I have asked Mrs Prescott to call the doctor and he is on his way,” she told the men, stepping back from the turmoil that had surrounded the bed. From where she stood, she could see the scattered streaking of blood on the sheets. “Maintain pressure on his upper thigh and do not, under any circumstances, remove it until the doctor is here. We want to prevent any further blood loss.”

They emitted a synchronous response, to which she was satisfied, and she excused herself to speak to their coachman. Finding him in the yard, apologetic in being found smoking- it was not yet his work break- they reached an agreement that he would continue the journey to Miss Donoghue’s residence with their private carriage. Penny was satisfied that she had done all that was necessary, returning upstairs to the drawing room where she was certain her mother would be.

Usually situated in her upper chambers, Lady Davers made an exception for house guests; yet, there was no exemption for business nor pleasure, not even for her daughters. The baroness was disgruntled, uncertain as to why there were visitors in her home. To no avail, Miss Ainsley had tried to clarify the situation but Lady Davers simply became agitated, the slightest improvement to her mood appearing in the form of her daughter. Penny flounced into the drawing room, her short reassurance of the boy’s condition interrupted by her mother.

“I think some brandy will calm our nerves,” Lady Davers stipulated, her long thin cane thrusting outward as she spoke. It gestured sharply in the direction of the drink’s cabinet.

Penny refrained from commenting, knowing that her mother was concerned for her own nerves, more so than the two women who had been involved in the collision. Leaning on the back of the chesterfield, the one which they sat upon, she tilted her head to capture Bonnie’s attention.

“Would you like a drink, Miss Donoghue?”

Startled that she had been asked, Bonnie looked upward, a flustered smile appearing. “Oh, that would…”

“No brandy for Miss Donoghue,” came Miss Ainsley’s objection. “She can hardly stomach it, but I shall be more than happy to have one.”

Penny hesitated, her gaze lingering on her guest as if inquiring as to whether that were true. Bonnie’s smile did not hide her dismay and she turned her attention to her lap, whatever thoughts she had remaining unsaid. Perturbed, Penny watched her a second longer, hoping to offer a solution, but she felt Miss Ainsley watching her and she decided against it. If she were to contradict their visitor, Lady Davers would be incensed.

She went to the cabinet, pouring three glasses from the decanter. From behind, she could hear Miss Ainsley blathering to her mother. What Lady Davers had to say, for once, was not expressed and she sat in pensive silence. Wrapped in her white shawl, her dour expression was the only part of her that was not concealed, her pewter grey skirt barely covering the wheeled seat that she sat upon. Blinking slowly, she may have neglected all that was said by the governess; her impassiveness made for uncertainty.

“When I thought there was no hope- poor Bonnie having to sit with the wretched thing- there she came. How quickly she rushed to help him and for a moment, she looked so courageous. She was a sight, I tell you.”

In hearing this tale, Lady Davers did not seem to realise that Miss Ainsley was referring to her daughter. She stared at the woman, the only indication that she was alive being in her quick movement when the brandy was offered to her. Her thin fingers hooked around the glass, her translucent skin revealing the veins that punctuated her hand. Neither she nor Miss Ainsley noticed that three glasses had been poured, one left at the cabinet. Both sipped their drinks, Lady Davers smacking her lips together in satisfaction.

Penny watched them, peering down at Bonnie a moment later, an implied understanding passing between them. She had come to stand behind the two, hoping that a closeness between the guests would allow for conversation. Not that it appeared to matter- Miss Ainsley began again, indifferent to the brandy she had been given when there was a story to tell.

“Miss Davers, of all people!” she exclaimed, chuckling to herself. “I could not believe my very eyes. We were in luck, I thought, for there is no better reassurance than knowing that the Davers have come to aide us.”

Flattered, Penny beamed, her fingers gripping onto the back of the guest’s seat in the hope that her mother would be pleased in hearing such admiration. Lady Davers said nothing and what Miss Ainsley mentioned next served to undermine Penny’s heroic deed.

“Why, when she came up the hill, she could have been mistaken for her sister. Miss Yvonne Davers has always had an aptitude for gallantry, so I’ve heard; a feature that I very much admire in her.”

At the mere mention of the eldest sister, Bonnie raised her gaze from her lap to the woman beside her, eyes widening. She craned her neck forward in a way that suggested she was trying to hear better, resolved to heed each word that was said. Behind them, Penny ground her teeth, irate that, even in her sister’s absence, she was compared to Yvonne. Her resentment went unnoticed- Bonnie was preoccupied, Miss Ainsley was still talking, and as for Lady Davers, she may as well have stayed in her room for the contribution she made to the conversation.

“Speaking of Yvonne, where is she currently residing?” Miss Ainsley inquired.

Bonnie’s attention flickered between her custodian and Lady Davers, incapable of deciding who deserved her consideration in the matter. Lady Davers, on the other hand, was abruptly forced into the conversation, pausing in her attempt to finish the brandy.

“Yvonne?” She scoffed sharply, a sideways shift of her eye testifying to her feelings on the matter. “That mountain air must have affected her brain; she seems to have forgotten she has a mother.” A strained silence ensued, which encouraged her into adding- “She was meant to return from Paris six weeks ago but she decided to stay with Miss Langdon a little longer, a friend of hers who she accompanied there. We have received no more word from her. I suppose one is busy when they have nothing to do all day but socialise with friends.”

Penny leant down, restless to add her own contribution, the two guests peering over their shoulders to listen. “She is in Hastings. Isn’t that right, mother?”

Lady Davers finished her brandy, her hand dropping to her lap, the empty glass still clutched within her grip.

“What was that?!” she hollered, squinting across at Penny. “Are we still talking about Yvonne? She is in Hastings, staying at Miss Langdon’s home.”

Penny stood upright, shouting equally loud.

“Yes, I already told them.” Leaning back down, she whispered directly to Bonnie. In doing so, she displayed a deliberate disregard for Miss Ainsley and her presence. “She’s deaf.”

“Did you say she was still there?” came the wheezing interjection.

Punctuating her words, Penny slowly called out- “Yes, mother. Yvonne is still in Hastings!”

Lady Davers huffed loudly, sinking slightly into her chair. She pulled her shawl tighter around her shoulders. “Heavens knows why she is there. What could they possibly have in Hastings to keep her occupied? Not even Miss Langdon is that interesting.”

She did not hear the faint snicker from Penny, though the other two did. Bonnie glanced up at her, questioning, though her action sobered Penny immediately. The girl stared ahead as if she had never laughed in the first place. To divert Bonnie’s attention, she pressed on, her voice rising so that her mother could hear.

“She went to Paris as a companion for Miss Langdon, isn’t that correct? A chaperone of sorts.”

“Yes, she did.” Lady Davers raised her gaunt arm, jiggling the empty glass in the air. She did not finish until Penny had taken the glass from her. “They were to go for eight months and stay in the city. She went to the Embassy, you know! Prince Louis-Philippe (1) was there; he even danced with Miss Langdon, so I am told. Why her, we will never know, but he did. The two were meant to return together and as we awaited her arrival, we received a letter saying that they were to remain in Paris. That is, until four weeks ago. She returned with a mutual friend- I forget the name- but they stayed at Miss Langdon’s home, while the lady herself went on to Italy. They have been in Hastings since.

“Not that she cares for me and my needs, but I would have liked for her to return immediately. That girl holds no regard for her poor mother or her nerves. They shall be gone altogether by the time she decides to arrive here, though that shall be never, I suppose- the way she writes to me.”

Bonnie glanced behind her when hearing the return of Penny and her faint murmur- “And what about my nerves?”

They shared another look, which served to amuse them and they turned away with a barely repressed smirk. Bonnie felt better for it, although she had slowly become distressed at the news. There was to be no Miss Davers and to make matters worse, she had been in Paris with one friend, only to return to England with another. She agreed with the baroness- what could possibly interest Miss Davers in Hastings? Surely, there was nothing there that she could not find at her family home. Bonnie would not believe it, a vehement reassurance on her own part.

Lady Davers pressed on, a deliberation with herself that revealed this was not the first time she had been inconvenienced by Yvonne’s absence. “That is, of course, if we were to forget that she has a duty to the town and to this home. She should be here as oft as she can; this is her estate, after all, and our farms belong to her. We should know; she never tires of reminding us.”

There was a fleeting moment of silence. Miss Ainsley could hardly believe her fortune in hearing such an account; she would be sure to share the news with whoever she happened to see that week. Beside her, Bonnie was grieved into silence, regret arising in the wake of Lady Davers’ tirade. She questioned if she had been mistaken in agreeing to live there; it hardly seemed to matter that she was near Haynes Park if their host was correct in her assumption. Regarding Penny, she was as exasperated as her mother, though they could never agree on which aspect. She, too, was waiting for the return of her sister and with a faint flicker of hope, she attempted a smile.

“But she will be returning!” she exclaimed happily. “She wrote to us earlier this week. Whatever business she was attending to in Hastings, it is over and she shall be here soon, no later than a few days. She is already on her way.”

Bonnie’s momentary grief was dashed and she imitated a smile, a thrill rising as it did in Miss Davers, though they did not share the same reasons for it. That was thwarted when Lady Davers scoffed.

“Not for long. She will stay awhile, recover from her travels, and then she will be gone again. Yvonne rarely stays for more than eight weeks if she can help it.” Even in her derision, Lady Davers leant forward, a boastful smile appearing. “She has been travelling across Europe. She has been to Paris, the Pyrenees, Italy… Why, she told me she was hoping to visit Russia next.”

“Russia!” Bonnie exclaimed, quite by accident.

She had sounded impressed, but with each word that was spoken by their host, she felt her heart sinking further into her chest. It was inconceivable for her to travel there- for what she had in money, she lacked in nerve. Long-distance travel did not agree with her and, in return, she did not agree with it. To reside there, she was sure it would take longer than a year and in the meantime, Bonnie would be left to wait in her new home, the one which she had purposely chosen in England.

“Russia would be wonderful,” Miss Ainsley was saying. “Perfect for the upcoming winter, and I suppose she would not be alone. It would be a pleasure to make her acquaintance whilst she was here but I can understand her hurry if she is hoping to pave her way in Russia.”

Bonnie wished her companion had said nothing, staring at her in astonishment, lips parted as if she were to contend such claims. Then she turned back to Lady Davers, to Penny, in the hope that one of them would dispute the allegations. Her hands gripped together, waiting for a response that would never occur, and she blinked rapidly, her gaze flickering around the room. Penny watched her, curious. As she did, she felt an indescribable delight arise, an instinctive reaction to Bonnie’s silent anguish, and she bit down on her lip to prevent another giggle.

“Well, she would have to return,” Lady Davers remarked. “The silly girl needs a new groom- she only went and shot hers…”

“Out of a tree!” Penny added enthusiastically.

“Shot?” Bonnie breathed, her questioning gaze landing on Miss Ainsley, mainly in the hope that she would provide answers to this bizarre discussion.

Miss Ainsley appeared equally dumbfounded, her thick neck craning forward as she stared at Lady Davers. Brow furrowed, she must have hoped for clarification, only to find that none came.

“How?” she probed.

“I am not sure.” Lady Davers fell into reticence, implying that she was musing over the matter. For the first time during their visit, she looked amused. “It may be why she is returning- I believe the body has made its way overseas and will be brought here for burial. She probably shot the poor bugger herself.” She paused to cackle. “In any case, she will be here because something went wrong in Paris. I am not so ignorant as to think she was staying in Hastings for any sort of leisure or pleasure, not without Miss Langdon. No, she is coming home because she has nowhere else to go. And who am I to turn her from her own home?”

Reaching across to the table beside her, she seized a small golden bell, ringing it furiously. Her nurse rushed into the room, quickly wheeling the baroness from their company. Little was said in ways of goodbye, an event that did not cause offense. Miss Ainsley was beside herself with glee at what had been discussed, and as the custodian attempted her final form of flattery, Bonnie felt a tap at her shoulder. Peering behind, she noted the glass of brandy before she did Miss Davers.

“Quickly,” Penny urged.

Lady Davers was preoccupied with exiting the room, waving Miss Ainsley away with the flick of her cane. Despite her irritability, the governess continued to bow after her. Sensing her advantage, Bonnie did not hesitate, finishing the drink in one sip. Her cheeks flushed, her hand pressing to her chest as the warmth spread through her.

“Thank you,” she whispered.

Penny returned the glass to the silver tray at the cabinet, gesturing for Bonnie to follow her as she passed. She hauled her from the seat, taking her to the foyer where Miss Ainsley had migrated, calling after Lady Davers. Once she was satisfied that the baroness could no longer hear her, Miss Ainsley curtseyed to Penny, a motion that caused her to glance in Bonnie’s direction, brows raised.

“I have arranged for my chaise to take you the rest of the journey,” Penny remarked. “Your coachman has agreed to stay with the boy for the time-being, as the doctor and constable will need his account, so you can have mine. He is awaiting you now.”

Bonnie was indebted, for the assistance and for the kindness she had been shown- at the very least by Miss Davers. She thanked her several times to which Penny thought nothing of it. With a hurried farewell in Miss Ainsley’s direction, Penny guided them to the carriage, clinging onto the window-frame as they seated themselves.

“I hold every hope that we will meet again, Miss Donoghue,” Miss Davers simpered, her rounded face peering up in delight. “Once my sister has arrived, you shall find our company most captivating, I am sure. We make quite the pair. Do not be a stranger here; I forbid it.”

“I would not wish for anything else.”

Bonnie reciprocated her polite wave as they continued their journey, neglecting to listen to Miss Ainsley’s opinions as they were taken from the grounds, particularly when she remarked at how nice it was to ride in such a lavish carriage. The quip was intended for Bonnie, though she did not care for it.

Miss Donoghue was preoccupied with the events of that day- the accident and most notably, the current whereabouts of the eldest Miss Davers. She was returning; that was what she had been told. Bonnie was agitated at the thought, knowing that it was partly due to her zealousness. Yvonne Davers was returning to Haynes Park. Whatever the reason, Bonnie hoped that she was not wounded, in any sense of the word- that would grieve her. Withal, anguished or not, Bonnie prayed that this time, Yvonne Davers would find a reason to stay. If she did not, Bonnie was unsure what else there was to do- she had not travelled all that way to be subject to Miss Ainsley’s attempt at social sophistication, nor had she arrived for its agricultural industry. Bonnie would have her way and if it were not possible, well, she had not considered her intention any further than that. If she were to fail, it would only devastate her.

Chapter Notations

1. Prince Louis-Philippe (1773-1850) later became the reigning monarch of France during August of that same year, where he held the title until his abdication in 1848.

Chapter Text

Sitting atop the window sill, leaning back into the wall, Penny Davers had resigned herself to doing little else. She had come to rest there and she would not be moved, vexed at her mother’s insistence that she remove herself at once. Lady Davers had demanded that she be wheeled into the drawing room solely to chastise her daughter and, satisfied that Penny had come down from the window sill, requested a relocation to the veranda. Penny waited till she had gone before circling back to the window. Staring out onto the drive, she was restless but resolute, having performed this ritual more times than she cared to admit.

At the slightest sound, she jolted forward, the rustle of her dress an indication to the thrill she was feeling, merely to find it had been nothing of interest. She wished to hear one sound and one sound only- the clattering of carriage wheels as they approached the estate. Two years had been too long, enough for her to concede that she was driven to insanity. In a letter, she had expressed this sentiment, an explicit plea to be taken from the family home.

It may be selfish on my part to call you home, but I find, dear sister, that it is you who is selfish. Mother grows wearier by the day and hour, and you have left me here to suffer- either bring me to France or come home.

She awaited a response, finding that her endeavour had been successful. Yvonne was to travel to England at once, returning to her rightful home at Haynes Park. Penny had been delighted, though she found herself to be less pleased when she discovered what had come to pass in Paris. There had been no clarification on her sister’s part for, whilst she travelled, she refused to stay in any place longer than a day. What had been rumoured was simply hearsay from one lady’s maid to another, and Penny was insulted that she must hear as such from a conversation between the laundry maid and her cook. It seemed Yvonne was not returning out of duty or want, but from necessity, and Penny despised her for it.

Spurned or not, Penny could not deny that she had missed her sister, wishing to hear first-hand the travels that she had embarked on- from the Pyrenees to the Belgium capital, Bruges. She had received a letter eleven months previous, detailing an event at the British Embassy where Yvonne had chanced across Prince Louis-Philippe. When asked in a returning letter if she had been impressed, the woman had simply stated that she had not been- he was beastly and boorish. Penny would have liked to dance with him, nonetheless, and she received no response, though she was satisfied that she had expressed her feelings on the matter.

From afar, the rattle of wheels could be heard against the gravel, the stomping of hooves followed by an unmistakable whinny. The rustle of skirts resounded once more as Penny sat upright, nose almost pressed to the glass. In the distance, the distinct form of a carriage could be seen and at the helm, a tall figure sat atop the box seat, reigns in hand.

“Oh, she’s here! She’s here!”

Penny addressed no-one but herself, satisfied in articulating her elation, even if she had not been heard. Indifferent to the scene she caused, Penny clambered from the sill, skirts bunched in hand whilst she dashed from the room, through the foyer, and out onto the stone steps. Behind her, the staff could be heard doing the same, awaiting the arrival of their mistress.

The plain carriage shuddered in both directions, implying that it may have been ready to fall in its hurry, and the vehicle jolted slightly into the air as it rounded the corner. Penny was impatient, even at the urgency of the speeding cart, wishing that it would arrive a little faster. It took mere seconds for it to scramble to a halt before her, residues of dust from its wheels hovering in the still, spring air. Penny squinted upward, as if she were looking into the sun itself. From the box seat, a pair of hazel eyes stared ardently down, amused, despite the circumstance. Yvonne did not say she would rather be in Paris but Penny knew; her silence was the answer.

“Curious that we should meet here of all places,” came the witticism, a timely distraction from Penny’s tacit resentment.

“Yvonne!” she called up, her ill-feeling overwhelmed by her ecstasy.

She reached for her hand, Yvonne obliging by offering hers and the two grasped each other tightly. An earnest smile appearing, the elder seemed to forget, for the time being, the reason she had returned to her family, to a town that she had studiously evaded for the past ten years, only to find herself back there. It appeared inconsequential to the girl that clung to her hand.

“Penny,” she returned with as much affection. Voice sterner, she swung her legs from the box and dropped to the ground, dust arising once more, powdering her black boots and the hem of her flared frock-coat. “Where is mother?”

Penny allowed the kiss to her cheek, exhaling heavily to indicate what she thought of the subject. “She is on the veranda.”

“And she is well?”

“As well as she could ever be.”

Yvonne’s gaze was warning, removing the top hat that she oft adorned, tucking it under her arm. “Yes, well, I am pleased to hear that. I thought that if anything were to happen while I was travelling back, I would have to wait to hear it.”

“What is there to happen? She is no more contemptuous than when you left.”

Slowly licking her lips, her good-humour receding, Yvonne contemplated what had been said, attention drawn to their personal carriage which sat on the drive.

“What is that doing there?” she glowered. “And why is he out?”

She gestured toward Claudio, one of their horses, who was being led to the outer field.

“Our new neighbour borrowed the chaise. Yvonne, you must meet her…”

“And what of the horse?”

The edges of Penny’s mouth downturned. “He has been unwell.”

Yvonne turned back to her, no attempt spared in concealing her aggravation. Then she seemed to remember herself, gaze softening as she recalled he was Penny’s favourite horse.

“Why unwell?” she prompted.

“We are not sure; he needs to be examined.” Penny looked as if she were to cry, inhaling sharply through her nose.

Exhaling, Yvonne leant forward, an attempt to look her sister in the eye. “Then I shall examine him.”

Penny forgot her dismay, reaching out to cling onto her arm. “Oh, you will? Thank you, thank you!”

Despite her glare, Yvonne emitted a brief laugh, removing her arm from her grasp. She plucked the gloves from her hands, passing them to the young man that had approached. Thanking him, she listed instructions for the stable boys that had come to take the horses, informing them of her journey and what was to be done for them. Penny flitted nervously behind her, the conversation reminding her that they must advertise for a new groom, a thought that she mentioned to Yvonne. At the mention of her deceased servant, Yvonne merely hummed an acknowledgement.

“It is a shame to hear of his passing,” Penny pressed on. “We were all in shock when we heard the news and to think his suffering was prolonged over three more days...”

She waited for her response, knowing that her sister had not cared for the man, yet wishing to observe her reaction. Yvonne was apathetic to the subject, spinning on her heel to return to the carriage. Calling behind her, she was courteous at best.

“Yes, it was unfortunate.”

Penny followed her, resolved that they were to have the discussion, whether she preferred to or not. “And where is the driver, Yvonne? Did you not hire one? Surely you did not travel here by yourself?”

“I did have a driver.”

Penny looked around her. “Where?”

“He hurt his arm near Luton...”

“Luton?”

“Yes, as I said.” Yvonne turned to her, agitated that they were to have this conversation. “He struck a pothole and fell from his seat, whereupon he dislocated and shattered his arm. Besides, I promised, did I not, that I would return today? And here I am.”

Penny tried to contend. “That was a reckless undertaking, Yvonne.”

Yvonne exhaled heavily, arms folding and gaze flickering to the corner of her eye. “Nobody else was there to arise to the occasion. There was only the three of us; I decided to take matters into my own hands. I drive well enough, although I may have mounted a pavement or two on the way, but that is hardly of any consequence. I took him to the doctor, ensuring all was well before finishing the remainder of the journey alone. Well, alone in driving.”

“Three of you?” Penny realised.

Patting the trunks that lay atop the carriage, Yvonne called across to the servants who awaited her.

“Take my trunk.” Satisfied, she took hold of the carriage handle, opening the door. “There is someone I want you to meet.”

Penny had expected the stranger to be a woman, although she had not expected such a young woman to climb from the coach, her chest heaving as her thin, trembling arms failed to aid her down. Yvonne held out her hand, her firm hold allowing the newcomer to reach the floor.

“This is Paulette. I acquired her whilst in Paris; she is my new lady’s maid.”

Scrutinising the girl as she doubled over, hand pressed against her stomach, Yvonne inquired into her well-being. She spoke in French, an indication that the new maid could only converse in her native tongue.

“Bonjour,” Penny offered, “Bienvenue chez nous (2).”

Paulette raised her head, attempting a smile before she bent over once more, an abhorrent amount of fluids spilling from her mouth to the driveway. Yvonne grimaced, though she was not offended, whilst Penny stepped back, appalled. Her sister leant over, close to the girl’s ear, hands curled at her hips.

“On m'a dit que tu étais un bon voyageur (3),” she remarked.

Upon hearing no response, aside from the piteous look that Paulette adopted- her stomach continuing to empty itself- Yvonne hummed in thought.

“I thought I was quite capital at driving. The coachman retched on the way here but I assumed that was due to his broken arm.” Pausing, she watched the girl for a moment, a question in her gaze; there was an astuteness to Yvonne that her sister could never quite place nor comprehend. With a boisterous laugh, she slapped Paulette on the back. “You shall feel better soon; no use pondering on it now.”

Her attention had lapsed from her maid, spinning once more on her heel and striding towards the house, her tailcoats fluttering in the light breeze, encouraged by the fast tempo of her legs. Penny followed, unabated in having to say all that she must.

“Did you not think that people would talk? More than they already do? Why did you not stay in Luton until a safer means of travel was arranged? I could have sent the carriage to you.”

Yvonne did not respond, although she took a moment to greet the maids and Mrs Prescott. The maids tittered between themselves whilst the Housekeeper allowed for her hand to be kissed.

“We are thrilled that you have come home, ma’am. It has not been the same without you.” Mrs Prescott was sceptical herself, adding: “It was a shame to hear of your groom.”

Humming absently, Yvonne continued towards the door, equipped with another listless response. “A shame, really.”

Following at her heels, Penny passed through the front entrance and into the foyer, her petite stature unable to match the strides of her older sister, the longness of her limbs sorely felt in the girl’s pursuit.

“You have returned from Paris, ridden your own carriage, and whilst doing so, you forbid me from doing anything, least of all leaving the house.” She became breathless in her hurry, aided mainly by her irate shout. “If you are able to ride a carriage, why, I may take ours to town.”

Yvonne turned to her, a tenacity in her stare. “No.”

Penny halted, having nearly walked into her. “And furthermore, you went hunting whilst you were away. That is how Walcott was fatally wounded, was it not? You were able to handle a firearm and in spite of that fact, you never let me participate in anything, particularly not hunting.”

“That is because you are a liability.”

“Poor Penny,” she exclaimed, hysterical in her theatrics. “What does it matter if she is disposed of, left to waste her youth with her unfeeling mother? Her sister is unfeeling too.”

Her petulance was unintended but it was existent, nevertheless. She had watched her sister recount stories of Europe, of Asia, and the wild escapades that she had committed whilst she was there, and Penny had waited for her- for her letters, her well-wishes, the promise that she would one day join her. Yvonne understood her distress, yet she was no more inclined to include her than before.

“Cynicism does not become you, Penny.”

“And sounding like mother does not become you.”

Yvonne inhaled sharply, hand pressing to her chest. “How your words hurt me.”

“How you hurt me,” Penny replied, a sincerity in her teasing.

Her insult was suppressed, for the moment, amused to return to their farcical rapport, knowing that there was latent remorse in the way her sister spoke. Yvonne felt deeply, though not openly, and she suffered all the more for it.

She felt Yvonne take her hand, pouting, eyelids fluttering. “Let us be friends, Penny. Please? Today and if you feel so kind, tomorrow?”

“We are friends as much as we are sisters.”

“Now seems to be the time to tell you that you were given to us by the scullery maid.”

Walking into her side, deliberately, Penny watched Yvonne stumble, astonished for the slightest second, her bewilderment followed with a barking laugh. Encouraged, Penny clung onto her arm, head resting against it; she was not gifted with the height her sister had, and they walked together, laughing between themselves.

“I have missed you,” Penny told her. “Please stay this time.”

“I cannot promise.”

Raising her head, she protested wildly, shaking her arm. “Why? Is this not enough? Am I not enough? How could you leave me here with mother? You keep leaving and never coming back, and I must simply wait here for you until eventually, I am married off.”

Yvonne was remorseful, as she often tended to be, though she made no promise. She never did.

“I really am sorry, Penny.”

“If you were sorry then you would take me with you…”

“You know why I forbid you from travelling with me.” Yvonne fell silent, wishing the conversation to be over, but Penny was not finished.

“Yes, but you know that I could never criticise you, not for what transpires between you and your companions. It is no concern of mine if…”

“Penny, that is enough.”

They came to the veranda, a stretch of balcony that overlooked the gardens of the estate, and to the side, they observed their mother. Lady Davers appeared to be asleep, though she responded instantly to the kiss that Yvonne pressed to her curled, white hair. As she did so, Penny called to a passing Mrs Prescott. Having waited for Yvonne’s arrival, there was no need to postpone dinner and all three women would be glad to eat immediately.

“Ah, it’s you.” Lady Davers looked up from the corner of her eye, no more pleased to find that both of her daughters were present. “Have you come to see me, hm? You decided to spare five seconds in entertaining me? Suppose that is a wise decision, since you shall not return again until I am dead.”

“Mother!” Penny berated, troubled mostly by her sister’s sensibility than Lady Davers’ tartness.

Yvonne was staring at her mother, a contemplative look upon her features that implied she was observing a wild creature rather than an elderly woman. She sat beside her, endeavouring a brief attempt at a smile, one leg coming to rest atop the other. Placing her hat on the circular table between them, she positioned her elbows on the armrests, pressing her fingers together.

“No, I am here to stay awhile.”

“Really?” Lady Davers scoffed. “A Paris tragedy, was it?”

Yvonne revealed no sentiment other than indifference, though a twitch appeared at the corner of her mouth. “I would not say that... I came to spend time with my family, with the both of you. If that is of no consequence to you, mother?”

Lady Davers stared out into the garden, more interested, it seemed, in the flowers. “This is your house, sunlight. You may go as you please.”

Yvonne stood, a movement that happened to capture her mother’s attention.

“You are an astute girl, despite your oddities, and it is disparaging to see that you have failed to better yourself when opposed with your previous blunders.” Lady Davers squinted up at her, a sharpness in her gaze that reflected her words. “You say that no tragedy has occurred, yet I am inclined to disagree. This is the second time, to my knowledge, that you have made such an error and I have to wonder when you will learn your lesson?”

Breathless, Penny was unsure of who to focus on- her mother or her sister, composed but aloof. Nothing was said, only the sound of Yvonne’s pantaloons as they brushed together, brisk in her attempt to return to the house. She tucked her top hat under her arm, calling out to any person who may hear her.

“I am starved; when is dinner to be served?” There was a second of silence, before- “Where is Paulette?”

Perspiring, gasping for air, the young maid was hoisting one of Yvonne’s suitcases to the third floor. She had been led to her own room in the servant’s quarters, permitted, for two minutes, to use the outside lavatory where she regurgitated the last of her illness, leaving the wooden shack to be promptly handed a suitcase. Instructed to follow the porter upstairs, she could hardly hold onto the handle for the trembling in her fingers and she often paused, to gain breath and to rest her hand against her stomach. Paulette appealed to her own reason, inquiring as to how she had found herself there, incapable of expressing her distress to the staff. Only Mrs Prescott could speak French.

Chapter Notations

2. Translation: Welcome to our home.

3. Translation: I was told that you were a good traveller.

Chapter Text

To the left was Penny, a ravenous speed to her movement, the spoon flitting between the broth and her mouth in a similar way to the farmers as they shovelled manure from the pigpen. She was apathetic to the way she ate, more so in the way her sister was staring at her. Across the table, to the right, was Yvonne, a delicate dignity in the way she dined. She glanced towards her mother, convinced that she would be equally affronted by this vulgar display, merely to find, as she did, that the baroness was unperturbed by her daughter’s behaviour. Lady Davers disinterest may have also been ascribed to her difficulty in eating; stooped over her bowl, her spoon quivered in the space between the food and her mouth. The sight unsettled Yvonne, content to neglect any indication of her mother’s ageing.

Gaze lowering, she took notice of the untouched bread before her and the butter dish that had been placed in the centre of the table. She leant across to retrieve the plate. Penny’s chair was heard scraping backwards in concurrence with Yvonne removing the china covering, and the girl took half of the butter with her, balancing it precariously on the end of her knife. To such an event, Penny was pleased, smiling at her sister, despite the scowl she received for her trouble.

Buttering the bread, Yvonne raised a hand, brushing it distractedly through her short hair. A tendril had fallen outward, grazing against her brow as it often did, and rather than styling it differently, she had taken the habit of sweeping it into place on a regular basis. The motion caught her mother’s attention, her jittering spoon left to rest in the bowl.

“What happened with the groom- Walcott?” Her voice rose, a habit that was often ascribed to the fact that she could not hear herself. Lady Davers glanced across, squinting; the gesture exposed her difficulty in discerning the precise whereabouts of her daughter’s face, including the expression that was currently upon it. “Do you believe that you can simply shoot a servant and I will allow it? Firstly, you take half of them with you to Europe, leave the maintenance of the estate and its land to some buffoon- rather than operating them yourself- and now you think that you are at liberty to shoot them! That was a waste of a good servant. How did it even happen?”

“He was in a tree,” Penny stressed, interjecting Yvonne as she simultaneously answered- “It was an accident!”

Penny leant on the table, believing that her mother would hear her better if that were the case. Situated at the head, Lady Davers was unable to hear nor perceive them any more than she usually did.

“I read you the letter, mother!” Penny hollered. “Do you remember?” She sat back, head shaking in a form of reparation to Yvonne. “I read the letter you sent; she must not have been listening.”

This fact did not come as a revelation to either of them. To the side, Lady Davers had finished deliberating on what Penny had said.

“No,” she decided. “I do not remember.”

Yvonne was sombre as she leant backward, slouching in her chair. She knew that if she did not share the tale, the two would continue to disturb her and that, to her, was more distressing than having to explain the result of Walcott’s death. “I was not the one to shoot him; an acquaintance from Paris caught him quite by accident as Walcott was removing the pigeons from the tree. They were released and some had gone into the branches to conceal themselves. It was Henri de Rouvroy, my associate, that requested the groom startle them. As they fled, he attempted to shoot one of the pigeons, injuring Walcott instead. It was in the shoulder, not a fatal wound, but he fell from the tree head first and acquired some damage to his skull.

“They attended to his injuries- surprisingly, the bullet did him little harm, but he had caused a cleft to the brain which resulted in acute blood loss. That caused the most damage and although he lived for another three days, it purely prolonged his misery. He could hardly speak and I was sure, after the first day, that he was not quite right; there must have been some devastation to the brain. Out of duty as his mistress and in the pursuit of scientific knowledge, I requested access to his autopsy.” She paused, a scarcely suppressed smirk appearing on her lips. Yvonne could not disguise the elation she felt at having attended the procedure, leaning forward to speak in a lowered tone. “It was a lobotomy! I was able to see the damage to the posterior cerebrum, somewhere along the calcarine sulcus.”

Unversed on the function of the cerebellum, Penny was no less delighted for hearing the summary and she expressed aloud that she wished she had attended. Her want was met with aversion from Yvonne, who, despite having attended the procedure herself, was vexed to hear Penny’s fascination.

“A man is dead, Penny.”

The girl said nothing on how Yvonne had taken pleasure from the procedure, no thought spared for the groom in recounting the tale, so she distracted herself by taking another roll of bread to eat. Lady Davers had listened intently, neglecting to care for the loss of a servant when she had discovered the truth behind it.

“His mind is no good to us now; it hardly ever was,” she declared.

Sipping noisily on her broth, Penny seized the opportunity to mention the carriage mishap and the following events.

“He had to have his leg amputated!” she announced. She devoured a large spoonful of broth between each sentence, barely digesting them in time before continuing. “I received word from Doctor Kensley the morning after. It was a horrid incident, to be sure.”

Whilst she talked, Yvonne watched her, incisive. She was concerned for her sister’s budding attraction to the macabre, sure that she must refer to it at a later date; dinner hardly seemed the time.

“I suppose you would have relished such commotion,” Lady Davers uttered in Yvonne’s direction. She happened to believe that both of her daughters were peculiar and as a result, all peculiarities interested them.

Penny continued. “That was when I allowed our new neighbour to borrow the chaise. She was in a nervous state when she arrived here, though I cannot blame her; she attended to the boy as well as she could. You must see her, Yvonne! She has leased Colworth House...”

The conversation appeared to spur Lady Davers’ memory, turning to Yvonne and stating that- “Did you hear about Sutton?”

“You know the manor by Woodhall Lane... Yvonne?” Penny stumbled to an end, realising the futility of her endeavour.

Apathetic to her sister’s fanciful report, Yvonne responded to her mother, noting that the inquiry was of greater significance. She leant across the arm of her chair, glowering as she demanded- “What of Sutton?”

Penny scrutinised them both, incensed that she had not concluded the conversation, not to her satisfaction. She was certain that Miss Donoghue would be of interest to her sister, notably in the wake of her return from Paris. Obtaining a friendship with their new neighbour would be valuable, she believed, in aiding her sister’s recovery sooner.

Oblivious to the disruption that she had caused, Lady Davers noted the developments in their leases. “Sutton has fallen ill with dropsy, and his condition has worsened to the degree where he is unable to collect the six-monthly rent next Tuesday. His apprentice, that young one with the nervous disposition, came to see me. He kept inquiring as to what I should do as if I would be collecting them myself. I told him that he must allocate someone. Unsurprisingly, the dolt has not done so and we have nobody assigned to collect the rent. It would have been unwise to assign the apprentice for he cannot be trusted, in simpleness only.”

In her agitation, Yvonne’s leg jittered, her knee close to striking the table.

“So, who shall be collecting them?” she pressed. Upon receiving no response, she repeated herself, voice rising so that her mother could hear.

“How should I know?” came the shrill retort.

Riled, Yvonne leant back into her chair, her leg continuing to jolt sharply. The edge of her lips twitched, contemplating, in her agitation, what was to be said, before discerning that there was no reason to speak at all. Lady Davers was unmoved on the subject and Penny had nothing to discuss if it was not regarding the incident with the carriage. She resolved to travel to town the following morning, deliberate matters with Sutton, and if so be it, Yvonne would collect the rents herself.

Situated by the fireplace within the library, Lady Davers had instructed the nurse to take her there once dinner had ended. Her eldest daughter had excused herself and was seen leaving the estate shortly after, the rebuke hardly perceived by the baroness, though it was greatly beholden by her youngest. Penny was compelled to accompany her mother, having noted that no other company remained, and she fulfilled the duty of reading the newspaper aloud. She spoke in a continual shout, which strained her voice as she delved further into the paper, but Lady Davers would not be satisfied until she had regarded each article.

“Three men have been convicted in relation to the civil disturbance that transpired last Thursday- the twenty-seventh in April. The disorder was caused by working men who had taken to destroying the threshing machines (4) of each individual farm in the region, and, altogether, targeted six respective factories in Elham Valley. Thereupon, the culprits used physical and verbal intimidation against the farm owners.”

Penny ceased in her reading, observing that her mother held little regard for the article, a sentiment that was not shared between them. Resting the newspaper on her lap, she voiced her trepidation.

“Kent is by Hastings.”

“I know where Kent is.”

“Are you not troubled by the news?” Penny questioned. “Yvonne was there some days ago, and if the disturbance continues, we may find that its restlessness finds us here. They are asking for reformation and we cannot neglect the fact that we are in ownership of farms, which, as stated here, are the sole focus of these protests.”

Lady Davers scoffed. “What are they to do here? If I sense so much as one protest, I shall see them personally horse-whipped.”

Upon hearing her mother’s remarks, Penny repressed a groan, reading the article once more in silence before responding.

“I believe it is worth noting,” she decided, pleased to have voiced her assessment of the situation. “I think I shall tell Yvonne when she returns; she will be interested to hear what is happening.”
Riveted by the flickering flames of the fireplace, Lady Davers merely uttered- “If she does return, that is.”

Penny was certain that she would. If Yvonne were to leave them, Penny would gather her belongings and follow her, adamant that, this time, she would not be left behind. She had no other choice in the matter.

30th April, 1830

I returned home and instructed that Doctor Johnson be returned to my custody. He shall be here shortly- he is situated within Penny’s room and I am sure he will be relieved to return to his usual abode. Having spent two hours roaming the outer fields, I came to my room, having asked for Doctor Johnson midway, and forthwith, started writing. I had utilised those hours to reflect on my current position- the abrupt departure from Paris, the weeks I spent with Miss Robinson at Hastings, and consequently, the less than desirable arrival at my family home. Penny resents me for leaving her here, yet I find that I am resentful of ever having left in the first place. A great deal of pain would have been spared in me having never known of any of these women nor the world that resides outside of Bedford. I would have been miserable to have lived my life in this town; however, I have come to be miserable, all the same. I believe God may have played a cruel trick on me. My destiny does not lie yonder, in the remarkable nor the miraculous; no, it lies here- in a world that I am certain holds no love for me and in return, I have no love for it.

As for love, I thought awhile on Josephine, which grieved me, and the recollection of our time together merely caused further torment. Whilst I had loved her, as best as I can, I am reminded of Augusta. There is nobody in this world that I have ever regarded so highly, for, as these pages know, I have loved her dearly and I have loved her always. She haunts me; I see her in my mind as if she were there- being in Paris was no different. I saw Josephine and I heard her announcement- that she was to marry- which, whilst it pained me, reminded me of Augusta. The two recur at once when I think of them- neither, at this moment in time, are entirely distinguishable from the other. I loved them both, Augusta the most, but they left me for another. For a man. Both times I have found myself here- at Haynes Park- and in my devotion to them, I too feel a resentment.

On my outing, I ventured through the moorland, headed for the woods at the furthest hill, and as I walked, unceasing in my disquietude, I recounted Augusta’s letter- the one which arrived for me as I returned to Hastings. She must have sensed my affliction, despite the distance between us, and she wrote to express her remorse on I having returned to England at all. The letter had come from her home in Scotland; undoubtedly, she had remained there, and she refrained from mentioning her husband. In view of the distance between us- in radius and in sentiment- Augusta continues to be one of my closest and fondest friends. I know her letter entirely and it was that which I recited as I climbed the hill. As to where I was headed, I could not say other than I knew I must flee as far as I could from my home- to put the same distance between us- whilst allowing any restlessness I had to withdraw, leaving me weary in body and mind.

Stood atop the hill, I could see Haynes Park- its ostentatious design, undoubtedly the pride of the town, and I felt that if I were to never see it again, it would be of no consequence to me. There is no comparison to Paris or Brussels, the Garda or the Alps. I shall not remain here, no longer than necessary. In leaving, I know I must atone with Penny, not that she cares for it. Loathe me, if she must, but I cannot subject her to my life and the consequence of my predisposition. She may think it desirable at first- to be considered free; eventually, she will realise that this is no life to live. My sister is an eccentric- that does not equal a recluse, and I will not make one of her. I had once taken satisfaction in being an oddity, a disillusionment that is often borne with youth, and now it has been revealed that I have been conceited- to think that I was beyond reach- an Icarus- and finding, in my fallacy, that I had reduced all I had to ash, myself included.

I had foolishly believed in the endurance of love, where, with hesitation, I know my mother to be correct. When Augusta was married, I was devastated, worsted by my greatest adversary- the wealth of a man. Nevertheless, I learnt nothing from this experience, I see, for I deluded myself once more into believing that someone may need me as I need them. And my punishment lies here, in Haynes Park. God has bound me to this place, where I feel I must serve an eternity here, constrained to the mundane and, worse, my tiresome family. Unjust, in Penny’s case, though I would not retract that sentiment for my mother.

...

Doctor Samuel Johnson has been returned to me. He was contentious and screeched awhile; I thought he did not recognise me. I have come to realise he does and he is resentful- no more than anybody else appears to be. Regardless, he has been cared for well by Penny; she will surely miss him and will come to speak to him often. It is wise, in the meantime, that he remains in my room. Mother despises him- for the noise he makes and the fact that she dislikes most birds. I know I left him but I missed him the most- aside from Penny. He has been a comfort to me, as I have noted on many an occasion. It was inconceivable that he should travel with me- he would have suffered, if not succumbed to illness whilst aboard ship. If he is to forgive me by tonight, I shall hope he sings a little. It would amuse me and I am convinced to have some amusement. Heavens knows I am entitled to it.

Chapter Notations

4. A threshing machine is a piece of equipment used on a farm that threshes grain, meaning that it removes the seeds from stalks and husks by beating them till they fall out.

Chapter Text

With the dawn came the bustle of skirts, footfalls that had promised to remain quiet, though their approach was amplified the closer they came to the dining room. The door was thrust open, a readied exclamation released in the prospect of catching its occupant unawares, discovering, as they did, that the room was vacant. Penny’s good humour dissolved and she pointedly inquired into the whereabouts of her sister. The footman was apologetic in telling her that Miss Davers had already departed for the day- she had travelled to town on foot, despite the distance, and was not to return till she had spoken to Mr Sutton and been handed the papers that he owed her.

Seating herself, she occupied Yvonne’s chair, an act of contempt. Despite her behaviour, she discerned that she was upset, having believed that her sister’s return was a promise of good company; an expectation that had yet to manifest itself. Penny turned her attention to eating- her appetite had not dwindled with her happiness, and she chose a selection of eggs, haddock, and fruit, before her gaze was drawn to the empty seat beside her.

“And mother?” she inquired, tartly.

“She is to have breakfast in her room, ma’am.”

Penny repressed the urge to cry out; in any case, she would remain unheard. Brooding, she sat with her despondency, pondering how Yvonne would conduct her business whilst in town and what she may think of the protests in Kent. Penny had much to say on both accounts but they were no different to her other thoughts- they would remain unexpressed.

With a sharp rap- three times for good measure- the spherical handle of her cane tapped against the door. Yvonne awaited the response, finding that none came. Despite the condition of her employee, she barely had the time nor patience to wait. She lingered a second longer until she was assured that there would be no response, retreating to the street. Crossing to the house’s front window, she found there to be no detectable figures, except for an armchair situated beside the glass. Yvonne presumed the chair belonged to Sutton, venturing further to the side in order to see clearly. Cane raised, she used the handle to lift the brim of her top hat, believing that it would aid her inspection. She noted that the room was occupied, a slight figure visible in the corner. They stood and she deduced that they had observed her at the window.

Yvonne returned to the front door, a consideration made in ascending the stairs two at a time. Her limbs would have accounted for it, though she reminded herself that it was unmannerly to do so. The door opened as she came to the entrance, a child staring at her from barely mid-height. Timid in her uncertainty, the girl seemed to question whether she had been right in answering the door, cowering behind it.

“Miss Sutton, is your mother...?”

From within, a voice simultaneously called out. “Daisy?”

It drew nearer and in doing so, Mrs Sutton came to face her visitor directly, curtseying as she realised who was standing there.

“Miss Davers.”

“Mrs Sutton, may I come in?”

Retreating into the hallway, the two allowed her to pass through, promptly directing her to the parlour. She thanked them, striding through the rooms as swiftly as she always did. From behind, she could hear Mrs Sutton’s hasty explanation as to why her husband was disengaged from his duty. Yvonne considered the illness to be an appropriate reason, though the woman was surely disgraced at having their employer visit.

“He continued for as long as he could, Miss Davers; I assure you. These past weeks, we have refused most visitors on account of his illness. He has been unable to converse; most days, he is confined to bedrest. We are pleased, however, that you have come to speak with him; he has preserved the records as well as he can whilst you have been abroad.”

“I do not doubt that,” she replied, handing them her gloves, hat, and cane. “He was an efficient worker and I am saddened to hear of his condition. If there was any way I could support you, I would see to it. Mister Sutton has been an impeccable delegate, but I do not wish to protract his duties any further. As you have said, he requires bedrest and I shall not deny him.”

Led into the parlour, Yvonne did not attempt to remove her coat, aware that she would not converse for long nor would she wish to. Mr Sutton’s right leg was propped onto a stool, exposed completely in the stale air. Swollen, reddened and bruised, she could distinguish where the blood vessels had erupted along the leg. Grimacing, Yvonne was anguished to see her appointee’s state, pausing unintentionally as if she were saying a final commemoration. Then she called his name. He stirred but did not wake.

“Mister Sutton?” she queried louder. His lethargic awakening encouraged her, accepting the chair that had been offered by his wife. Sat beside him, she placed an assuring hand atop his. “Mister Sutton, it is I, Yvonne Davers. I am disheartened to hear of your condition but I must speak to you about the rents.”

Bewildered, he took a moment to grasp that she was there.

“Miss Davers?”

Her brow lowered, knitting together, troubled that he may not fathom her reason for being there. “Yes, Mister Sutton. I have come to acquire your records on the tenants. The collection of rent is the following Tuesday and I must have them; I need all current records and arrears. Your apprentice visited my mother two weeks ago, I believe, and asked for her to document the last collection. She was disinclined to do so, as is her way, and instructed the nurse to write them. Naturally, they proved worthless- they were wrong. My mother made no attempt in reviewing them, a refusal on her part to involve herself as a proprietor, so I shall require yours.”

Mr Sutton blinked slowly before lifting his gaze to his wife, a considerable effort made in doing so.

“Mrs Sutton, if you please.”

She exited the room, a gesture that relieved Yvonne. Sitting upright, she attempted to reclaim her intrepid demeanour, a softness revealed on her part in talking with the old man. There was an assurance in knowing that her land had been well-kept in her absence, and she found great satisfaction in waiting to receive the documents. Once they were in her possession, there was no reason for her to rely on anybody other than herself.

Hoarsely, Mr Sutton returned her attention to him. “Who will collect?”

“I will,” she asserted brazenly.

“You, Miss Davers?” His brows rose, speckled with grey, the motion paralleled to the astonishment in his voice. “You shall collect them?”

A woman occupying such a role was singular; for a noblewoman, aberrant. Yvonne had known of that fact when implementing her methods and she found that, in spite of it, she sustained her indifference. Leaning forward, her shoulders twitched upward.

“And who else will, hm?” When he did not answer, she included- “If not I?”

Mr Sutton knew she was correct in that assumption, articulating his agreement, a compliance that satisfied her. Behind, his wife re-entered the room, passing the accounts to Yvonne. She took them, opening the registers to inspect the latest audit and finding, to her satisfaction, that detailed notes had been completed for each tenant and their financial situation.

“This is splendid, Sutton,” she expressed, revelling in her delight. “This will be of help to me, thank you.”

He leant forward slightly, a wince of pain indicating that he was unable to move any further. “Doulton House flooded five weeks ago; this is the third time that this has happened. The farms and your tenants, they are doing well. Some of your men may need an interview in renewing their lease as some, I fear, have failed to pay in full on a number of occasions.”

The disclosure did not perturb her; there was nothing significant in what he said, but he gestured to her once more, waiting for her to move closer.

“Whilst you have been away, there is a new industry developing,” he disclosed, his voice becoming raspier. “You shall be familiar with it, though its profit has grown to a considerable sum and I think you shall be interested in deliberating the matter.”

She stared at him, intently. “And what might that be?”

“Lace. The most prevalent factories that operate within this region are owned by the Dunce brothers; they currently have a monopoly on the industry here, yet lace is a popular trade in Bedfordshire, second only to farming. You have an unoccupied factory; you have the finance and resources to successfully implement a new trade such as lace. It would be senseless to not consider this opportunity at the very least. You are sitting on an undiscovered fortune, Miss Davers, and I know you are not the kind of woman to allow for such injustice.”

Quiet, Yvonne scrutinised him, a minute taken in her deliberation. She sat upright, one hand curled at her knee, the accounts resting on her lap. The other three occupants thought she may be offended by the suggestion, but then she said-

“No, I am not.”

Chapter Text

Approaching the estate from the rear, Yvonne proceeded through the courtyard, chancing upon Claudio as he was being dried. It was evident, to her, that there was something amiss in his demeanour; his head was bowed, barely acknowledging the towel that brushed against his ebony coat. This peculiarity had not remained unnoticed by her, having caught her attention the moment she saw him. Recalling her promise to Penny, Yvonne approached the stable boy who was currently tending to the horse.

“What is the matter with him?”

Percy Denver wiped his hands on the towel, hesitant to admit that he did not know. “I am unsure, ma’am. He has been ill for a week.”

Irked that no doctor had been called, especially with the staff aware of his condition, Yvonne removed her gloves, passing them to the boy. The debacle was an inconvenience to her, more so to Penny, for she favoured him. If Claudio was unable to recuperate, the girl would be inconsolable.

She drew closer, her hand reaching for the bridge of his nose, fingers brushing further down till she reached the muzzle. The irregularity in his condition was revealed in him remaining still; Penny was the only one who could pacify him, and Yvonne, though possessing the ability, was rarely able to do so.

She tilted her head to meet his eye. “Are you unwell, hm?”

Exhaling heavily through his nostrils, Claudio responded by leaning into her touch. The notion was suspect, her eyes narrowing. Yvonne removed her hand from his muzzle to feel along his jaw, slight additions of pressure made at varying points; an examination that held little promise.

She addressed Percy. “Glandered, I think.”

The boy was distressed, wringing his hands together. “Blimey, I hope not.”

Yvonne questioned if it were wise to divulge this information to Penny, believing it would be more appropriate to reserve the knowledge of his condition solely with the staff. It would only cause her bother and Penny was known to spend her night in the stables, curled next to the horse. Undoubtedly, she would return to that habit if she knew Claudio was grievously ill.

Unfastening the chain from her vest, she brought her pocket-watch within view, one hand pressed against the faint pulse in the horse’s neck, the other holding the timepiece. She counted the pulsations within the minute; the verdict undesirable. Claudio’s heartbeat was slower than normal, a discovery that caused her to linger for a minute, the tip of her nose close to brushing his coarse coat. Although he was a favourite of Penny’s, that did not make Yvonne less fond of him and she was dismayed in thinking that he was almost incurable. He sensed her apprehension, head bowing so that she may rest her forehead against him, barely below his cheek. Inhaling slowly, Yvonne ran her hand down his nose once more before pulling away, fingers clicking to call Percy’s attention. The boy scrambled over to her.

“Yes, ma’am?”

“Apply mustard poultice and refrain from using a bridle unless necessary. He must be given an opportunity to heal.” Removing her top hat, she tucked it under her arm. “Keep him indoors; he must be kept somewhere dry. And Mister Denver? Any further reports must be directed to me. I shall not have Penny alarmed by his state until we are certain of whether he shall recover or not.”

Upon hearing his agreement, Yvonne continued to the estate through the gardens, entering from the doorway within the veranda. A blunder on her part for the rear of the house was overlooked by the dining room and the library- the two rooms which had been kept occupied that morning by Penny. Yvonne was observed entering the manor, disrupted seconds later by her sister, who was introduced by the vehement bustling of her skirts. The girl’s cheeks were equally as flushed as the dress she adorned- a shade which she declared was French rose- but one which Yvonne believed to be frivolous, regardless of its hue. Penny halted at the foot of the stairs, clutching the rounded newel cap at its post.

“Did you see Mister Sutton? How is he? Did you manage to acquire his records?”

Yvonne answered with a peevish- “Yes and he is unwell, Penny. You are quite aware of that fact already.”

Penny hesitated before deciding that she would follow her, skirts bunched in hand. She was inclined to forget that she had been left alone that morning, though solely at the expense that she was confided in- her intrigue often overwhelmed any other sentiment she held. The detail of Yvonne’s outing was meaningful, to Penny at least, and she wanted to hear all that had transpired.

“I ate breakfast alone,” she declared, intent on mentioning this fact first.

Yvonne came to the top of the stairs, ceasing, for a moment, so that she may glower in Penny’s direction. “You know I am impartial to breakfast. Besides, I ate before I left this morning; there is no need for you to worry.”

With that said, she continued down the corridor, her frock coat billowing as it often did, her fast pace allowing for such dramatics. Her top hat was tucked under one arm, the records under the other; seemingly, she was disinclined to any form of distraction that drew her from her duty, even when it came to Penny. Her sister approached her soon after, having dashed down the corridor in an attempt to walk alongside her.

“How considerate of you,” she wheezed, her stamina spent. “Although, you may forgive me in saying that it is not considerate at all. I was left alone; mother ate in her room. You should have travelled with a chaperone or a companion, and if there was none, you had me. I should have accompanied you.”

“That, to me, is inconceivable,” came the vexed response. “Considerably more than if I had been alone.”

Entering her study, Yvonne attempted to close the door behind her, hearing it opened seconds later by Penny. The eldest had wished for solitude, the quiet which often accompanied it, though she came to realise that this would not be the case. Tossing her hat onto the nearest cupboard, she sat at her desk, opening the latest account in the hope that Penny would grasp her intention, though it became clear that she cared little for her predicament.

“Do you believe it wise that you are the one to collect the rents?”

Yvonne considered Penny, who had remained on the other side of the desk. Her hands had splayed onto the mahogany and she was leaning forward, an attempt at assertiveness. Reaching across, Yvonne took the spectacles that rested atop a mound of books, placing them on the bridge of her nose.

She stared at Penny over their circular rim. “Do I have any choice in the matter? If not me, who? I would prefer that it was completed by someone else; not from incompetence on my part, but because I have other matters to attend to that are of more interest to me.”

Penny attempted to reason with her. “Remarkable that you have a large fortune at your disposal and you are unable to hire someone.”

“I want to do it.” Yvonne pushed the spectacles further up her nose. “Secondly, I fired that apprentice- I would never have hired him but Sutton insisted. He is of no use to me now, and with Sutton ill, it would be an insult to hire someone. I shall collect the rents when I see fit and if I deem it necessary to hire another delegate, I shall. Until then, I will operate all meetings with our tenants.”

That was the end of the discussion, in her mind, and she began to read the records when Penny spoke.

“Has it occurred to you that people may react a certain way? To you being so heavily involved?” Upon seeing her indignation, she hurried to continue. “I am supportive to your endeavours, Yvonne, but I worry that the admiration I hold for your ventures are unmatched by almost everyone. It would be easier, would it not, to use the wages to hire another appointee?”

“Easier for whom?” Yvonne exhaled heavily, head turning from one side to the other as if she were searching for inspiration in her response. “I care not for what they have to say about me; the only concern I have is for the upkeep of this estate and its land, which, by default, includes the farms and its workers.” She fell silent for a moment before making a further comment, her voice lowering in its animosity. “A man would not be questioned for doing so- our father was not. I must do what is fitting for our family and our home; I am not here to please the town in their ignorance.”

Penny contemplated her answer, her teeth pressing onto her bottom lip. She was anguished to broach the subject; nevertheless, she felt the time had come for her to acknowledge her sister’s confliction- within herself and among others. Believing herself to have matured in Yvonne’s absence, she thought she was capable of understanding her, wishing the sentiment was reciprocated.

“Your dealings may have been appropriate in Paris or London, but this is Bedfordshire. You know better than I how they regard anyone that is abnormal by definition. The townsfolk are trivial; their assumptions even more so. Proof lies in their talking of your arrival- how you rode your own carriage, in contempt of the fact the driver had been severely injured and you ensured he was cared for. His letter is here...” Penny leant across the desk to present the opened missive. “He expresses his gratitude in the payment of his medical expenses and has assured us that he wishes to work as needed until he repays the bill.

“I wish it were that simple for me- that I had the ability to leave as freely as you do. The townsfolk are not always pleasant.” Penny became impassioned, her hands rising from the desk, merely for them to strike down onto the wood. “You may not believe there is a need to explain yourself, but I have to ask why you cannot extend that courtesy to me! Why did you have to ride from Luton? Why not stay there? One more day, at least!”

Yvonne’s expression was concealed, her head lowering into her hands. She murmured a sound of dissatisfaction before sitting upright, fingers kneading circles into her temple.

“There was an outbreak of scarlet fever,” she disputed. “I was hardly inclined to stay and there was not much there to interest me, nothing that weighed the risk of becoming ill. I did what had to be done, which I would extend to your concern of me collecting the rents.”

“People believe that to be the sole employment of a man.”

Compiling the letters that were placed on her desk, Yvonne assumed that they had arrived courtesy of Penny, who, whilst grieved, had been considerate in bringing them to her study.

“They think that of an estate holder,” she remarked, “and yet, I own one. I consider this to be of equal responsibility, one that is mine.”

She opened the first letter, neglecting to examine the address, and unfolded it with a flick of her wrist. Penny, however, had noted its penmanship and knew it to be the writing of Mrs Naftali. Though she had never met the woman, Penny knew her to be a life-long friend of her sister’s- one that had been considered a companion of hers. Yvonne had never confirmed as such, but from Penny’s own conclusion, she knew that she was, perhaps, the most highly regarded of all the companions she had undertaken.

Silent, impassive, Yvonne displayed no feeling on what was written. Penny was anxious to know of its contents and if not, there was a pressing issue that felt as significant as the first.

“Does she know about Paris?” she inquired, voice lowering to a whisper, fearful that she would receive some form of retaliation. Worse, she would be given no answer at all.

Yvonne did not read the entirety of the letter, her gaze darting from one place to another.

To hear of your companionship with Miss Langdon was a relief in knowing that you may have found your equal; in hearing that this was not the case, I am saddened for you...

Your response was not what I had anticipated; you had confounded me into silence. I am disturbed at my own haste in replying- what I wished to have said will not be written here nor do I believe it should be. I am a married woman, Yvonne, and I know you believe me to be cruel, but I feel your affection is equally as cruel. We cannot keep pretending, my love, that there is any remnant of the devotion we once shared, not in any way that is considered beneficial to the both of us...

I have missed you, ardently, and my desire to write to you was inappropriate and ill-advised on my part. Your letter shall remain with the others, where I may continue to treasure them, but this may ignite a flame that we are ill-equipped to handle. My apologies in having disturbed you- I wish we were able to speak in person; life has not been kind to us in that way. It never has...

My heart always.

“Did you have a disagreement with Miss Langdon?”

Penny’s voice disrupted Yvonne, who glanced up, slowly- the sentiment in her gaze revealing that she had forgotten she was in her study, more so that she had company. She glanced at the letter once more before folding it, her lips twitching at the edges as they often did when she was on the verge of tears. Standing, she excused herself, brushing past Penny and exiting the room.

“Yvonne...”

It need not matter if she was heard, Yvonne would not return to her study. Penny wished she had mentioned the letters after the conversation, though she knew her sister would have discovered them sometime. Reproachful, she wished she could aid her in any way, though she was certain that her assistance would be rebuffed. If she were to follow her, that would only pain Yvonne more; she would want to read the letter alone. Penny was aware of that fact, but her own needs also deserved consideration, and she desired to occupy every possible hour with her sister. She had not yet deserted the hope that it may happen, anticipating the day that she was proven correct.

The following letter was from a Mrs Alston, another longstanding friend of Yvonne’s, who was writing to inform her that she would be passing through the county and held hopes of visiting, which, in extension, implied that she would lodge at Haynes Park for the night. She was travelling from London to York, a journey that she undertook during the spring season, and one which Yvonne had anticipated.

Appeased for the moment, she headed to the servants’ quarters, calling Mrs Prescott from her late luncheon. They stood in the passage, not wishing to be overheard, yet knowing that the others were seated mere feet away in the dining hall.

“I have received word from Mrs Alston that she intends on arriving next Wednesday. She shall be travelling with man and maid; they will need housing. As for Mrs Alston, the usual sleeping arrangements will suffice.”

Mrs Prescott bowed her head, indifferent. “Yes, ma’am.”

Yvonne was walking to the staircase when a thought struck her. She halted at the bottom step.

“Teresa?” Her brow was furrowed in contemplation. “Paulette, how is she? Is she settling in?”

“Very well, ma’am,” Mrs Prescott assured her; the expression on her face revealed nothing. She did not seem concerned by the maid, an indication that there was no reason to worry.

“And she has recovered from her travel sickness?”

Mrs Prescott stared blankly at her, her brows rising. Exhaling heavily, the breath was released with a- “Yes, ma’am. Not entirely, but sufficiently enough.”

“Good, I suppose that is a relief.”

Yvonne continued upstairs, leaving Mrs Prescott in stunned silence. Her lips moved as if she had thought of something to say, despite her employer having left, but she decided better of it. Returning to the dining table, she glanced across at Paulette, who was gingerly chewing on a piece of bread. Her gaze softened and when the maid peered across at her, she offered a reassuring smile. God knew the girl needed a little consolation.

Chapter Text

Pulling the cravat from her neck, she discarded it atop her vanity and started to undo the buttons on her shirt. She paused midway, the cloth hanging loosely forward, freer still by the suspenders she had plucked from her shoulders. Yvonne sat on the floorboards of her room, the thin rug beneath her barely allowing for comfort, and she removed her boots, leaving them to rest at the end of her bed. Satisfied, she unlocked the trunk before her, having requested that this sole case be left untouched; Yvonne wished to remove the items herself.

She unfolded and organised the clothes, the gifts and trinkets that she had acquired abroad, and the French books that she had obtained or purchased there. Pleased, some gratification came from knowing that she had used her time in Paris to her full advantage, not solely in personal pleasure, but in the pursuit of knowledge- of science, culture, politics. Yvonne had not been mistaken in travelling to France, even if she had not achieved her primary goal.

Glancing around her room, studying the furniture, the wallpaper, the clothes, she felt her shoulders slump downward, a riled huff of air escaping her lips. Haynes Park could not be compared to the wonders she had seen abroad; it was improbable. Despite its grandeur, its aristocratic heritage, it seemed a pitiful sight to what lay beyond the simplicity of the town and its surrounding countryside. There was a world for the taking and in her attempt at doing so, she had been condemned to her family home by the one person who she had hoped would free her.

Nestled amidst her belongings was the journal that she had taken to France, completed shortly before her return. She moved it to her lap, opening the leather-bound pages to glance over its contents, as if she did not know what it contained- the words that she had written in the frenzy of her infatuation, her happiness, and sequentially, her despair. Countless anecdotes that described, in fine detail, the time that she had spent in Paris’ polite society; the days that she had exhausted with Miss Langdon- the parties, the picnics, their journey along the Seine; the affection that had developed over time, from fondness to adoration; and the nights that they had spent together, where they would assert their desire in a way that could never be spoken, not outside the confines of her journal.

Across each page, the time that they had shared was a harrowing reminder of what had passed and what was to come. The words ‘Josephine’ and ‘Langdon’ appeared more than Yvonne cared for, yearning to tear the pages completely from the journal and be rid of them. She continued through her memoirs- the thoughts that she had admitted through her own volition- and found the account which she felt to be the most unbearable.

21st March, 1830

The truth will out- my sentiment in the last entry. I should not have been so foolish, blind even, to think that knowing the truth would be less painful; yet, I demanded it anyhow. You see, she will be travelling to Italy, but not with me. A conscious gibe at my expense? I could not say. All I know is that I asked for her to be my wife, a ceremony which we could enact whilst in Italy, and in saying no to me, she is now to spend her honeymoon there. A honeymoon that was, by all accounts, to be ours and will be- for her alone. I am left with no wife, no ceremony, and no potential of being in Italy, though she will be there- in wedded bliss. In the past, Josephine has expressed her disinterest in travelling to the country. It forces me to confront the question of whether there had been any authenticity in her statement, in her affection, or whether she holds our closeness in such little regard that she barely even realised the insult.

This was all discovered in me remaining at the apartment- Josephine believed that I had left for The Louvre. She said she would stay inside, writing letters to family, though she encouraged me to leave. I sensed her apprehension, knowing that there was to be a visitor this morning. Afraid of what that may entail, I kept to my room, letting her assume that I had left before she awoke.

Yvonne came to an abrupt halt, standing upon the platform situated in the centre of the stairwell- this interlude allowing its course to curve with the wall and continue to the lower floor. Midway, a slim, rectangular window overlooked the Parisian apartments and the commuters that strolled below. She watched them, distracting herself for a moment, as if she knew it may be her last chance to observe such a scene. Despite occupying the topmost apartment, she could hear the faint murmur of life through the glass- the conversations that were being had on the street below, the clatter of cart wheels, and the stomping of horses’ hooves. She drew her gaze to the sapphire sky, the white clouds that drifted amidst its atmosphere, then she turned her attention to the double doors at the bottom of the stairs.

Rare to see them closed; Yvonne had been the only one to do so during their visit- she had preferred to keep her encounters with Josephine private and uninterrupted. To see the room sealed, particularly when she had not been the culprit, riled her; indisputable that it was Josephine’s doing, the impulse serving to increase Yvonne’s suspicion.

She neared the door, ear close to brushing against it, listening to the sound of voices that reached her- one being Josephine; the other, a man. Her hand hovered, trembling in its indecision, before falling back to her side. Lowering her gaze to the floor, she closed her eyes, aware that any assertion she had held in discovering them was altogether vanished, and she was left grieved. Her lips drew inward, dragging across her teeth, a motion which may have soothed her. The understanding that there was a man in the apartment, undoubtedly a suitor, removed her of any courage that she had gained in waiting for his arrival.

A sound of happiness, coquetry; it was one I knew well, hers especially, and their conversation was precisely as it sounded- frivolous. It was a notion that could never be extended to me for I cannot offer anything more than some clandestine affair, a lovely distraction whilst they amuse themselves from their loneliness. I am prepared, every time, to offer myself wholly and all that I have, but it seems that this is nothing compared to money, to societal comfort. Love has no place in marriage, I have harshly discovered, for I would have been married ten times over to all the women whom I have loved and who have loved me. And for this indignity alone, I felt all endurance return to me. I will not be made the fool. Not by any man, not by societal expectation, and most certainly not by Miss Josephine Langdon.

Entering the room, the sweethearts were observed by the rear window, sharing the curved loveseat that had been placed there. Yvonne took a moment to think of how the idea had been hers, an endeavour in having them sit together, overlooking a capital that was infamous for romance. Josephine faced the door, standing in trepidation of what was to come, whilst her suitor peered over his shoulder, following her movement in the hope of an introduction. Uttering Yvonne’s name in astonishment, Josephine’s gaze flickered between the two admirers, stuttering in her attempt to belatedly acquaint them.

“This is Miss Yvonne Davers of Haynes Park, Bedford. Yvonne, this is Captain Edmund Fawcett.”

Despite her discomfort at the two having encountered each other, Josephine was pleased, revealing that her conversation with Captain Fawcett had been of great satisfaction to her. Yvonne knew what had transpired between the two, wishing to hear the admittance aloud, though she could not bring herself to ask. It was apparent that she had been defeated, an understanding that was heeded solely by the two women. As for the suitor, he attempted to converse with Yvonne, ignorant to her preoccupation.

His hand extended to take hers, waiting earnestly in the air between them. “It is a pleasure to meet you, Miss Davers. Josephine hardly speaks of anyone else.”

I thought to ask him if she had spoken of the affection between us- the kisses; the fleeting touches in public; the intimacy we employed daily within the confines of her room, where I tended to her sensibility until she came to a sense of satisfaction. Had she spoken of that? I suppose not. Did he possess the ability to equal me? I did not believe that either.

He released her hand, which, in its negligence, dropped to her side. The Captain was perplexed, glancing towards Josephine in the hope that she had noticed Miss Davers’ reluctance to address him, discovering, as he did, that she reflected his apprehension, though she was slowly mounting into a state of distress. Yvonne did not care to analyse the way they looked at each other, deciding to scrutinise his inadequacies- the grey that appeared at his temple. She was certain that Captain Fawcett was an elder gentleman, who, when nearing retirement, had decided to find himself a woman who would be his companion during the later years of his life. Having accumulated his wealth, he depended on this offer to entice the interest of a younger bride. Yvonne found the notion distasteful; it may have impressed Josephine, but not her.

Sensing her indignation, he excused himself. “I shall see you both at dinner.”

He parted, a hopeful smile directed at Josephine, to which she returned. Nothing was said in regards to Yvonne; it appeared that she had caused him to feel uneasy. She watched him leave, assurance deriving from his departure. Behind, Josephine attempted to clarify his earlier comment, her voice discovered now that the Captain had left.

“I have invited him to dine with us.”

Yvonne wished she had said anything but; what was surely to come was its own confirmation.

I was determined to do all I must in winning her hand, in spite of the belief that it was surely over, no matter what I did. Standing before her, I waited for the moment that she admitted the truth; perhaps I had expected too much, but I could never have afflicted her in the way she did me. If she had indicated any love for me, I would have fallen to my knees then and asked her to be my wife. But she never did. Rather, she stared at me as if I had been the offender this whole time. She was humiliated in being caught and in that humiliation, she was enraged. I could not understand it- Josephine was the one who had betrayed me. What crime had I committed other than loving her and believing that she may love me in return?

“I thought you had left for the museum,” Josephine remarked. She made a poor attempt at disguising her accusation, her shame accounting for her rising temper.

“No, I thought better of it,” Yvonne contended. “I felt it was the right thing to do.”

Her cutting remark caused Josephine to lower herself onto the loveseat, breathing heavily; head drooping forward, the convulsion of her chest revealed that she was repressing the urge to weep. Her anguish revealed more than words could and each shuddering breath was a penetrating blow to Yvonne’s heart. Reluctant, Yvonne stood before her, imperious in the way she towered above the other woman. The impression was inadvertent and it was one that she was hardly aware of; she had become distracted by her whimpering lover, unnerved by her own incapability of pressing the issue. Yvonne acknowledged her own desperation for the truth, but in her insistence, she would simply receive an answer that she was unprepared for.

In her trepidation, she was reminded of Augusta, inclined to believe that she had returned to that moment when her love informed her that she was to be wed. They were not dissimilar, and she had seen the same remorse upon Josephine’s features as she had in Augusta’s, hence her resolution to stay within the apartment that morning. Yvonne was resentful that having discovered the truth, she must now suffer for it. She wished to be proven false, to be assured that this was nothing other than a trivial fancy on the Captain’s part, but if that were so, Josephine would not have been distraught, not as she currently was. Blinking, she prevented a tear from escaping, appealing to her own good nature that she would not be made a spectacle of- no more than she already had.

A mumble escaped Josephine’s lips, her head remaining low in her reluctance to meet Yvonne’s eye. “Edmund has asked me to marry him... I have agreed.”

Gasping for breath that never came, Yvonne fell to her knees, hands clasped to her stomach as if she had been severely wounded. Any breath that remained left through parted lips, surging through her body in such ferocity that it caused the entirety of her to shudder. She crawled the remainder of the distance between them, hands clinging to Josephine’s feet and then her knees, pleading for her to reconsider. Scarcely able to raise her head, her face buried into Josephine’s skirt, inhaling the faint scent of her perfume.

“Please...”

Josephine grimaced, knowing she could not grant her with the desired answer. One hand took hold of Yvonne’s, their fingers entwining; the other brushed through her golden hair, its tendrils barely passing the nape of her neck.

“I have made my decision and I will keep to it,” she told her, voice trembling.

Yvonne quivered in response, her tears soaking into the skirt as she attempted to subdue her strangled cries. She could feel Josephine clinging to her, a reciprocity that she had not expected, particularly in the wake of her announcement, and she sensed a touch on the back of her head. Realising Josephine had leant forward, her nose pressing against her hair, Yvonne began to wail, the noise subdued by the silk folds in which she had buried herself.

“Why?” she demanded.

Josephine did not respond for several minutes, grasping her tightly as if she believed that would comfort them both. It did not and she soon responded- “I am sorry. I truly am.”

That was of no satisfaction to either of them and they sat in silence, the only intermission being their recurrent weeping. Yvonne believed that their inability to say anything more was simply proof that there was nothing left to say; they were removed from one another and would continue to be, despite the fact that they were sitting together. There was nothing to be done.

So, you see, she is to marry him.

...

I am to return to England alone. Most distressingly, wifeless. For her, she will go to Italy where we were to be wed and she will be. Just not with me.

The pages crumpled under her grip, wrinkling at the edges where she was tempted to tear them from the journal- expelling the proof when she was incapable of doing so to the memory. Tugging at the account, Yvonne urged herself to remove it, once and for all. She found, however, that she could not and in her frustration, she closed the book with considerable force, taking some comfort from the weighty thud that followed.

Discarding the leather-bound journal on the floor, indifferent to when she would place it with the others, her hands flew to her hair, curling tightly in the short, flaxen waves that had once given her pleasure. Upon reflection, she was left dissatisfied. Yvonne had found amusement in those who thought her to be male and had, at times, obliged such beliefs, but as she scraped her fingers through her hair, she thought- how like a man’s, an assessment which was solely injurious. She was a woman, despite the way she presented herself to others, and she did not wish for anything different. It would have accounted for her queer nature, though she believed it would not have aided her in much else.

Nevertheless, Yvonne wished for a partnership, one which would be legally and spiritually binding, and one which she would extend to the end of her days. If she were a man then she believed neither Augusta nor Josephine would have dismissed her proposal, yet here she was- condemned to a life without either.

Her bottom lip trembled, her knees brought to her chest as she lowered her head between them. It did not lessen the tears that began to fall, though it dampened the sound of her irrepressible sobbing. A sharp wail caused Doctor Samuel Johnson to awaken in his cage, chirping across to her in the knowledge that she was hurt. She did not answer for a while and he watched her as she sat upon the floor, curled into a foetal position. Once she had finished, he knew she would attend to him but it took longer than expected for her whimpers to subdue.

Chapter Text

Fastening the straps on her trunk, Yvonne closed it with scant satisfaction, her gaze settling dejectedly on the trunk’s contents that had been strewn across the room. Her fringe had fallen in a sweeping motion across her forehead and she brushed it back, disturbed to hear a knock at the door. She wished the visitor would leave, despite knowing that she must entertain the caller, their untimely disruption merely serving to make her more wretched in thought and feeling. Yvonne could not fathom which was worse- the unkempt chamber or its deplorable occupant. Both appeared to be rather dismal.

Her voice rose in irritation. “Yes?”

The door opened hesitantly, a motion that caused her to think it was a servant, but it was Penny, the chestnut hue of her eyes reflecting the unmistakable concern she held for her sister. She cowered in the doorway, the powdered pink of her dress the main determinant of her figure in the shadows. When she judged that all was well, or rather, that her company would be tolerated, she stepped into the room, slowly approaching Yvonne.

“Mother is in the drawing room,” she said, her voice soft and somewhat hopeful. “I read Robinson Crusoe whilst we sat by the fire; she rather likes it. I thought you may want to join us. You used to like Crusoe (5)- remember when you read it to me?” Discouraged to see Yvonne avert her gaze, she continued with resolution. “You always told me how you would experience it for yourself one day, the Caribbean. For a while, I thought I may join you.” She fell silent for a minute. “I suppose that is now out of the question.”

Yvonne simply answered with- “I am unpacking.”

She gestured to the objects that had been placed around the room, each mound categorised into its relevant section so they may be kept well-ordered. The action caused Penny’s gaze to hover over each pile, inspecting the items that had been brought from Europe. She noted the literature that was undoubtedly from Paris and a selection of clothes that had been bought specifically for evening wear, a degree of masculinity to the garments that were bordering on the improper. Mouth down-turning, her hands clasped together as she stared pensively up at her sister.

“I suppose, in contrast, we seem uninteresting,” she remarked.

Indisputable that she was distressed. Her sentence stumbled to its end and as it did, she felt Yvonne take her by the shoulders, bringing her forward into a firm embrace. Penny was gratified, returning the gesture with all of her might, arms wrapping around her torso. She was a convenient height for Yvonne to rest her chin atop her head, Penny’s copper ringlets dishevelled from her lack of care.

Yvonne spoke resolvedly, though her words were faint. “I refuse, for one second, to let you believe that the issue is you. It is never you, my dear.”

There was a tremor in her voice, revealing the anguish that she had desperately hoped to suppress, and Penny knew she had wept. She could discern the dejection within her, simply from the way Yvonne clung to her, the eldest seeking solace that she could never ask for.

Removing herself from the embrace, Yvonne took hold of Penny’s wrist, leading her to the chest positioned at the end of her bed. They sat alongside each other- Penny waiting for clarification on the events that had led to the other’s return, Yvonne believing there was nothing to be said; she merely wanted to sit awhile with her sister. This did not satisfy Penny, who wished for a solution, as best as she was capable of offering, though she believed any attempt would be rebuffed, regardless of her best efforts.

“What happened, Yvonne?” she urged, leaning forward so that she may view her expression clearly. “In Paris with Miss Langdon... She did not return but you did.”

Her hand came to rest atop Yvonne’s wrist, her fingers pressing lightly down, hoping to urge her in action as well as words. She felt the eldest turn her hand upward at the touch, an incentive for her to take hold of it, which she did, satisfied that her consolation had not been rebuffed. As she clutched onto her sister, she felt Yvonne’s other hand settle on them both, encasing them within her large grip. She appeared to be tearful yet no tears were shed, despite the redness that had developed around her eyes.

“Nothing,” she breathed.

Her attention focused on their entwined hands, regarding this to be the most agreeable option, more so than having to acknowledge the worry that Penny’s features had adopted. Yvonne had not wanted to involve the girl; her current predicament would merely trouble her, and greatly so, which was abhorrent to Yvonne, as she refused to allow the disorder in her life to encroach on Penny, who, by all measures, had a better chance of living in happiness and fulfilment. She thought it unjust that her unfortunate predisposition should affect her sister in any way. In thinking so, she felt her bottom lip tremble, a restless notion that she struggled to prevent.

Her head rested against Penny’s shoulder, a shuddering exhale emitted as she did. It was this impulse that caused Penny to realise that she must dismiss the notion of talking about Paris, much to her own disappointment. However, she was content, for the time being, to alter the discussion to Yvonne’s fancy. She did not regard the subject of Miss Langdon to be complete, not by any means, and she was resolved to discover all that had happened- not through the contempt of her sister’s feelings but in the endeavour to comprehend them. Penny wished to lessen Yvonne’s misery in any way she could.

“I never finished that story, did I?” Penny mused. Her voice lilted slightly in an attempt to be light-hearted. “As you know, we experienced that terrible accident by the hill. I am sure you heard the account of Elijah- how we kept him here for a day and once his father had come to retrieve him, the poor child had to have his leg amputated. Well, George Bell- the father, and one of our tenants, as I am sure you know- he was understandably distressed at the whole ordeal. I heard the surgery was a success, although Elijah will take time to recover and, naturally, he will be bereft in having to be without a leg. It will surely affect the family as a whole. Simply horrid; don’t you agree, Yvonne? I have barely slept this week in thinking of him. I certainly attempted to support him in every way I could whilst he was here, yet I often question if I should have done better.

“And how self-centred of me in thinking so when a boy is without his leg, and how unfortunate and wretched that Miss Donoghue had to endure it all, believing it to be her fault. She was hardly to blame. Firstly, she was not the person who drove the carriage. Secondly, she was the one who commanded the situation once they had struck him- the coachman was hardly of any use, though I believe he was not at fault for hitting the boy. Besides, the constable was there to take an account of the events and I heard, through Mrs Prescott, that there was no fault on anybody’s side. It was an unfortunate state of events- a freak accident, if you will.

“You may think it improper of me, but whilst I attended to Miss Donoghue, I could not help but notice how young and charming she was. She was very becoming and I would have liked to converse with her further, but she was with an older woman... Miss Ainsley, I believe. She was her childhood governess. Now, she accompanies her as a sort of chaperone. Little in the way of friends, I think, so she has hired the woman for propriety only. You may have guessed from her name, but she does not originate from England; she has travelled all the way from Ireland. Why she would want to make such a journey to plain old Bedford, I do not know. Her fortune must make her the most eligible young woman in the county- after me, naturally.

“She appears to be rather demure; she was not much talkative, but in comparison with Miss Ainsley, I suppose anyone would give that impression. Oh, and Miss Ainsley kept talking incessantly of the silliest of things- to mother, of all people. I feel very sorry for Miss Donoghue if that is all she has in ways of companionship. She has no immediate family, so I hear, and her friends are either living in Ireland or across the country; there is certainly nobody here who she knows. I had to question why she would make such a decision, though I believe she has some hidden purpose..." Penny paused to giggle, reminded of the woman’s countenance when a certain Miss Davers had been discussed. “But I could not possibly think of what it may be...

“She must be lonely, deciding to live here with no friends nor family nearby. I would like to strike a friendship and you certainly would take a fancy to her. She needs someone to spend her time with. I feel grieved that all she has for company is Miss Ainsley, who, I am sure, will try to surround her with frivolous friends and distant relatives, but you can tell that Miss Donoghue does not care for that. I believe the three of us are very much alike in that sense. All she needs is someone who shall care for her, not the fortune nor the family tragedy, but her specifically. I question if she has so much as one person who regards her that way. Yes... I think we shall both get along with her quite agreeably. You the most. I could not say why, but I feel you shall both find a friend in each other.”

Having come to the end of her report, satisfied to have discussed it at last, she fell silent. Penny waited for a response, but she realised, after a few moments, that there would be none. She was despondent in thinking so, though she could accept her sister’s lack of want in talking or to have company.

Subsiding into a laboured reticence, Yvonne clasped her arms around Penny’s, her face burying deeper into her shoulder. Her breath had calmed in the time that she had spoken, but Penny still felt a droplet against her neck, proceeding down her back and onto her dress, and she knew it to be a tear. Watching the feathery hair as it remained unmoved, Penny bit onto her bottom lip, discouraged in thinking that she could do little for her. She was uncertain as to how Yvonne could be comforted; their time together had been meagre in recent years and they had become reluctant in their approach to one another. Penny did not wish to have any doubt when it came to her sister, fearing that they had already bridged a point of no return- that did not mean she loved her any less. It was apparent that she revered Yvonne and, in her own way, Yvonne adored her.

Penny left a kiss amidst the golden hair, admiring, as she often did, how short it was- the daring her sister held in defying convention. In response, she felt Yvonne clutch her arm a little tighter. Neither wished to be apart from the other, so they remained sitting side-by-side. Penny thought it rather pleasant, despite their reason for being there, and if she had inquired as to Yvonne’s feelings on the matter, she would have discovered she felt the same.

Penny’s voice spoke out in the still air, observing the dusk as it settled through the window, stretching across their figures. “I forgot to tell you, but I was in town earlier today and the place was teeming with soldiers. Some of them were quite young and handsome, if I do say so myself...”

Chapter Notations

5. Robinson Crusoe (1719) is a novel written by Daniel Defoe.

Chapter Text

The walkway which extended down the righthand side of Colworth House made for pleasant viewing, aided mainly by the various flowers that had begun to blossom. Their sudden growth was attributed to the oncoming of spring, and as Bonnie stared out of the window, she came to wish that she was walking amongst the assorted shrubbery rather than remaining inside- an obligatory practice that she had undertaken since arriving at the estate.

She had removed herself from the solitary confines of her childhood home, merely to place herself in a confinement of her own making. However, Bonnie believed this routine to be reasonable when one had no acquaintances in the area, an inconvenience that could easily be rectified, but a practice which Miss Ainsley ascribed to ill-health. She considered it to be a fragility of the body, one which had occurred during the accident earlier that week; or worse, from the lady’s viewpoint, Bonnie was not of sound mind, although this was an assumption that Miss Ainsley believed to be inevitable.

Regardless, Bonnie did not suspect this to be the case and she was certain that her isolation was borne from a lack of associates within Bedford. She had developed a subsequent aversion to some of the townsfolk that she had met- Doctor Kensley being one. He was currently stood beside her, his spindly fingers grasping her wrist, which hung limply from his hand. Since tending to her, Doctor Kensley had taken to dallying around her person, staring at her in a way that she found to be distasteful. Bonnie had discovered, within the first minute of making his acquaintance, that she despised him; he had a bothersome air and she thought, in his way of talking, that he was rather arrogant.

His thumb brushed repeatedly along her wrist, a vain attempt at measuring her pulse. The notion provoked her skin to itch and she wished she were able to recoil from the whole of him. Irked, she peered up, the first attempt she had made in acknowledging him since he had entered the room. Her fury was countered with an unwitting smile, the response causing Bonnie to consider that he was not so much a scoundrel as he was imbecilic.

Miss Ainsley was seated opposite, her presence of little reassurance to the young woman. She was ignorant to the silent conflict, smiling witlessly in her endeavour to console the supposed invalid. The quiet scene was interrupted by the doctor, who addressed the custodian as if Bonnie was not seated between them.

“Does she plan to travel?”

Bonnie, having not been addressed, said nothing, preferring to stare out of the window. Her companion leant keenly forward, pleased to have been included, even at the expense of her ward.

“Why, yes!” she affirmed, merrily. “Miss Donoghue has considered journeying to Loch Ness with her friend, Miss Annie Quinton. The plan is that they shall travel in the summer when the weather is agreeable.”

The outing was of little consequence to Bonnie, who had been intent on refusing the invitation; yet, in the wake of his question, she felt the obligation to attend, a prospect which merely served to agitate her, as she could think of nothing worse. His grip lessened on her wrist and she hastily brought it to her lap, tucking it securely beneath her arm. This act of contempt was not observed by the doctor, his consideration directed solely on the elder, despite the fact that Miss Ainsley was not his patient.

“There appears to be no physical trauma in regards to the accident that befell you both; her body is in remarkable condition.” Facing the custodian, he did not notice Bonnie’s gaze as it arched upwards, an irritation displayed that she could barely conceal. “Though I would not discredit the idea that there is some mental trauma...” The doctor drew pleasure in Miss Ainsley’s horrified gasp, pressing on. “I believe that a short reprieve will do her good- she must have respite in nature, somewhere that reminds her of home. If Miss Donoghue comes from the lakes of Kerry, I propose that Loch Ness is precisely what she needs and, as a man of science, I encourage it.”

Bonnie thought it droll that a man of science could be so obtuse, and she took to smirking, disrupted shortly after by Miss Ainsley who called to her, saying- “You must write to Annie at once! Certainly, you will benefit from visiting the lake with a friend, one with whom you are already familiar.”

The young woman felt her smile lessen, contorting into a grimace. She held no interest in seeing Miss Quinton; if she had, Bonnie would have surely seen her sooner. There was an importance in her remaining at Colworth House, yet she would not say why, and she felt the significance of her patience- the award that she would gain from it. Bonnie distinguished that there was no benefit in her being by the lake nor in London; that would simply evoke a distance between herself and Bedfordshire that she was loathe to create.

In her disinterest, she continued to observe the garden, the flowers that fluttered in the breeze. She emitted a non-committal hum, one which intended offence. Despite her insult, Miss Ainsley was unsurprised by her behaviour, turning to Doctor Kensley instead.

“If Miss Donoghue is too frail to do so, I may compose the letter myself. It would prevent any further strain to her mind.”

Bonnie was indifferent in any case, all the more so when she heard the doctor speak.

“She requires interaction, particularly with those who she considers dear to her. Miss Donoghue needs drawing out of her reserve, else she may suffer for it in the future. I have to ask whether she was introduced to society?”

“No, she was not,” Miss Ainsley informed him, saddened to discuss her previous employers. “Her parents died before it could be arranged, which was upsetting in consideration of the fact that they were preparing for her coming out on her return to Kerry.”

Doctor Kensley stepped backward, his hand coming to rest atop Bonnie’s shoulder. Her head turned from the window to the other side of her, peering at the medic with palpable distaste. Despite his earlier attention, he did not appear to notice the way she stared at him and she wished, for one second, that he would, so that she may express the entirety of her feelings on the matter. His thumb brushed along her shoulder whilst he continued to lecture Miss Ainsley. Observing them both, Bonnie surmised that she ought to say nothing for she would not be heard nor regarded; they had forgotten that she was there.

“If she has not yet experienced a coming out then I highly recommend that she does so here in Bedford. It would benefit her greatly.”

Bonnie did not believe that it would, although she appeared to have no say, conveying her frustration in tacit indifference as she continued to watch the flowers. She waited in hope that Miss Ainsley would inquire into her thoughts, her opinion on whether she ought to have a coming out now that she had entered womanhood, but her companion merely resumed her conversation with the doctor.

“You see, Doctor Kensley, Miss Donoghue is an only child. Her younger brother, God rest his soul, was tragically drowned in the lake and she is the sole heir of the Donoghue fortune. Miss Donoghue would be delighted in having a coming out, but in performing such an act, she might attract unwanted attention, particularly when it comes to financial matters. It is of the utmost importance that both she and her legacy are protected.”

Contemplating the multitude of blossoms, Bonnie felt her throat itch, blinking rapidly to dispel any tears that may arise. She thought it unfair- as to what specifically, she believed it to be the whole sum of events. Doctor Kensley did not deserve intelligence on her life thus far when he had little intelligence to begin with, and she felt, at this moment in time, that Miss Ainsley was hardly better. The statement from her custodian had exposed her life to travesty, reiterating the misery that had slowly provoked her decision in arriving at Colworth House. Resentful, Bonnie supposed that Miss Ainsley ought to tell the whole neighbourhood for she would surely do so anyway, exposing the isolation that the young woman was trapped within, despite her best efforts. Her bottom lip trembled, her hands clasping tightly together in her attempt to sedate the restless beating of her heart.

If it were possible, Bonnie would grasp the earliest convenience in allowing her freedom. She wished to be liberated from the world in which she lived, not in the sense that her family and friends wished upon her, but in her own way and she was resolved, at the very least, to have that.

Conversing, the doctor released his hold on her shoulder, striding across the room to stand before Miss Ainsley. “In these circumstances, being kind can be cruel, particularly when the lady has a tendency towards melancholy. I suggest that adventure is the perfect cure, whether it be travelling to the lakes or hosting a social gathering, but I am certain that a little animation in her life will serve to remedy Miss Donoghue’s despondency.”

The doctor peered over his shoulder, attempting to smile at her once more, but she turned her gaze to the window. She noted a swallow capering across the grass and she found the bird to be of more interest than the spectacle that had unfolded in her drawing room.

Neglecting to return his attention, Bonnie watched the swallow, contemplating whether her neighbour had yet arrived. Miss Yvonne Davers was expected that week and she assumed that she may have already reached Haynes Park. At such a thought, she felt her heartbeat quicken once more, though it was not from nerves as much as it was from anticipation. It would be appropriate, she reflected, for her to return to the Davers family, expressing her gratitude for their support in the accident and in greeting her new neighbour. She may present herself as discourteous if she did not, and it was crucial to her that this was not the case. Bonnie questioned what she may say when chancing upon Miss Yvonne Davers- whether they would have anything to say at all. She hoped that the noblewoman was more than she had ever wished for, though she heartily believed that she would be; Bonnie had never held such a high opinion of anyone, not as she did Miss Davers.

Chapter Text

Twelve years previous, the first floor of Haynes Park had been reconstructed, fashioning half of its expanse into several compartments, all of which circulated around Lady Davers’ private chambers. This was completed with the primary intention that she need not venture further than those rooms required, maintaining the quiet and isolation which she longed for, even at the expense of her daughters’ company. It was in her private parlour, the one adjacent to her bedroom, that she was disturbed by a knock at the door. Irritable to have her daily contemplation disturbed, Lady Davers did not answer the request, yet the door opened anyhow, ignorant to her want.

Yvonne stepped into the room, uninvited and uncaring of that fact. She was dressed in her coat, which her mother attributed to her upcoming meeting with their tenants; the only piece missing was the customary top hat, seen tucked under her arm. From the resolute look in her eye, Lady Davers knew it was to be a conversation undesirable to her. Before Yvonne could speak, the elder voiced her opinion, intent on being first.

“I hold no interest in discussing your predicament.”

Yvonne seated herself on the divan opposite, markedly contemptuous when it came to her mother’s remark. The subject of inquiry, to her, was imperative; she considered it to be a pressing matter, glowering at the apparent disapproval that she was met with.

“Nothing has been said,” she uttered.

Her mother scoffed, peering across, the grey hue of her eyes reflecting the disdain that she held for being placed in such a quandary. “I doubt you would be here if you did not need my assistance. I am unmoved on the subject, whatever it may be; I do not wish to hear it.”

Yvonne persisted, nevertheless. “I came to inquire on your opinion regarding a new venture that I have undertaken, and I know how it pleases you to pass judgement on all that I do, so I ask, before I am to leave, what you think of the lace industry?”

Lady Davers was silent, staring into the barren fireplace that she had been placed beside. Eventually, she uttered- “What of it?”

Yvonne leant forward, her elbows resting atop her thighs as she did so. “I have decided upon using our factory for the production of lace. It has been nothing more than storage for our machinery and it has become a squandered opportunity. At present, lace is the second largest industry within Bedfordshire and is, without a doubt, profitable. If we have the resources available, would it not be a gross misuse to refuse any chance in partaking within the trade? We have all that is necessary and what we lack, we would be able to compensate for once we have gained some profit from its sales.”

“It seems, to me, that you do not need my opinion. You have already decided.”

Her indifference was not a comfort to Yvonne, apprehensive to hear what she thought of her proposal, injurious or not. Despite her mother’s disinterest, Lady Davers had been her husband’s partner in trade, as well as within the home, and she knew more than she was willing to admit. Yvonne knew her mother to be economical, despite her apathetic demeanour towards the subject.

“Yet, I ask for it anyhow,” she pursued. “What is your impression of the lace industry?”

“I am under the impression that it is a waste of your time.” Lady Davers paused, her lips parted as if she were compelling herself to continue. “It will be troublesome, so, on all accounts, it would be wise for you to remain uninvolved.”

“Why?”

There was no answer, her mother’s pointed nails plucking at the pewter grey blanket which lay across her lap. Leaning forward, Yvonne pressed her further, insisting upon an answer. Lady Davers huffed, drawing quivering breathes inward as if their conversation was causing her considerable grief. Nevertheless, she gave to answering when Yvonne did not halt in her questioning.

“It is a competitive business!” she exclaimed, her words bursting forth in a mixture of indignation and exasperation. “One that is expensive to upkeep. If you were to continue with this trade, I believe it shall merely serve as a burden, nothing more.”

“Then I suppose it is fortunate that it is I who shall operate the business, rather than someone who does not believe in its potential.”

Yvonne stood, unperturbed, despite the critical appraisal she had received. She left a light kiss on her mother’s curls, their silvery tincture complimentary to the white and black decoration that adorned the parlour. In the past, when her father had been alive, the Park was furbished with an array of colour, a distinct contrast to the monochromatic hue that had been left in the wake of his death. If she were to permit it, Lady Davers would not allow for colour anywhere, though she had little say on the matter, considering the estate had not passed to her but to Yvonne.

Taking the golden watch from her waistcoat, Yvonne read the time, pocketing it once she had finished. She had twenty-three minutes till her first appointment in town and despite it being a thirty-minute walk, Yvonne was confident she would be there on time. Her new groom, a temporary fixture whilst they searched for someone more qualified, had insisted that the chaise would be waiting for her on the driveway. Aloof, she had said nothing and planned to leave through the back door.

With a short explanation as to where she was going, Lady Davers unmoved in any case, Yvonne exited the manor through the gardens and onto the hillside which lay beyond the walls of Haynes Park. She did not express, to any of the staff, that she was not in need of the chaise and supposed they were to eventually discover that she had left. Amused, she placed her top hat upon her head and continued onto the moors, her cane swinging back and forth in the air, occasionally punctuating the grass in rhythm with her prolonged strides.

Tucked underneath her other arm were the records for her tenants; astonished as they would be to see her, they would be more so when discovering that she knew the detail of their accounts. Her conduct would be called to question- a person with lesser nerve would be grieved, but Yvonne expected nothing less, nor did she care for their opinion.

The public house of her choosing was one which had been owned by the Davers family for the last three decades- The Hare and Hounds Inn. It was the only establishment of its lot which she believed to be respectable, and she deemed it imperative that such business should be held on her grounds rather than somewhere she was unfamiliar.

On approaching the building from the steep path behind, one which led from the hills to the town, she noted several of her tenants stood outside. They were startled to see her, notably without a delegate or chaperone, but despite their bewilderment, the men stepped aside to let her pass, each greeting her with a swift- “Morning, Miss Davers.”

She returned their greeting, satisfied to find no resistance on their part. Yvonne entered the inn through the open door, held ajar for her by a tenant. On entering the seating area, the men that awaited her stood, greeting her in a similar fashion to the men outside. The response was what she expected of her employees, despite their reservations of her sex, and she acknowledged them all by name, as she believed it her duty to treat them with equal deference.

Perceiving George Bell, she approached him, mindful that she had not yet inquired into the injury that had befell his son. He appeared grateful that she acknowledged him, although she felt the gratitude to be unnecessary- Yvonne considered it her responsibility to oversee the boy’s medical needs, the accident having occurred on her land and the family being her tenants.

“How is Elijah, Mister Bell?” she inquired, her voice lowering to express her condolences.

The father bowed his head in gratitude. “He is well, thank you, ma’am. Better than we could have hoped and we are grateful, despite all that has occurred, that he is with us. My wife and I cannot thank you enough for the support that we have received from your family, Miss Penny, especially. May you pass our thanks for the basket she sent us? Elijah was almost in good spirits for the first time since the incident.”

Yvonne was not aware of what basket he was referring to, affirming that she would deliver the message once she had returned home. Perplexed that a gift had been sent without her knowledge, particularly when it was from Penny, she insisted on providing her own assistance.

“I shall come and see the boy when possible,” she asserted. “I know that you have continued to work for us and I appreciate your dedication. It is time that I repay your aid with my own. As for the driver, the constable has informed me that he continues to speak with Miss Donoghue’s coachman, although he does not believe it to be the fault of anyone. However, if I am to find that this is not the case, I will see to it myself that the man is horse-whipped for the harm he has done. He may answer to Miss Donoghue but in having injured one of my own tenants, I shall have him answer to me too. I believe I shall be less forgiving when it comes to justice.”

“Thank you, ma’am. I cannot express my appreciation enough.”

She excused herself, calling to the barman to inquire as to whether there was a table reserved for her meeting, which the barman confirmed there was- it was the booth opposite that had been visibly cleared for her arrival. Satisfied, she placed the records and the cash register that she had brought with her onto the table, situating them close to where she planned to sit. Despite her preference to remove her coat, she elected not to; there was a reputation she must uphold and with her newfound involvement as a landowner, she felt its significance more so than before. Yvonne refused to be nonchalant- it would be appropriate, she felt, to assert her authority in these matters early so that there was no confusion on her part.

Seating herself at the table, she withheld her breath, and a particular opinion, when she noted the approach of a long-standing tenant, Benjamin Massey. Massey was a retired Sergeant who had taken the role of a farmhand and blacksmith simultaneously on his return to Bedford. His vigour was suitable for the work he endured, although his fortitude, she felt, was less durable, and she had come to question how dependable his nature truly was. In her absence, Sutton had taken to noting the shift in the political tension around town, Massey being one who was dedicated to the cause of the southern riots. The man’s saunter alluded to such beliefs as he approached Yvonne, undoubtedly hopeful that she understood his radical intentions. She did, though she made no sign of it as he sat before her.

“Fifty-pound rent, I believe,” she noted, impatient to have the meeting completed.

Her haste was met with aversion, his sizeable body leaning backward to rest against the wooden bench, his broad hands coming to rest atop his thighs. If the impression was to be intimidating then she was not fooled; even so, she was agitated, wishing the conversation to be taken seriously rather than as an attempt at browbeating.

“That was not the price agreed upon,” he stipulated. “We agreed on a lower price since the roof was in a bad state when I renewed my yearly lease. In that time, it has become worse, so I agreed with Lady Davers, as Sutton was unavailable, that the rent would be lowered to forty-eight pound. That is a fair price for the condition of the roof.”

“You will find, Mister Massey, that my mother does not speak on my behalf, particularly when it comes to business matters. I find it believable that she agreed to the terms if only to be rid of you; besides, she has no lasting say in my tenants nor how they are managed. I do, however, and as far as I am aware, there is no contractual agreement to refer to. This is unacceptable and I will defer to our original agreement of fifty pounds.”

Massey leant forward, a glower forming. “The roof remains unfixed, Miss Davers, so I believe that I am in my right to contend the price. Until such provisions are made for the state of my home, I will pay the forty-eight.”

“Was the roof an issue during the winter?” she questioned, brow rising. “Surely, if it was, you would have seen to its repair sooner? A man of your talent and trade, you are in a position to do the repairs yourself. In the lease, it states that you are responsible for the maintenance of the building, which, by extension, includes the roof. Unfortunately for you, the agreement of a half-deaf woman, who is not your landowner in any sense of the word, is not any kind of agreement at all. I can offer you the two pounds owed as a contribution to the costs, but I will not pay you any money; I believe you are not owed anything more than that. The roof should have been fixed by now, Mister Massey, which I am sure you are aware of and you shall not swindle me out of any more money. You have had long enough.”

Massey growled. “That was not the understanding.”

Yvonne hardly cared for the agreement between her mother and Massey; it should not have been created in the first place. She raised her gaze from the arrears, maintaining an eye contact that either would be loath to break.

“I will inspect the roof tomorrow,” she proposed, “but in regards to next month, I expect fifty pounds as originally agreed.” On perceiving the way he sat forward, his lips parting to utter some disagreement that she could not bear to hear, Yvonne held up her finger to silence him. “All rent is calculated meticulously and fairly. I pride myself on ensuring that all my tenants receive an honest price. Depending upon each collection, I calculate them on a house by house basis. For that, I do not expect to collect any more than what is necessary. I expect to be treated with respect; in return, I shall extend the same courtesy to you. If you cannot honour the lease that you have agreed to, there is no shortage of men searching for such land and property that I happen to own, and they would be grateful for the residence given to them. I am sure they will work twice as hard on the farms for it. The choice is yours, Massey, but I am perfectly content either way.”

Leaning back, his hands curled on his lap, a scowl forming.

“I only have forty-eight with me,” he grumbled.

Satisfied, Yvonne started to note the finance in her book. “Then you may owe me two pounds, alongside the arrears from January. However, if you use the money owed to fix the roof then I shall discard any mention of debt. If that were the case, I expect all repairs to be completed to my satisfaction and within the agreed time limit, which will be discussed tomorrow morning when I come to see you.”

She considered her proposal more courteous than he deserved, though he appeared to disagree, scoffing and tossing the rolled packet of money across the table. Thinking him impudent, she stared at him for a minute, her gaze hard and searching before it lowered to her record book. A note was detailed on their agreement and the time in which she predicted its completion. With their meeting finished, Massey stood, halting before he was to walk away. The motion caught her attention, despite herself, and she frowned up at him in questioning disapproval.

His dark gaze stared down at her, equally dark brows knitting together. “The land is for the free; it belongs to no man. There will come a time when landlords will be thrown from their land, and they shall no longer do as they please.”

Yvonne was indifferent in any case; she was performing the role left for her by her father, and his ancestors before him. The responsibility which came with the Park was one that she took seriously- it was one that had been established for generations. She hardly believed that a man of little substance should have the opportunity to equal her. His sole displeasure was in his belittlement, which she could not help, and there was small chance in it being righted, so he would merely continue to be displeased.

She stared at him, a smile forming upon her lips, nodding in acknowledgement. Then she stood, her height allowing for them to stand as equals. He was close to intimidation- his stature and strength would have allowed for it, yet she could smell the liquor on his breath and she knew him to be a cad.

“You are correct on one fact, Mister Massey,” she remarked. “The land does not belong to a man; it belongs to me. As for your generous warning, I must say that you can do all you wish, for when the time comes, I shall give as good a fight as anybody.”

Standing there, impeccably still, Yvonne maintained her stare with his, both of them waiting for the other to step aside. It was apparent to her that he was startled by her reaction, having expected her to retreat, though he found, to his dismay, that she did not. Massey emitted a short huff of laughter, as if to convince them both that she did not alarm him, and then, he left. She watched him as he weaved through the tables and round the bar, questioning whether she trusted him to frequent her inn, particularly when he believed in the cause of the southern riots. Resolving to observe his behaviour, she called for the next tenant in the queue, seating herself once more.

Massey had stopt at the bar, speaking in lowered tones to the men who stood there, demanding a drink a moment later. Vexed, Yvonne scowled, the irritable expression on her face seen by him from across the room. He faltered in his speech before shuffling onto the bar stool, sipping at the drink he had been served. She knew, without a doubt, that he would be taxing, perhaps more so than her new business venture. Massey had gradually become more outspoken about his thoughts, this disobedience marking itself plainer by the day. If his intention was to draw her tenants’ interest toward the riots, Yvonne would not allow him the satisfaction of besting her.

Opposite, one of her elder farmhands, Mr Brown, sat down. His rheumatic hands twisted the cap between them, the material withering synchronously with him. Yvonne continued to finish her notes relating to Massey, barely glancing up as she addressed Brown. No matter how she spoke to him, she knew the man would be grieved- it was hardly good news.

With a brief glance, she said- “I will not be renewing your lease. A younger man could improve the land and at a much faster rate. Your acres have fallen into disarray; you are no longer capable of working on the farm. I need someone who can manage the land, so from today, your contract will not be reinstated. Thank you, Mister Brown.”

The man could barely protest before she had called for the next tenant.

Chapter Text

Clement Ingham was introduced by a rapping of knuckles against the door. Pleased that he had arrived on time, Yvonne admitted him into her study, offering the unoccupied seat opposite her desk. He took it, anxious that she had addressed him, though she could not think why. She inquired into whether he wanted a glass of port, to which he assented. Turning to the cabinet, she took two glasses from the shelf.

Yvonne opened the decanter, speaking to him, despite her back being turned. “Whilst collecting my rents, I had five of my better tenants mention you by name, Mister Ingham. I thought, on reflection, it would be wise to send for you.”

She turned to him, glasses in hand, noting, as she did, that his gaze ran from her boots to her neck. Ingham’s cheeks flushed, abashed to have been seen studying her. Despite his flustered response, she understood that his attention was drawn by curiosity rather than fancy. He was not the first to be confounded by her appearance, the suit that she wore, nor would he be the last. Withal, she felt it was imperative that the moment be returned to its original intent, wishing to speak about business.

“I am aware that, whilst Mister Sutton is currently alive, it would be a sensitive matter to appoint a new delegate; however, I feel the need for such a person at this time.”

Ingham nodded slowly, hoping to grasp the reasons for him being there. “Yes, ma’am, I can be discrete if you require me to be. I shall do all that you ask...”

He fumbled to an end, conscious that she was watching him, and finding, in his heightened awareness, that he was intimidated by her. Yvonne stood before him, taller than him in standing height, and stared down, barely a foot away, scrutinising his face till she was satisfied with the sincerity in his eyes. Humming contentedly, she turned from him, her hands reaching behind her back and clasping together. She approached the chair at her desk, seating herself upon it and asking- “Where do you currently reside?”

“I live at Colworth House, ma’am, under the employment of Miss Donoghue, who has recently come to live here.”

Yvonne leant back in her chair, one leg crossed over the other whilst her elbow rested on top, her chin settling gently on her curled fist. “Yes, I did hear of her coming to Bedford; she was here the previous week. I was not home, however, when she visited so I have yet to make her acquaintance. You are the steward for her estate, I believe?”

“That is correct, yes,” he asserted. “I am grateful to Miss Donoghue; the previous owner, Mister William Chesterfield, was unwilling to house me, but at the lady’s wish, she has homed my family and I, which is not an act of kindness that many would usually bestow upon me. You see, I have nine children and most employers would view them as an encumbrance, no matter my qualifications.”

“Nine children?” Her eyebrows rose. “My word, you have been busy! I can hardly imagine having so many. In forbearance alone, I must commend you.”

“Thank you, ma’am...”

“You see, Mister Ingham, I am not at leisure to remain here long. No, I do not plan to be at Haynes Park longer than several weeks. Adequate time, I should think, in sorting my affairs and ensuring all is well before I leave again.”

Ingham was impressed, leaning forward in his interest to hear her plans. “Travelling? Where do you intend to visit, Miss Davers?”

The hand that was curled under her chin flicked outward, nonchalant as she gestured that she was unsure. “I have yet to decide. For some time, I have considered Moscow, or Virginia, or even Copenhagen. I find Moscow to be the most enthralling option, though I had two ancestors who travelled to Virginia to engage in the timber trade, importing wood, so I should be interested to see the place for myself. Besides, my father fought in the states- at Lexington and Concord (6). He was there during the Boston Party (7), you know.” She paused, ensuring the correct impact had been made upon her guest before continuing. “But in any case, I do not wish to stay, so I shall be in want of a competent steward.

“I expect them to be a good writer as I shall require regular updates on my land and my farms. It is imperative that I remain well-informed at all times when it comes to the Park and the sublets that I have here, do you understand? In addition, this position requires that you have a tendency for detail, whilst eschewing confidence and capability. You will need to make balanced and considered decisions; I expect nothing less. These qualities will mainly be required in my absence, yet I shall continue to be in need of an assistant and delegate whilst I am here. This description, does it seem fair to you?”

“Yes, ma’am, of course.” After weighing her requirements, Ingham had fallen into a state of nervousness. Bedford was a small town, after all, and nobody could escape the hearsay surrounding the Davers family, particularly the eldest daughter. Ingham did not believe he was in a position to place judgement, but he was eager to please and he had to wonder whether she was the type of woman to be easily pleased. “May I ask who I would be answerable to in the event of all this?”

There had been unclarity from the Davers family, following the death of Lord Davers, in regards to who had inherited the estate, its land, and subsequently, its trade. The agricultural trade was of the most significance; it left ambiguity as to who the workers were answerable to. The farmhands had insisted, since the passing of the Lord, that it had fallen into the hands of his eldest daughter, and had always been the case, though the town had heard several rumours that it had been handed to Lady Davers upon her husband’s death, though she was loathe to have it, and others which stated that it had gone to a cousin, some retired naval officer by the title of Captain- a long-distanced branch of the Davers family who currently resided in Wales. It was said that only by his grace were the three women allowed to remain within their family home.

As to what Ingham believed, he was sure that the farmhands could not be wrong in knowing who their employer was, and so, he trusted that Yvonne Davers had always been the inheritor of the estate. Such disbelief to her inheritance was simply ignorance on the town’s part for believing that she was incapable of handling the responsibility. Seated opposite her, Ingham was confronted with the reality that she was capable on every account, and it would be difficult to think otherwise when faced with her in person. Nevertheless, if he were to be hired by the family, he wished to know, once and for all, who his employer would be. He found, however, that Yvonne did not hesitate in telling him so. The moment he had finished speaking, her lips had already opened.

“Me,” she informed him, interrupting his question. “First and last. Mother has no head for business, not anymore, nor does she wish to be involved. She merely views it as a burden. So, as you can see, I am the one who you will direct all correspondence to, nobody else.”

Ingham was astonished by this fact, veritably impressed with her authority. He did not appear perturbed, a reaction she had come to expect, and that encouraged her.

“Then I shall keep to that, ma’am,” he assured her.

Pleased, she leant forward, arms against the armrest as her legs spread out to anchor her in a more stable position. Yvonne had heard, through some of her tenants, that Ingham was reliable when it came to matters of business and she wanted to hear all he thought of her upcoming plan for the unused factory.

“What do you know of the lace business?” she questioned.

“I am aware that you have a good set-up already,” he said. “With the factory you already own, it would be quite easy to establish the machinery needed for producing lace. I am sure, with the income you receive, you would be able to build another factory with little issue. As for your supplies, I know that you have connections across the country who have links to similar businesses and would, no doubt, trade with you or supply you with the additional resources you need.”

“When speaking to Sutton, he mentioned there was fortune to be had in lace, especially within Bedfordshire. He mentioned the Dunce brothers...”

Ingham flinched, displeased to have them mentioned. “I would not trade with them, ma’am.”

“Why?” she frowned, knowing the brothers to be of importance when it came to the lace business. Yvonne had hoped for them to be associates of hers.

“There is too much money to be made,” he conceded. “If you were to trade with them, you would not make a desirable profit.”

Encouraged, Yvonne sat back, incapable of disguising how pleased she was to hear such news. It was the confirmation she had needed to continue.

“How shall I contact suppliers? I know of some from my own connections, but I would not make a deal without first knowing it was the best offer available to me.”

“I cannot name them,” Ingham admitted, “but I should soon find them for you.”

Quiet for a moment, Yvonne persisted in the case of the brothers. “Why can I not do business with the Dunces?”

At her insistence, Ingham paused before asking- “Do you know them socially?”

“No, neither do I care to.”

Relieved at her answer, he continued. “Due to the profits that you may receive, lace has become a cut-throat business. People may be disinclined to adhere to the rules, or even by propriety, and the Dunce brothers are not known as pleasant people to do business with.”

Leaning forward once more, Yvonne rested her elbows atop her thighs, staring intently across at him. She was inquisitive of her new associates and rivals, as much as she was for the business itself, and she was grateful for the knowledge of the town’s trade that Ingham possessed.

“Kenneth is the youngest,” he was saying, “and I believe he is somewhat manageable, if not a little conceited. The oldest, Martin, believes that he is above the law. He holds the monopoly on local businesses, besides farming, and is a magistrate for the town. The brothers own two factories for lace and have done for eight years now. In that case, I would not be surprised if they were found to be taking business from you, in terms of your agriculture, and once your factory is operating and you have a greater understanding of the process and prices, that you may prove it.”

Yvonne had not considered that the brothers had been interfering with her farms and yet, she found, with this new possibility, the newfound animosity she felt in its discovery. It was well-known that lace was made from flax, a plant that her land produced, and under the assumption she had been selling them the plant for consumption, the brothers seemed to have used the cheap cost to produce a product of more expensive means, thus severely undercutting her in the deals she had made with them, having been unaware of the plant’s real use. In supposing that was the case, Yvonne wished to know immediately.

There was a liveliness in her eyes, despite her indifferent expression. It seemed that she had taken a moment to process the newness of this information, having not considered such a violation before, not of her trade. In believing her unsure, Ingham pressed his advice.

“If you were to have a factory of your own, you would not only receive considerable profit, but would also be in a position to supervise their business ventures closely without suspicion, particularly if it were to affect your farms. You would reap the benefits of this in every sense.”

Contemplating the information, Yvonne quirked her lips upward, relief emerging in place of her anxiety. She had been assured on the possibility of her new trade, knowing it to have the potential needed for success, and all she had left was to implement it. That would not be difficult, she surmised, not if she were to have a say in its construction.

Chapter Notations

6. The battles at both Lexington and Concord (1775) were the first two military battles to occur within the American Revolutionary War. The two sides were led by Great Britain and the thirteen colonies that existed within America at the time.

7. The Boston Tea Party was a political and mercantile protest hosted by the Sons of Liberty in Boston, Massachusetts (1773). The British East India Company sold tea to American colonies during this time, although they did not pay the taxes imposed by the Townshend Acts. Opposed to this evasion, the Sons of Liberty disguised themselves as Native Americans and destroyed an entire shipment of tea that was imported by the Company, which, as Mr Banks points out in Mary Poppins, ‘made the tea undrinkable, even by American standards.’

Chapter Text

Stood at the window, silhouette draped in sunlight, the glare caused her shadow to extend across the floorboards. Josephine was radiant, basking in the warmth as she peered through the glass, staring out to what lay beyond the apartment walls, to some distant future that Yvonne could not perceive nor comprehend; it was a fate that was not extended to her. Their subsequent separation had arrived earlier than expected, in sentiment rather than distance. Yvonne was sat upon the loveseat, the one which she had discovered the two lovers upon, apprehensive that she should be joined, though her wish was not granted.

Josephine continued to stand by the glass, her attention remaining on the world below rather than the room where she stood. It was uncertain whether she was aware of her companion, whether she could sense her gaze as it traced her physique. They had not extended a conversation to the other, not since the proposal, and they had refused to meet the other’s eye, a combination of shame and discontent following in its wake. Now, they were alone together, allowing Yvonne to consider that she had never seemed so splendid as she did then, an extemporary thought that came with the realisation that Josephine was no longer hers.

She stood, her gaze falling to the lace hem of the gentlewoman’s dress, the way it settled below her collarbone, and the agitated way her fingers plucked at the material, twisting it back and forth. Steadily, Yvonne approached her, cautious that she may hear an objection as she did. When nothing was said, she persisted, drawing closer till her front was almost pressed against Josephine’s back. Josephine did not move, despite her fingers that continued to pluck at the hem. Heartened, Yvonne felt the edge of her lips twitch upward, supposing that the response signified doubts in her proposal with the Captain. She slowly inhaled, detecting the perfume that lingered around Josephine’s neck and shoulders, one she had become accustomed to, its presence bringing her comfort.

Her lips brushed along the base of Josephine’s neck, proceeding across her shoulders, leaving a faint mark of breath where her mouth had been. Yvonne felt the muscles move under her lips, a simultaneous reaction from Josephine as she inhaled sharply, her head turning to watch the careless kisses left on her skin. There was a moment’s pause before- “Stop.”

Lingering, Yvonne closed her eyes, discouraged in the outcome, in contempt of the fact she knew the woman to be engaged. Her breath barely passed her parted lips, such was her disappointment. She knew that all had been lost. Leaning forward, she contemplated kissing her once more, one final attempt, but she stepped back, her hands coming to rest behind her, clutching onto each other to hide her vexation. It was fitting, she decided, for them to remain distant; if Yvonne were to be near her any longer, she may be driven senseless.

Startled, Yvonne blinked dazedly in the light, uncertain as to where she was before her gaze came to settle on her astonished reflection in the mirror. She had jerked unexpectedly, the recollection causing her sufficient distress, and in doing so, she had forgotten where she was. From behind, Paulette was heard apologising, thinking it to be her fault for her mistress’s sudden convulsion. Yvonne murmured she was not at fault, preoccupied by the desperate beating of her heart. She gestured for Paulette to continue, fidgeting in her seat, hoping that the motion of the comb through her hair would distract her. Her disturbance was half borne from discomfort and she wished she had righted herself before falling into such a daydream.

Mrs Alston was expected to arrive at any moment; she was a lifelong friend of Yvonne’s and one whom she aspired to impress, despite their familiarity. Florence would sense, on her arrival, that some misfortune had passed whilst her friend was abroad, and Yvonne wished to sustain a fraction of her gaiety. It had been illustrated, by her mother and sister, that her torment was unmistakeable and she wished to avoid another blunder. Regardless, she was certain that Florence would perceive her spirits to be amiss, despite her best efforts. In her sympathy, she would assist in relieving her dismay as best as she could, a service her poor friend sorely required, as well as one which Florence took great pleasure in aiding her with. Her comfort was sincere, though it often displayed itself through numerous attempts, most often misguided, until she discovered an outcome that suited them both.

Yvonne’s thoughts began to wander, attempting to return her reflection to its original intent, irritable that she had allowed herself to be carried away so easily. To compensate, Yvonne inquired into Paulette’s well-being, knowing that she had spent her first four days ill. Mrs Prescott had assured her mistress that the girl’s pains had altogether vanished, yet despite the reports from her housekeeper, Paulette appeared distressed, her features paler than usual, despite her tan complexion.

“Non, je ne suis pas tout à fait mieux, madame (8),” was the response.

Before Yvonne could inquire further, there was a knock at the door. The footman entered to announce Mrs Alston’s arrival; her carriage had arrived in the courtyard. Anxious that she was not prepared, Yvonne waved Paulette away, satisfied that her hair did not need further grooming. She adjusted her cravat, ensuring it was placed correctly, despite it being tied well, before seizing the glass bottle from her desk, roughly dabbing cologne at her neck and wrists. It had been almost three years since she had last seen her friend, and Yvonne felt the importance of maintaining her good impression, despite Florence knowing every fault she could own to.

She hurried from the room, across the corridor, and down the stairs. As she did, she checked her watch, noting, with satisfaction, that there were ample hours in the day for the two to divulge in every manner of conversation before it was time to retire. Swinging the chain in a circular motion, she caught it within her hand before pocketing it in her waistcoat.

Yvonne exited the building as Florence was stepping from the coach. Gesturing for the driver to move aside, Yvonne extended her hand so that her friend may take it. She did so, exclaiming with surprise in finding it to be that of her cohort. They came to face each other, pressing a firm kiss on either side of their cheeks.

“Florence.”

“Vee, what a tiresome journey it has been, although I feel it has been made all the better by seeing you.”

She seized Yvonne by the arm, allowing herself to be led indoors with a pleasure induced solely from their union. Their elation was palpable, both wishing to inform the other of all that had happened since their last meeting, despite the frequent letters that had been sent in the meantime. Yvonne was inquiring into her journey when there was an exclamation from the door, Penny calling out in her delight.

“Floss!” She bounded down the stone steps. “You have come!”

Florence removed her arm from Yvonne’s, enveloping Penny in a firm embrace. They held each other for some minutes until Florence leant back, her hands cupping the girl’s plump face.

“It is charming to see that our little star grows brighter every time I see her,” she declared. “What a fine woman you are becoming.”

Penny flushed, pleased to have received a compliment. Her sister, however, was less content, folding her arms.

“Brighter in intellect, but I must say she is becoming a burden by nature.”

Florence was nonplussed. “She must have freedom, Vee. It is only natural. You cannot keep such a lovely girl locked away here; that is a crime in its truest form.”

“I suppose that would make you a villain,” Penny suggested, directing the remark to her sister.

She raised her brows with a smirk, though Yvonne was less pleased, glowering in response. She did not reply for fear of offending, watching Penny as she turned prissily, sauntering back to the house, her arm linked with their guest. Residing with her younger sister was difficult, she felt, without having her behaviour encouraged, and Yvonne did not want the evening to be total roguery- Florence was not always the best influence for those who were easily swayed. Believing herself correct on the matter of Penny, despite her friend’s chastisement, she followed the two, disgruntled but resolved in her fairness.

“The lace business? Is there no other option in which to spend your time? How horribly boorish! Besides, what could possibly interest you about the whole ordeal? It is beyond me, I must say. What an irksome way to spend your time when you could simply go dining with friends or spend your time resting. There is such a thing as retirement nowadays! You ought to try it; truly, you must. You may discover that you like it very well- being still. Your farms are doing well, are they not?” Before she could receive an answer, she ardently continued. “You have read the wrong book and that has given you ideas that are best left to theory. I cannot begin to understand your reasoning; can you, my Lady?”

Lady Davers merely snorted as she ate her lamb, too offended by the subject to voice her opinion.

“It is simply more trouble than it is worth,” Florence continued, barely pausing in her chatter. “Do you even know how to implement such a business?”

Yvonne ran her knife vigorously through her food, her chewing equally zealous. She had become agitated in the face of questioning; it had been her presumption that Florence would be supportive, but as she was not, her barrage of criticisms was unwelcome.

“It has the same structure of farming, in its own way,” she uttered. “I have appointed a delegate who may assist me in any area that I am unfamiliar with, and I have acquired some books that detail the workings of a factory, particularly one of this type. Besides, I am not worried about what shall happen since I know I will do what is right.”

Penny clasped her hands together, sighing happily. “I would relish having such a close connection to lace. It would be fortunate, indeed, to have a sister who owns her own factory. I think I shall have some sewn onto my dress and perhaps onto a lovely new bonnet.”

“It is bad money,” Lady Davers interjected. “You will gamble our fortune on the factories, merely to lose it. The inheritance and the estate shall be lost to bad business ventures; it will be ruinous.” She peered across at Yvonne, her gaze searching hazily for her daughter. “I have a right to live here!”

Florence was regretful in starting an impassioned dispute, despite being accustomed to Lady Davers’ outbursts, having heard them many a time before. She ate a forkful of potatoes in amused silence, hoping Yvonne managed to diffuse the situation that she had created.

Provoked, Yvonne’s voice rose. “It will be profitable! If the books are balanced, which they are, there should be no issue.”

“And what of Fred Brown?” Lady Davers raised her voice in return, though it may have been due to her difficulty in hearing rather than her fury. “He has sent me a letter of complaint.”

Yvonne exhaled heavily, the sound almost a groan. “I did him a kindness. He could no longer afford to pay rent and he is unable to labour in the field. It would be a humiliation to him.”

“He has nowhere to live,” Penny interjected.

“He can live with his family; they live in this town, do they not? If they do not house him then that is merely a reflection either on him or them, not me. I require efficient and capable workers.” She raised a brow at Lady Davers, who was struggling to chew her meat. “It is unlike you to be sentimental, mother, yet I run this estate and its land how I see fit; nothing will go wrong.”

Rare that Penny felt the need to oppose her sister’s opinion, particularly when it came to affairs that she knew nothing of nor when it meant that she agreed with her mother, but she felt that it was a wrong more harmful than she could bear.

“He is eighty years old,” she contended.

Yvonne raised her shoulders sharply, allowing them to fall once more into their usual position. “Yes, so he cannot farm.”

Penny tried to disguise her vexation when she happened upon this indifference, yet her voice trembled in her provocation. “You have upheaved our current system, upset our workers, and all for you to leave again at the earliest convenience. Do you think of anybody but yourself?”

Yvonne’s fork clattered onto the plate, her expression incensed. “That is quite satisfactory, thank you! Mrs Alston does not wish to discuss this, especially when at the dinner table.”

Penny forcibly chewed on her cabbage, the two sisters glaring at each other from across the table. Lady Davers was muttering about unprecedented temper within the household, directing it into her wine glass rather than at anybody in particular. When silence had passed for several minutes, she peered in the general direction of Florence.

“So, how is the husband? Does he continue to grace you with his presence?”

Florence managed a small smile. “Yes, he does but I hardly see him nowadays. From what I can tell, he is perfectly fine when he is away from home and I find that I, too, am perfectly content when I am left to my own endeavours. Let us pray that it remains that way.”

Lady Davers muttered anew, referring to the degree in which she despised men and their follies.

“I told you that it was a mistake to marry him,” Yvonne grumbled.

“You think marrying any man is a mistake, dear. No man could ever satisfy you.”

Yvonne slowly sipped her wine before placing it back onto the table. “No, they could not.”

Florence found the comment to be amusing, her chuckle barely disguised, which equally entertained Yvonne. Seated between them, Penny watched the two, unsure as to whether she should join their laughter. The two were not subtle in their meaning, though they would adamantly deny that a girl her age should understand it, despite how openly they hinted at the reason for Yvonne’s aversion. She wondered if she would ever be allowed to insinuate as they did without causing offence, or whether she must remain in feigned ignorance of her sister and her life. It was never entirely clear which way Yvonne preferred it nor did the woman ever deign to explain herself; it was left unspoken.

The candlelight flickered, burning slowly to the end of its wick, its light reaching from the table to the armchair beside it. Across the room, the wood within the fireplace burnt leisurely, its flames dwindling to embers. Florence had grown tired of staring out of the window, removing herself from the ledge to sit on the armchair, watching Yvonne as she read. They had spent the evening talking, mentioning all that had happened in the other’s absence, details they had not dared to share on paper. Yet, Florence was not so unsuspecting as to forget that Yvonne had avoided mentioning her recent trip abroad- nothing pleased her more than to be boastful and in her silence, she exposed the irregularity of her reserve. Despite Florence knowing the reason behind it, she felt that addressing the cause of her upset would be beneficial to her recovery.

“Tell me about Paris.”

“No.”

Florence heeded the way she sat in sullen silence, her gaze never rising from her book, a distinct contrast to her earlier gaiety. It occurred to her that she had the answer to Yvonne’s hurt, but it was a conversation that they had discussed many a time and it always had the same outcome.

“You know how I see this, Vee,” she declared. “I think, in all seriousness, that you should consider marrying a man.” Noting the way Yvonne sighed heavily as she dropped the book in her lap, a scowl forming as she glared across, Florence persisted, determined that she was correct. “You could have all you want and desire; nobody would say a thing. There is no agreement to say you would have to share any form of intimacy, not if he understood. Perhaps he will be grateful for the concealment too.”

“I thought you knew me.”

“I know you too well.”

Yvonne sat forward, tossing her book onto the nearby coffee table. “Then you must surely know that I will never marry a man. I could not; the idea is abominable to me.”

Florence believed her judgement to be reasonable, feeling so justified as to mention that thought to Yvonne. Offended, her companion interrupted her, raising her hand to gesture that she desired the matter to be settled.

“I want to live my life with someone I love and someone who loves me in return, a person who is there for me all the time and wants to be. A woman who does not endure my presence solely because she has no husband and is starved for intimacy and a little friendship.”

Florence faltered, knowing the subject to be sensitive. She leant forward, wishing she were closer so she may reach across and touch her.

“That is simply not the reality of things!” she contended. “The fact of the matter is that you will continue to upset yourself by loving women who wish to be married to men. I care about you, Yvonne, and I cannot stand to see you so troubled. It may be that nobody else will tell you directly, not for fear of upset, but I shall- you need to find someone who matches you or you need to give the whole thing up.”

Yvonne leapt forward, spurred by some excitable thought. She knelt at the foot of the armchair, clinging onto Florence’s thigh, the material of her skirts bunched in her hand.

“Then let us travel to Paris or Italy...” she whispered breathlessly. “You and I, Floss. It would be a fantastic adventure.”

Florence raised her brow. “And what is Hafsa to say when I flee with you to Paris?”

“She can come with us. There is no need to leave her behind.”

Florence sighed, her hand coming to rest atop Yvonne’s, regretful rather than comforting. “That is no life, for you nor I. It is certainly not a life I will subject Hafsa to. You must face your fears here.”

Yvonne became glum, a scowl forming.

“I suppose that is one way of seeing it,” she muttered.

Florence craned her neck downward, hoping to catch her eye, though Yvonne was staring wistfully at the fireplace. “What are you hiding from? What is it about this world that you cannot bear to face? You are always one step ahead, trying to prove that you are more than people say you are. The issue with you, dear, is that you are more than anybody could ever credit you with. You are brilliant, intriguing, not of this world; you do not belong with the people you try to associate yourself with.”

“Then who do I belong with?” It was meant to be satirical, though there was a hopefulness in her question that she could not disguise.

“Someone who you may never meet,” Florence remarked, softly. “Would it not be pertinent for you to remain in reality?”

Yvonne ground her teeth, continuing to stare at the fire rather than her friend. “Reality is not always the whole sum of things. Mediocrity is not for me; I shall not succumb to it. I would loathe to be as prosaic as some people I have met. I want love and life in every form, with no compromises. I shall have it, Florence, even if it is to hurt me.”

“It will hurt you...”

“Then why will you not come with me?” exclaimed Yvonne, clinging to Florence’s skirts. She raised her gaze, tears brimming that she refused to shed.

Florence winced. “Oh, my dear, because this is not love and that is all you have ever hoped for. I have always loved you but it is not the type of love you have yearned for. It is not the love I have for her. You know that more than anyone. It would hurt me if I were to lose you; if I went, I would. I am not you, Vee, nor can I pretend to be. I cannot do all that you can; Paris or Italy, it is not for me and neither is that type of life. You would suffer for it and come to resent me, which I could not bear. You need more than a friend, more than some fancy to keep you occupied for the time-being. Besides, I could not leave my life here, not even for you.

“The woman who defies society and their very belief of human nature, who will agree to be your partner and equal in every sense of the word, who will give all they have to make you happy, well, they will be a truly extraordinary woman indeed. Yet, I have to ask whether that person exists? I have thought some years on it now and I am sorry to say that I think there is no woman like the one you are searching for.”

Yvonne was distressed, wishing the conversation would come to its conclusion. She moved as if she were to stand, but Florence took hold of her hand, pulling it to her lips to kiss it, hoping Yvonne would take comfort from the action.

“Perhaps it is time to be realistic,” she advised. “You deserve a little happiness.”

Thrusting her hand away, Yvonne stood, her back turned. Florence exhaled heavily, calling her name in exasperation.

“There is no need to be dramatic! I came here to see you well and I have found you irritable and inhospitable. If I cannot say anything to suit you then can I not produce it in action? What would you have me say?”

Yvonne peered over her shoulder. “You have said all there is to say. There is nothing else to be done, so I shall bid you goodnight.”

Florence stood, reaching out to seize her wrist, but Yvonne was already leaving.

“Yvonne...”

“Goodnight, Florence.”

Brow furrowing, she watched her flee the room, calling after her once more in the hope she changed her mind. When there was no reply, Florence sighed heavily, her hands rising to her chest to clasp together. She blew out the candle, leaving the fire to dwindle to nothing, and in the dark, she said- “Goodnight, Vee.”

Chapter Notations

8. Translation: No, I am not entirely better, madam.

Chapter Text

On receiving a letter of confirmation from Miss Yvonne Davers, Ingham resolved to speak to Miss Donoghue at the earliest convenience in regards to his employment. He was admitted into Colworth House where he requested an audience with the lady, to which she replied in the positive. Led into the parlour, he found her seated opposite Miss Ainsley, who appeared to be indignant that their conversation had been disturbed. As for Bonnie, she was indifferent to the interruption, a genuine smile appearing when she noted his entrance.

“Excuse me for the interruption, ma’am.” He bowed, anxious in the eventuality that she may refuse his request. Ingham did not want to be the man to decline Miss Davers’ invitation for employment. “I was summoned to a meeting four days ago by Miss Davers, and she has granted an offer for me to be her delegate in business. I was hoping to speak with you on the matter.”

Bonnie shuffled in her seat, her posture straightening. “That is Miss Yvonne Davers of Haynes Park?”

“Ay, ma’am, it is. I have thought on the hours of my employment, concluding the days I shall be able to work for the both of you. Between the two estates, I reckon that I can easily fit the management of both within equal hours. I will be at the Park solely in my spare time and I promise you that it will not affect the work I do here. Your estate is considered first priority to me.”

She did not respond immediately, he thinking that she was disturbed by the news. Her lips had parted and she stared incredulously at him, blinking slowly, before turning to Miss Ainsley, who appeared equally uncertain of the lady’s reaction. Then she smiled, a huff of laughter escaping, though she still seemed surprised. Bonnie glanced back to Ingham, nodding enthusiastically.

“Yes, Mister Ingham, that would be fine.” Bashful, her hands fumbled together, her voice stumbling as she tried to say what she wished. “I-if you should ever need a reference, why, all you have to do is ask. I shall have one for you... for Miss Davers if she wishes to speak to me... She may speak to me anytime she likes. If that is necessary.”

Ingham thought her reaction peculiar, though he did not linger on it, for he believed to do so would be impolite. His questioning stare was diverted, quite luckily for Bonnie, by Miss Ainsley, her voice carrying across with self-appointed gravitas.

“I was not aware that Miss Davers was home.”

Ingham was amused on the subject, thinking of the eccentric noblewoman and the design she held for the Park and its trade. “Indeed, she is, ma’am.”

Miss Ainsley was delighted by the answer, her grave expression forming into a visage of glee. She called across to Bonnie, despite the young lady not sitting too far from her.

“We must call on her!” she exclaimed, ardently, before turning back to Ingham. “I must admit that I am quite the admirer of her work.”

Encouraged by her praise, Ingham added his own. “When I spoke to her, she mentioned how she had collected her own rents that morning, and when I went to the inn later, I heard of it instantly from the men there. They were all talking of it.”

For a woman who did not believe in anything other than a female’s right to domestic and marital bliss, Miss Ainsley regarded the comment with the utmost delectation.

“Such prudence speaks well of her character and work ethic. I would expect no less from the likes of Yvonne Davers.”

“She has taken the steps necessary to relieve Sutton of his duties and has done so without embarrassment to his capability,” Ingham added. “In conducting the work herself, she has spared her former delegate and continues to plan for a new undertaking, which, I hope I may say without sounding boastful, she has confided in me. Miss Davers is truly remarkable.”

Miss Ainsley spoke primly, nodding in agreement, despite having never met the woman in question. “This would be the sort of thing she would do. I have always appreciated her- the Davers are a wondrous family and to observe her progress since accepting the mantle, I have been simply astonished at how extraordinarily well she has maintained their legacy. Despite the opinion of others, and the oddity of her nature, I have kept my good opinion of her. She has a quick mind, a plenitude of good breeding, and her adventurous spirit is admirable. She may not be feminine, not how people would expect, but she is authentic, which you cannot fault her for.”

Although she had not contributed to the conversation, Bonnie had plenty to say on what had been exchanged; however, she felt that her opinions were better kept unsaid. She had been distracted by her own thoughts, drawn from them by her custodian’s enthusiasm. Miss Ainsley had not expressed such a level of esteem for their neighbour before, and it had come as a surprise to Bonnie, who was silently encouraged by her opinion. It would surely aid her in creating an acquaintance with the family. Her old governess dwelled in the superficial and the frivolous, so for her to wish an audience with Yvonne Davers of all people was notable, yet with every encouraging word that came from her lips, Bonnie felt her smile widen, glowing in her pleasure.

She came to wonder, as she often had those past twelve years, since first hearing her neighbour’s name, what the woman was truly like. Bonnie thought she may be tall, well-spoken, and quite handsome- that was the consensus for those who had met her. Distracted, she thought of how her voice would sound, the colour of her eyes, and how she smelt, and what a woman like her would possibly need to be considered impressed. Bonnie could not begin to fathom all that she had hoped and wished for, and questioned her own ability to attain equal esteem in the lady’s opinion. The ordeal, as a whole, was excruciating and exhilarating, causing her to draw in her breath without remembering to release it. Grinning in dreamful bliss, Bonnie was drawn from her reverie by the calling of her name.

Ingham was watching her, expectantly, whilst Miss Ainsley repeated her name, peevish that she must speak twice. Bonnie glanced between them, realising that Ingham had finished his visit, waiting for her permission to depart. She granted his leave, requesting once more, quite firmly, that if he wished for her to speak with Miss Davers in his joint employment, she would be content in doing so. He bowed, promising that he would ask if it were appropriate.

Once he had exited the room, Bonnie fell into wistful silence, forgetting that she was with company. She was reminded abruptly when Miss Ainsley continued her appraisal, her volume too loud to ignore.

“If you were to begin making acquaintances in this town, I think the Davers would be a perfect place to start. You will certainly be better for having met Miss Davers; she is the type of connection you want to have. Peculiar, yes, I think they all are, but their influence, in money and reputation, is unequalled, and by making a connection, they may introduce you to other fine families in the area.”

“We almost did meet once,” Bonnie told her, sighing happily. Flustered that she had shown any type of preference, her cheeks began to colour, and she hurried to finish her story, rushing in breathless delight. “You see, when Louisa told me of the evening she had spent with Miss Davers, I asked her if she may take me to meet her, having made her acquaintance. It would have been unthinkable of me to have visited without first introducing myself, so I thought it appropriate that Louisa should be the one to do so, but she refused. I had hoped to meet her then, and when I heard she had left Dublin, I kept my hope for her return. By then, I would have been out to society and it would have been possible for us to chance across each other by connection, though she never did return...”

She halted, letting her account come to its end. The thought had caused her great upset, although it had remained unnoticed by Miss Ainsley, much was her excitement to engage in the hearsay that surrounded Yvonne Davers.

“As I understand it, she has always been a free spirit- hard to capture. I doubt that she would return to Dublin, not any time soon, as she travels constantly. You remember Lady Davers- she said that she plans to travel as far as Moscow or Virginia next.”

Bonnie had not wanted to be reminded, pained anew by the news that her efforts had been for naught. She could not understand why anyone would want to travel that far; it would be better, she believed, if Miss Davers were to remain at her family home, though she could not decipher if that were for her neighbour’s benefit or her own. Ignorant to Bonnie’s pained silence, Miss Ainsley continued, delighted to engage in gossip when it had been lacking so desperately since their arrival. She felt it the fault of her ward, who was determined that she should not meet anybody, yet held a sudden interest in the Davers family. Miss Ainsley would do all she could to ensure an acquaintance; it would become her sole occupation if it determined Bonnie a friendship in the area.

“She is hardly in England, by the sounds of it, so I doubt she would return to Ireland. It would be wise of us to take this opportunity in making her acquaintance whilst she is home, since we may not have the chance again for a long time. The likes of the Davers family as- pardon my enthusiasm- friends would be outstanding and as your chaperone, I cannot let this opportunity pass you by. I am almost inclined to say the accident was fortunate. We have made a friend of Lady Davers and Miss Penny. Having recovered from the incident, it would be prudent for us to arrange a following meeting to thank them once more in person.”

Despite the length of her postulations, no more words were regarded than those of a potential meeting. Bonnie was thrilled, beaming happily, nodding her agreement.

“Yes, I would like that.”

Miss Ainsley was ecstatic, having waited for Bonnie’s approval in the matter. So far, she had declined all potential acquaintances within the area; the young woman had believed them frivolous and of little interest to her. To have her agreement on one candidate for friendship, Miss Ainsley would do all she must to ensure their meeting. It would be of great consequence to her also, as fraternising in such social circles would undoubtedly cause her great pleasure and she thought it would benefit them both greatly to have such a connection.

“I heard she is a good friend to have and I am sure the two of you shall be quite pleased with each other,” Miss Ainsley assured her.

Bonnie had never hoped for anything more.

Chapter Text

The sores had worsened to a state of irritation, an observation that Doctor Kensley merely seconded when he saw the leg for himself. It was an assessment that caused Lady Davers as much irritability as she surely felt on her legs, the rash and its open wounds spreading its way to her knees. With nobody to blame, she blamed the doctor and he appeared nervous at the accusation of her worsened condition, assuring her that there was not much more he could possibly do.

“I will have Mrs Dern come this Thursday, ma’am, and she will have five leeches put to your leg.” He hoped that this would appease her, mistaken for thinking that anything could. “They will be an additional treatment to the herbs that I have prescribed you. For now, I will continue to monitor your condition, although there is not much to be done. They are not vanishing nor are they becoming worse, merely spreading across your leg.”

“Useless,” the baroness was heard muttering.

It was unclear who she directed the insult to, though the doctor assumed it was for him, being the most probable source, his hands quivering in the face of her wrath. He glanced to his side, hoping that Yvonne may aid him, yet she was aloof, watching him with as much irritability as her mother. Arms crossed, she felt obliged to be present, mainly in the understanding that Lady Davers needed a chaperone whilst the doctor examined her. Noting the way he glanced at her, cowering, she took advantage of his attention by asking-

“Have you seen Sutton recently?”

“Yes, I have, ma’am,” he affirmed, wrapping fresh bandages around the baroness’ shins and ankles. “It is unfortunate for me to report that he has a matter of days left.”

Yvonne had believed as much, the information more distressing now she knew the full truth of it. She had hoped that Sutton would live longer, though that was mere selfishness on her part, for the man suffered and it would be a relief for him to relinquish the agony he was in. On the subject of afflictions, she inquired into Elijah Bell, aware she had promised a visit to his home. Besides the brief report from his father, Yvonne had received no updates on his condition; as for Penny, she had kept unusually quiet on the subject after they had spoken the day of her arrival.

“He is doing well, as well as he can. From all accounts, he will live a full life, despite his forced undertaking as an invalid.” The doctor was silent for a moment before he continued. “Speaking of the accident, I visited Colworth House this week and from what I observed, it seems to me that Miss Donoghue is not quite recovered.”

The subject caught Lady Davers’ attention, who peered up at him from her bed, mistrusting of his report. “Miss Donoghue was not injured in the accident; she left here in perfect condition. There was no account of an injury.”

“Not physically speaking.” Noting their silence, he mistook it for interest, standing once he had finished with the bandages. “She suffers with nerves, you see, and they have become worse since she has arrived here. The only companion she has is that of her old governess, Miss Ainsley. With little distraction from her lethargy, and her sole companion being that of an elderly woman, she is left with no diversion from her mundane routine.” Blathering, he did not notice that Lady Davers neglected to listen to him. As to Yvonne, she did not believe that such a detailed account was needed for a woman they were unfamiliar with, her arms crossing tighter in her offence. Heedless, the doctor continued. “The best remedy in aiding her recovery, I believe, is for her to work for a living and in being forced to do so, she will recover quite rapidly. She has too much time to be idle.”

Yvonne’s hands curled tighter in their folded position, a scowl forming upon her lips. “I hope you do not discuss our private affairs with your other patients, Doctor. I would find that most disconcerting.”

He was rightfully abashed at her remark, falling silent and attending to the medicine he had brought within his briefcase. Grateful for his silence, Yvonne unfolded her arms, striding over to the bed and sitting by her mother’s feet. The doctor’s reticence stirred Lady Davers into animation, her attempt at discussion merely subsiding into a reprimand.

“Penny told me that she planned to call on Miss Donoghue; she is concerned that she is still in shock from the incident. If you would spare an hour of your time, she was hoping that you may accompany her.”

“That will suit Penny,” she remarked. “You know how she relishes new friends, but she gets carried away with her fancies. I am sure Miss Donoghue will find her amusing at first, though, in the end, she is hardly more of a distraction than the elderly she seems to surround herself with.”

Lady Davers stared at her with as much disapproval as she could muster, her long fingers gripping onto the white sheets that she lay under. “The accident occurred on your land. If you had any manners, you would visit the girl yourself and make amends. It would be wise, after such an incident, to make an acquaintance, even if it is to ensure they cannot voice any complaints when all has passed. You want to avoid offending anybody; I am sure you will do that enough when you reopen the factory. We need allies in this town, Yvonne, whether you like them or not. In regards to Penny, she must have a chaperone and you are the best person to accompany her. She is forbidden to leave this house unless you are by her side.”

Yvonne leant back, bolstered by her elbows. She was inconvenienced by the demand, the scowl settling as a permanent expression on her face.

“Penny is also mistress of the house,” she disputed, “she may go as she pleases.” Struck with a thought, she added- “I once dined with a Miss Donoghue in Dublin, did you know? She was beautiful but sullen, trivial. She was certainly no conversationalist; I am certain that this Miss Donoghue will be the same. I have no interest in socialites nor their lifestyle, and I would despise inquiring into the wellbeing of someone who is perfectly well so that Penny may have a friend. I have had Penny mention more than once our neighbour and if I were to hear her name mentioned one more time, it would be too soon. I have no interest in meeting Miss Donoghue.”

There was a knock at the door, the inquirer entering with permission. The footman stood at the entrance, clearing his throat. “Excuse me, Lady Davers, Miss Davers, but Miss Donoghue has arrived. She is accompanied by a Miss Ainsley.”

Lady Davers released a shrill laugh, incapable of repressing her amusement, the burst of emotion settling into a short cackle. Yvonne was less pleased, glowering at the footman.

“Inform them that I shall be down shortly.” She gestured at the baroness. “As you can see, I am attending to my mother.”

The door closed behind the footman, Lady Davers scoffing as it did, pulling the sheets closer to her chin. “You have no interest in being here. This is fate mocking you for your petulance.”

Yvonne wished she could dispute the needless claims, which is what she believed them to be, standing and scowling one last time at her mother. She knew she must see to her guest. Certainly, Penny would have admitted the two women and it would be viewed as a slight to refuse an audience now, knowing that her sister was already seated with them. Excusing herself, Yvonne exited the room, pardoning her presence from her mother, though not the doctor; she did not acknowledge him as she left.

She wished that Penny had friends of her own, relieving Yvonne of the expectation and allowing her sister the freedom she desired. She thought it fair that Penny conducted house calls as she wished, as was becoming of her age, yet she doubted their mother would allow it. In the meantime, the girl was left with little in the way of entertainment other than her sister and the library. For a girl on the brink of womanhood, that was considered insufficient and Yvonne could not do much to ease the lonesome existence that surrounded her; she could hardly help herself.

Withal, if Penny were to become friends with their neighbour, that might aid in her silence when it came to the subject of Miss Donoghue. The two may become too occupied with their friendship to involve her, and that pleased Yvonne greatly. Surely, the young woman was not so interesting as to hear of her at every turn, as she had done since returning home. Yvonne believed that an heiress raised in the Irish wilderness was bound to be dull and unrefined, trusting there was no commonality that could possibly be shared between them; she was better remaining with Penny and discounting Yvonne from whatever foolish whims took their fancy.

Coming to the door, she could hear their voices within. One utterance could be heard above the others, excitable but eloquent, and Yvonne recognised it to be Penny’s, realisation dawning that the girl was talking about the southern protests. The thought vexed her; it was not a subject that she believed appropriate for her age, though Penny would contend that was not the case- she protested against the idea that she was acting the crusader, or worse, the martyr. In the last week, there had been another bout of disturbances throughout several farms, and it was expected that there would be more in the weeks to come. Yvonne could understand her concern, aware that such disturbances may find their way to Bedford, and it would be an inconvenience that was not so easily settled with a stern word and a threat of dismissal. Penny knew that too; she was more intelligent than Yvonne would ever credit her for.

Checking her watch, she pulled it from her pocket, noting the time. She hoped the visit was no more than an hour, the thought in itself grieving her. Exhaling slowly, Yvonne resolved her reverie, returning her watch to its usual place. She wished she had excused herself but the time had passed for excuses. With that thought, she clenched her jaw, pushing the door open and entering the room.

Chapter Text

Miss Ainsley was the first to rise, having seated herself opposite the door. She was elated to be the first visitor received by Miss Davers, curtseying with as much reverence as she could muster.

“Miss Davers.”

“Miss Ainsley.”

Seated directly in front of the custodian was Miss Donoghue; to the side, Penny. The two women rose, alongside Miss Ainsley, though Yvonne did not heed them. Miss Donoghue was naturally facing the window and did not turn upon standing; Yvonne viewed her solely from behind. Consequently, she had no impression of the lady and, as she had no intention of observing her, she strode past, greeting the governess first.

This dismissal was not entirely deliberate, as the custodian had already acknowledged her and Yvonne responded appropriately. Nevertheless, she hoped that her disinterest in Miss Donoghue was apparent and in receiving her in such a manner, the girl would be inclined to seek a friendship solely in the younger sister.

Reaching out, she seized Miss Ainsley by the hand and shook it firmly. “It is a pleasure to make your acquaintance, ma’am.”

A pinkish hue came to the custodian’s cheeks and she smiled widely, a faint titter escaping. “I hope it is not impertinent of us to visit so suddenly. You see, the last time we were here, your mother informed us that you were returning, although there was no confirmation for whether you had.”

“It was a late decision on my part, but I have elected to remain in Bedford for the time-being.”

Miss Ainsley was delighted. She had resolved to establish a connection on behalf of her ward, who, she believed, urgently required an acquaintance within the area. It was a task that she had accepted as her sole duty until such a time that she deemed it accomplished.

“Mister Ingham informed us yesterday,” she chattered, heartily. “We hardly dared believe it, but we thought we should call. Miss Donoghue, having made the acquaintance of your sister and mother, was most anxious that she meet you too.”

Reminded of her delegate’s association with Colworth House, Yvonne was provoked in thinking she had encouraged a relation between them that was unintentional and, to an extent, undesired. She was aware of the consent that had been given from the lady, in regards to Ingham’s employment, though she did not deem it worth the irregularity of the visit.

Glancing askance, she noticed that Penny was staring at her. The girl was smirking, though she bit her bottom lip, trying, in vain, to repress her amusement. Yvonne perceived it, nevertheless. Penny was pleased with the situation that they had found themselves in, though Yvonne was less satisfied with the outcome, wishing for the matter to be resolved and for the two young women to leave her be. If the intention of this visit was to establish a familiarity between the two estates, she would readily oblige. In turn, she hoped for their swift departure.

Turning, her lips parted to utter some acknowledgement; left open, however, when she came to face her guest. Her genial smile wavered as she traced the delicate countenance of the lady before her, her words faltering.

“I...”

Abashed, she fell silent. Bonnie was perturbed by her reaction, craning her neck forward in an attempt to meet her eye, merely to conceive that Yvonne was studying the carpet which she stood upon. She earnestly awaited her reception, assured that Miss Davers would not dismiss her. Still, when nothing was said, she became restive, hemming lightly. The gesture startled Yvonne, who returned her gaze upward, the intensity of her stare causing Bonnie to knot her fingers together.

Having sought the attention of Miss Davers, Bonnie was unsure of what to do, now that she had it, and she hesitated. Her bewilderment was matched by her hostess, who continued to stand in dumbfounded silence. This inaction caused Yvonne to consider that they were not so dissimilar as she originally thought. The tilt of her lips was genuine, perhaps for the first time since her arrival, and she released a breath of laughter, as if she found this trick of fate to be amusing.

Bowing her head, she extended a gracious smile in the lady’s direction. “Miss Donoghue.”

The notion pleased Bonnie, who lowered into a prompt curtsey.

“Miss Davers.” Her voice was low and lyrical, the enunciation familiar to the county of her upbringing. It was unusual for a gentlewoman to speak in such a manner, yet it did not cause her to appear unrefined, as previously thought, but merely enhanced the natural gentility that was borne within her. “It is a pleasure to finally meet you.”

“I think you will find that the pleasure is all mine.”

Bonnie gladly accepted her raised hand, simply to realise that she had removed her gloves upon entering the room. She felt the impropriety of the impulse, anxious that her first impression would be unfavourable. Nevertheless, Yvonne did not perceive her blunder, raising her other hand to encase Bonnie’s entirely, her thumb gently brushing against the back of her hand. Charmed, Bonnie supposed that her lack of decorum, on this occasion, was fortuitous, her delirium at such a reception rendering her mute.

Yvonne strove to compensate for her earlier insolence. “I have heard a great deal about you, Miss Donoghue. You have an admirer already in my sister. Forgive me for not having inquired into your wellbeing, knowing of the accident as I do. Let me redeem myself by asking how you are?”

“I am very well, thank you,” she replied, earnestly. “I hope you are also well?”

With a tender smile, she merely breathed- “I am starting to be.”

Inadvertently, her gaze came to focus on her physique, tracing the loose curl of hair that brushed against her neck, the lavish contrast of her russet brown skin against the pastel blue dress that she wore, and the curve of her waist before it was hidden beneath a mass of skirts. Abashed, Yvonne returned her attention upwards, solely to realise that Bonnie was not watching her; her gaze was downcast in its own inspection. The lady realised that she was being observed, flustered to have been discovered, her gaze returning dutifully upward.

To the side, Penny watched them, elated that they should meet after her insistence, and that Bonnie herself had encouraged the connection. She had known that she was accurate in her assumption, having predicted, on first meeting their neighbour, that they would hold an interest in each other, and she was satisfied to discover that she had been correct. As she watched, her sister appeared to realise her distraction, stepping away from Miss Donoghue and releasing her hand. Their silent amusement had persisted longer than was considered appropriate, and Yvonne turned so she was facing the two guests simultaneously, a pretentious smile appearing on her lips.

“I hope you were entertained by Penny’s account of the riots. I am sure her story was an enthralling one.”

The jest was undermined by Miss Ainsley’s assertion that she had been entertained, a comment that Penny was grateful for. “She has been most gracious, considering we must have disturbed her upon arrival. We are aware of the unusual nature of our visit, though we thought it imperative that we express our gratitude. Nevertheless, I must apologise for intruding upon you both.”

“You must not apologise, Miss Ainsley. We are delighted to receive Miss Donoghue and yourself.”

Observing that Bonnie occupied the chesterfield, Yvonne joined her, motioning for the others to be seated. The three women complied, returning to their earlier positions, waiting, once settled, for the host to continue the conversation. Insensible to their anticipation, she watched Bonnie as she lowered herself onto the sofa.

Her fervent scrutiny was not unnoticed by the young woman, who frequently shifted her gaze between her neighbour and the floor, flustered that, at every glance, Yvonne continued to watch her. She was not weary of such consideration; in truth, she savoured it, though, having visualised the circumstance in which she should meet Miss Davers, Bonnie was now overwhelmed with the reality of her situation. With an apprehensive smile, she hoped to convey her pleasure in being there, and was elated to discern, when the expression was reciprocated, that Yvonne held a similar sentiment.

Heedless to the scene before her, Miss Ainsley drew them from their reverie by inquiring into the southern riots. Whilst anticipating the appearance of the eldest Miss Davers, Penny had seized the opportunity to voice her own assessment, though her esteem for discussing articles within the newspaper was not shared by her sister, and her fervid oration had been prematurely interrupted by her arrival. As to Yvonne, she considered the riots to be inconsequential, particularly when in the presence of Miss Donoghue. Undoubtedly, her visitor was of more interest, though she reluctantly removed her gaze from Bonnie, encouraged to speak when confronted with a genuine interest in her opinion.

“The amendments that they are fighting for exclude my sex; they do not warrant women a place in their new laws,” she uttered. “I do not care to support such a cause if they fight solely for men. A man’s fight does not concern me.”

“I am astonished to hear that you have been neglected,” Miss Ainsley exclaimed. “It would be unseemly to discount your position. I am sure that you would be affected greatly as a landowner, especially with your agricultural trade.”

“The issue is that this reformation seeks to enhance the worker’s experience in factories and agricultural landscapes, while also allowing more freedom in house leasing. In theory, this sounds wonderful. However, it does not consider the notion that there are land and business owners who are women, and thus, it fails to allow for the same rights as her fellow man. This does not benefit me any more than before. My male workers will receive suffrage, however, in ways that I cannot, even as their landowner and employer. Does that seem just?

“If a collection of male workers decide that I have made an erroneous judgement in my profession, regardless of whether that is true, they may undermine me and are free to do so. I have always been fair in my ownership, more so than some of my competitors, yet I cannot vote in a union nor society in favour of my opinions or rights, because, as a woman, I am restricted from joining. Thus, the workers may have a right to a voice within the company that I, as the fairer sex, cannot give, even as its owner. The barring of women in unions and societies ensures that. For the common man, would this bill be just? Yes. Is it unjust for me? Indubitably.”

From the armchair, Penny scowled, unable to repress her contention. “The reason behind the new law is that it enfranchises working men, not the landed interest as it previously has.”

Yvonne tutted. “And in doing so, it undermines me. Miss Donoghue, tell me, how many acres of land do you own and, with it, tenants?” In being addressed, Bonnie’s head whirled from one side to the other, staring speechlessly at her. She could hardly reply before Yvonne pressed on, using her dumbfounded silence to her advantage. “Precisely. Yet, your workers may take a vote that significantly impacts your income and trade. As a woman, you have no union nor society to back you as a male owner would, and with no right to vote in the matter, you cannot appeal the decision, not unless you take it to a court of law. A man can do so in his ownership. I cannot and neither can you, Miss Donoghue.”

“In Ireland, we are restricted not only by sex but by religion,” Bonnie remarked. “I suppose, in that sense, you are far luckier than I. We Donoghues originate from nobility and yet, my family may be barred from land, property, and trade, regardless of gender. If I were to contend the issue, it is not a matter for Dublin Castle but for Westminster. I cannot speak to English reason, Miss Davers; I hardly think they have any at all (9).”

Yvonne raised her brows, astonished at this reproach, though she found it amusing. Before she could answer, Penny spoke across her.

“The workers should have rights either way. If it disenfranchises female workers and landowners then the proposal must include amendments for them...”

“A little optimistic,” Yvonne interjected.

“And we must accept that the economy is no longer centred on land and agriculture, but the towns and their industrial trade (10).”

Bonnie had taken to watching Penny, her brow starting to furrow as she considered the discourse between the two sisters. In doing so, she did not notice the frequent glances that Yvonne directed to her. She believed, despite Bonnie’s silence, that she was not incapable of understanding, shown by her earlier remark; there was a shrewdness in the way she watched those around her. Yvonne wished to know what she thought of the situation, though she felt Penny’s claims were of more importance. Her reasoning concerned her, wishing to discover upon which basis she founded this information.

Turning her attention to the girl, rather reluctantly, she demanded- “Where did you hear this? Who have you been talking to?”

“Nobody; it is common sense,” was the brash response.

Yvonne scoffed, her gaze arching from one side to the other. Her lips parted to utter a reproach when the door opened and Lady Davers was wheeled into the room by her nurse, Doctor Kensley following in her wake. He had offered to be of assistance and steer the baroness himself, but the Lady insisted she did not trust him so far as to navigate her through the manor. Perceiving her entrance, the four women stood, Lady Davers gesturing for them to sit.

“I hope they have not exhausted your good humour,” she declared. “Heavens knows what the youth find interest in nowadays.”

As she passed, she responded to each greeting, a preference that she had not displayed the first time they had met. Bonnie was determined to express her gratitude once more, regarding herself in the family’s debt, and as the baroness was wheeled across the room, she stepped before her, curtseying.

“My gratitude is immeasurable, my Lady,” she proclaimed, reverentially. “I may have suffered worse if you had not assisted.”

Lady Davers was pleased, gesturing for the nurse to place her beside Penny, the end of her cane jabbing in her general direction. She seemed to forget that it was her daughter that had responded with her assistance, not her. “Then I suppose you may be grateful.”

Doctor Kensley, determined to address the young woman, called to her by saying- “I hope you are feeling well, Miss Donoghue?”

Bonnie hummed an affirmation, her hands wringing together. She turned haughtily, so that she was unable to perceive him, and sat abruptly onto the sofa. Her distaste was equalled by her neighbour, who noted her discomfort, and wished for him to quit their company; his presence was no longer required.

Across the room, Penny had remained standing, inquiring as to whether he wanted a glass of wine. He assented, the invitation provoking Yvonne, who, without removing her gaze from Bonnie, called out to him.

“Doctor, my horse needs tending to; he is glandered. If you may be so kind, you will find him in the stables.”

The doctor peered at Penny, expecting that she would insist upon his presence, but she had fallen silent at the thought of Claudio, lowering herself quickly into her seat. When he did not proceed, Yvonne looked up at him, clicking her fingers.

“Hurry now,” she urged, “I would like him seen to whilst he is still living.” She watched him leave, her neck craning to ensure he had disappeared before leaning closer to her guest, her voice lowering. “I find him rather odd and suspicious, do you not, Miss Donoghue?”

Entertained by her boldness, Bonnie repressed a giggle. “I do, Miss Davers. I believe his hospitality requires a little attention.”

“Hm, indeed.”

Miss Ainsley, delighted to see them favourable in each other’s esteem, hoped to maintain such a connection. She called out to Bonnie, incapable of lowering her voice in her excitement. “Miss Davers is known to keep a journal, my dear. She is quite renowned for it, so I would be certain to stay in her good favour if you wish to remain unmentioned.”

Bonnie’s humour dissolved, eyes widening in her consternation. She turned to her neighbour, uttering abruptly- “I hope I may never offend you.”

“Never,” Yvonne assured her. “I often write about what interests me, including those who I very much admire. You have nothing to fear.”

Bonnie was appeased, an air of satisfaction arising as she deliberated the adulation. Her triumph was interrupted by Lady Davers, who scoffed loudly.

“I would not hope to be included, my dear. We remain unaware of its contents and the tedious notations it is likely to contain.”

Her censure caused a subsequent silence, though Bonnie refused to be discouraged. Miss Ainsley, however, was less content, troubled by the stillness that had ensued, and, in her attempt to restore the discussion, proceeded to inquire as to whether Penny also had a journal.

“No, I do not,” was the short reply.

Unperturbed, Miss Ainsley advanced onto the subject of her neighbours and their merits. Yvonne glanced aside, noting the way in which Bonnie peered in her direction, the corner of her mouth twitching upwards in her delight. She looked at Yvonne with an admiration that she was unaccustomed to, and it startled her, impelled to contemplate whether she may have a chance in Miss Donoghue, as Penny had so earnestly alluded to. The notion was foolish, she realised, and highly impertinent. She surmised that she was grieving, chiefly for what she had lost in Paris- this was merely a distraction. Nevertheless, she was enthralled by her new neighbour. Miss Donoghue was undoubtedly winsome, but what of the rest of her? Yvonne resolved to discover the answer.

Chapter Notations

9. Ireland was currently under English rule and although they had Dublin Castle (a government complex used for British administration), most decisions had to be forwarded to Westminster, particularly when it came to laws regarding Catholic Emancipation (the main issue that Bonnie is hinting at here). The majority of Ireland wasn't officially divided and freed from British rule until 1922, nearly 100 years after this is set.

10. The 1601 Poor Relief Act is viewed as the foundation from which the Old Poor Laws were built. Written during the reign of Elizabeth I, the objectives were to provide relief to the poor through the responsible parish. This included provisions for the elderly, the disabled, clothes for the poor, and apprenticeships to children. Other acts were established after this, such as the Poor Relief Act 1662, the Workhouse Test Act, Gilbert’s Act, and Speenhamland. However, there were a number of factors, during the start of the 19th Century that led to unrest among the English peasantry. The increase of local landowners taking common land from the poor, the economic struggle that followed the Napoleonic wars due to plummeting grain prices and an oversupply of labour, as well as the increase of machinery in farms, led to a mass migration within the country, as the peasantry were forced to move from rural areas to the towns and cities where there was more employment. The lack of stable jobs, stable housing, and lower wages also caused a steady increase in the use of workhouses. In response to growing dissatisfaction and rioting over the period of 1830-1832, the Royal Commission was established to discover the most appropriate form of action in handling these complex social issues, which would eventually form the ‘New Poor Law’, officially known as the Poor Law Amendment Act 1834. Alluded to in this chapter, there were multiple demands and theories as to what a reformation for workers would include, which created mass debate and a tense political divide.

Chapter Text

Amidst the lining of the trees, the pistachio hue of the carriage was a charming contrast to the topiary that surrounded it, though it was not as striking, perhaps, as the woman who occupied it. Miss Donoghue had dashed a smile as she peered through the window, her happiness disappearing from view as they proceeded down the driveway. Upon reaching the lane, she raised her hand, a kindly response to the youngest Miss Davers.

Penny had stood on her toes, her hand flicking back and forth, anxious for the lady to perceive her. Moments later, she observed a wave from the carriage window and lowered her arm, satisfied to have been acknowledged. A minute passed and her contentment faded, until eventually, she sighed. She reached across to take hold of her sister, her forehead lowering onto her arm. It was a sad state of affairs, she declared. Yet, when there was no response, she continued to say there was a dreadful pain in her heart, which could not be alleviated.

“You may be suffering from indigestion,” Yvonne murmured, thoughtlessly.

Penny did not think she was, clutching sullenly onto her arm. She returned her attention to the berlin (11), but it had retreated altogether. Distressed, she peered upward, determined to speak, though the sight of Yvonne caused her to reconsider. Her sister was staring ahead and did not appear to notice that she was being watched. Heeding her distraction, Penny’s wretchedness was all but forgotten, the sentiment replaced with her usual vivacity.

“I did say, did I not, that you would make a friend of Miss Donoghue?”

Yvonne continued to stare onto the driveway. “You say a great deal, though I am often inclined to disregard it. By chance, you may have been correct, but solely in this circumstance.”

“I am correct, you say?” Penny straightened her posture, failing to reach the height of the eldest, yet pleased, in any case, that she had justified her reasoning. The arm that clung to her sister’s hung heavily in the crook of her inner elbow, unthinkingly drawing her closer. “Yes, I suppose I was.”

Spinning on her heel, Yvonne hurried towards the house, loosening her arm from her grip and calling behind her. “If you presume humbleness, I must say that you are unsuccessful.”

Her departure was hindered by Doctor Kensley, who, having returned from the stables, requested her presence. He bowed lowly, his voice wavering in an unfortunate attempt to convey his condolences, a pitiful scene that was merely amplified by the stutter he was beginning to form. The reception unnerved Penny and she halted, despite her reluctance to hear the report. She wrung her fingers together, glancing anxiously between her sister and the doctor.

“May I seek an audience with you, Miss Davers?” he appealed.

Yvonne could not refuse; the doctor had examined Claudio on her instruction. Glancing to Penny, she knew the girl was upset. The man was not subtle and it was clear, from his hesitant approach, that the news was damning.

Wary, she attempted to pardon herself, though she was interrupted by Penny, who dashed up the stairs. Yvonne reached out to take hold of her but she veered to the side, narrowly missing her sister’s grasp. Hastening across the hall and through a rear door, she slipped out of sight. There was no indication as to where she went, despite knowing which door she passed through. Yvonne was unfamiliar with the places in which Penny preferred to occupy her time. In the past, the girl had hidden in the cabinets and wardrobes to avoid detection- at her current age, she was surely too large to do so. This lack of familiarity infuriated her, particularly when she was at fault, and she exhaled heavily. She supposed if she were to appeal to Penny’s whereabouts, one of the servants would search for her.

Agitated that she could not aid her in any way, Yvonne spun on her heel, her irritable gaze falling on the doctor. His hands fumbled together, his head twitching forward in a skittish attempt at a bow.

“Ma’am, I examined the horse at your request.” Pausing, he stumbled into his findings when he saw her brow rise, fearful that she would be riled further by the report. “There is every possibility that he will live longer, but it would be cruel under the circumstances; he is in pain. It is with regret that I suggest you put him to sleep.”

Inhaling slowly, she clasped her hands behind her back, her chin jutting outward as she stared down at the doctor. “Then I shall ensure he is seen to.”

Expressing her gratitude, she arranged for his departure by calling for his coat and hat, despite his attempt to convince her that he should remain there, a duty he felt in ensuring that Claudio was tended to. Discerning that he was no longer welcome, he produced one final endeavour to remain at the manor.

“Miss Davers mentioned a glass of wine...”

“You shall receive your pay from Mrs Prescott,” she interjected. Turning from him, she headed towards the stables, calling over her shoulder- “She awaits you in the foyer.”

He was incapable of voicing another objection; she had abandoned him on the driveway.

Marching across the perimeter of the Park, her pace quickened when the outbuilding came into view. Percy Denver awaited her at the entrance, having been instructed to remain there by the doctor. He trembled at the sight of her, further alarmed when she hollered to him from across the field, the vexation in her voice palpable.

“Denver, fetch my pistol!”

“Yes, ma’am.”

He scrambled towards the estate, peering over his shoulder to inspect whether she was watching him. She was not; with him gone, she had turned her attention to the second stable boy, who lingered closely to the door. He desired to remain unseen, though his wish was not granted, and he was promptly instructed to retrieve Penny- if her sister wished to say farewell, she must attend to the horse without delay.

The boy seemed uncertain of the task, conscious that it was a delicate matter, silently deliberating whether he was capable of alarming the youngest Miss Davers. Nevertheless, he was unwilling to refuse his mistress, notably whilst she was in the possession of a firearm, and, with that in mind, he headed in the same direction as Percy.

Alone, she unclasped the chain of her pocket-watch, a scowl forming as she noted the hour, her thumb tapping impatiently against the frame. She returned the watch to its resting place, having inspected it to her satisfaction, and glanced around the empty field, discovering that the boys had not yet returned. Vexed, she entered the stables, apprehensive to see Claudio before he was brought outside.

He was placed in the furthest stall; Yvonne observed the way he lay atop the thin layering of hay, the poultice spread meticulously across his neck and jaw. The areas underneath the moss-coloured bandage had swollen, an inflammation that had visibly worsened since the last time she had seen him. Anxious, she hesitated, her hand gripping the stable door.

The sight of him provoked uncertainty and she felt incapable of taking him to the courtyard. She did not fear mortality, not when it came to necessity, nor was her reluctance induced by a particular attachment to the animal, though she did hesitate when she thought of Penny. God had played her a cruel trick- to have her sister return with an indefinite promise that she may stay, but thereby removing the one creature who had shown her any kindness in her sister’s absence. The irony was not hidden from her, though she did resent it.

From the aisle, there was an accumulation of frantic rustling and the panting of breath, and she withdrew from the stall, observing Percy as he dashed towards her, pistol in hand. Yvonne winced at the sight of him.

“Walk, boy!” she bellowed. Holding out her arm, her voice lowered as she added: “I will not have you injuring either of us. The fault would be entirely yours.”

He hastened to correct himself, his pace slowing to a walk.

“Yes, ma’am,” he wheezed, passing her the flintlock.

She clicked her fingers, gesturing at Claudio. “Bring him to the yard.”

Without delay, Percy took the reins, praying that the horse would not resist them; he had been irritable since his jaw had swollen. He was relieved to note the appearance of his associate, who passed through the courtyard, assured that his presence would direct Yvonne’s attention away from him. The boy, however, was subdued as he approached them, his crimson cheeks revealing his shame. It was clear that he had failed to fulfil his task, his hesitant steps serving to aggravate her.

“Well?” she demanded.

“Excuse me, Miss Davers, but Miss Penny will not come. She says she came to see him this morning, as well as six nights past. She is rather gloomy and says she will not come after he is gone either.”

Yvonne ground her teeth. “Where is she?”

“In the kitchens, ma’am. With Mrs Prescott and Miss Yacine.”

She did not think to correct him, having pronounced Paulette’s surname incorrectly, gesturing for him to return to the stables with the muzzle of her pistol. He did so, leaving Percy with her. The boy gripped the reins tightly, as if he thought she were going to shoot him too. Despite his apprehension, she did not think to assure him, her consideration fixated solely on the horse.

Yvonne approached Claudio, reaching out toward him in the hope that he responded, and he moved his nose upward, nudging it against her palm. She raised her hand, her fingertips grazing the bridge of his nose. He was placated by the contact, his head lowering but she reached for the groove of his chin, prompting his gaze higher. Staring into his darkened iris, she exhaled lightly, lowering her head so that the tip of her nose touched his. The motion caused her to smile, a faint chuckle escaping. Then she stepped back, the smile fading.

“Good boy,” she whispered.

Stepping away, she let her hand fall, her fingers brushing reluctantly against his ebony coat. She took three steps backward and raised her arm, the pistol hovering in the air. Yvonne watched him for a moment, a pause that caused Percy to quiver in fear. To him, it appeared that the delay was due to an uncertainty in aim, and he was desperate to not be caught in the firing line. He shuffled to the side, his fingers still gripping onto the reins, though he had created a reasonable distance between them. Grimacing, he turned his head from the horse, unable to view the execution in its entirety.

Clenching her hand, Yvonne’s forefinger held its position on the trigger. She steadied her aim, inhaling slowly as she sought to suppress the tremor that had arisen. Lowering her head, she hardened her reserve, her lips parting as she silently counted to three. On three, she looked upward, releasing her hold on the trigger, the reverberation causing her to flinch, though the impact of Claudio as he struck the ground had a similar effect.

Her chest heaved, a sound that was entirely audible in the silent courtyard. She glanced up to discover that Percy was staring at her, his dismay visible. The despondence in his gaze was mistaken as judgement and she lowered her arm, the pistol weighing heavily in her grasp. Uncertain, she contemplated whether she should console the boy, though she had nothing to say. She gestured for him to take the flintlock, which he did, hasty in his aptitude to please her.

Thereon, she instructed him to dispose of the carcass, reluctant to view the horse in his current state. In having hurt Claudio, she apprehended that she had wounded Penny too. Yet, she felt that her sister’s disappointment was inevitable. Yvonne could not do right by her.

Within the servants’ hall, Penny sat along the wooden bench, one hand in Mrs Prescott’s and the other in Paulette’s. Her hand gripped theirs tightly as she heard the pistol sound, her body starting. It gave way to a tremble that caused her whole frame to shudder, and she bit her bottom lip, repressing a sob. Nevertheless, she could not restrain herself the second time. She rested her head against Mrs Prescott’s shoulder, the housekeeper not caring to mention the patch of tears that had been left on her linen blouse. Reaching into her pocket, she pulled out a handkerchief and passed it to her.

Upstairs, Lady Davers was apathetic to the noise, the magnifying glass in her hand trembling as she struggled to maintain its upright position. She blamed her discomfort on Penny, who had disappeared and had not yet returned. As a result, the baroness was forced to undertake her usual reading of the newspaper alone and with great difficulty. The nurse had offered to read for her, but Lady Davers had requested that she be left alone in her room; she did not believe the woman could read.

Chapter Notations

11. Berlin, a.k.a. Berline, was a type of four-wheeled, covered carriage that held two interior seats.

Chapter Text

The path between Colworth House and Haynes Park was protracted further than necessary- its direction proceeded towards town before its route diverted to either estate. This inconvenience was due to the highland in which the two were built, and if one were to cross betwixt the two directly, they would have to mount the sizable hill situated between them. Thus far, it was untouched by man; a path was yet to be erected due to the rugged landscape. This did not perturb Yvonne, however, as she ascended it.

Short bursts of air passed through her lips as she marched steadily onward. To aid her ascension, she plunged her cane into the uncut grass and hauled herself further upward. The cane’s black surface glistened in the sunlight, the air practically whistling as it hastened through the breeze, the sound accompanying the fluttering motion of her frock coat as it billowed behind her. Albeit, she did not notice; her consideration was directed solely on where she was headed.

Yvonne had not called upon the tenants of Colworth House for almost a decade, having established the Chesterfields as irritable and decrepit. In return, their neighbours had been displeased with Penny’s teasing remarks regarding their surname and the similarly titled furniture and the two sisters were thenceforth refused to tea. Penny could not abide being disliked and was wounded by the exclusion, particularly when other girls her age had continued to visit. Yvonne, on the other hand, disliked the couple and was happy to remove them from their calling list; she thought them rather crass. With Mr Chesterfield long buried, Mrs Chesterfield had departed for Cheshire to reside with her married daughter. Though Penny had forgone her ridicule for their family name, she had savoured the ditty that she wrote for the Chesterfields who resided in Cheshire, and, to humour her sister, she had slipped the paper into her journal where it continued to abide and was often read when they required levity.

The recollection was abandoned, however, when the House came into view, its modest design handsomely compensated for by the magnitude of the estate. Yvonne’s pace quickened, unaware of her own vitality, and she hurried across the driveway with great urgency. It appeared that Miss Donoghue had implemented a charming array of blossoms and shrubbery to distract from the dull grey stone of the building, an enterprise that Yvonne applauded her for. She thought the House was uncommonly pleasing to the eye, its owner serving to increase its allure.

Ascending the steps, she reached for the metal chain and tugged it downward, panting as she attempted to recover from her brisk walk. Awaiting her admission, she turned to view the garden, raising her cane to tip the brim of her hat upward.

During the walk, Yvonne had speculated on the nature of Miss Donoghue and the rapport they may have. She had concluded that their friendship was inevitable, and in earnest, but she was inclined to question whether their association would lead to a familiarity that she longed for. In her fervour, she wished to discover whether she was correct in assuming a fondness between them, yet she chastised herself for being so easily affected. She had presumed her earlier experiences would have warned her against such intemperate gaiety, and still, she conceived that she was unwilling to learn her lesson.

The door opened to reveal the footman, who inquired into her arrival.

“Miss Davers of Haynes Park, here to see Miss Donoghue. Is she home?”

Unwittingly, she smiled at the servant, a motion that he grasped was not for him. He admitted her, and, upon entry, instructed that she remain in the hall whilst he sought the mistress of the house. She watched him leave, her finger tapping excitedly against the handle of her cane.

Unattended, she admired the adornments that surrounded her, rotating in a circular motion so that she may view the hall in its entirety. Adjustments had been implemented since her last visit and she considered the decoration to be tasteful. Along the hallway, bouquets had been lined; chandeliers were suspended from the ceiling, their glass moulded into the shape of a teardrop, and, alongside the staircase, there was an assortment of paintings that had been acquired from the Donoghue manor. The paintings were unlike the workmanship that she was used to- the collection consisted of desolate moorland, spacious lakes, and a tower-house that resembled the composition of a late Middle-Aged castle. Inspecting the paintings, she perceived that the collection was of Miss Donoghue’s homeland, leaning closer to examine the previous residence of her neighbour.

Her gaze traced the outline of the castle, enthralled by its construction. She had not expected Miss Donoghue to have hailed from such a prestigious stronghold, apprehending that she may have been mistaken in discounting the Irish wilderness. Contrite, she acknowledged that her appraisal of the Donoghues had been in haste. She did not wish to be intrusive, as she felt she had been, and so, she returned to the forepart of the hall, removing her top hat as she did and tucking it under her arm.

As she passed through the foyer, she espied a mirror, veering towards it. Yvonne was mindful that the journey may have altered her appearance. Pleased, she discerned that it had not. A strand of hair had tumbled across her forehead but she brushed it back, absentmindedly.

Yvonne was satisfied that her presentation could not be faulted, a verity that was often true, though she felt that, on this occasion, it was more accurate than usual. It was crucial that her stature, in society and trade, was resembled in her attire, a duty that had she bestowed upon herself and one which, she believed, was critical to convey, even when calling upon neighbours.

“Ma’am.”

Yvonne peered over her shoulder, observing the footman as he bowed. His genuflection revealed that she had been granted admission, and she followed him, quite haughtily, as he proceeded down the hallway.

Within the drawing room, Bonnie flitted from one side to the other, indecisive as to how she should present herself. She elected to rearrange her embroidery- it had been abandoned upon hearing she had a visitor- positioning the hoop so that it looked untouched yet orderly, and pulling the vase on the nearest table further forward. Though it hardly made a difference, she imagined that it looked more charming. Passing the divan, she plumped the cushions, arranging them neatly before standing in the centre of the room, chest heaving as she recovered from her frantic tidying. She did not consider that the drawing room was neat beforehand, content with the trivial alterations that she had made to its arrangement.

“Oh...”

Her eyes widened and she seated herself on the divan, her head turning from one side to the other. Snatching a nearby book, she opened it aimlessly, perusing its contents with a cursory glance. A moment later, Yvonne entered the room and Bonnie stood. Closing the book, she placed it on the nearest table.

“Miss Davers, what a wonderful surprise.”

“Miss Donoghue.” Yvonne smiled, several seconds passing before she realised she had yet to explain the reason behind her visit. She added: “I was passing by and thought that I should call upon you, especially as you were so kind to call upon my family and I. Forgive me; I hope I am not intruding.”

“You could never intrude, Miss Davers,” Bonnie swiftly assured her. “Both yourself and Miss Penny are welcome to visit any time you like. I shall be happy to receive you.”

They fell into reticence, though they continued to smile at one another. Their inaction was disturbed by the footman, who inquired as to whether he may take Yvonne’s coat and hat. She passed him both, inadvertently flinging her coat in his direction as she rushed to have a private audience with Miss Donoghue. Excusing himself, he bowed in his mistress’s direction.

“Excuse me, ma’am.”

“Thank you, Adam.”

Bonnie returned her attention to Miss Davers, whose gaze had not diverted from her. They watched each other a while longer, Bonnie coughing lightly in the hope that she could impede upon the silence.

She gestured towards the divan. “Miss Davers, please... Sit.”

Yvonne stepped towards the settee, examining the room as she did. The sight of the drawing room caused her to laugh abruptly and she peered over her shoulder at Bonnie, who was startled by her sudden guffaw.

“I have not visited this house in years,” she clarified, attentive to her blunder. “I never took to calling upon the last tenants and they never invited me. They were rather irritable and they did not like that I was better than them at bridge and piquet. When I last won, they told my father that I was a gambler. They owed me some money and were rather reluctant to pay it back; my father said it was fair game but my mother was less happy with my conduct...” Lingering, she recalled the account with immense pleasure, though it was not due to the elderly couple but, rather, the absurd recollection that she had of them. Yet, she was unwilling to discuss them any further, intent on discussing a topic that she considered to be of more interest. Yvonne turned to Bonnie, gesturing toward her. “The name Donoghue is familiar. I visited Dublin, but that was the extent of my travels there. May I assume that is where you lived?”

“The only time I resided in Dublin was when I was studying; I went to school there.” Sanguine, Bonnie was determined to encroach a subject that she had meditated ardently upon for the past twelve years. Her expectation was so severe that she took to staring at her hands, hastening to disclose their potential acquaintance. “My cousins also studied there, Sarah and Louisa. It was Louisa who attended the dinner at Diana’s. You remember Diana? Hartford? Well, you were invited too; Louisa told me she had conversed with you. She told me of your travels and how oft you occupied yourself with science, philosophy, art, and the overall pursuit of knowledge. I thought it was unfortunate that we missed each other, as I was not yet of age to attend, but I would have been agreeable to meeting you, if my cousin had been so obliging. She was not and I missed any chance of speaking with you whilst you were in Dublin. I suppose it is of little consequence now.” She paused, though the reticence disturbed her, so she concluded with: “How lucky that you, of all people, Miss Davers, are now my neighbour! You would not believe it...”

She stumbled into silence, her cheeks pinkening. The sight of Yvonne dissolved any remnants of courage, and she took to focusing once more on her hands. Bonnie was grateful to express her sentiment on the matter, but the discussion had so long been formed in her mind that, now she was confronted with it, she was overcome with nerves. She wished that she had remained silent.

Yvonne spoke across. “I was in Dublin four days after that encounter. You should have come to see me. I would have been pleased to meet you.”

“You did not know me,” she contended. “I did not wish to disturb you or cause you any bother.”

Yvonne smiled, a tenderness to her gaze. “You could never have bothered me.”

Bonnie lowered onto the divan, though it was not a voluntary action. Nevertheless, she was determined to continue.

“When Louisa spoke of your travels and all your recollections of Europe, it touched me. I had never been anywhere, you see; nowhere further than Dublin. Now I am here, this is the furthest I have ever been. To hear of these places, despite their only being tales, it brought me great happiness. I had never known anyone as courageous as you and I wish that I could be half of what you are. You inspire me.” She paused, anxious that she had been brazen in her admission. “I hope that is not impertinent of me to say.”

“It is not,” Yvonne replied, pleased to receive such an accolade. Approaching the sofa, she requested as to whether she may sit and, on receiving permission, complied, her gaze unfaltering on her hostess. “I have been all across Europe, Miss Donoghue, and I have never done as you have. I could not choose to live elsewhere, in a town where nobody knows me. No matter where I have been, it has been with friends and with those who are familiar to me. I have never lived anywhere other than my family home, but you are here. And you are more courageous than you will credit yourself for.”

Bonnie giggled. Assured, she said- “I suppose we can be courageous in our own way.”

Yvonne smiled, leaning toward her. “If you have been told all there is to know about me, then you must return the favour. I am inspired to hear all you have to say.”

“But I have not heard all there is to know,” she refuted. Bonnie was reluctant to speak of her experiences when she considered them inferior to the woman beside her. “You may tell me all you wish to; I will gladly listen. There is nothing you can say that will bore me.”

“I wish to hear from you first.”

“Where shall I start?”

Yvonne contemplated her question, reminded of the paintings that she had viewed in the hallway. “If you are not from Dublin, where is the Donoghue castle situated?”

“Why, I am from the county Kerry!” Bonnie exclaimed. “It is located in the south of Ireland- the opposite direction to Dublin. I grew up not far from Killarney. Quite close, in fact.”

Upon heeding this insight, Yvonne was uncertain as to where the town was. She supposed she may find it on the atlas if she were to search for it later, though she did not want to admit as much to Miss Donoghue for fear of offense.

To compensate, she asked her: “Will you tell me more of your homeland?”

“Yes, I would be delighted!” she beamed. “The castle itself was first established in fifteen seventy-two...”

Bonnie spoke hurriedly, her hands gesturing wildly as she ventured to describe the construction of her previous residence. Silent, Yvonne watched her, intaking the information with the utmost gravity. She was loath to miss any word that was spoken.

Chapter Text

Bonnie fell silent. In her determination to share all she must with Miss Davers, she had chanced upon a topic which she had come to regret. It was not a subject that she oft discussed, not since her parents’ passing, and in alluding to her misery, Bonnie feared she had discouraged her neighbour in speaking to her. Having conversed briefly on the death of her younger brother, she came to wish, upon completion, that she had turned the conversation elsewhere. The topic was not suitable for polite society, particularly when one did not know the other.

“I must apologise, Miss Davers,” she uttered, repentantly. “I did not intend to be so dour.”

Her gaze lowered to her lap, her fingers gripping tightly onto the fabric of her skirt. There was a moment of reticence, where she was assured that she had offended her guest, but then Miss Davers spoke, her tone commiserative.

“You must not apologise, Miss Donoghue,” Yvonne insisted. “I am sorry to hear of your misfortune. I am sure you miss him terribly.”

Bonnie raised her gaze, grateful to be shown such kindness. “I do. I think of them often- my parents and Ainmire alike. They are always with me; I can sense it.”

Following the disclosure, she was despondent and she chastised herself, for she knew that the topic upset her, yet she had broached it anyhow. Nevertheless, she was charmed that her neighbour had endeavoured to console her. In return, Bonnie wished to please her as well as she could. Three hours had passed since Miss Davers had been admitted into Colworth House and, reluctant to finish the discussion, Bonnie surmised that a walk would be sufficient in detaining the woman further.

“Would you join me in the garden?” she asked. “If you were to cross the gate at the far end, the Great Ouse lies beyond.”

Confronted with such expectation, Yvonne could not deny her. “You like being near the water, I see.”

“Yes,” she uttered. “It calms me.”

Yvonne rose to her feet. “Then we must go at once.”

Bonnie was startled by her enthusiasm. She was certain that, on perceiving her low spirits, Miss Davers would have preferred to return home. Yet, despite her reservations, she discovered that her guest accompanied her, quite happily, into the gardens. Yvonne had started to walk with her usual swiftness, a stride that soon lessened when she realised that her companion was no longer beside her, a refusal, on her part, to walk any faster than at a leisurely pace. Bonnie was content to saunter through the garden, unhurried in reaching the river. She had no intention of returning to the manor until they had tired themselves into exhaustion, a sentiment which amused her for she was certain that she could never tire of Miss Davers.

With her hands clasped behind her back, Yvonne exerted her efforts into keeping in pace with Miss Donoghue, although she could not abide having to stroll; lethargy made her restless. She turned her attention elsewhere, determined to please Bonnie as well as she could.

“May I inquire into the whereabouts of Miss Ainsley?” Yvonne had expected to be greeted by the governess; her absence was notable. Still, she believed the occurrence to be fortuitous. Her visit had remained undisturbed, allowing them to speak as they pleased, which suited her, for she aimed to speak solely with her neighbour, not her chaperone. “I would have thought that she was here. I did not think she had any acquaintances or relatives in the area.”

Bonnie’s countenance revealed that she was delighted with the absence. “No, she does not. My company must have tired her. She is now teaching at the local school for girls. It is only for three days a week, but she is satisfied with the arrangement. Miss Ainsley is always content when she has some occupation to attend to.” She paused to laugh. “I think she has abandoned any hope with me. My French is better than hers and she thinks Italian too romantic. Her time is better spent with girls who know little French; she finds them more pleasing. Besides, she has no new books to read and she will not read mine. She thinks me frivolous.”

“Being of a higher acumen is not a trait that you must apologise for. She should be pleased that you are well-educated; surely, it reflects highly on her too.” Pausing, she winced, as if the thought of attending school had greatly disturbed her. “But all those children? My, I believe they are of no use to me.”

“I am actually very fond of children,” Bonnie sighed, wistfully. “I have thought a good deal on becoming a mother, but I have come to accept that it shall never happen.”

“And why is that?”

“I shall never be married. If I am not to marry, I cannot have children. It would bring me great happiness but it will never happen, not as I wish.”

It was not a topic that Yvonne wished to discuss. Her opinion on marriage was a low one, as was all matters that involved men. In her experience, she had discovered that all young women, at some time or another, thought upon marriage and wished for it. Miss Donoghue presumed herself different, the reason behind it unclear, but it was an illusion that, Yvonne believed, was often borne with youth. The natural course of a woman was to marry and, inevitably, have children. A woman of Miss Donoghue’s calibre, of her wealth and status, and- if she may be so bold- her beauty, would have no difficulty in obtaining a husband. Yvonne believed that every woman aimed to be a wife, despite their varying reasons; she had yet to be proven otherwise. A conventional view for someone such as herself, yet she believed that her situation was different only by nature, and it was not a nature afforded to every woman.

“You shall think differently.” She refused to acknowledge the aching sensation that had arisen in her chest, staring at the trimmed lawn, rather than the gentlewoman beside her. “All young women do after a time. They always say they will not marry and they do. Then you shall have your wish and with it, all the children you desire.”

Bonnie was adamant that she was correct.

“No,” she reiterated, “I shall never marry a man; it is inconceivable.” A thought struck her. “Do you not want a child?”

“It is not an option that has been afforded to me, so I have never contemplated it in its entirety. Of all I have left to accomplish in my life, I have never cared to have a child. They are often boisterous and filthy; they want caring for until they are adults and I do not have the time nor want to care for them.” Pausing, she recollected a moment from her past that she hurried to disclose, assuming it to be of interest to Bonnie. “I have, in the past, dissected a baby.”

“Alive?” she exclaimed.

“Well... No. I would not have done so if the thing was alive.”

Abashed, she fell silent. Yvonne had forgotten, in her delight to be with Miss Donoghue, that her interests were considered unorthodox. She conceived, on reflection, that she should have followed the discussion as it was, despite its tedious nature, for it was more pleasing. Not for her, necessarily, but for those who conversed with her.

“How were you granted permission?” Bonnie questioned, her tone genuinely curious. “Procedures such as that are difficult to arrange.”

“I have always held an interest in Georges Cuvier (12).” Yvonne hesitated, peering across at her neighbour. She did not wish to pursue the topic if it was undesirous to Bonnie, but there was an assurance in the lady’s gaze that emboldened Yvonne, prompting her to continue. “Whilst I was in Paris, I discovered that Monsieur Cuvier was currently employed at the university. I sent him a letter expressing my interest in his work and, as I was refused admission to his lectures, he came to my apartment for private instruction. I was grateful for his kindness; I would not have gained the experience otherwise. You see, I have always found the human body and brain to be fascinating, do you not think so, Miss Donoghue?”

“Yes, I do,” Bonnie concurred. “My parents encouraged my want to learn, even when it came to human anatomy, but there was little to read on the subject whilst I was at home. When I arrived at Dublin, such literature was discouraged and my friends agreed that it was better left to someone who had the chance of pursuing a career in natural science, an option that was not gifted to me. I used to visit the library and note the books that I found to be of interest. From there, I would pass the notes to a friend of mine who would take them for me; he did me a great favour. My parents were thrilled with my knowledge, but Miss Ainsley thought the ordeal to be rather vulgar. Now that my parents are gone, I find that I have nobody who shares my interests.”

Her avidity was unexpected, especially to the degree that Yvonne, herself, regarded the subject. “I am pleased to hear of your devotion, Miss Donoghue, in educating yourself, particularly in such fields as anatomy and physiology. I would not have imagined it to be the case.”

“I am equally pleased, Miss Davers. I have struggled to meet anybody who felt similarly.”

“As have I. The sole time that I felt my passion was, in any way, encouraged was whilst I studied in Europe. I took to anatomy there; they have less inhibitions than we do. They held many lectures on the subject. Men and women, there were examinations for both, although, I must confess, I preferred the study of female anatomy.”

It did not occur to Bonnie to censure the discussion, too delighted by its initiation to prohibit the subject further. “If you are well versed on the subject of female anatomy, why, you could show me what you learnt.”

Yvonne did not reply, staring fixedly ahead; nonetheless, the reddening in her cheeks revealed her humility. There was an impishness to Miss Donoghue that disconcerted her, and, try as she might, she was unable to respond to her in a way that was suitable and so, she said nothing at all.

Bonnie realised her discomfort, continuing with: “The brain is the most vital organ of the body, the most significant, and yet, it is often underappreciated. By those outside of scientific practice, at least. It is the centre and chieftain of all human existence. Does that not demand a little attention?”

“Have you ever seen one?” Yvonne questioned, appeased by the turn in conversation. The topic of natural science disturbed her less than the subject of sentiment.

“Unfortunately, no,” sighed Bonnie. “All that was afforded to me were diagrams.”

Conceited to have the chance of impressing her neighbour, Yvonne drew back her shoulders, her chin rising in the air with a motion of pompousness. “I had the opportunity to examine a brain first-hand. I attended a lobotomy- for the pursuit of knowledge, naturally- and I was startled to see its truest form. It was nothing more than some offal, some meat-like substance, similar to the rest of the human body. I was not under the impression that it was much different, but to see it for myself, it was astounding. It was nothing above the ordinary and yet, it is responsible for every experience we have. It accounts for all of our senses, our thoughts, and feelings...” She paused in her breathlessness, discerning that she must allow her companion to speak too. “Tell me, Miss Donoghue, what do you feel right now?”

“Happy,” she stated. “To be here with you.”

“Yes...” Yvonne blinked, hemming to rid herself of the uncertainty that arose within her. “Well, that is your brain and in its sophistication, it can encapsulate your feelings and transform it into a thought, which is then relayed into speech. We make music of it, languages, a poetry prose in which these feelings are expressed. We create meaning in the nature around us because of it. We understand it through the analysis endured by the brain itself, and subsequently, we think and feel. We live.”

“And love.”

Bonnie stared up at her, marvelling at her speech.

Yvonne smiled in return. “Indeed.”

Inspired, Bonnie added- “How lucky that in this moment, in this brief second of our complicated lives, we are here and we are together, talking as if we were old friends.”

She halted, causing Yvonne to do the same. Despite hoping to involve Bonnie in the discussion, Yvonne was conscious that she had dominated the conversation, too enthused by the subject to finish. The notion that her companion was as passionate as her had fuelled her ramblings, yet Bonnie was unperturbed by her conduct. It seemed that they understood each other. She was staring at Yvonne with reciprocal contentment, a partiality that surprised her. Bashful, Yvonne uttered:

“I would not trade this second for any other.”

Chapter Notations

12. Jean Léopold Nicolas Frédéric, Baron Cuvier (1769-1832), known as Georges Cuvier, was a naturalist and zoologist. He is also referred to as the founding father of palaeontology.

Chapter Text

As the afternoon advanced, the wind increased, causing the river to tumble rapidly, its current surging more ferociously than usual. The two women arrived in high spirits, although they were unmatched against the gust of wind that met them at the embankment.

Bonnie shivered, her hand rising to tug at the Prussian blue shawl wrapped around her shoulders. Releasing her hold, the shawl slipped, but she was delayed in capturing it; the material was caught in the breeze. It fluttered across the grass, her exclamation causing Yvonne to turn from her view of the river. Bonnie stepped forward, hesitant to chase after it, but her indecision was soon answered by Miss Davers, who dashed past, her long limbs enabling her to sprint steadily across the levee. Her pantaloons were also to her benefit; Bonnie’s skirts were too voluminous for her to manoeuvre effectively.

Inclining swiftly downward, Yvonne seized the fabric, sighing lowly as she caught it in her grasp. The shawl had drifted perilously close to the water. Ceremoniously, she returned it to its owner, laying the muslin across her shoulders and wrapping it securely at the front so that it could not unravel, even in high wind. Bonnie was exceedingly gratified, her cheeks pinkening. With the retrieval of her shawl, she suggested that they return to the manor, to which her neighbour readily assented. It appeared that the weather was only to worsen as the day progressed.

Neither admitted their disappointment as they departed, but, for Miss Donoghue at least, the impression of her returned shawl was so formed in her mind that she could not be truly discontent. Bonnie expressed her gratitude for the chivalrous deed, although she thought it pertinent to mention another circumstance in which she felt indebted.

“I was exceedingly grateful, Miss Davers, that you prevented Doctor Kensley from speaking to me. I could not have dealt with him as effortlessly as you did, although you may own a familiarity with him that I may not. Doctor Kensley is not a favourite of mine, but I fear I may be a favourite of his. You must believe me when I say how much I appreciated you requesting his absence.”

Yvonne held her own dislike for the doctor, but she had been irked to see that his presence unnerved Bonnie, surmising the reason behind it. “It was clear to me that you were uncomfortable and, as my guest, I could not allow you to be placed in such a difficult position. It would be wretched of me to have you any less than happy.”

“When I saw him last, he was unforgivingly impertinent and presumptuous. We were obliged to Miss Penny for recommending him, as we did not know a doctor in the area, but Miss Ainsley certainly took to his airs more than I. He lacked manners and it was easy to ascertain, in one visit, that he was ready to give an opinion on matters that he knew nothing of. Miss Ainsley was his equal in instigation, but, as a man of great education, he should have known better. He did not, however, and I am hesitant to have him examine me in the future. His recommendations were of no use to me and were as brazen as he was. I fear he has an impression of me that does not fit my character, though it will suit Miss Ainsley to have him think of me as harshly as she does.”

The account did not take Yvonne unawares; she was acquainted with the faults of the doctor. Nevertheless, her sense of justice and decorum had been disturbed and she wished, in whatever way, for it to be righted. The slight was not felt on her part but on her neighbour’s.

“He has a wandering eye, I am assured of that much. He often looks upon women when he should not.” She scowled, reminded of her past encounters with the doctor. “I once had a friend that he was much taken with. She handled it rather well, but I could not forgive him. Augusta was dear to me and I was very much provoked on her behalf, although she often said I should practice the virtue of temperance. Now that Penny is becoming a woman, he is much in her favour, having served our family for some years. I prefer to observe his consultations when he is with her. Certainly, his manner is that of a blackguard, but I also believe him to be incompetent. I am indignant that a similar misfortune has befallen you; you, who has recently come to this neighbourhood and deserves respect.”

Bonnie, though grateful, had heard little past the opening statement. She peered across, inclined to question if she could condemn a man for a fault that she owned to. Yet, she would contend that it was injurious solely when acted upon by a man, an acquittal that occurred to her as her gaze, with great deference, traced the figure of Miss Davers. Bonnie was certain that her neighbour held her own transgressions. Nevertheless, she did not believe that Miss Davers owned many faults. If she were to have taken Bonnie’s wrist in the same manner as the doctor, Bonnie would not have blamed her and would have allowed her to act as she pleased.

Yvonne, ignorant to her companion’s distraction, had continued to talk. “If you were in need of a doctor in the future, I would call for Doctor Lamar.”

Startled from her reverie, Bonnie shook her head. “Oh no, I could not! Miss Ainsley would not understand it and I could not bear another useless quarrel. She is already so fond of Doctor Kensley.”

“You are your own woman, Miss Donoghue,” she contended, unable to comprehend the difficulty in such an arrangement. “You may do as you please.”

“In the world of someone else, perhaps, but I am here and I am not at leisure to do as I please.” Bonnie responded sharply, crossly almost, but she regained her composure. She was ashamed to lose her temper, particularly when she was once more indebted for the support of the Davers family, and her voice lowered considerably. “I must do what is right and expected.”

“At the expense of your own happiness?”

“My happiness does not matter,” she admitted. “I have been constrained since the loss of my parents. By obligation or otherwise. When I resided at my family home, I was placed into a role that I was not suited for. I would take to the lakes, simply to escape, but it made little difference. The moors were an open plain for adventure, or so I once believed. Alone, I felt they were desolate and so was I, far from any being who could possibly understand me. With no amusement, there was nobody in Ireland worth staying for; I could not abide living with my cousins. I came here in an attempt to change my situation and, despite Miss Ainsley’s efforts to immerse me into society, I still feel as if I am far removed from everyone around me.”

She had little time to be regretful, as she had been earlier; Bonnie was too affected. With a furrowed brow, Yvonne glanced down, her comprehension somewhat increasing. Bonnie’s frustration was understandable, or so she felt, but Yvonne was unable to grasp why the situation was as calamitous as her neighbour believed it to be. She had experienced her own dissatisfaction with the world in which she was confined, but she had resolved to escape and she failed to understand why Miss Donoghue could not do the same.

“You are a grown woman, Miss Donoghue, as young as you are. You have the ability to influence your life to a greater degree than you believe possible, no matter how you view your situation. May I ask your age?”

“I am eight and twenty.”

Yvonne almost stumbled, although there was nothing but trimmed grass before her.

“Goodness!” she exclaimed, unable to repress her bewilderment. “That young?”

Bonnie was silent. To her, it appeared that she had lowered in Miss Davers favour and, in her disappointment, she had nothing to say. Yvonne, however, was conscious of her own age, having supposed her neighbour to be older than she was. She had not believed the disparity in years to be so large, and she said nothing either, for fear that Miss Donoghue may discover it and wish to terminate the acquaintance.

Yet, a moment later, Yvonne discerned that she was being foolish. Her companion had shown a maturity beyond her years and if not, her intellect would surely guide her to reason. That promise within itself urged her to continue, repentant to have caused Bonnie any humiliation.

“At any rate,” she persisted, “you are a grown woman and one of substantial means. It would be appropriate for you to dictate the situation that you are in, including which doctor attends to your needs. You have every right to decide which physician you suffer at the hands of, and, when it comes to your health, you do not want to take risks; that may be disastrous.”

“Yes, I know...”

Faltering, Bonnie stared down at her hands. She was not irked by the speech of Miss Davers; it was apparent that she meant well, but she was reminded that, as she became older, Bonnie had become less assertive. It was a harrowing reminder of the girl she had once been in comparison to the woman she was at present, and she was distressed that this was the version of herself that she offered to society, to Miss Davers, a woman whom she had so long admired and hoped to meet.

Yvonne sensed her distress, resolved to console her as well as she could.

“Only you can choose and you alone,” she reiterated, reaching out, in her fervour, to take hold of her wrist. Her touch was not forceful but it was firm.

Bonnie lowered her gaze in astonishment, tracing the thin fingers that encircled her wrist. The tan complexion of Miss Davers was complimentary to her dark skin, and she marvelled at the contrast between them. Perceiving her blunder, Yvonne hastily removed her grasp, clasping her hands behind her back.

Petulant at the loss of contact, Bonnie uttered- “Miss Ainsley does not believe that I am capable of forming a decision, as if my mind was all muddled. She thinks that I am an invalid, in sensibility alone. Now that she lives with me, she is forever interfering. It is difficult for me to act against her wishes. Miss Ainsley often likes to have the last word and, as she believes me incapable, she thinks she acts in my best interests by speaking for me.”

“You, Miss Donoghue?” Yvonne exclaimed. “An invalid? I have never heard such nonsense. On what grounds does she make such a claim? Surely, after so many years, she should know you better.”

“She was different when my parents were with us, but with them no longer here, she is worried that some terrible fate will befall me and there will be no Donoghues left. She thinks there is more danger in the world than I can manage or bear.”

Yvonne smiled at her. “I believe it is you that said earlier- we can be courageous in our own way.”

Bonnie flushed. “So, I did.”

They returned to the house, both satisfied with the walk that they had endured outside, even as the wind became restless. As they ventured through the hallway, the longcase chimed, its persistent oscillation echoing through the spacious foyer. Yvonne heeded the noise, astonished to discover that she had been with Miss Donoghue for a little over five hours. She excused herself, conscious that Penny would be anxious to see her home, especially as supper was expected within the hour.

As she withdrew, she heard Bonnie call for her carriage, although Yvonne had not arrived in one. She told her so, informing her that she had walked the distance. Bonnie was astounded.

“You walked?” she gasped. “The whole distance?”

“Yes, over the hill.”

“Over the hill?” she repeated. Her hand curled at her chest, as if she had experienced a great shock. “My, I did not think anybody would be so bold as to walk there.”

“It was hardly a bother,” Yvonne assured her. “I was glad to waste the energy, and I shall be adequately fatigued, upon returning, to enjoy my evening meal. Your company today has been most welcome.”

Bonnie clasped her hands together in delight. “Miss Davers, it is you who is welcome. My day would have been rather dull if you had not come. I hope I have not deterred you from returning; you must visit whenever you wish. I shall be happy to receive you.”

“Name the day and hour. I shall be there.”

“I suppose you may come when you have the time. I hardly know anybody in town. There is no arrangement, as of yet, to visit anywhere, so I will be at home.”

Yvonne was struck with a thought. “Then tomorrow?”

Bonnie was startled, though she did not oppose the idea. With a widening smile, she exclaimed- “Yes, I would be delighted! You may come any time; I shall wait for you.”

Yvonne was visibly pleased, the edge of her lips turning involuntarily upward. She did not believe her contentment to be appropriate, however, her brow furrowing in an attempt to appear indifferent. The attempt was futile; Yvonne’s delight could not be repressed.

She bowed lowly, receiving a curtsey in return, and, with a parting smile, she spun on her heel, hastening through the entrance, down the steps, and across the driveway. Her departure was marked by the door as it closed behind her, the footman turning to face his mistress. He awaited further instruction, though he did not receive any. Bonnie failed to notice he was there. Craning her neck, she peered through the door pane, one hand reaching up to press against the cool glass.

Observing her distraction, the footman bowed, excusing his presence, although she did not seem to hear him. She was heedless to his absence. Mister Reeves, however, had seen the expression upon her face and did not wish to intrude on her private felicity. He could not fathom the reason behind it, but he knew that the sentiment was not intended for anybody other than Miss Davers. Of that, he was certain.

Chapter Text

Upon her return, Yvonne was notified, by the footman, of Ingham’s arrival. He awaited her in the study, though she inquired as to whether the visit was so urgent that she must attend to him without delay. The answer was in the affirmative, yet the footman admitted that he could not answer in full, as he had assumed, by Ingham’s wish to wait, that it was a pressing matter.

She inhaled sharply, removing her coat, hat, and gloves. Passing them to him, she threw her cane in his general direction, which he caught with an expert hand. Upon receiving the garments, he bowed and, with no further instruction, retreated from the hall.

Alone, she headed for the study, opening the door more forcibly than intended. Yvonne had not expected to meet with anyone, and the anticipation that she had suffered on her walk home, in regards to her evening meal, had amassed to an unbearable degree. The meeting was merely a disruption, and it was one that was more bothersome than she could bear. Her visit to Colworth House had tired her, and she did not wish to wait any longer; she had fantasised ardently upon the notion of supper, barely giving thought to the idea that it would not be food that awaited her, but business.

Ingham was stood by the window, turning abruptly when he heard the creaking of the handle.

“Miss Davers!”

“Mister Ingham, what can I do you for?”

“I came to speak about the factory, ma’am. Your housekeeper was unsure as to when you would return, but Miss Penny said I may wait here, if I liked. She said you had been gone awhile and was likely to return soon.”

“And here I am.” Her hands rose in the air, indicating her presence as she walked to the desk. “Your report must be enlightening, considering how long you have waited.”

Ingham passed the rim of his hat between his fingers, the speed in which he handled the cap growing faster as he addressed her. “Ay, ma’am, I believe it is. I discovered that the man to speak to, when it comes to the matter of lace, is Horace Draper. Mister Draper knows the industry better than any other, hereabouts.”

The disclosure had visibly caught her interest, and Ingham persisted, gratified that his investigation had been of use. Before he could speak, however, she raised her hand, seating herself behind the desk.

“What is his role exactly?”

“Lace agent, ma’am. He knows all the factories in the area, but, as it is, he also knows a fair amount around the country, as well as the market for them. Says he wants to assist you if you decided on reopening the factory, or if you were to build another, though he claims it is expensive and time-consuming. He says there are practical alternatives for putting your factory to use, other than for lace, that is.”

Yvonne did not wish to be lectured, telling him so.

“If I want to reopen my factory for lace, I am perfectly within my right to do so,” she retorted. “I do not care for his opinion; I have yet to meet the man.”

Ingham half-bowed. “My apologies, ma’am.”

She reached for the monocle that had been left atop her desk, not wishing to wear her spectacles in company; Yvonne thought they were unbecoming. Her other hand grasped the letters that had been left by Penny, her attention drawn to the papers before her, rather than her guest.

“Call for Draper,” she told him, distractedly. “I shall speak to him myself.”

Horace Draper entered the study with an air of considerable aplomb. His trade did not often align with the gentry of Bedfordshire, and it was a privilege that he was sure to use to his advantage. His admission to Haynes Park was a riveting story, one that he was yearning to tell later that day when he arrived at the alehouse for his daily drink. There were not many who could boast of receiving an invitation to the Davers estate, let alone be allowed into the confidence of Miss Davers herself. Yet, as she watched him stand before her, she doubted that he would ever be counted among those who could boast of her confidence.

From the way he observed her, Draper believed himself to be at an advantage. Miss Davers’ lack of experience in the industry was fortuitous; such a circumstance allowed him to gain jurisdiction over her. Yet, he was sorely mistaken in his judgement. Draper assumed her weak on account of her sex, but she assumed him presumptuous, and only one appraisal was correct.

“I hear you are the one to speak to when it comes to the matter of lace, Mister Draper.” Placing her monocle atop the desk, she positioned her elbows on the armrests of the chair, her fingertips pressing together. “I assume Mister Ingham has proposed my intentions. Why should I hire you to assist me?”

Hesitant, Draper peered across at Ingham, as if to gain reassurance from his presence. Almost pressed to the wall, Ingham remained silent, not wishing to speak when he had not been called to do so. Miss Davers would address him when she wished for it.

“Well...” Draper paused, recalling the agreements that he had previously discussed. “Mister Hatheway would like to offer you a hundred twist of yarn, about one-hundred in all, for two-hundred and sixty-five pounds. He says that is the fair price for the amount of yarn nowadays, and a Mister Simmons, from Millbrook, says that he is willing to sell some of his leavers machines (13) for one-hundred and fifty each. However, Mister Simmons says he is unwilling to trade with you, ma’am, whilst you are located in Bedford. If you were to relocate further south of the county then he will agree to a contract with you.”

“I am not relocating to another factory when I already own one,” she remarked. “Not for the sake of saving him money. It will not cost less for me, I assure you.”

“I would encourage you to take Mister Hatheway’s offer, ma’am,” Draper insisted, “if not Simmons. His amount is realistic, within your means, and very much profitable. You will not find a more affordable price anywhere and, if you were to take it, the Dunces will be in a position to trade with you. They may even buy your factory, if you were to want rid of it.”

Yvonne did not answer to bribes. “The Dunces are swindlers. I do not wish to aid them in any way, not if I can help it.”

“They most likely are.” Draper raised his shoulders, allowing them to fall a moment later. He was clearly unperturbed by the information. “Yet, excuse me for inquiring, ma’am, but how do you mean to prove it?”

“I have a suspicion that they are using my plants for the production of lace, which was not the contract that we agreed upon. It was intended for medicinal or consumption purposes, and, if they were to use it for lace, they would not only be paying me a significant amount less than the profit they make from it, they would be in breach of the law. I wish to be compensated for their arrears.” Yvonne leant back in her chair, her indignance revealed in the incessant tapping of her finger against the armrest. “I intend to write to the Lord Chancellor, so that he may visit their factory and discover the plant’s purpose. If he will not inspect the building, I would like permission to do so myself.”

Draper considered her proposal. Despite his previous boldness, he was careful to address her as he said- “By the time you have achieved that, they will have discovered a way to prove otherwise. You will not succeed, if that were to be the case. There will be no evidence. The Dunce brothers would have you look a fool before they are proven to be in the wrong.”

“If it were a surprise to them...” she started.

“If I remember correctly, the Dunces are acquainted with the Lord Chancellor,” Draper spoke across her. “They know him through their father. Do you believe that the Dunces will not realise your plan before then?”

Yvonne could not determine whether his interruption was the cause of her temper, or whether it was the thought that the Dunces, of all people, were granted to best her. Standing determinedly, her hands splayed across the desk, her tall frame towering inches above him, even as she leant forward.

“I will not be intimidated, not on my own property and certainly not by the Dunce brothers!” Bending her index finger, she rapped its knuckle against the wood, as if she would have preferred to repeat the motion against Draper’s head. “I will do all I can to be rid of them.”

“I understand, ma’am,” he muttered, his courage deserting him. “But in the circumstances...”

Ingham stepped forward, mindful of her rising vexation. He did not impede on account of her pride, but for the poor man before her, who was incapable of persuading her to his opinion.

“If you listen to Mister Draper’s proposal, ma’am, he has a suggestion that I believe will be of benefit to you. I have given it some consideration myself and it is the most favourable plan that we can currently devise.”

Yvonne was silent, her gaze arching to the corner of her eye. She was apathetic to the designs of Draper, but she could not dismiss her inexperience within the trade. If it was essential to hire him, she would do so. Yvonne was resolved to gain the experience needed before venturing into the business alone.

Appeased at the notion, she seated herself, one leg crossing over the other. Flicking her hand outward, she gestured for him to continue. Ingham bowed his head, glancing pointedly at Draper, whose modesty had rearranged itself in the wake of her temper.

“The Dunces are in a better position to trade with you,” Draper explained, cautiously. “If they think you shall sell and trade with someone else, with Hatheway or Simmons, they would have to produce a higher offer, but it also means that they must source the plant elsewhere, if you were to use it for your own means. You have cornered the market in a way that cannot be subdued nor avoided, and you will be able to track the source of their lace, as well as their reliance on you. They would be threatened by your factory, whether it remained here or was moved elsewhere. In many ways, Miss Davers, you have an advantage over them.”

“And I would have to keep trading with them in the meantime?” she frowned. “What if they plan to eliminate me from the market completely, or they want to sell me out of my own factory? If I am not careful, I shall lose it all.”

“If my assessment of you is correct, Miss Davers, you will be careful. They can only buy your property if you are ruinous or if you decide to sell to them. Regardless, they will be required to stay on good terms with you. If you negotiate skilfully in the early stages of your deal, you can raise the price without them being able to object. You will earn the money that they stole without them realising.”

Yvonne turned to Ingham. “I want an account of the Dunces’ lace sales- what they sell and for how much. Can you do that?”

He bowed. “Yes, ma’am.”

She rose from her chair, stepping around the desk and towards the door. Inclining her head in an attempt at a bow, she pressed down on the handle, stepping aside to let them pass.

“Thank you, gentleman, but if you please, I have my supper to attend to and my sister shall be incredibly displeased if I miss it.”

Yvonne entered the dining room, a pardon prepared upon entry, although there was no explanation as to where she had been. With an exclamation, Penny greeted her, delighted at her sister’s timely arrival. Lady Davers, on the other hand, did not notice that the seat was taken any more than when it was empty. She continued to chew on her mutton, her sharp, grey gaze flickering irritably between her plate and the glass of wine in front. Her indecision, regarding the direction of her attention, did not falter, no less troubled by her surroundings than when Penny spoke.

The girl was inquiring into the earlier whereabouts of Yvonne, though the eldest thought she knew perfectly well where she had been. She responded by telling her so, and that she had been at the neighbouring estate, to which Penny inhaled sharply, almost rising from her seat, as though the very thought itself was causing her to ascend heavenward.

“You were there quite a while,” she declared, rather brashly. “I suppose you spoke on many a subject?” Before she had received a response, she leapt forward in her chair, her hands striking the table. “Oh, tell me, Yvonne! I cannot bear the suspense.”

Yvonne had not intended suspense; she was merely sipping her freshly poured water. Exhaling heavily, she returned the glass to the table, glaring across at Penny. Her sister did not notice. She was continuing to wait in anticipation.

“We did speak on many a subject, yes.”

Penny raised her brows, a sure indication that she awaited the detail. She was forced to wait, eagerly watching Yvonne, whilst the other chewed heartily on a forkful of carrots. Once she had finished, Yvonne continued-

“We spoke of her family; she told me of her home in Kerry, though I am not entirely familiar with the south of Ireland. She also spoke to me about Miss Ainsley. I believe she is now teaching at the local school, half the week. You know...” Yvonne waved her fork in the air, nonchalantly brandishing the utensil in a circular motion. “That sort of nonsense.”

“I am sure you did not believe it to be nonsense,” Penny remarked. “Not when you were speaking to her.”

Yvonne was silent for a moment. “I suppose not.”

Penny prodded the meat on her plate, incapable of disguising her disappointment.

“Nothing else?”

“We spoke about physiology and anatomy,” Yvonne admitted. “She is well versed on the subject, it seems.”

“You never speak to me about biology!” Penny exclaimed, the jabbing of her fork increasingly forceful. She scowled, her gaze flickering from her plate to her sister. “You will not allow it.”

Yvonne was unconcerned. “To speak of the brain, you must first own one.”

“What a pair we make!” Penny uttered, dramatically, her fork now stuck in the slab of mutton. “One does not have a brain and the other does not have a heart.”

“Hm.”

They passed into silence.

Lady Davers, upon finishing her wine, appeared to notice Yvonne for the first time, her brows rising in astonishment. She seemed to have mistaken the conversation between her daughters as Penny speaking to herself, and was startled to see the flash of yellow before her, which came in the form of her daughter’s hair.

“Oh, you are back, are you?” she uttered with a disbelieving humph. “And where did you galivant off to today, sunlight? I did not know there was much business to attend to.”

“There was not, no.”

Yvonne did not answer the question. If she could not admit her previous excursion, Penny would not force her, so she did not answer either. Instead, she devoured her food with a speed that vexed Yvonne, each forkful heartily amassed with the cuisine piled upon her plate. Her conduct was not highly thought of by her sister, who watched her, though she said nothing. Penny glanced upward, knowing that she was the cause of her irritation, and smiled widely. Yvonne, on the contrary, did not appreciate her raillery and continued to eat, glancing down at her plate to discourage any antics that Penny may have in mind. She was adamant that she was not amused, although her obstinacy caused Penny to laugh quietly into her forkful of potatoes. To dampen the laughter, Yvonne spoke out.

“I have been thinking,” she said suddenly, “that I should like to make some improvements to the grounds. There is a river not far from here. I think it would be a waste to not use it to our advantage.”

Lady Davers was doubtful. “Since when have you cared for that river? It is hardly a pretty one, not unless you go some miles down.”

“This is my estate, is it not?” she questioned. “Do I not have the right to make it as pleasing as I can? It is fashionable nowadays to have some sort of dwelling by the water. We could have a little cottage there; wouldn’t that be nice? If we were to have a cottage, we could have some sort of pathway that leads down to the river and have the grounds around it cultivated. I have thought upon it and there would be no issue in regards to finance.”

“When we speak of fashion, are we talking upon your terms or society’s? I often find them to be quite different.” Penny regarded her wit more highly than those around her, who were unamused by her comment.

“I am perplexed as to why you would want to implement such a wasteful construction.” Lady Davers sighed, her brow down-turning in a concerted effort to understand her daughter. A moment later, she conceded. “It is unfathomable.”

“Would it not be charming to sit by the water, particularly when the weather is warmer?”

“Yes!” Penny cried, brimming with excitement. “It would be delightful.”

“You do not need a house for that,” Lady Davers retorted. “A bench would be sufficient.”

“I would not want to sit on a bench, mother.”

The idea was abhorrent to Yvonne, who chewed her food in a manner that suggested she was highly offended.

“Then walk to the water, stand there, and come back. There is no need, that I can fathom, for you to have a cottage. If the sole purpose of this cottage is to be fashionable, I would rather you occupied yourself elsewhere. We are above such foolishness.”

“If you wish to maintain our status, the Park must age with the times.” Yvonne leant back in her chair. “Our estate should reflect the family as it is now and I do not feel that it does. We need a little more colour, a little more life. Besides, I may do as I wish, for it is my estate after all, but I would prefer to have your blessing. We have the means to finance a house by the river; I think it will add to the charm and richness of the grounds. This is the most prominent estate in Bedford. Should we not then lead the way in innovation?”

“We sit on farmland,” Lady Davers grumbled.

“But it is not a farm,” she retorted. “You would be the first offended if anyone were to refer to it as such. It is our ancestral home.”

Lady Davers laughed so sharply that they were inclined to think that she had hiccupped. “Not for any longer if you two do not start having children.”

Yvonne responded with a scowl, her glare disappearing behind her glass as she swallowed a large quantity of wine. “Children make the place look untidy.”

“Well, I would like children one day...” Penny announced, hopefully.

“Do not bother yourself,” came her sister’s retort.

Penny did not disguise her displeasure, though she was granted little time to voice it. Yvonne was approached by the footman, who announced that a letter had arrived from Colworth House. Conceited, Yvonne accepted the missive, intending to wait till she had finished eating. Yet, the moment she had placed it on the table, she took hold of it again, parting the seal with her knife. Her gaze darted eagerly across the page, her delight increasing as she read the short notation, its contents causing her to tighten her grip on the paper.

I cannot help but thank you again for your visit today...

Despite my lack of social grace, you were nothing but gracious, and a most captivating conversationalist...

I shall wait in anticipation for your visit tomorrow; I hope to compensate for my gloomy disposition...

Until tomorrow. Yours truly, Miss B. Donoghue.

Sanguine, Yvonne folded the letter, placing it carefully beside her dinner plate. She glanced warningly in Penny’s direction, expecting a barrage of questions, but, to the contrary, Penny did not say anything. Although she shared her sister’s contentment, the youngest was unable to fully rid herself of her earlier vexation and she did not wish to intrude, knowing she would not be confided in, even if she wished it, so she continued to eat in silence. Her indignation went unnoticed. Across the table, Yvonne’s gaze was fixated solely on the letter beside her.

12th May, 1830

It appears that Doctor Johnson has forgiven me. I have paid him undue attention and he has warmed to my presence, though he seems to be rather anxious. When I release him from his cage, he flutters around me and sits on my hands and shoulders, and, when I leave the room, he becomes distressed. I think he is worried for my absence and I am exceedingly remorseful for the time that we spent apart. However, I feel it was a necessary evil and I cannot explain my intentions to a bird. Nonetheless, we are becoming quite the pair, as we once were, yet he continues to be rather plump. I think Penny has been coming to my room to feed him, although I asked her to quit this extravagant pandering. He is too spoiled for my liking and he has come to expect too much food. If I do not give him more than what is necessary, he chirps at me. I shall not coddle him, no more than an occasional treat; I shall have to speak to Penny, although I have already done so twice. She is too wild with him.

....

I visited Colworth House today to return the call of Miss Donoghue, who, as I noted, came two days previous. She was quite charming and I found nothing out of sorts. Since the beginning of our acquaintance, I cannot help but ponder on the Doctor and all he said to my mother and I- that Miss Donoghue suffers from nerves and is idle. I did not perceive that to be true. A little pensive, perhaps, but that is natural, considering her situation. Nothing that a little time and encouragement should not fix. I know that he shall be proven a fool, though that would not be difficult. She has no faults. At least, not in the way he suggested and I refuse to let him speak of her in that manner.

...

I asked Miss Donoghue if I may call again, as soon as tomorrow, and she did not object. In fact, she was eager for the opportunity. I have hoped to see her since she came to Haynes Park, and I can say, now that I have, I hope to see her once more, which I shall- as soon as the morning. There has been a change in me. I am happy. The most I have been in a long while, and I have hope- hope that I can make her as happy as she makes me. In friendship, that is. I believe we shall be great friends and I look forward to the time we may spend together. She said to me how lucky that we should be neighbours. It is I who is lucky. How little she knows it.

Chapter Notations

13. A leavers machine is used for lacemaking, its name originating from John Levers, who adapted the Old Loughborough machine. This apparatus could weave a pattern, net, and outline by 1841, meaning that workers were no longer required to do so by hand.

Chapter Text

Fairview Cottage lay on the periphery of Haynes Park. The cottage itself was once inhabited by the Gibbs family, who had secured the lodging by passing the lease from one generation to the other. However, the Gibbs had come to its last member and, upon the death of their only heir, was soon inhabited by the Bell family, who had been the very persons involved in the carriage accident two weeks prior.

Yvonne had not forgotten her promise and had resolved to call upon her tenants, which she was determined to fulfil. A horse was requested, despite the groom’s insistence that he should assist her with the carriage. It had been a week since the young man’s arrival, though she had soon become irritable at the sight of him. Quite wilfully, Yvonne had declined her sister’s request for a new groom and, in her neglect, Penny had appointed the man herself, an incident that the eldest had not forgotten nor forgiven. She presumed him to be cowardly, as well as prone to idleness, although that assessment was made purely on the circumstance that Penny had hired him. Yvonne believed that all servants employed by her sister were more amiable than she desired them to be. She was almost sorry for the passing of Wallcott, if only for the disturbance that his replacement had caused in her customary travelling habits. So, without heeding him, she mounted the horse and rode directly to Fairview.

The cottage was some miles away, but she had taken her most athletic horse, assured that he would carry her enduringly to the cottage, and, with suitable rest, return her home shortly after. Prompting him faster, they arrived in a respectable length of time, slowing to a cantor when the farm came into view. She patted him comfortingly on the side of his withers, complimenting him for his good work.

As they came closer to the bungalow, their speed lessened anew and they trotted smartly to the gate, the wooden panels barely coming to her waist if she were at standing height. She espied George Bell; he was stood in a small enclosure to the side of the house, his sleeves folded to his upper arms. He was feeding a drove of pigs, unaware of the lady’s presence. Perceiving the horse, Bell peered over his shoulder, quickly turning and bowing as he noted the woman upon it.

“Miss Davers.”

“Mister Bell.” She climbed from the horse, leading it by the reins to the gate. “I have come to see the boy. How is he?”

Bell approached her, his large calloused hand resting atop the pointed fence. “He is still in himself, ma’am. He has hardly spoken since the accident.”

“I am sorry to hear that.” She held out her hand, a gesture he understood, and slipped the reins to him. As he tied the horse to a nearby post, she started to walk towards the cottage. “Is your wife in?”

“Ay, ma’am. She is.”

Marching across the worn pasture, she approached Fairview, its white-washed stone a charming contrast to the farmland in which it stood. The timbered door was open and she passed through, discovering that she had entered their sole living area, besides the back bedroom. It was furnished for cooking, dining, and socialising, though a large cot had been placed by the window, which, from its design, she knew held the boy. The cot was new, that much she recalled, as she had visited the cottage once before with her father, who had been collecting the rent from their previous tenant.

Leaning over, Mrs Bell did not perceive her, her arm reaching down to prod the open fire, undoubtedly hoping to stir life into its meagre flames. She heard the rustle at the door, seemingly believing it to be her husband, but when she glanced upward to speak with him, she realised that it was her proprietor who stood in the entrance of her house. Exclaiming, she stood to her full height, wiping her hands on her apron.

“Miss Davers! My, you gave me quite a shock,” she laughed, rather timidly. “I did not expect to see you.”

“I said I would come,” Yvonne declared. “You are my tenants and your welfare is of the utmost importance to me.” Pulling the gloves from her hands, she said, rather disinterestedly- “How have you been, Mrs Bell, since the accident?”

Mrs Bell could hardly speak in her hurry to respond. “I, well, erm...”

“Excellent. How has the house been?”

“It suits us very well,” Mrs Bell replied, with visible gratitude. “We have no reason to complain; there have been no problems.”

Yvonne stepped towards the cot, noting a pair of brown eyes staring up at her. The boy’s astonishment was evident and she almost retreated at the sight of him. Since childhood, she had been adverse to the company of her peers and, as she aged, her aversion for children had scarcely lessened. They were not her equal in intellect and they rarely found her company to be of interest, so the two parties often parted in dissatisfaction. Confronted with such an encounter, Yvonne was unsure of how to proceed.

“And this is Elijah?” she questioned, though she knew the answer.

There was a stool beside him, which she sat upon, staring dubiously down at him. He returned the stare. From the other side of the room, Mrs Bell replied.

“Yes, there was no infection after the accident. The doctor saw to that. We are very lucky; he is healing rather well.” There was a pause before she recalled- “I must thank you, Miss Davers, for paying for Doctor Kensley. We could not have afforded such care otherwise. We believe he is doing well because of the service you have given us.”

“Both my sister and I wanted to assist as much as we could. We do not require your gratitude, Mrs Bell, though it is appreciated; we simply wish your son well.” Yvonne peered once more at the boy, whose stare had not lessened. Unsettled by his attention, she leant back on the stool, as if to create a distance between them. She returned her gaze to his mother. “I have brought gifts for Elijah, if he would like to have them. I purchased some toys and sweets from town. I admit, I do not know much of children and their interests, but I was assured by the shop owner that they were very popular choices. I hope you were fond of the basket that Penny sent; she said they were the finest fruit and game she could gather this season.”

“Oh, yes, they were very much appreciated, Miss Davers.” Mrs Bell swiftly bowed her head. “Please thank her when you see her. I asked George to send a note, but we are not great writers. We thought to ask Mister Ingham, but, now you are here, it is better to tell you yourself.”

“And you have heard about the coachman?”

“The constable told us that there is nothing to be done; the case has been closed. It was an accident and they cannot charge a man when he is innocent. I believe he has returned to Miss Donoghue’s employment.”

Yvonne was irked, having wished for someone to blame. The loss of a leg seemed a crime within itself, particularly when it involved a child, but if there was no fault on the coachman’s part, she could not condemn him. Turning the conversation from the accident, she looked at the boy, who continued to stare.

“How are you, Elijah?”

He was silent for a moment.

“Are you a man or a woman?”

“Elijah!” Mrs Bell gasped, her countenance reddening. “Miss Davers, I am...”

“No matter,” Yvonne interrupted, though she felt as if her chest had convulsed, quite severely. It would not be the first time that she had been caught unawares by such a question, and she was certain it would not be the last. Silent, she sat for a moment, watching him steadily, as steadily as he watched her. Then she leant forward with a smile, her voice lowering. “May I share a secret?”

Enthralled, Elijah bolstered himself on his elbows, trying to shift closer to where she sat. Yvonne could feel his mother watching them, her humiliation palpable, though Yvonne did not think anybody could be as uneasy as her when it came to such a question.

Whispering to Elijah, she told him: “I am not a man; I am a woman.”

The boy digested the information, lying back down.

“I see.” He stared at her for a moment longer. “Your hair is quite short for a woman. I have never seen a lady with short hair before.”

“That is because I am not like anybody else,” Yvonne said. “I am my own person. Does it matter to you which gender I am?”

“No,” he admitted. “I suppose it does not matter at all.”

“Good, then have this sweet.” She passed him the paper packet that had been tucked into the pocket of her coat.

He took them eagerly, scrambling through the variations to pick his favourite. Slurping happily on the hard-boiled sweet, he beamed upward. His smile caught Yvonne unawares, her eyes widening in astonishment. She had not expected to be in his favour and she was now placed in an unexpected position. Hesitant, she returned the smile, her attention drawn from him at the sound of George Bell entering the room. Reminded of why she was there, she continued by reaching in her pocket for another item.

“I have someone for you,” she announced. “A friend, I hope.” Pulling her hand from her pocket, she brandished the toy with a dramatic air. “He is a little soldier. He reminded me of you.”

Elijah reached up to take it from her, bringing it close to his face. As he studied it with interest, his father hemmed.

“What do you say, Elijah?”

“Thank you, Miss,” he muttered, thoughtlessly.

“You are very welcome,” she acknowledged. “Does he have a name?”

He thought on the matter for a minute or so. “His name is Roger, an infantry soldier in the Duke of York’s (14).”

“Quite right.” She nodded in approval. “He would have to be a brave man to be a soldier. And look...” Leaning forward, she gestured to the small object in his hand. “He has a drum, for all boys need a drum and so do soldiers. I have some other toys on the way to you; they will arrive this afternoon. By tonight, you shall have a drum, so that you and your soldier can match, and I have also acquired you some wooden blocks for a fort, but best of all, you will have a rocking horse. If you want to keep watch for them, I have brought something of mine that you may keep.” Once more, she reached for her pocket, her hand delving inside. Yvonne grasped some faint object, removing her hand slowly. His enthrallment amused her and she endeavoured to heighten his suspense, though she did not wish to impose upon him any longer than necessary. Producing a spyglass, she let it rest in the palm of her hand, the brass glinting in the diluted sunlight. “I have always kept this with me when travelling abroad, and I am now passing it to you. For luck and courage. It is brass and wood, so you must be careful handling it. It can be heavy.”

She slipped the spyglass into his waiting hands. Brushing his fingers along it, Elijah pulled the telescope to its full length, holding it to his eye and directing it at her. He appeared satisfied with the result, a small huff of laughter escaping his lips, and he pushed the eyepiece back to its original length.

“I will keep watch for you,” he promised. “I will not miss them.”

“I am pleased to hear it.”

He glanced up at her. “There is no sword?”

Mrs Bell whispered his name in exasperation, but it was concealed beneath the barking laughter of Yvonne.

“I cannot endorse weapons, young man,” she chuckled, “Not at your age. Though, I am quite the expert at shooting and using a sword, if I may say so myself.”

Elijah’s brow rose, as well as his voice.

“You can shoot a gun?” he exclaimed, excitedly.

“Yes, and well. I will show you one day, if you promise to be sensible.”

“What about a sword?”

Yvonne rested her elbows on her knees, leaning forward as she forgot her apprehension towards the child. “That is more complex and I am rather rusty. I hope never to be called to a sword fight, but you can never be too sure. Let us keep to the gun for now.”

Elijah was pleased, his fingers fumbling with the spyglass. Although he was happy, he was fatigued and Yvonne did not wish to tire him unnecessarily. Standing, she wished him farewell. He muttered his own response, although his attention was taken by the items she had gifted him.

“I hope you make good use of your toys,” she instructed.

“I will.”

Turning on her heel, she nodded in the direction of his parents, who were huddled at the other end of the room.

“Thank you, George, Mary, for letting me see Elijah; I hope to be updated on his condition as he continues to heal.”

“Thank you, ma’am.”

“And I hope he likes the rest of the toys that I have bought for him.”

Bell bowed his head. “Ay, ma’am, I know he shall. We cannot thank you enough for your kindness.”

“It is no bother. I shall leave you in peace. If he requires medical attention, I will pay any money owed. You need not worry on that account.”

Wringing her hands together, Mrs Bell was overcome with gratitude. “We cannot ask any more of you...”

“I insist, Mrs Bell,” Yvonne contended. “I would not be satisfied with anything less.”

“Thank you,” was all her tenant could manage, her gaze resting on Elijah.

He was fumbling with the spyglass, sharing the instrument with Roger, the infantry soldier. Yvonne peered at him from over her shoulder.

“As long as Elijah is pleased, I am unconcerned about the rest,” she told them. “There is not much I can do other than ensure he has treatment, so I shall have to be content with that. I am only sorry that nothing more can be done.” She raised her voice slightly, as she stared down at the boy. “Take care, young man. I hope you are content when the rest arrive.”

“I shall be,” he promised.

“Excellent.”

With a bow of her head, she strode towards the door, the couple stepping aside to let her pass. They expressed their farewell, Mr Bell following to untie the horse. On returning her steed, he declared his gratitude one final time, which she acknowledged with a courteous dismissal. Mounting, Yvonne urged the horse forward, its pace accelerating into a gallop. There was no glance spared for the cottage nor its tenant, who continued to watch her as she disappeared across the terrain. Her duty was complete, as she viewed it, and there was no further reason for her to remain there. She could only do as she promised; there was nothing more to be done for the boy.

Chapter Notations

14. The Duke of York’s is a common nickname for the Duke of York’s Military School, a co-educational military academy, founded in 1803.

Chapter Text

On the week of her arrival, Yvonne had purchased a collection of books from the inventory of the Bedford Library. It was a custom that she had adopted in her youth, one that had provided an appealing escape whilst residing in the confines of her familial home, and one that did not require her to interact with any other soul. Despite her maturity, she was loath to abandon the habit, even as Penny grew older and a more reliable confidante.

Whilst visiting the library, she had requested a collection of volumes that she found to be of particular interest, though it was not available to loan at this particular athenaeum and would have to be conveyed from London. There was no need to hurry, she had assured the librarian, as it was not immediately required, but it was still a collection that she wished to peruse. Despite the expansiveness of her personal archives, she did not own it herself.

A time was then calculated in which to expect its arrival, a duration that she stated she was satisfied with. Yet, Yvonne discovered, hours later, that she was unwilling to wait and remarked to Penny, on several occasions, that she was impatient, to which the youngest muttered she knew. Fifteen days later, she received a missive that the collection had arrived, the notation reaching her whilst she was in the study.

This sizeable workroom was situated on the ground floor and had once belonged to her father. In the event of his passing, it was oft used by Yvonne for business matters, who believed the location to be useful in the event of a visitor, for they did not have to travel far. However, on her coming of age, Yvonne had requested her own study and she had received one, which she often referred to as her sanctum. Penny had christened it the cave, for Yvonne spent her evenings there and, if interrupted, was as irritable as a bear, though Lady Davers referred to it as an unnecessary waste. This was situated on the third floor and was primarily in use for her private matters, but mainly for the writing of her journal. The difference between the two was lost on her mother, who demanded insight as to why she needed more than one, though there was nobody else in the manor who wished to use them.

It was in the lower study that she read the notation, perusing it with her usual swiftness. Once she had finished, she tossed it atop the empty grate, where it was sure to burn later that day, and headed towards the foyer in the hope of speaking to her mother. Lady Davers oft mentioned that she knew nothing of her daughters’ whereabouts, a fault that lay entirely with them, or so she claimed, despite never having acted upon this intelligence herself. On a peculiar whim, Yvonne wished to indulge her, though the search did not last long. She stumbled upon her mother in the entrance hall.

It was a rare occasion to see Lady Davers outside of her chair, although this development appeared to irritate her, more so than usual. She was waiting for Penny, who, at that moment, was rushing wildly down the stairs. Lady Davers berated her, for the girl had awoken late, the vexation in her voice emphasised by her teetering stance as she attempted to balance, quite precariously, on the end of her cane. Penny merely apologised and hurried to the door. To the baroness, this was an act of contemptuousness and she clicked her fingers in the direction of the nurse, who assisted her across the foyer.

“Ungrateful child,” she muttered. “She cannot spare a moment to aid her mother.”

Perceiving the murmur, Penny assumed that she was the subject of criticism and halted at the door, turning and hastening to the centre of the hall. Her quickened pace earned a second reprimand; yet, she did not lessen her stride. She approached the baroness and entwined their arms together, ensuring that her mother was leaning steadily against her. As she did, she noted that her sister was also present and turned to her, silently pleading for her intervention. Reluctantly, Yvonne stepped forward, inquiring as to where they were headed.

“You know perfectly well that we are visiting Mrs Gladstone today,” came the baroness’ retort.

Yvonne did not know, though she acknowledged that she was not listening, the day before, when her mother had been talking at dinner. They were taking the carriage- the one that she had hoped to use. Lady Davers noted that they owned more than one, yet Yvonne refused to heed her and decided to ride into town on a horse, a resolution that she immediately executed. Her swift departure was followed by a wistful farewell from Penny, her words coalescing with a cantankerous humph from their mother, both of them displeased, in their own way, of her hasty withdrawal.

Arriving in town, she halted at the rear of the library, tying the reins onto a nearby post and patting the horse tenderly on the mane. She left it to graze idly, tracing the grass beneath her. Its trampled route led to the path ahead, the one which passed the front of the library, and she advanced towards it. On reaching the cobblestones, she paused briefly. To the right was the entrance and she turned in its direction.

The doorway was surrounded by arched limestone, the thick wood fitted into a duplicate of the arch, its hickory-brown surface reflecting brilliantly in the sunlight. As she came closer, she grasped the iron handle, shaped like a ring, and pushed the wood forcefully forward, knowing that it became stiff in the cold. The oak door opened with a resonant groan and, conscious of the noise, she attempted to close it delicately behind her, the resultant thud, once it had shifted into place, echoing in the spacious foyer.

Approaching the desk, she promptly inquired into the collection that she had ordered, Yvonne’s finger tapping against the wood as she spoke, a nervous impulse that she could not suppress. The librarian, having anticipated her arrival, requested that she abide by the counter whilst he fetched the books. She acquiesced, rather reluctantly, knowing from experience that he was prompt.

Whilst he entered the depository behind him, she endeavoured to wait, studying the stonework on the nearest wall, though she soon became disinterested. Her hands clasped tightly behind her back, her finger tapping excitably against the palm of her hand. Turning from one side to the other, she glanced across the empty foyer, hopeful that she would find some inspiration there. She found none.

The corporal agitation that she was experiencing reached the lower half of her body and she began to pace, her boots barely audible against the wood-panelled floor. Yvonne neared the first aisle, inspecting the books that rested there. Grasping the nearest novel, she inspected it, aimlessly opening the book and reading the first line that she came upon. Unimpressed, she returned it to the shelf.

Yvonne knew the library well, having spent the largest part of her childhood there, and she knew that the other aisles possessed publications that were of more interest to her. However, on arriving at the adjacent passage, she discovered that her interest was still not taken and she continued to walk, uninspired by the selection before her. She progressed in that manner until the fourth aisle, almost stumbling to a halt as she glanced down the passageway, her eyes widening in astonishment.

At the centre of the aisle was Miss Donoghue, her shoulder resting against the shelf as she read, her back turned from the entryway. Adorned in blue, she was radiant. The dress came to a halt at her shoulder blades, the hem stretching across the middle, leaving the rest of her shoulders exposed. Her neck was bent downward, even as she held the book rather closely to her face. She kept leaning forward, as if to read better, recalling moments later that she could solve the issue, merely by raising the novel higher. The edge of her lips twitched upward and she tittered lowly, revealing that the passage had been of great amusement to her.

As she observed the scene before her, Yvonne was conscious that she would soon be discovered, a circumstance that mortified her, as she was currently gawking, in a very unseemly manner, at her neighbour. It would be appropriate, upon reflection, to make her presence known and introduce herself before she was suddenly perceived by the young woman.

Hesitantly, she stepped forward.

“Miss Donoghue,” she uttered, her voice low.

Bonnie peered over her shoulder, her brows rising. She was astonished to be addressed, an indication that she had not expected to meet anyone who she knew at the library. Her bewilderment soon vanished when she realised who had addressed her, a swift smile appearing.

“Oh, Miss Davers! How wonderful to see you.”

Despite her greeting, she made no attempt to close the book.

Yvonne bowed. “I hope you are well?”

“Yes, very.”

Bonnie was visibly amused, though that was less from her happening upon her neighbour than it was from the jest she had read a moment ago. Her bemused silence disconcerted Yvonne, who mistook it for a dismissal.

Apprehensive, she gestured towards the volume in Bonnie’s grasp. “Are you here to loan a book?”

Bonnie was startled by the notion, as if the thought had not occurred to her.

“No,” she contended. “I was simply reading to pass the time. I brought a handful of texts with me to England. I have now read them, so I came here to amuse myself. I was hoping to stumble upon some book or another that catches my interest.”

“Does this catch your interest?”

Bonnie glanced down, realising that she had kept the novel open. Closing it, she returned the book to its shelf. “Yes, but I would like to keep it here for when I return to town. I have to wait for Miss Ainsley once a week and if I were to take it with me, I would have to restart my search.”

“So, you are waiting for Miss Ainsley?”

“Yes, I came to town to familiarise myself with some of the shops here and I thought that I should wait for her, since she is to finish in an hour. I thought I may appoint this as my weekly outing, as there is not much to currently do.” The thought occurred to her to elaborate. “Miss Ainsley is at the school this morning. She struggles to walk long distances so I have kept the carriage for her. It would be good for her to return to the House without exerting herself.”

Yvonne raised her brows. “That is thoughtful of you.”

“Yes,” Bonnie smirked. A moment later, her gaze arched upward, her expression souring. “It is thoughtful, though I am certain, that if I were to leave without her, she would protest all week of a pain in her leg. I would rather wait here than suffer for my staying home.”

The story amused Yvonne, which, in turn, appeased Bonnie. They chuckled softly, their laughter disrupted by a call from the librarian. He had returned with Yvonne’s purchase and found her missing. Indicating for Bonnie to remain where she was, Yvonne went to the counter, hastening, in her delight, to retrieve the bundle that awaited her. She expressed her gratitude, presenting the librarian with the full amount she owed him, to which he signed a receipt. He wished her a good day, an assertion that she echoed as she pocketed the paper and returned to Bonnie. The bundle within Yvonne’s grasp piqued the interest of her neighbour, who peered closely at it, as if she could somehow perceive the books through the brown paper.

“Did you come here solely to collect these?” she questioned.

“Yes.” Yvonne lifted them upward, seemingly to present the books, though the paper disguised any notion of what they may be. “I thought I should peruse the works of Hume (15), though I am not entirely convinced of his reasoning. You see, I have studied rationalism quite thoroughly in the past and I believe in its superiority, but if I were to debate the matter, it would be worth considering the opposing side.” She paused, conscious that Miss Donoghue may not be familiar with the author. “Hume, he was...”

“Do you not think he has qualities that are worth admiring?” Bonnie frowned, her voice silencing Yvonne’s, though she spoke softly. “This world cannot be so easily separated into logic and emotion, but I think Hume has some rather tenable theories. I think you shall find a number of them worth your consideration.”

“Oh, you have read his work?”

“Some, yes.” Bonnie was revelling in the discussion. Nothing pleased her more than to prove her intellect, an enthusiasm that they both shared, though they did not know it. “Perhaps you may come and visit me once you have finished. You can share your thoughts on the matter.”

Yvonne’s brow rose in astonishment. “I shall, if you would like to hear them.”

“I would not ask if I did not, Miss Davers.” Her graze traced the grin of her neighbour, a contented smile appearing on her own countenance. “But I shall not keep you any longer. I am sure you have much to keep you occupied.”

“No, I am quite at leisure this morning. I have little to do. It was quite fortuitous that the books had come, for I was rather spiritless at home. Penny was resorting to her usual tricks so I was pleased to leave, if only for a short while.”

Bonnie’s interest was re-piqued. “What sort of tricks?”

“She likes to entertain, whenever she can. Last night, she was insistent. I did not want to practice the flute with her; I rarely play anymore, so she said she shall tap her feet on the floor with the rhythm of some piece or another. I would have to guess what the piece was. I cannot tell if I am no good with music or whether she is terrible at dancing in rhythm.”

Bonnie snorted. Abashed, she thought to apologise, though her remorse was soon assuaged by Yvonne, who had also laughed.

“It sounds fascinating,” Bonnie mused. “She shall have to dance for me sometime.”

“She would like that. Penny often contends that she is not a buffoon, though I told her she ought to act differently then, if that were the case.” Emboldened by Bonnie’s laughter, Yvonne said- “I shall walk you home, Miss Donoghue. If you do not wish to return alone. We are not far from one another, so it would be of no consequence to me.”

“I have to wait for Miss Ainsley,” she reminded her.

Recalling the governess, Yvonne stifled a sigh. The woman was inadvertently an impediment to the time that she wished to spend with her neighbour, although she could appreciate the age of Miss Ainsley, who would need assistance in returning home over such a long distance.

“I have a horse...”

She did not complete the suggestion; Yvonne was repentant to have spoken at all. It occurred to her that she had no true answer to the lady’s predicament and Miss Donoghue may consider her ludicrous if she were to continue any further. Ladies did not simply ride upon horses in their everyday dress, and Yvonne was conscious that her proposition was nothing less than absurd.

“Oh, you do?” Bonnie giggled, a response that merely caused Yvonne to redden. “I suppose you could return me home on your trusty steed and I may leave the carriage for Miss Ainsley.”

“I do not wish to impede...” Yvonne insisted.

“No, it is no matter. I do not wish to stay here any longer and I would prefer to return home. My early morning shopping has me quite exhausted.”

She sighed heavily, as if to reinforce her fatigue. Yvonne, for her part, did not mention that it was midday, rather than the morning, gratified that Miss Donoghue had consented to leaving with her.

Bonnie had settled her bonnet, quite precariously, atop the books beside her and she suddenly grasped it, placing it upon her head. As she tied the ribbon underneath her chin, she stared intently at Yvonne, a fervent gleam in her eye that caused her companion to flush even darker than before.

“Do with me what you will, Miss Davers,” she declared. “I am at your mercy. I shall leave a note at the school, so Miss Ainsley knows she has the means of transport at her disposal. Once we have finished, we will be quite alone. You can tell me all about Hume, if you wish. Or rather, your general findings on the subject. I am rather curious to hear your opinion on the matter. Miss Ainsley does not speak of philosophy beyond the purpose of God and, despite my religious beliefs, I believe that stance to be rather restrictive.”

Bonnie exited the aisle as she spoke, her pace quickening the closer she came to the entrance. Following close behind, Yvonne watched her with reverence, uncertain of where they were headed, precisely, but accompanying her, nevertheless. She held the door for Miss Donoghue, who passed through, her head inclining in acknowledgement. Focused ahead, Bonnie was inattentive to her companion, who, as she closed the door behind her, stumbled into the thick oak, too preoccupied with following her neighbour to notice where she was walking.

Disgraced, Yvonne advanced forward until she was in pace with Miss Donoghue, praying that her blunder had remained unnoticed. By chance, it had. Bonnie was scrutinising the scene before her, anticipating the discovery of Yvonne’s horse, though she could not discern that there was one.

“He is behind the library,” Yvonne informed her. “He prefers the field behind it to graze, and I thought that he could stay there. You never know when there may be a rogue searching for a horse.”

Bonnie glanced across, good-humouredly. “Are there often rogues around here?”

“Well...” Yvonne felt the package slip in her arms and she hoisted it further upward. “No, but you ought to be careful.”

“I see.” The edge of her lips twitched upward as if she were repressing the urge to laugh. Still, the sentiment in her gaze was sincere. “If that were to happen, I trust that you would protect me.”
Yvonne was silent for a moment, before nodding slowly. “Yes, I have been told I am quite the shot.”

“Then there is nothing for me to worry about.”

She brushed past, headed towards the corner of the building. As she reached the edge, she halted, peering over her shoulder to smile at Yvonne. The woman had been trailing after her, though she paused, rather abruptly, when she noticed that she was being watched. Bonnie appeared to consider her for a moment, amused, before disappearing around the corner of the library. Unsure, Yvonne followed, not wishing to leave her alone.

On turning the corner, she discovered that Miss Donoghue was mounting the horse without her. She had hoped to assist her, but it appeared that she did not need the support. Her leg swung over the horse in one swift motion, ensuring that she had straddled the steed securely. Tugging at her skirt, she arranged the material so that it hung around her legs in a mannerly fashion, glancing expectantly at Yvonne once she had finished.

“Are you to join me, Miss Davers?”

Yvonne was silent, though she continued to stare.

“No,” she said, subsequently. “I will walk beside you...”

“There is room here for the both of us.” She tapped the space behind her.

“There is no need; I do not wish to impose upon you,” Yvonne uttered. “You may ride atop and I can walk alongside you. I do not mind, else I would not agree to it. I do not wish to place you in an undignified position, not if I can do otherwise.”

Bonnie was sullen. “I suppose that is wise.”

Approaching the horse, Yvonne took hold of the reins, untying them from the post. She urged the horse slowly forward and he followed her guidance. Peering over her shoulder, she ensured Bonnie was securely positioned on the saddle, though the lady did not need her assistance, even then. Miss Donoghue noticed her stare, peering down to smile widely at her. Hesitant, Yvonne returned the gesture, turning to face the scene before her. She was reluctant to exhibit any sentiment on her part, perturbed that she had already shown more propensity to her neighbour than she wished. Yvonne did not wish to appear the fool, although she feared she already had.

Chapter Notations

15. David Hume (1711-1776) was an Enlightenment philosopher, economist, essayist, historian, and librarian.

Chapter Text

A note was left for Miss Ainsley, specifying that a carriage awaited her in the school courtyard. One teacher, Miss Cotterill, came to greet Miss Donoghue. Being, as she was, the superintendent, she was a stern woman but not unkind. She had been supervising the girls at luncheon and was displeased to be disturbed, although the appearance of a gentlewoman eased her nerves, more so that this particular lady may have an interest in the school, one which would undoubtedly lead to charitable aid, if Miss Cotterill were to be so polite as to make the young woman welcome. Miss Donoghue did not heed the warm reception and simply requested for the message to be sent, with a short compliment on the manner of the girls who passed her by. Once she had completed all the necessary civilities, she departed, inattentive to the farewell of Miss Cotterill, who had hoped to offer a tour of the school and was discouraged that there was not, at the least, a suggestion of future charity.

Satisfied that she had done all she must, Bonnie returned to the horse and Miss Davers; whereupon, they passed through the town and into the countryside. There was a path that led a mile out of town, one whose course extended in the direction of both estates, though it diverted before it reached either. One could not continue directly ahead, not unless they wished to proceed across the meadow, and the choice lay in deflecting either one way or the other. This deviation was not heeded by the two women. Neither had thought so far ahead as to worry about their imminent separation, continuing to discuss whichever topic came to mind. Their discussion of philosophy and Humes had come to its conclusion, and they had altered their discourse to literature in general.

However, as they came upon the topic, they arrived at the divergence in the lane, both coming to a reluctant halt. Bonnie exclaimed in astonishment; yet, there was a hint of disappointment to her tone. She moved as if to dismount.

“I suppose this is farewell...” she uttered.

Yvonne gestured for her to remain where she was, tugging the reins in the direction of Colworth House. “There is no need, Miss Donoghue. I cannot allow you to walk home. The House is quite the distance from here.”

“It would be no issue,” Bonnie contended.

“I do not mind walking. Please, I will take you there and return home on the horse. It is no bother. I am used to traversing the territory; nothing shall tire me.”

Unsure, Bonnie was silent. She did not say anything for a minute or two, deliberating the alternative. The realisation that she would have to walk, if she were to dismount, perturbed her; Bonnie was not one to exert her effort unnecessarily, an assessment that caused her to relent. “If you are content to walk, Miss Davers, then I will not object. Still, I would prefer that you join me. There is enough room for the two of us and you have already walked so far.”

“I am used to it,” she insisted. Glancing upward, she noted the concern upon her neighbour’s features and smiled encouragingly. “I really am content, Miss Donoghue.”

Bonnie, upon hearing so, was eased and returned the smile. Her satisfaction placated Yvonne, who was intent on finishing their discussion.

“If you are searching for new books to read, I insist that you use my library.” Walking steadily beside the horse, she peered up at Bonnie. “I have a number of titles, some impressive collections that once belonged to my father and my family on both sides. I am sure you will find one piece or another that you have not yet read.”

“I could not disturb you; I know that you are working, quite diligently, on your new factory. Such an endeavour, I could not infringe upon.”

“Nonsense,” Yvonne proclaimed. “You may visit the Park whenever you choose. If I am not there, Penny shall see to it. She would be pleased to see you again. If neither of us are home, you are free to sit in the library as long as you like. Or you may come and take some book or another and return home, whichever suits you most.”

Bonnie asserted that the whole ordeal was unnecessary, though her protests were weaker than before. Her countenance revealed that she was gratified to have use of the library and was already deliberating upon which books may be there, a circumstance that thrilled her, the longer she thought of it.

Subsequently, she admitted- “I would love that very much, Miss Davers.” There was a slight pause before she added: “There is a great need for me to socialise more than I already am. I am aware of that, though I do not know how to begin associating myself with the families here. There is no illusion, on my behalf, that I have many friends in the county. That part of my life, I am afraid, is rather lacking. If I were to settle myself with a few acquaintances in the area, it would be much easier to expand my time beyond Colworth House.”

There was no aspect of her neighbour’s existence that could not be altered nor corrected, and Yvonne did not believe these changes to be unattainable to Miss Donoghue, if she were to commit to the pursuit of her own betterment. Yvonne had experienced the confines of mediocrity, where, in her oddity, she had been branded as abnormal or worse, unsound of mind. She was certain that a similar experience had befallen her neighbour, a circumstance that vexed her, as much as it perturbed her. The inimitable Miss Davers was not the timorous child she had once been, and she had wished, long ago, that someone would save her from her own existence. Nobody had. Yvonne questioned if she could condemn another to the same fate, though she already knew the answer.

“Why do you not have a gathering, Miss Donoghue?” Her voice was brazen in the still air, an earnestness that had formed from the remnants of her indignation. “At your house. You will be in an environment that is familiar to you and where you are in control. Only those who you invite will be there, and you can determine the time in which they leave if you have grown tired of their presence.”

Bonnie clasped her hands together. “Oh, what a splendid idea! Both yourself and your family will be the first to receive invitations. I shall see to it.”

“It will be an honour.” A thought occurred to her as she walked. “How about the Church? They will welcome you there and a congregation is the surest way to community. There is a lovely chapel, not far from here. Highly respectable. Since there has been a Davers upon this land, we have attended Saint Mary. I shall take you.”

“Is it a Catholic church?”

“No,” Yvonne frowned. She had not anticipated such a question, as though it were beyond the realms of possibility. A faint remembrance occurred to her- Miss Donoghue had mentioned religion on their first meeting, though she had thought nothing of it. “Church of England, naturally.”

“Then I am afraid I cannot attend.” Bonnie hesitated, her gaze lowering uncertainly. “I am Catholic and I know of a church not far from here that may accommodate me and my practice.”

Yvonne knew it to be a sensitive subject; yet, she could not be satisfied with the result. In the hours that she had pondered Miss Donoghue, and the time that they would undoubtedly spend in each other’s company, she had relied upon the harbor of religion and the ease in which it created connections when others could not be found. This connection was now closed to her and she could not repress the irritation that arose in the wake of this revelation. Withal, she knew to approach the discussion with a delicacy that she had not before, for fear that she may cause offence.

“You may still accompany me, if you wish. The journey is less cumbersome for you and your conviction would not be undermined.” The hope that she felt was apparent. Nevertheless, as she peered upward, she knew that the lady was not convinced.

Bonnie spoke with a cold civility that was unlike her, so far as Yvonne knew her to be. Yet, the coldness settled so naturally upon her features that it was not, perhaps, so unlike her as her neighbour thought.

“I appreciate your kindness, Miss Davers, but, on this occasion, it is ill-placed. I have been restrained my whole life when it comes to religion and how I choose to practice it; I have not been gifted with the privilege that you have. There is an independence here, one which I did not have in my home country, and I wish to use that to my advantage.” She paused, her features solemn. Despite her dejection, there was an unfaltering proudness to her. “Times have changed, or so they say in law, but nothing has, not in any way that matters. Years of strife will not disappear because of a piece of paper. So, you see, it matters greatly where I attend Church and my conviction will most certainly be undermined. I would not ask you to compromise on such a meaningful part of your identity, so I hope that you will not ask the same of me. Each time we meet, I feel we understand each other, as well as two souls can. I hope that you understand me now.”

Yvonne was silent, repentant to have offended Miss Donoghue. She supposed that her judgement had been narrow in regards to religion, but also to how they may come to know each other.
Wishing to atone for her indiscretion, she said: “I am sorry to hear that this is the case, Miss Donoghue. I know there has been discord in Ireland for longer than even I have been on this earth, but I am at least appreciative to know that you can practice your religion more openly . You must know that I understand you perfectly; I was simply hoping that we may see each other at church, where I could introduce you. If you have already chosen somewhere that serves your needs then I know that you shall find friends there who are more suited to you. I am only sorry that we shall not see each other more.”

The sobriety of the lady vanished and she guffawed. “Miss Davers, how you amuse me! We shall see plenty of each other; you must not worry on that account. You do not need to confront the Church in who has the privilege of seeing me every Sunday. You may simply visit me whenever you choose.”

“Well, I...” Yvonne did not know what to say, so she decided that, perhaps, it was appropriate to say nothing at all. “I suppose you are correct.”

Content to abandon any remnants of discomfort, Bonnie persisted. “It is commendable how you apply yourself, so devotedly, to your practices. For that, there can be no criticism. Are you active within your community?”

“I apply myself to all that I do.” Yvonne straightened her stance, her shoulders arching backward. “I have donated time and resources to the Church, and I am honoured to be invited to read my own sermons when the occasion requires it.”

A privilege that Yvonne prided herself on, it was not one that was shared, with equal deference, by her family. Penny preferred the Bible only when it spoke of battle or love affairs, for she craved theatrics, but Lady Davers did not have any preference. She often fell into a deep slumber, despite being seated on the front pew, and although the priest could view her there, she was never abashed at her own conduct. In her opinion, the priest was inept and that was not a fault she could lay claim to. Regardless, Yvonne’s sermons were met with a keen interest by the congregation, if not her family, and she revelled in the acclaim.

“That is an honour,” Bonnie mused. “I am sorry that I will not be able to hear them; you must share them with me when you visit. If you have a written copy, I shall read it. How funny that we are so divided in belief and yet, we share one God! I am interested to hear of your opinion, even if it may be distinct to my own. We should not quarrel, I hope. We are not so obstinate as to do such a thing.”

“No,” Yvonne insisted, “We could never.” She was humbled by the conversation. Yet, she was gratified that, despite her blunders, her neighbour continued to show an interest in their prospering acquaintance. “I must thank you for offering to read my work; it is a great honour.”

Bonnie looked ahead. Colworth House could be seen in the distance, the grey exterior distinctive against the surrounding fields. She watched it grow in size, the closer they came, and she smiled sadly at her companion.

“I am always happy to hear what you have to say, Miss Davers.”

“Likewise.”

They scarcely spoke as they approached the House. Yvonne attempted, several times, to encourage Bonnie into speaking, though the lady was quieter, the further they walked. The sight of the manor appeared to grieve her and she became listless, although she answered Yvonne as courteously as she could.

Their journey concluded shortly after, an event that caused Bonnie to lightly sigh, though Yvonne did not perceive it. She glanced expectantly at Miss Donoghue, gesturing that she should assist her from the horse.

“I will hold you as you come down,” she offered.

Bonnie did not move, watching her, cheerlessly, a display that caused Yvonne to consider that she may not descend at all. Uncertain, she stepped closer and raised her arms, which seemed to spur Bonnie into bringing her leg back over the horse. Yvonne did not want her to fall suddenly, taking hold of her waist.

In the same moment, Bonnie leapt from the stirrup, her hands resting atop her neighbour’s shoulders. She landed gracefully, despite pouncing forward, and they discovered, now she was on the ground, that they were facing each other, rather closely, neither removing their grip.

Exhaling lightly, Bonnie’s shoulders drooped. “I suppose this is goodbye.”

“It is a farewell.”

“Then I shall see you soon?”

“As soon as you wish it.”

There was a rustle by the entrance to the House, both glancing across to see the footman opening the door in preparation for his employer’s return. Bonnie let her hands slide from Yvonne’s shoulders, the action slow and tentative, as if she were reluctant to release her. Then she stepped back, her hands clasping together.

Troubled by the silence, Yvonne spoke out. “I suppose I ought to return home.”

She took hold of the reins, though she hesitated, staring a moment longer at Miss Donoghue in the hope that she may speak. When she did not, she drew the horse closer, preparing to depart; yet, before she could mount, Bonnie reached out and took hold of her wrist.

“Miss Davers!” she blurted, astonished, as much as her cohort, that she had seized her. Hesitating, she loosened her grip as if to release her, but then she tugged lightly at her wrist. Yvonne obliged by stepping closer. “You have been so kind to me; I cannot express the entirety of my gratitude. To have come here and to have found a friend in you, a friend that is so good to me, it has brought me much comfort.”

“It is I who is grateful,” asserted Yvonne. “To have you even consider me a friend is the greatest privilege.”

This appeared to satisfy Bonnie, who released her. She remained where she stood, only for a second, to smile in contentment. Then she turned and advanced towards the House. Her stride was unhurried, as it often was, and she halted at the door to wave at her companion. Yvonne imitated the gesture, smiling in return. She continued to watch Miss Donoghue until she had disappeared from the doorway, the footman having closed the door behind her.

Delaying her departure, Yvonne did not return to the horse but continued to stare at the door. She regarded this action as nonsensical, however, and hemmed, rousing herself from her reverie. Yvonne turned from the estate, mounting the horse and spurring it onward. She did not glance towards the manor as she left, believing that she had squandered enough of her time; it would be appropriate to return to the Park where work awaited her. As the horse galloped down the driveway, neither the animal nor the rider sensed that they were being watched.

On entering the manor, Bonnie had hastily removed her apparel, which had amused her footman, and hurried to the nearest room. She dashed to the sill, leaning against it to observe the departure of her neighbour, merely to discover that she had not yet left. Thrilled, her teeth dug into her bottom lip. Her gaze followed the gentlewoman as she stood there, though she soon turned from the estate and mounted the horse.

Bonnie continued to stare, watching Miss Davers until she was no longer in sight, the tip of her nose almost pressed to the glass as she leant forward. Without realising, her lips had parted and a circle of fog had steamed the pane where her breath brushed against it. Despite her neighbour’s departure, she did not come away from the window till minutes later.

Chapter Notations

16. Catholic Emancipation had only just passed in law. Starting from the Tudor Period- the separation of state and church under Henry VIII- Catholicism gradually declined and was often criminalised within England and eventually, the United Kingdom as a whole. Being a separate country, Ireland maintained a Catholic majority, despite the encouragement of Protestantism. However, as it came under English rule, there came a class divide, a racial divide, and a religious divide. English settlers in Ireland, as well as the few Irish aristocracy, mainly transferred to Protestantism and had hold over land and law. Any Catholic gentry and aristocracy were dissuaded through law to be Catholic by refusing them land and property (though some old Irish nobility were allowed to keep their land, as in the Donoghues' case- the O'Donoghues being a real clan that lived in Killarney and would have had the right to keep their property, this being an extremely rare case). That meant only the poor/peasantry were Catholic and there came a distinct class divide, as well as an English/Irish divide and a Catholic/Protestant divide, a divide that continued after the freedom of Southern Ireland and even up until the late 20th Century. Despite the Catholic Emancipation bill, discrimination against the Irish and Catholics continued over 100 years into the future. Here, Bonnie is part of the gentry/lower nobility and would have been able to access private, as well as privately funded, churches, where she may be less susceptible to discrimination. This is not the case for a lot of working/lower class citizens. She is also now free in law to openly practise her religion, which is why she is so adamant here to do so, and why Yvonne does not want to cause offence by insisting she immerse herself in Protestant (Church of England) circles.

Chapter Text

One evening, a letter arrived from Colworth House, signed with the ornate hand of Miss Donoghue. She had requested that the Davers come for tea, though the missive hinted there was another purpose for their being invited. Yvonne questioned what it may be. As for Penny, she was elated, having leant over her shoulder to read the note. Upon learning that she was invited, along with her sister, she bounced excitedly into the air. Her hand had come to rest on Yvonne and she shook her back and forth, laughing in delight, despite the eldest trying to prise her from her shirt.

“Please refrain from thrusting my shoulder about,” she remarked, haughtily.

Penny released her, no less merry than before.

“Tea, Yvonne!” she exclaimed. “Tea! It has been some years since we were invited to Colworth House. Do you think our friendship has begun with Miss Donoghue?”

Yvonne recalled what had passed between them, the last time they had met. “Yes, I think we can call it a friendship. There is every reason to believe that it is.”

It would be unnecessary, in her opinion, to mention that Bonnie had so much as confirmed it, not because she wished to keep it a secret, as was the usual case, but because she could not abide the barrage of questions that Penny would undoubtedly ask. Yvonne wished to sleep that night without a headache.

Penny fell into the seat beside her, her cheeks flushed from excitement. “I knew we would become the greatest of friends. You two, best of all.” She elected to ignore Yvonne, whose brow raised in offence. “Oh, yes, we shall get along splendidly. When shall we depart?”

“Midday. Please endeavour to leave your bed before noon. We cannot dawdle if we are to make a good impression.”

Peering across, Penny smirked, an expression that Yvonne did not care for. “I shall be awake, dear sister. I do not wish to stain your honour before the Great and Honourable Miss Donoghue. How thoughtless and careless I would be! No, I shall be ready to visit thy Lady. And, in the morning, I will request our finest carriage. How impressive we shall be when we circle the grounds!”

Yvonne stood. “I do not appreciate the gibe, Penny. It is superfluous.”

“You never do,” she hummed, unoffended.

Silent, Yvonne fumbled with her cufflinks, though there was no discernible reason as to why. Once she was satisfied- that satisfaction being that she looked less cross than usual- she glanced briefly at Penny.

“Good night.”

The remark was short, but not without affection. Yvonne leant over to kiss the top of her head, her lips pressing against the curled hair, its chestnut hue glistening in the glow of the fireplace. Penny’s smile widened and she watched her, contentedly, as she headed for the door.

“Goodnight, Yvonne.”

The following day, the sisters were admitted into Colworth House. Mr Reeves received them at the door, attending to Penny first as she had untied her bonnet and was attempting, rather hastily, to remove her pelisse. Moments later, he captured, rather clumsily, Yvonne’s hat and cane, which she had thrown in his direction.

“Thank you, Adam,” Yvonne acknowledged, thoughtlessly.

This intimate knowledge of the footman revealed her familiarity with the house and the staff, an event that caused Penny to raise her brows. Her expression was so remarkably similar to that of her sister’s that their relation could not be disputed, though Yvonne did not perceive it. She was peering into the nearest mirror, sweeping back a strand of hair that had fallen across her forehead.

Penny smiled, rather smugly, believing that she had happened upon a great secret and turned from the others to stifle her laughter. Undoubtedly, Yvonne would not appreciate her raillery, not in the house of their neighbour, so Penny endeavoured to conduct herself in the most appropriate fashion.

Once the footman was satisfied that they were tended to, he led them to the drawing room where Bonnie awaited them. She was seated on the divan but stood upon their entry. Curtseying, she recited all the usual civilities that were expected of her. It was not the first time that the eldest Miss Davers had been invited into her home, but it was for the youngest, and Bonnie wished to please her as well as she could.

Penny, however, was not as ceremonious as her sister. She rushed across the room before the reception was complete, taking hold of her hands and holding them tightly within her own.

“Miss Donoghue, what a delightful surprise for you to call us here. My sister and I are overjoyed, are we not, Yvonne?” The only pause was in her sharp intake of breath. Yet, in this brief interlude, Yvonne hummed swiftly and apathetically, revealing her familiarity with her sister’s chatter. “Why, only yesterday we had decided upon inviting you to tea and it appears you had the same idea! Now, we are all together, as good friends should be.”

She peered over her shoulder to smirk at the eldest, an impish gleam to her eye that was perceived solely by her sister. Yvonne did not say anything, though her lips pursed tightly together.

Bonnie was charmed to hear that her letter had been so warmly received, ignorant to the taunting looks that passed between them. “Thank you, Miss Davers...”

“You may call me Penny.”

“...I am gratified that you both came; I can only hope to be the perfect hostess. You see, I have an ulterior motive for bringing you here. I hope you can forgive me for being so impertinent.”

“You are forgiven,” Penny asserted, though she did not know the reason.

Bonnie glanced apprehensively towards Yvonne, who had remained by the door. Realising that she was expected to talk, Yvonne added- “What may we do you for, Miss Donoghue?”

Hesitant, Bonnie seemed to reconsider, as though she no longer wished to tell them. She glanced to the far side of the room, some object capturing her attention. This object, whatever it was, caused her shoulders to sag, as if she had no other choice but to confide in them.

“I require your assistance,” she admitted, “if you may be so kind as to help me.”

“We shall,” Yvonne responded, determinedly. Her answer was silenced by Penny as she simultaneously said- “Nothing will delight us more.”

Bonnie was visibly relieved, guiding them to her writing desk. It was situated by the far window, its sash arrangement overlooking the righthand side of the manor. The view was made all the pleasanter by the shrubbery and flowers that were planted along the walkway. Being summertime, she thought the view was rather charming and she had placed the desk deliberately by the window.

They clustered around the davenport, all three staring at its meticulous arrangement. A stack of paper had been piled neatly atop, bordered with a silver lining, and a pen was placed nearby, awaiting use. Bonnie gestured nervously towards the papers.

“I heeded your advice, Miss Davers.” She looked directly at Yvonne, her countenance contrite, as if she had made a terrible mistake. “Once I purchased the paper, I realised that I had been hasty. You see, I do not know anybody, besides you both. Or rather, I have not become acquainted with the families that live here. I could not begin to list who should be invited and who should not. It would be exceedingly invaluable to me if you were to offer some acquaintances of your own. I would be indebted to you both.”

“Is there to be a party?” Penny exclaimed, her thrill reaching a peak that even she had not fathomed. “We are invited?”

“Naturally,” Bonnie smiled. “I could not have a gathering without you both. You were the first to welcome me here and you will be the first to receive invitations.”

Penny could barely restrain herself, her suppressed elation causing her to fall silent. She had never been invited to a gathering. Children her age had never included her; they used to whisper that she was odd. It was in her nature, they would say, for she was a Davers. As to other parties, she had been too young for the functions that her family attended, and now, barely into adulthood, Lady Davers prevented her from leaving the Park, regardless of invitation. Nevertheless, it occurred to Penny that she was to experience a party for the first time and her mother could not refuse, particularly if Yvonne were to chaperone. Her excitement overwhelmed her.

Yvonne placed a hand on her shoulder to calm her, stepping towards Miss Donoghue. “If it is a small gathering then it shall not take us long to compile a list. We know all the families who are worth knowing in the county.”

“Oh, yes!” Penny concurred. “Very amiable people.”

“Wonderful,” Bonnie grinned, seating herself at the desk. She grasped the fountain pen and a sheet of paper, clearly wishing to compose a draft. Peering upward, she noticed that the sisters were still standing and she gestured towards the nearest chairs. “Please, sit. We may be awhile.”

“Not long,” Penny insisted, pulling her chair closer to the desk. “This will be quick work, I am sure of it.”

Yvonne concurred, both Miss Davers insistent that they should produce the document in less than an hour. Nevertheless, they discovered, soon after, that they could not agree. Yvonne wished to include a modest selection of couples throughout the neighbourhood, as they were more engaging, or so she felt. She contended that their age was a benefit to them- they were not mindless busybodies who delighted in gossip, a statement which provoked Penny into exclaiming loudly.

To the contrary, Penny advised that it was more appropriate to invite the eligible women within the area, as they were fashionable to be acquainted with. Such friendships would allow Bonnie to be in favour and compose connections of her own age. Yvonne, however, was steadfast in her opinion and Bonnie knew her to be reasonable.

Befuddled, she sat in silence, for she could not decide which was the better option.

“But if you were to invite some of the older couples,” Yvonne disputed, “you will meet other women, regardless. They shall introduce you to their daughters, who are of your age. You will be much requested within these circles; you will not be neglected. Besides, they have a financial security that is unequalled. If you wish to travel and experience the country more, they will aid you in that endeavour. Young women have to wait for permission or for invitations, which may take months. It is tedious and entirely reliant on remaining in favour. I would not suggest relying on them; they are restrained. You will be too.”

This suggestion of independence enticed Bonnie, though she acknowledged she did not want to spend her time with the elderly. She had wanted company beyond Miss Ainsley and it seemed she would be exchanging her custodian for a whole body of Miss Ainsleys, a thought which grieved her. Subsequently, she decided to compromise.

“I can invite a selection of each,” she proposed. “Some of these people are of the same family. Perhaps we shall select those who are agreeable on both sides- those who are toward my own age, whoever you believe to be pleasant, and their parents.”

The sisters were silent. Despite the reticence, it was evident that they had come to an agreement. It appeared that this arrangement had not occurred to either and they were disconcerted at such an error, staring dumbfoundedly at their neighbour. Bonnie was unperturbed, giggling at the scene before her, the tip of her finger tracing the small cat that she had sketched on the paper whilst the two had been quarrelling.

“Yes, well, that will do,” Yvonne uttered, soon after. “Five families should be sufficient.” She leant forward as she spoke, a motion which prompted Bonnie to take hold of her pen. “If we were to choose, there are the Spencers, the Haringtons...”

“The Mounts!” Penny disrupted.

Yvonne groaned, uttering her name in disbelief.

Penny stared at her, wide-eyed, as if she could not comprehend her objection. “Oh, Yvonne, you know they should be invited.”

“Henrietta?”

“Well...” The appropriate word seemed to escape her and she struggled, for a moment, to compose her argument. Yet, she soon came to a resolution that she was content with. “She is a wise investment. The Mounts know everyone hereabouts so, regardless, they should be there. More importantly, Henrietta and Euphemia are close to Bonnie in age. They know who to acquaint her with.”

“I suppose that means the Leongs are invited,” Yvonne muttered, darkly.

“Yes.” Penny’s finger tapped soundly against the paper on which Bonnie was writing. “The Leongs too.” She whispered furtively in her direction. “They are the Mounts’ cousins.”

“And the McLarens,” Yvonne added. “That should be all.”

Penny nodded, sagely. “Yes, for now, at least. A rather distinguished assembly, if I may say so myself.”

“You may!” Bonnie proclaimed, finishing the list.

She was appreciative to remove herself of any burden; this was her first party in hosting, though she was regretful that her parents could not be with her. Undoubtedly, they would have guided the evening to its merited success. It had been a subject of much speculation between them, and she had revelled in the day in which she would attend her first party or, even greater, her first dance. Since their passing, Bonnie did not speak with Miss Ainsley, their preferences being so dissonant. Ergo, she usually had no assistance at all, despite her lack of experience. This ineptitude troubled her, as she did not believe she was capable of hosting to the standard that was expected of her. Nevertheless, she could acknowledge that, with the support of the Davers, the night would be a joyful one, if not faultless.

Once she had finished transcribing, Penny took the paper from her, adding their full names, titles, and addresses. Bonnie thanked her, chastising herself for having forgotten to include them. Her neighbour did not think anything of it and smiled kindly.

“If you decide that you do not wish to include anyone- the Mounts, for example- you may remove them,” Yvonne stated. “It is ultimately your decision.”

Penny tutted. “There is no need to remove anyone from the list. It is more than satisfactory.”

“Yes, it is your party,” Yvonne mentioned to Bonnie, “but you must do what you feel is right.”

Bonnie refrained from laughing, smiling contentedly across at her. “I think we have a fine collection. I shall not alter it now.”

Yvonne did not reply, though her arms crossed in displeasure. This reaction did not offend Bonnie; she was becoming accustomed to her neighbour’s temperament.

“Miss Ainsley said you would be good friends to have and I must agree with her,” she declared, cheerfully. “You have been most helpful. You are exceedingly assertive when it comes to how you feel and who occupies your time, the both of you. If you are certain that I shall benefit from these acquaintances, I am inclined to believe you.”

Penny finished the list with an extravagant flourish. Even in writing, she was dramatic, though she was pleased with the effort. “This is an admirable start. If this does not lead to the social occupation that you wish for, I shall be greatly surprised! I am certain a woman like you will not struggle to find acquaintances, as charming as you are. Though you will wish for peace once you have begun. The families, they are not tiring, but you will hardly wish to be around them hereafter. Once you have heard what they have to say, they usually have nothing more to include, although they are very welcoming.”

Bonnie was somewhat soothed by this assertion, yet there was an uneasiness within her that was not quite alleviated. She stared wistfully at the desk, her voice lowering. “I suppose I shall be tired of socialising soon. In a fortnight, I shall be travelling to Loch Ness with a friend of mine.”

“How delightful!” Penny exclaimed.

This announcement was received less happily by Yvonne. Her arms unfolded, quite unconsciously, and she half-demanded, half-inquired- “How long for?”

“Four weeks,” she told them. “I am very fond of Annie.” As she spoke, she did not look very fond of her, nor did she attempt to look as if she were. “She was my school-mate, one of a small group of us, and she was the one who invited me to live here in England, although she expected me to join her in London. When I told her of my plans to live in Bedford, she insisted we travel together and we agreed upon Scotland. I have long hoped to visit the country, but now the time has come, I hardly know if I have the spirit for such an adventure. Four weeks is not long, but it is long enough. If I am weary or we fall upon dull company, it is difficult to return without effort. These past two weeks alone, Miss Ainsley has been continually asking about which furs to take, as it is meant to be cold this season.”

“It is cold every season,” Penny reasoned.

“I do not blame you for being apprehensive, Miss Donoghue,” Yvonne retorted, her arms folding once more. “Socialites are tiring and often trying.”

“Not at all!” Penny frowned in her sister’s direction. With her head turned from Miss Donoghue, she silently rebuked her, returning her attention, moments later, to their neighbour. “It will be an adventure worth remembering. You shall adore Scotland! Once you return, you shall have a memory that you savour for the rest of your life.”

“You are not required to leave, if you do not want to,” Yvonne grumbled. “You are free to do as you wish. Stay at home, by all means. If you want to travel elsewhere, I can accompany you to Oxford or Cambridge. If you wish to visit the seaside, we can travel as far as Great Yarmouth. Not far from there is Caister, which is worth a visit. Even the Ouse is lovely at this time of year, if you wish to have a picnic.”

There was a look of consideration on Bonnie’s features that vexed Penny, for it was quite sincere. It was selfish of her sister to try and prevent their neighbour’s journey, particularly when the lady herself was so easily persuaded to her opinion. Miss Donoghue had placed her trust in Yvonne and quite unknowingly, her sister had used that to her advantage.

“You should not stay,” she opposed, scowling briefly at Yvonne. “You promised your friend, did you not? To withdraw from your agreement would most likely upset her. Besides, you want to travel, as well as to socialise. Is this not the perfect opportunity? You shall have a wonderful time once you are there. It is natural to be apprehensive when you are not used to travelling.”

Yvonne had fallen silent. She did not wish to hinder Miss Donoghue, though she feared she may have. Her desire to keep the lady’s company meant that she had placed her own needs first; yet she knew, in reality, that they were insignificant, particularly in comparison to her neighbour’s enjoyment. She resigned herself to Penny’s advice, knowing it to be the correct one, and smiled at Bonnie, who was unsure of who to heed.

“She is correct, Miss Donoghue. It would be better for you to leave. You will experience much that you cannot here. I cannot replace the company of a good friend. It was discourteous of me to suggest otherwise. You shall certainly appreciate Scotland; it has many beautiful sights.”

Bonnie tilted her head, quietly contemplating the woman before her. A soft smile appeared on her lips, her voice equally soft.

“Miss Davers, you are a good friend.” There was a moment of silence where she recalled that Penny occupied the seat beside her. “You both are. I would be as happy here with the two of you as I am in another country. Besides, Annie is fond of complaining, so a change in companionship would not be unwelcome. If not now then in the future, we will travel together.”

As she finished speaking, Yvonne blurted out, unwittingly- “Then you may come with me to Moscow?”

The astonishment of the two women- both Penny and Bonnie- was so profound that they fell into reticence, for both were staring incredulously at her. Yvonne perceived their silence, fearful that she had encroached, rather impudently, on her neighbour.

“I am planning to travel again in the future,” she explained. “Moscow was one of the cities I was hoping to visit... That is, if you are interested in accompanying me. I have been searching for a suitable companion.”

Penny glanced at the woman beside her, who was startled into uncertainty, and returned her attention to Yvonne, who sat bashfully under the scrutinization of them both. There was not a time, that she could recall, where her sister had been so brash and she raised her brows, simultaneously curious and bewildered. Yet, before Yvonne could retract her proposal, Bonnie answered in the affirmative.

Startled, Yvonne craned her neck forward, as if she had misheard. “Yes?”

“Yes,” Bonnie nodded.

“Yes!” Penny cried out in her delight, her hands clapping together.

Yvonne reddened, though she tried to repress it, abashed to do so before her sister.

“Well, I...” she hurried to say. “You see, my mother’s health is my primary concern. I cannot leave until I am certain that she is well. It would be seen as a slight and I would prefer to part on good terms.” At this declaration, Penny huffed in laughter, though Yvonne did not respond. “There is also my factory to think of. That should not take long and I shall be abroad once I know it is in good hands. As I mentioned, I have been searching for a companion that suits my needs and my habits, though I think there is every reason to believe that we are well-matched. If we were to spend some time abroad together, we would be able to ascertain whether that is the case.”

“I know that I have come to Colworth House but this is the first time I have ever travelled abroad,” Bonnie admitted. “I have no experience of the world, not outside of Ireland and not beyond Bedford. Not truly.”

“Then you must come with me.”

By this time, Bonnie was thoroughly convinced and said: “I shall!”

There was no indication, on Yvonne’s expression, that she was pleased with the assent. However, there was an air of hubris to her, as she leant back in her chair, that revealed how satisfied she truly was. Penny, in contrast, could not contain her delight and clasped Bonnie’s arm, shaking it as vigorously as she shook Yvonne the night before. Bonnie did not seem to mind and smiled at them both, equally conceited as her neighbour at the outcome of this exchange.

An agreement was then made in which they would plan their travels at a later date. With the discussion directed from the party, Bonnie rang the bell, calling for tea to be served. Since the weather was pleasant, she thought they should adjourn to the garden. The sisters did not protest and followed her outside, content to sit wherever she wished them to.

They were led to an iron table, which had been prepared beforehand, its rounded surface enabling them to face each other equally. It was located in the garden temple, the small structure overlooking the vast green that stretched far beyond the manor. The river could be seen in the distance, and, across the way, roundly trimmed hedges and a fountain, both placed symmetrically in the centre of the garden. As they were seated, Penny watched how her sister spoke to Miss Donoghue, knowing that they had spent more time together than Yvonne would admit to. There was an ease to their discussion, as though they were merely continuing from the last time they had spoken.

Penny thanked the butler as he placed her cup on the table. Her companions hardly noticed that the butler had arrived, much less that the tea had been served. Sipping the brew, rather daintily, she continued to watch them. They did not discern that they had excluded her from the conversation, though she did not mind.

They scarcely knew how well they were suited. Yet, it was better, on reflection, that they should be unaware- happiness was all the more exquisite when it came naturally and unexpectedly. Penny was also happy, in her own way, to sit in the garden and sip her tea, eating the rectangular sandwiches before the others noticed that they had been consumed, and perceiving that this moment had an air of tranquillity to it. It was not often that one found friendship so close to home. Penny knew that this was a rare occurrence, for her at least, which caused her to be all the more grateful. She had never had a friend in the world, except Yvonne; now, she had two. To her, there was no finer happiness than that.

Chapter Text

The day after the Davers had been invited to tea, the doorbell sounded at Colworth House, its chime echoing through the spacious halls, though there was no indication that anyone intended to answer it. Bonnie was sat in the orangery (17) when she perceived the noise, though she did not move. She was at her easel, preferring the glass structure to paint within, as the light was better here than within the manor. When she had first started, earlier that day, Miss Ainsley had taken to observing her progress, reading her book one minute to strolling around her easel the next, commenting both criticisms and praise on the bowl of fruit that was being painted. Bonnie continued in silence, despite the attention she received, and her custodian soon tired, noting that she would be in her room if needed. Undoubtedly, she was asleep, a circumstance that eased Bonnie, as she preferred to work alone and was often irritable when called to conversation. The fruit was the only subject, she believed, that deserved her attention. Until the portrait was completed, at least.

Mr Reeves entered the orangery, expressing that a Miss Davers was at the door. She assumed it to be the eldest and from the lack of surprise on her footman’s expression, her suspicion was confirmed.

“Take her to the drawing room; I shall be there shortly.” He had already left by the time she added- “Thank you, Adam.”

She continued a little longer, discontent to leave the picture, not until she had captured the pear to an acceptable degree. Exhaling lightly, not from the interruption, but from the exasperation she was experiencing- her thinking that the painting was hideous- Bonnie stood, rotating her wrist. There was a small cracking sound and she arched her back to the same effect, strolling across the gardens to the drawing room.

Upon entering the room, she discovered that Miss Davers was wandering back and forth, inspecting the ornaments, though this curiosity was borne from her constant need to be in motion, rather than from any genuine interest in the decoration. She came to an abrupt halt when she noticed that there was company, abashed to have been discovered, and she smiled, as if to reassure her that all was well. Bonnie did not mind if she paced; she comprehended that Miss Davers was restless by nature and did not care to be still for long, not unless she was absorbed by work or some other subject that caught her interest.

“Miss Donoghue.” Yvonne bowed lowly.

By the time she had returned to her standing position, Bonnie had gestured towards the settee. It was the same one they had sat upon when Yvonne first visited; it was becoming a habit, seemingly, though it was one she would gladly encourage.

“Miss Davers. Please, sit.”

They sat together, Bonnie slowly and gracefully, her skirts spreading across her half of the seat, whilst Yvonne stepped quickly around the room, her long legs enabling her to be there in seconds. She hastily sat beside her neighbour, yet the reticence appeared to disturb her and she smiled apprehensively. Miss Donoghue did not mind that they were silent, beaming across in return.

Yvonne’s finger tapped excitably against her knee, though she continued to smile, its effect lessening with each passing second. Suddenly, she turned to Bonnie and said: “You are well, Miss Donoghue?”

“As well as I was yesterday. Thank you for asking, Miss Davers.”

There was a pause where Yvonne contemplated the subsequent topic. “I thought I should call. I trust that you are handling the invitations, but if you had any further questions, I would be happy to answer them. It may be difficult to compose them if you do not know the guests intimately.”

“And that is your sole reason for calling?” Bonnie asked, simply to extend their discussion.

Her question, however, seemed to startle Yvonne, who questioned whether she should have an additional reason.

“Well, I- erm...” She paused to think further on her answer. “Do you need assistance with anything else?”

“No,” Bonnie laughed. “I simply enjoy being in your company.” She observed the astonishment on her neighbour’s face before continuing, bemused. “I have written the invitations. Or rather, they are underway. I wrote three of them yesterday and I shall complete the rest today. By tomorrow, they should have been posted. We shall see how well they are received.”

“With great enthusiasm, I am sure,” Yvonne asserted. “They will all attend. I have received word that they are expectant to meet you and if they were to acquire an invitation, they would most certainly come. It has been some time since we had a new neighbour, not since Mister Harington was married five years ago, so they are quite desperate for new company.” She flushed. “Not that they would need to be desperate, naturally, to come here. Your name and status alone would make it an honour.”

“I hope so.” Bonnie smiled, light-heartedly, though her humour soon vanished. She glanced down at her hands, her fingers fumbling with the fabric of her skirt. “It will not be like the parties you are used to, I am sure.”

Yvonne frowned. “How do you mean?”

“If one has acquainted themselves with the fine people of Paris, a small party in Bedford is hardly exciting.”

“Not at all,” she protested. “I prefer good company in small numbers. It lends itself to entertainment, more so than to have a large gathering for the sake of it. Besides, you may find good company anywhere. I have been fortunate that you have decided to live here, else there would be nobody in Bedford worth talking to. If I were in Paris today, I would not find anyone who equals you. You are the finest of all those who I have met; Paris cannot boast of such a person.”

As she spoke, she spoke honestly and earnestly, for she wished to inspire some morale in her neighbour, who, she believed, so desperately required it. Nevertheless, she did not observe the reaction that it incited in Bonnie, as she was too absorbed in trying to comfort her to think of much else. In return, Bonnie had turned her face away, not from insecurity, but because of the vanity that was spreading its way across her features as Miss Davers continued to speak. She could scarcely repress the joy that arose within her, though she managed to do so, rather swiftly, and turned back to the woman beside her, the smile upon her features an indication of the self-satisfaction that she was feeling.

In a state of composure, she said- “Miss Davers, how you flatter me! You pay such homage to your friends. I have never had anybody be so kind to me as you have been.”

Believing that she had inspired confidence in her neighbour, Yvonne was pleased, conceited that she had performed such a wonderful act of service, one which the lady would benefit from in the future. Her satisfaction disappeared, however, when Bonnie inquired as to whether she had a partner when attending a dance or gathering.

Silent, Yvonne did not know what to say. She stared ahead, her discomfort visible, though she decided to settle on an answer that she thought to be somewhat truthful.

“Sometimes, yes.”

“I wonder what sort of person you prefer to have by your side,” Bonnie mused. “I cannot think of who you would wish to be seen with in such a public arena. They are most certainly lucky, whoever they are.”

“It rarely happens, so I would not think it worth speaking of.” Her voice lowered with each word that was spoken, regretful to have answered in the affirmative.

“But there is someone who you would prefer to be seen with? As in, in terms of temperament or status,” Bonnie persisted.

“Not entirely,” Yvonne disputed, shaking her head. “They have all been friends. I usually attend gatherings with close friends and leave with them, as I do not want to be left with anyone who is tiresome to converse with. There is not one person who I hold in such high regard that I would attend specifically with them. It is whoever is invited within my circle and who I agree to travel with.” She had spoken quickly, a little breathless in her insistence that she did not have a partner, nor did she choose one, when it came to social gatherings. The topic appeared to disturb her and she turned to her neighbour, asking, a little abruptly- “And what of you? Do you ever take a partner?”

“No,” she sighed. “I never felt there was anyone who interested me, or who I would want to be associated with. Besides, I have never attended a party, nor have I ever had a coming out. I did attend family dinners and small gatherings when I lived with my aunt and uncle, but that is not much. I did not like a lot of the dinners; I found them to be rather dull.” Whilst she spoke, Yvonne nodded, thinking of the dinner she had attended with Bonnie’s cousin. She seemed to believe, from the way she agreed, that their dinners were certainly tedious. Bonnie perceived this, though she did not mind; they held a similar opinion. “But I would love to attend a dance one day! Everyone always seems to have the greatest of times!”

“Then you must go to London,” Yvonne informed her. “They have some notable rooms for dancing, but I know a few towns north who could boast the same. London is simply closer.”

“Will you take me?”

Yvonne was astounded to be asked, yet she could not refuse her. “I shall take you, if that is what you want.”

“More than anything,” she smiled.

The tenderness in her gaze disturbed Yvonne and she decided to turn the discussion to religious matters. It was difficult to be so easily affected when one was speaking on the topic of piety.

“It really is a shame, Miss Donoghue, that we will not be attending the same church,” she persisted. “I was hoping to introduce you to some families there, as I think you will find them quite charming to talk to.”

Bonnie was perplexed; they had not mentioned religion since their walk home, almost a week ago. Nevertheless, she was willing to alter their discussion to her neighbour’s fancy. The forthright manner in which Miss Davers addressed her was part of her peculiarity, a singularity of nature that Bonnie did not mind but, rather, appreciated. It was not often that others treated her so candidly, and she preferred this in comparison to the small circle of friends that she was used to having, who tended to be insincere by nature.

“I would be happy to meet them,” she stated. “You may introduce them whenever you wish. If you hold them in the highest esteem, I trust that they are worth being acquainted with. That is, of course, if they do not condemn my beliefs.”

“I will not allow anyone to judge you. They are no acquaintances of mine, if that is the case.”

Yvonne spoke with conviction, as she often did, a principle that delighted Bonnie, who thanked her once more for her kindness. As she did so, Bonnie’s gaze drifted downward, quite unconsciously, to inspect the attire of Miss Davers, its masculine appearance astonishing, yet appealing to her, and she happened upon a handkerchief that was tucked into the pocket of the gentlewoman’s waistcoat.

Inadvertently, she blurted out- “How dainty!”

Yvonne peered down, following her gaze, unsure of what the lady was alluding to. When she realised that Miss Donoghue was referring to her handkerchief, her attention returned to the woman beside her, astonished. “My handkerchief?”

“Yes!” Bonnie exclaimed, delightedly, her hand reaching up to touch it, though she recalled, almost immediately, that the notion was improper. She returned her hand to her lap. “Did you have it specially made?”

The handkerchief had been folded purposefully so that the Davers crest could be viewed, and slightly below, in canary, the initials YD had also been stitched. Perceiving her neighbour’s wonderment, Yvonne plucked it from her pocket and held it outward, the material hanging from between her fingers.

“Here, you may have it.”

Bonnie flushed. “Oh, no! I could not take it from you. It has your crest.”

“It is one of many,” Yvonne insisted. “It would be no matter to me for I have another. If I did not, I would simply request for more to be made.” She shook her hand, as if to gesture that she should take it, the fabric swaying vigorously in the air. “Please, Miss Donoghue. If you like it, you may have it.”

Bonnie protested, chiefly from politeness. Yet, after Yvonne continued to urge that she take it, Bonnie could not resist and accepted. She lay the handkerchief on her lap, spreading the silk evenly across her skirt so that she may view it in its entirety, her fingers tracing the canary border. Her smile revealed she was rather pleased with herself, though she discerned that Miss Davers was awaiting a response.

She glanced upward. “Thank you, Miss Davers. It is certainly very beautiful. Whoever you employed did an excellent job of the embroidery.”

“You can have your own made,” Yvonne told her, “if you wish to have one.”

“Perhaps,” Bonnie reflected, though she did not think much of the idea. “Someday.”

Now that she had Miss Davers’ handkerchief, she hardly believed that she would need any other. She kept it on her lap as they continued to speak, their conversation lasting another hour. Soon after, Miss Davers noted the time and announced she must be leaving- there was work that needed tending to. Bonnie was reluctant to say farewell, though their separation was alleviated by the notion that she could keep the handkerchief.

She walked with Miss Davers to the door, though she returned, rather hastily, to the drawing room once her guest was sat in her private curricle . From the window, she watched her depart, her hand rising when she noted Miss Davers had viewed her there. She received a wave in return, an event that caused her much pleasure. It was another habit that they were forming. Bonnie would wait by the glass until she departed, though Yvonne was now aware of this custom and tipped her hat in the direction of the window, her curricle (18) circling the driveway as she sped past. Bonnie watched her withdraw, her thumb brushing absentmindedly against the embroidered initials of her neighbour.

Once she had disappeared from view, Bonnie turned from the window and returned to the orangery, though she was no longer in the mood to finish the painting. She was inattentive to where she was walking, fortunate to not collide with any furniture on the way. Her attention was taken by the handkerchief and the initials upon it. It did not occur to her that she should commission her own, for she did not want one. There was certainly no need, upon further reflection, to own another. Whatever Miss Davers was willing to give, she would happily receive, and she tucked the material into the sleeve of her dress, where she hoped to carry it for the rest of the day.

Chapter Notations

17. An orangery is very similar to a conservatory, but its walls are made of brick and it uses large windows rather than having the walls made of glass. Also, the ceiling is usually flat rather than sloped. It's called an orangery because a lot of wealthier houses in the 17th-19th Centuries used them as places to store fruit trees during the winter, as a type of greenhouse.

18. A curricle is a type of small chaise but is also known as a different form of chariot. It was very lightweight so therefore, very fast, as it usually only carried two people at a time. As a result, it was often used for racing and because it was prone to tipping over, it made for a dangerous sport. Basically, this is the old-fashioned equivalent of a sports car and I thought if anyone was going to have one, it would be Yvonne, so she could show off how fast she can drive. She may or may not have brought it deliberately to show Bonnie (can't possibly confirm at this moment in time).

Chapter Text

From the noise, though she would call it ruckus, Yvonne knew that Penny was in the music room. She headed towards it, determined to at least greet her, and she discovered, upon entering, that she was not alone. Her usual practice was being supervised by their mother, who looked as if she now regretted the decision. Lady Davers was sat upon the sofa, her lean figure rather crumpled, which may have been due to the fact that she was slouching and had not bothered to raise herself to her usual sitting position, though it also seemed as if she were hoping to retreat into the chair until she had disappeared entirely, a futile hope in removing herself from the situation.

Penny was sat opposite, her small figure even more so whilst she sat on a stool. She was plucking determinedly and haphazardly at the harp, her voice warbling along with it. To her credit, she sang in tune, though she struggled to do the same for the instrument, and she plucked the strings slower than the pace in which she sang, a combination that meant she was neither in harmony nor in time. It was worsened by the fact she could not decide which string was which and took her chances by trying them all. Yvonne thought she ought to quit, an event that would please them all if it weren’t for their mother’s insistence that she learn how to play.

Moments later, Penny perceived her sister by the door, exclaiming loudly in the midst of her singing. In her distraction, she plucked the wrong strings, though there was no telling that it had happened for it sounded no different than usual. Lady Davers turned her attention, quite quickly, towards her eldest daughter. It was clear that she was not gratified to see her, but she did want returning to her chair. She prodded her cane in its general direction, her actions to no avail.

“I shall fetch the nurse,” Yvonne told her. “That is what we pay her for, is it not?”

“You pay her?” came the shrill objection, followed by a huff of indignance. “That will be the day.” Staring at her, she recalled that there was some subject she wished to speak of, though she could not remember what it was. “You ought to know...”

Lady Davers paused, unable to summon the words to mind, though Penny knew what she was trying to think of and mentioned- “Mister Dunce came earlier.”

Yvonne was indifferent. “Let him come; it does not mean I shall receive him.”

Reminded, the baroness remarked- “I told you it was a nasty business. Now, the Dunces have come to our home. I have managed to prevent their family from visiting since you were young; no Dunce has stepped foot in this Park for years. Because of you, they have dared to come here and I had to receive Mister Dunce without ever having invited him. It was a horrid affair, to be sure.”

“Martin, was it?”

“No, the other one. Kenneth. My, did he boast!” Lady Davers gaze arched, a motion that she hardly enacted, though, as she did, the resemblance to her daughter was apparent. “I could not speak for all of that grand talk...”

“I thought you would have that in common,” Penny muttered, though she was fortunately not heard.

“...I ask you to leave it be and you do not listen. If I have to see a Dunce again, I shall be very unhappy, Yvonne. I do not care how much money we shall make from it.”

Yvonne exhaled, heavily. “I shall do as I see fit, mother. I have managed this far without their interference.”

“It has only been two weeks since you started.”

She elected to ignore the remark. Instead, she pat her sister on the head and started towards the door. “I shall be in my study if you need me. There is much to be done and it appears I now have to travel into town; do not wait for me at dinner. I do not know when I will be home.”

As she passed through the door, she heard a shout of- “Call the nurse!”

Yvonne did call her, though she hurried to the downstairs study soon after. She had received a report from Ingham, a detailed account regarding the price of lace in other factories around the area, and she was hoping to finish it by the end of the day.

Entering the study, she noted a pile of letters that had been left on the desk. The first appeared to be from Florence, which she would read in the evening, another from a distant cousin who she often wrote to, and one from the shoemaker stating that her new boots had been completed- they were ready to be brought to the Park if she wished to try them. Disinterested, she continued through the pile till she found a slip of card, framed in silver. Recognising the handwriting, her breath caught in her throat. The centre of her chest ached uncomfortably, a sudden pulsation that had arisen when sighting the missive. Its pain was terribly familiar, yet no less distressing, and she placed her hand above the throbbing sensation, massaging it with the palm of her hand, as if to sooth it. Relief did not come, however, and she soon stopped.

Yvonne did not read the rest, as she had torn the card in half, hesitating, before tearing it further. For a moment, she thought that she had made a mistake. If she were to attend, she would not know the details, though she rebuked herself, for there was nothing worse, to her mind, than attending the wedding of Miss Josephine Langdon. She could not allow herself to think of the woman, let alone see her. Standing, she took the fragments and dropped them into the grate; they were almost flung in her disgust. Yvonne noted that the fire must be lit later that evening. She could not bear for there to be any tangible evidence of a wedding.

Returning to the desk, she was silent, the only sound being the ticking of the clock, and she stared ahead of her, trying desperately to control the trembling in her hands as they curled in her lap. There was no indication as to whether she felt severely indignant or hurt by the invitation, yet she believed it was both. Miss Langdon was aware of the grief she had caused and even with societal expectation, she had hoped the lady would be so kind as to leave her in peace. That had not come to pass and Yvonne was reminded briefly of their last days together.

Her gaze lowered to the desk, its erratic movement across the surface an indication to the agitation that she was experiencing. She reached upward, her fingers brushing against the letters, the neat piles of paper, and her spectacles. Indecisive, she picked up a pen, having forgotten why she was there, realising, seconds later, that she could not see the writing on the papers. Yvonne grasped her spectacles and placed them on the bridge of her nose, staring down at the items before her. She fumbled for the report, discovering, soon after, that she could not concentrate.

There was much to say, though it could not be expressed, so she distracted herself. Taking a piece of paper, she directed it to the steward of her estate, who she had not seen, due to the time she had spent between her study and the neighbouring property. Hoping to direct her frustration at someone, she wrote:

It has come to my attention that the footpath is being used by passers-by and as a result, they are walking too closely to the house. I do not wish to see strangers so close to the grounds and would like a new gate installed, one by Orchard Way and another by Parkham Farm. This will prevent any walkers from passing too close to the Park in either direction, as this is private land, and I have seen more than one drunkard, in particular, loitering around the chickens and another by the vegetable garden. Mrs Dunkhurst, the cook, is as vexed as I am on the matter and she chased a boy last week with a broom, as he appeared to be among the lettuce. I would like proof to prosecute, if possible. If not, I shall speak to the magistrates myself for I would like the matter to be resolved.

Writing of the magistrates, she was reminded of the Dunces and her need to visit them. This merely grieved her more, scribbling with a ferocity that almost pushed the pen through the paper. There was not much in this world that could frustrate her more than the thought of Miss Langdon, though a visit to the Dunce brothers was certainly close.

Calling for the chaise to take her to town, Yvonne directed the coachman to the rented office of the Dunce brothers, not far from the Embankment. The three-storey building had been chosen specifically by them due to its position by the river, their office boasting a view of the waterway. Their mutual acquaintances preferred to speak of it often, as they were the only gentlemen who owned such rooms, but Yvonne always admitted that she was unimpressed, regardless of scenery, for the brothers should learn a little humility and she did not care for their arrogance. She was determined that she should say the same, if the brothers were to ask her, and fancied the manner in which she would deliver the statement, as well as their subsequent disappointment, all the way into town.

Upon arrival, the chaise halted at the entrance of the building. As the footman opened the door, her boot simultaneously thudded onto the metal steps, impatient to remove herself from the confines of the carriage. She disembarked, a passing mention of gratitude sent in the footman’s direction, before continuing towards the door, her quickened footsteps echoing in the spacious courtyard.

Approaching the red-bricked building, she stared critically at its appearance. She had never visited, despite having passed it many times before, and she continued to inspect it without slowing her pace. Her arrival seemed to be no surprise, however, as the door opened before she reached the entryway. Pleased, Yvonne strode through and into the foyer, removing her hat as she did.

Turning to the man who had allowed her entry, she said- “Yvonne Davers, here for Mister Dunce. The younger. Is he here?”

The man bowed, his hands wringing nervously together. “No, ma’am. I am sorry to say that he is not.” He cheered when a thought struck him. “But the eldest Mister Dunce is here, if you wish to speak with him.”

Exhaling heavily, Yvonne plucked the gloves from her hands. “No, but you may fetch him.”

He insisted that their office was on the third floor, though she did not wish to enter any further than she had, believing that if they wanted to talk, they must come to her, not the other way around. She watched him hurry up the stairs, irritated that she had travelled all the way into town, merely for the youngest Mr Dunce to be absent. Why approach with no formal invitation, if one was not to be made available afterwards? Their manners were certainly wanting, though it was hardly a surprise- they were not known for their decorum.

Minutes later, footsteps were heard on the stairway, the gait much slower and lighter than before, and she perceived it was not the same fellow who had allowed her entry. On initial glance, Yvonne did not recognise the man, but it soon became apparent who it was. She had not seen Martin Dunce since their adolescence and it seemed, from his appearance, that he had aged considerably, despite him not being much older than she was. The sight astonished her, her brows rising.

Tall, though not as tall as her, Martin Dunce walked towards Yvonne, his slim frame heavily concealed beneath his ill-fitting breeches and tailcoat. This irregularity was less noticeable, perhaps purposefully so, when one noticed the gold that adorned him. His cane was tinted gold, as were his buttons and fob-watch, and his long, thin fingers were decorated heartily with rings. As for his hair, it had markedly thinned, his baldness barely hidden under the toupee that he wore. Once, he had been known for his volume of ashy-blonde hair, though it now appeared to be grey, an event that may have aided his looking older. Many in the neighbourhood considered this loss of hair a tragedy, though Yvonne did not care much, either way. She had never thought him handsome or impressive.

“Miss Davers,” he grinned, his voice somewhat hoarse. “What a pleasure to address you after so many years. How long has it been?”

“Too long, I suppose,” she remarked, apathetically.

“Yes, too long. And what, may I ask, gives me the pleasure of receiving you?”

He halted before her, his grin unfaltering. Their difference in height did not perturb him, even as she stared irritably in his direction.

“Your brother called, though I was not at home. What was it that he wanted?”

“Can we not call upon a neighbour and a fellow tradesman when we hear they are reopening their factory? Surely, we are within our right to offer our assistance?”

“You can offer assistance if you wish, Mister Dunce, but I am also within my right to refuse it.” She was certain they had not visited her in goodwill. If they were unwilling to admit the reason, Yvonne would not force them. She would rather be left in peace. “If you would prefer to discuss business then we may do so, but do not waste my time by calling upon me and making me come here.”

Martin bowed his head as a form of apology, though he did not appear to be repentant. “My apologies, Miss Davers, but this is not my area of expertise. Kenneth oversees all contracts and negotiations, hence his calling upon you. As he is not here, I cannot speak for him. You will be better visiting when he is in the office.” Hearing her huff in disbelief, he paused. Yet, this did not unnerve him, as he continued to say- “I am astonished that you are so involved in this little venture of yours. I would have thought you had a delegate.”

“I do not need to call upon a delegate for all that I do. I am quite capable of doing it myself,” she glowered. “I will do what I must to succeed.”

“Won’t we all?” he smiled.

If he was trying to demean her, she thought it was only fair that she should do the same. “I am astonished, myself, in discovering you so uninvolved. Were you not the one who directed all business between the two of you? Are you so much aged that all responsibility has been left to your brother? That is unlike you, Martin; I must say.”

“I have a hand in all that we do,” he responded quickly, a scowl beginning to form.

“Hm.”

Yvonne felt the weight of her hat, which was tucked under her arm, and decided that she was to return home. She was no longer wanted nor needed. If Kenneth would not meet with her, she had nothing to say. She believed that they were the ones who should be inconvenienced, not her, and she refused to chase either around town merely to hear the pitiful negotiations that they were likely to thrust upon her.

Spinning on her heel, she marched towards the door and opened it. Before she could step outside, she halted, peering over her shoulder. “If your brother is to call again, I trust he shall make an appointment. I cannot have people appearing at the house when they so choose. I shall admit him solely when I say so and no other time.”

Raising her brows, as though in warning, she turned away, stepping onto the courtyard and closing the door resolutely behind her. Climbing into the carriage, she ordered the coachman to take her home, the footman bowing as he held the door open. Yvonne did not think of the time that had been wasted in travelling there, though the notion irked her. This visit from the Dunces revealed that they were troubled by the re-opening of her factory, that they perceived her as a threat. Excellent, she thought; if they were to meddle themselves into trouble, she would surely let them. Nothing would please her more than to watch the Dunces be degraded by their own hand; it would be nobody’s fault but their own. It would almost bring her as much pleasure as succeeding over them, though she knew it was only a matter of time before she did. Yvonne would not be bested by a Dunce; it was inconceivable.

Chapter Text

Annie Quinton arrived midday, disrupting the occupants of Colworth House whilst they were in the midst of violin practice. Miss Ainsley was listening to her ward as she played Sinfonia Concertante in B-flat major, being a particular admirer of Haydn (19), and she was midway through a compliment when there was a knock at the door. Mr Reeves bowed in apology, abashed to disrupt the lady’s playing, and informed them that a carriage had halted on the driveway, a large number of trunks strapped to the top and back of the post chaise. Exclaiming in delight, Miss Ainsley asserted that it must be Miss Quinton, as if there was ever any doubt, and, without further delay, hurried from the room. As to Bonnie, she did not move, continuing to stand with the violin, though she knew she must greet her friend.

Exhaling lightly, she placed the instrument back in its case and arranged the sheets neatly on the stand. She was pleased with the effort, yet there was a lowness to her mood that she could not extinguish. The violin often lifted her spirits, but her daily practice had been disturbed by the arrival of Miss Quinton, and it grieved her to think that the piece remained unfinished. There would be no time to complete it later. Without question, Annie would want to speak all evening. It had been two years since they had last met and Annie was not fond of the violin. She thought it dull. Miss Ainsley would not insist for she preferred, at all times, to talk, and accustomed to their ways, Bonnie knew they would converse till late, an event that grieved her, the more she thought of it.

Wandering to the front hall, she could see that Miss Ainsley had already greeted their guest, both of them standing beside the chaise. The servants were trying, with great effort, to remove the trunks that had been tied to it, more staff called from the house to aid them in the endeavour. Annie could be heard above the noise, ordering them as to how she liked them stored, her high-pitched voice easily distinguishable above the others. Despite the imperiousness of her manner, Miss Ainsley was delighted by her. She believed that she was the sort of friend Bonnie should aspire to have and could not understand why they had not remained close once they had finished school, regardless of her ward’s insistence that she had outgrown the person she once was and, as a result, her friends too.

Annie, for her part, had hardly changed. She was petite in stature, having never grown past the age of thirteen, and her plump figure was dressed neatly and fashionably under an assortment of teal and turquoise ribbons, with a skirt that was even more voluminous than Bonnie’s. The young woman had always been theatrical, even in dress, her amber-brown hair barely visible under the large bonnet that she had acquired, though it was easily hidden, for her hair grew no further than her jawline.

Prancing to Bonnie, Annie grasped her hands within her own, displaying the new pair of gloves that she was wearing, and kissed her on either side of her cheek.

“Bonnie!” she cried. “How long it has been! And how quaint a house. I must admit, there is a charm to country living but it can never have the same attraction as the city. What is there here that you cannot get in London?”

Her incredulity at the situation caused her to laugh and she giggled as she glanced around her, the stridulate tone of her voice the same as it was when she was a girl. Her derisiveness was familiar to Bonnie, as she rarely spoke any other way. Regardless, she was not used to being the subject of her friend’s ridicule; it was usually directed at some other poor creature, a sudden change that was not taken favourably.

“We shall have to disagree on the matter,” Bonnie smiled, her attempt at geniality so brief that it was hardly convincing. Gesturing behind her, she said: “We have waited to have tea. It would be nice for you to rest after such a long journey.”

“Oh, it was hardly long,” Annie dismissed, removing her gloves. Noting that Miss Ainsley had joined them, she started indoors, the two following alongside her. “It is not like travelling abroad...” She grasped Bonnie’s arm to pull her closer, hoping to lessen the height between them. “Really, Bonnie, it is quite shameful that you have not gone anywhere or done much with your time. How easily you could go anywhere, see anyone. All of that beauty and education gone to waste! Why, if you cannot make it in the world, nobody can. They say I am no beauty but my, if I am not the smartest and best-dressed woman wherever I go! Only you could challenge me to such a title and yet, you choose to waste away here instead. Tell me, is there no bachelor to take you away?”

This turn of conversation suited Miss Ainsley, who was ecstatic to hear someone other than herself pester the young woman. She felt quite sorry for all of her waisted efforts. Every time she mentioned friendship, travel, or marriage, she was met with either sullenness or silence. Or worse, both. Miss Ainsley believed that if anyone could convince her, it would be a close friend.

“Precisely, Miss Quinton. I say as much every day. She will not listen to me; she is wholly insistent on remaining as she is.”

“That is because I am happy as I am,” Bonnie protested.

The other two scoffed, as though she were simply muddled and could possibly know no better.

“It is fortunate then that we are to go to Scotland,” Annie chattered. “The Scots, they are so rugged. The men, that is, though I can hardly fault them. It adds to the attraction. Besides, I think they shall take to us more kindly; we Celts ought to be friendly to one another.” Her voice lowered, as though she did not wish to be heard when, in reality, she scarcely cared if she was. She was not one to refrain from offence. Furtively, she whispered- “You know, as we can boast that we are not English...” Her brows rose, suggestively, her voice returning to its original volume. “Once we have returned, I must insist that the both of you come to London. Why, only last month I saw Margaret. You remember her? Very devout, used to pray every morning and night, even after chapel. She drew those little pictures of herself with Jesus, the ones that the nuns liked. We used to tease her about it, did we not? It was all very droll. But now, she is married and very respectably too...”

Miss Ainsley gasped. She could not believe, after all of her efforts, that her ward was unattached, whilst Miss Margaret O’Reilly, with her unfortunate disposition, should be married. The thought caused her to shiver and she fanned herself, for she felt a little faint.

Annie continued. “Well, we spoke about the...”

“Shall we follow the trunks upstairs?” Bonnie questioned. She took her arm from Annie’s and glanced towards the staircase, hoping to arouse them from their incessant talking by engaging them in any other activity that she could think of.

“Have you not packed?”

Miss Ainsley exhaled, her nostrils flaring in her indignance. “Do not speak of packing. I told her this morning and every morning past that she should do so, but she does not listen.”

“No, I have not yet packed,” Bonnie told them, grateful that she had not. She could now excuse herself from their presence on the account of being occupied. “I shall do it now, I think.”

“And what of tea?” Annie inquired, unsettled that they were to miss it.

Her hostess, on the contrary, did not care much for the idea and was pleased that she did not have to join them. “You may go without me. We shall spend five weeks together; is that not enough time to tell me all about Margaret O’Reilly and her unlikely match?”

“It is Mrs Wilson now.”

“How lovely.” Bonnie started towards the stairs. “We can speak of it later. I really must start packing.”

Annie stared after her, disturbed that she would not join them, yet this feeling seemed to pass, and she grinned, taking hold of Miss Ainsley’s arm instead.

“Yes, well, I shall come review your progress once we are finished. I would like to see what you have packed, since there are some new fashions that I am hoping to try. You simply must try them too. It is preposterous that I should be experimenting whilst travelling abroad; one should strive to make a good first impression, but...”

Bonnie did not glance behind her as she hurried up the stairs. She was unused to dashing anywhere and called out, a little breathless- “Certainly, I shall try them.”

Annie could not say anything more, as Bonnie had reached the landing and disappeared from view. She stared at the place she had vanished, astonished to find her friend so altered. This sentiment appeared to be visible, for Miss Ainsley leant towards her, whispering ferociously.

“She has not been the same for a long while. Not since... Well, I am sure you know.” She nodded gravely, believing that the young woman would understand the meaning behind it. “I hardly know what to do with her. Before, it was easy to please her. She always spoke as you do, about fashion, societal accomplishment, or those girls you used to know of, but she has no interest anymore. She is quite altered, as I am sure you have noticed. I think she has no interest in anything, aside from...” She hesitated, as if she were unsure whether to tell her. “Well, I simply must tell you about Miss Davers. She is marvellous! But she is also rather odd... Very odd, indeed.”

They walked together to the drawing room, Annie glancing behind her to look once more at the stairs. The thought of Bonnie troubled her and she turned back to Miss Ainsley, hoping to alleviate her of any worry that she may have.

“She has certainly changed, Miss Ainsley; I can say that much. Her temperament is rather dismal, but I think it shall please her to travel somewhere, to meet society beyond, well, whatever is here... She needs excitement, does she not? I am sure a little flirtation will set her right and I am determined to find her some beau whilst she is there. Yes, I am certain what she needs is to be in love. That shall bring a little spirit back into her life. You shall aid me in this endeavour, Miss Ainsley, for you know better than I who is worth a marriage. We must think upon a person who will suit Bonnie. You know, she once told me she liked those with fair hair! She said anyone with fair hair, who may be handsome, well-dressed, and who matches her in intellect. It shall be difficult, but we shall find this man and have them fall wildly in love. I am sure such a person exists in this world. In fact, I know it.”

Miss Ainsley was thrilled with the idea. This was the sort of design she had hoped for when living with her ward. “You may be correct, Annie. I think such a person does exist. We merely have to know where to look.”

With that, the two women, quite conspiratorially, went to tea.

“And I said to him- are you my father? For who else should speak to me in such a manner? Impudence shall take you nowhere, I told him. Oh, how awful he was and his wife too. I shall not be returning to the Kingsburys any time soon, though the Selbys were more than agreeable. I think they are willing to receive me in the future. How much you miss when you are not in town; you shall chastise yourself! But what an ordeal in making connections! I have always been torn one way or the other when it comes to acquaintances. You can never tell who is vulgar till it is too late, but I am invited to parties, at least. I cannot breathe for so many invitations.” Annie paused to toss back her hair. “I suppose that is the burden of being well-favoured among the people.”

Rummaging through the portmanteau, she noticed a set of watercolours and paintbrushes, which had been stacked atop a newly-purchased sketchbook. The sight concerned her. They shared a common interest in painting, though she believed Bonnie liked it a little too much, and would refuse to come away from the easel when, preferably, she should be entertaining society. She peered over her shoulder.

“Are you to take many books?” she questioned.

If they were to read together, that would encourage Bonnie to speak, as she often liked to narrate stories. It was an option more favourable to Annie than watching her paint in silence. This question, however, did not have an effect on her friend, who stared vacantly at her dresses, the selection having been lain on her bed by the maid. Listlessly, she raised her head, staring forlornly at the half-packed portmanteau.

“Yes, I was kindly lent some books by Miss Davers.” The thought appeared to revive her, the edge of her lips twitching upward. “She thought I may find them interesting. They are all from her personal library.”

The last sentence was emphasised, as though this was of particular importance. What significance this had, Annie did not know, but she was aware of their friendship, Miss Ainsley having mentioned it at tea. Bonnie, however, was ignorant to the conversation that had passed between them and, unaccustomed to her enthusiasm, Annie decided to broach the subject.

“Miss Davers? Is she your neighbour?”

“Yes!” she exclaimed, her mood visibly lifting. “She abides at Haynes Park. I am sure Miss Ainsley has said something of it, since she is an admirer of the family and the estate. We met them after the accident, the one that was mentioned in the letters we sent. Lady Davers was kind enough to offer her assistance and Miss Penny was certainly agreeable in ensuring that all was seen to. She said I must come again once the eldest Miss Davers had arrived from Paris, so I did.” Heedless to her own actions, she chose a few dresses and set them aside, certain, all at once, of what she wished to wear. This was resolved quicker than any decision she had made thus far, as if speaking of her neighbour removed her of any doubt. “Oh, Annie, you must meet her! How you will adore her. Everyone does, you know!”

This was contrary to popular belief, as Annie had heard it, though she did not correct her.

“She is wiser than anyone I know,” Bonnie continued, happily. “So astute, and refined, and engaging. She is unlike anyone else. She knows so much more, that is why. She has experienced more. You would hardly believe all that she has accomplished! She has been all across Europe and wishes to go as far as Asia. Did you know she is to go to Moscow next? She even speaks of America. Nobody else we know has done so much, not even any of your friends.” Bonnie paused to chuckle, highly amused that she should know someone more accomplished than anyone who could be found in London, though Annie would contend otherwise. “I am quite at leisure to read what she suggests. Surely, if anyone were to know, it would be Miss Davers.”

She fell silent; yet, a minute later, her lips parted to continue her praise. Annie perceived it and interjected.

“She must be a good friend to have.”

“I would like to think so,” Bonnie said, conceitedly.

Annie did not wish to hear any more of it, having spoken to Miss Ainsley on the subject. The custodian had talked incessantly of Miss Davers, long enough that she wished to hear the end of her, even from Bonnie, who was, to Annie’s astonishment, enlivened by the discussion.

“Well, it is nice to hear you have a friend here,” she uttered, determined to alter the discussion to her tastes. Noting the dresses that had been assembled for packing, she strutted towards the bed to inspect them. “Are these the dresses you are taking? And what of your bonnets? I assume you have some ribbons to take, as I do not think all of your bonnets match.”

She talked a little longer on the arrangement of Bonnie’s attire, though she noticed that her friend was silent. The young woman was sitting with the ribbons in her hand, running her fingers absentmindedly along the silk. If she would not speak, Annie would not either and she distracted herself by scrutinising the quality of the dresses and skirts that were on display. A moment later, however, a thought struck her, the remembrance so sudden that it startled her, and she exclaimed aloud. Bonnie glanced up, bewildered by the noise.

“Some of my acquaintances in London have spoken of a Miss Davers,” Annie mentioned. “I am astonished that I did not recall their opinion. She is quite well-known there. Within certain circles, of course. Bedford is not too far for her to travel, so it is no surprise that she is acquainted with some of the more respectable families in town.”

Intrigued, Bonnie’s eyes widened. “Really? What did they say?”

It was not often that Annie questioned whether she should say anything at all, as she did not care if she displeased others. Nevertheless, she hesitated. Pretending to inspect a lace collar, she did not answer, though Bonnie continued to stare ardently at her and Annie knew she must share what she had heard. The information may be displeasing to her friend, but if it were true, she wished to prevent her from coming to any harm.

“They say she is odd...” Annie paused, visibly yearning to say more on the matter. She decided, if she were to proceed, she must do so with the utmost prudence. “Well, we know that being odd is no crime, though it may be amusing.” She saw the terrible expression on Bonnie’s countenance and added: “Though not I, for I know better than to laugh at others’ misfortunes, particularly when it is their disposition that is unfortunate and that, in itself, cannot be so readily changed. They... Well, they... They say that she is involved in a manner of odd things.”

“I know of her interest in science, if that is what you mean,” Bonnie dismissed, haughtily.

Annie almost wished she had never mentioned it, though she was not one to regret the discussion of someone else’s faults. “That is not what I meant. I was referring to her other interests.”

“Please enlighten me.”

Bonne’s voice was low and she raised her brow, the softness of tone no longer gentle but admonitory. She removed her attention from the ribbons and onto Annie, who could not abide her scrutinization.

“I am not entirely sure. All they say is that she cannot be trusted...” She considered the matter further. “They say she should not be allowed around other women. I think, perhaps, she is unkind to people.”

“She has always been kind to me,” Bonnie protested.

“Well, that is what people say.”

Annie’s voice lowered, falling in a sulking manner upon the bed. She did not believe it to be her fault that Miss Davers was peculiar; she was merely trying to assist her friend. It was undeserved, in her opinion, to have Bonnie be irked with her. Her legs dangled over the edge, not quite reaching the floor, and she kicked them petulantly back and forth. From Miss Ainsley’s unceasing speech to Bonnie’s wrath, Annie had decided she did not like Miss Davers and was sure to never be friends with her. She did not need the trouble.

Bonnie glanced down at the ribbons in her hand, tugging forcefully at them. “You are surely shrewder than that, to believe the words of people who hardly know her. You cannot trust vague accounts, especially when arguing against other people’s reputation.”

“All I heard is that she should not be around other women,” Annie groaned, loudly. She hung her head back, as she could not fling herself properly upon the bed, it being covered in clothes.

“Has she abused them in any way?” Bonnie questioned.

“I do not believe so.” She raised her head, staring ill-humouredly across at her. “I know several women who are rather fond of her. Perhaps it is because she does like science and that, in itself, is odd. And she is not married, but still travels across the world as if she had all the social licence of a woman who is. It is very peculiar.”

Bonnie pressed her lips together, dropping the ribbons onto the drawer beside her. Exhaling heavily, she slouched in her chair.

“I think this is all very rude,” she insisted. “You know I cannot abide gossip.”

“You used to love hearing gossip,” Annie protested, wounded at the insinuation that it was all her doing, as if she had formed this opinion of her own accord and it was not the opinion of many others. Before she could prevent herself, she said- “Besides, I think it is because she looks like a man.”

Bonnie instantly straightened in her chair, her voice rising. “How dare you! She is the most wonderful person I have ever met.” Her cheeks darkened in her displeasure, her fingers curling inward to repress her irritation. “She has been more a friend to me these past few weeks than some have ever been. More so than Catherine or Bridget or Ann. I have not heard from them since my parents’ passing, but I know you have. Such friends! Miss Davers is excellent company; she listens to me and she advises me very well. It is much better advice than I have ever had from the likes of you or Miss Ainsley.” She shuffled back in her chair, staring down at her hands, as if she were finished, though she appeared to change her mind and looked up once more, glaring across at Annie. Her voice lowered, its animosity not lost in doing so. “You shall see for yourself at the gathering, although you do not deserve to meet her if that is the way you are going to behave. You have the chance to meet someone who is extremely interesting, and kind, and who is, above all, a gentlewoman. If you wanted to advance your social position, you should know that to be acquainted with the Davers is an honour. Sadly, you have squandered the opportunity. All you shall receive from your hasty disregard is a missed opportunity to better yourself and your social circle. Well, that is all your own fault! I hope you are happy, Annie!”

She crossed her arms and stared at the window, which was situated on the other side of the room. Her lips had pursed together, as if she were trying to prevent herself from weeping, her chest heaving from the impassioned outburst. Annie stared at her, bewildered into silence. She had not expected such an acrimonious reaction, though she questioned whether she had been hasty. Bonnie did not care much for anyone, not since the passing of her parents, and this sudden interest in a friend may, perhaps, speak to the lady’s character. However, Annie could not distinguish the reputation of Miss Davers from public opinion, not even for a friend, and she supposed that they must be correct, for there were more of them than there was of Bonnie.

Not wishing to upset her any further, she simply said- “I shall have to take your word for it.”

Bonnie did not respond, but continued to stare out of the window. She was adamant that she should not move nor say anything and, as she was used to disregarding another’s presence, having employed this practice daily with Miss Ainsley, she did well at it. Every so often, she would blink rapidly, as though she were trying to dispel any tears that arose. However, Annie found her reserve tiresome, for she did not care to remain quiet for long. She decided to return to a subject that she knew Bonnie preferred, even if she, personally, could not abide it.

“Are you taking your paints?” she inquired, as politely as she could manage. “You know how I like to see your work. Very beautiful landscapes, I must say. I thought I may ask you to do a portrait of me, somewhere by the water. It would certainly make others envious; your skill and my striking presence... They may consider it one of the greats, if we are not careful.”

“Yes, I will be taking my paints.”

Nothing more was said on the subject and Annie resigned herself to silence. Sighing loudly, she collapsed onto the bed, crumpling the clothes beneath her, though she no longer cared. As to Bonnie, she thought there was nothing in Scotland that could possibly interest her; she had all the inspiration she needed in Bedford. She had discovered her muse and she feared, if she were to leave now, it would escape her. The thought pained her and she wished she had never agreed to leave at all. It had been a mistake; yet, it was one that she felt she could not escape from and so, she said nothing. She simply resigned herself to the situation.

Chapter Notations

19. Sinfonia Concertante in B Flat Major, Haydn (1792). https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=GP2Xy10ii3o

Chapter Text

The invitations had been accepted, much to Bonnie’s delight, yet more so to Annie and Miss Ainsley, for the first wished to have company beyond Colworth House and, as to the latter, she believed this was a much-deserved step towards social betterment, an aspiration of hers that she had almost abandoned on account of Bonnie not wishing to speak to anyone. Nevertheless, despite the lady’s reservation, the five families were received, quite fervently, into the manor.

They settled themselves within the drawing room, though Bonnie, quite unknowingly, positioned herself by the window, where she awaited a glimpse of the Davers carriage. They were the last to arrive, despite being the closest estate, and they were much anticipated among the guests. Bonnie did not know what to say in the meantime, hoping that her custodian would be of help, but Miss Ainsley was not with her; she had abandoned her in favour of the Haringtons- they inquiring into her work at the school, and Annie was flitting between them all, boasting loudly of her time in London and the friends that she had there. The Mounts, in particular, were charmed by Miss Quinton and they spoke avidly on their jaunts to the city. Without either of them, Bonnie did not know how to conduct herself and merely continued to speak to whoever was with her. Mr Leong, the younger, had taken a particular liking to her and was much interested in her choice of violin pieces. He insisted that she play for them all, though, as he spoke, she caught a glimpse of movement through the glass.

It appeared that the Davers had arrived, a speck of light seen through the window. Seemingly, it was the footman, stepping outside to greet them with a lantern as their carriage came to a halt upon the driveway. Elated, Bonnie excused herself in the midst of Mr Leong’s insistence that she play, and drifted towards the door, stopt several times by guests who wished to speak with her. She conversed briefly with each, excusing herself, rather hastily, the closer she came to the door. Despite her best efforts, she was speaking to the elder Mrs McLaren when it opened behind her.
It was impossible to turn, as her guest was exclaiming on the extent that she had to crane her neck, in order to speak with Bonnie. She was taller than expected. Nodding in response, Bonnie took the opportunity to glance over her shoulder, noting that the sisters had entered the room, though not their mother. Impatiently, she turned back to Mrs McLaren, who was squinting at her through her spectacles.

“It must be that Irish air,” she was saying. “I do not know how girls can be so tall. Back in my day, we never saw such a thing, not unless we paid to see a show.”

“Please, excuse me, Mrs McLaren, but the Davers are here.” She curtseyed, hoping to convey her remorse in leaving her. “It would be impudent of me to ignore them.”

“Of course, my dear,” muttered the old woman, taking her hand affectionately within her own and patting it. “I understand. Miss Davers is rather tall herself, you know; you must have that in common. I cannot say the same for the little one. She never reached the height that we expected of her. You see, their mother is tall. It was more noticeable before. Such a shame that she struggles with her walking nowadays! Lady Davers has always been imposing in stature, though her nature...”

“That is wonderful, mother.” Mr McLaren took her hand from Bonnie’s, grimacing apologetically in her direction. “Remember, the Misses Davers are here. We shall speak to Miss Donoghue later; I am sure she is eager to hear all you have to say.”

Bonnie smiled in gratitude, bowing her head. “I await it with anticipation.”

In truth, she did, as she wished to know all she could on the Davers family. They rarely spoke beyond their current interests, a circumstance that forced her to concede Miss Ainsley had been correct- they were an exceedingly private family. She would do all she could to be intimate with them, though she often wondered whether this sentiment was reciprocated, particularly in regards to the eldest.

Headed towards them, she caught Yvonne’s eye, who smiled upon seeing her. The eldest Miss Davers bowed as she came closer, which induced the youngest, in turn, to lower into a curtsey. Bonnie returned the gesture, inquiring into the whereabouts of their mother; she had also received an invitation. They informed her that the baroness could not attend on account of her sore legs, a justification that was partly true. In actuality, she had never intended to show, regardless of health, a fact that was not mentioned by the two sisters.

Bonnie was troubled to hear the baroness unwell, insisting that they recant this message to her. They assured her they would. Appeased, Bonnie entreated them to meet Miss Quinton, who had travelled from London to join them. To this, Penny exclaimed in delight, stating that she would gladly do so, though the eldest appeared less willing.

Leading them across the room, Bonnie observed her friend on the opposite side and pointed in her direction, so that they may identify her from afar, though it was not difficult to perceive who she was; the sisters knew the other guests already. What’s more, Miss Quinton was adorned in artic blue- a sharp hue that no other person had the confidence to wear- with a particular arrangement at the front of her dress that made it appear as if she were wearing a necktie. It was a peculiar fashion that she insisted was quite contemporary and the other guests had marvelled at it. Nobody in the room was dressed as extravagantly as she was, a singularity that was quite conspicuous.

Upon viewing her, Penny remarked- “I did not think there could be anyone smaller than me. My, look how tiny she is!”

Yvonne thought Bonnie had heard the thoughtless witticism and so, she laughed, solely from uneasiness. Yet, when she heeded that the remark had remained unnoticed, she struck her sister, quite sharply, with her elbow.

“Ouch, Yvonne!” Penny hissed.

The eldest glanced at her, warningly, their impending altercation disrupted solely by their reaching Miss Quinton. Staring down at her, Yvonne discovered that the young woman returned the look, though it was better defined as a glare. Astonished, she questioned which reputation had exceeded her this time. It did not seem to be favourable, in any case. She bowed, nonetheless, when introduced, desirous to please any friend of her neighbour’s.

Annie, however, was displeased, peering across at Bonnie, whose brows raised, expectantly. Sighing, she lowered into a curtsey, knowing she ought to be courteous to the Davers family. This was furthered by the notion that she would be spending four weeks with Bonnie, besides the week she had spent at her home, and she did not wish to quarrel with her when they had disagreed already. She returned to her standing position with a smile.

“Miss Davers...” She glanced at the girl beside her. “And Miss Davers. How wonderful to meet you both. I have heard so much about you from Miss Donoghue and Miss Ainsley. Remarkable that you have a house full of admirers already! I hardly know how you do it. You must tell me how you manage to become such a favourite among the women here.”

Her devious remark was not misunderstood by anyone, and she noticed, to the side, that Bonnie was staring crossly at her. Despite the discomfort, Annie could not help but be pleased with herself. She had certainly said all she needed to.

“I think it is time for games,” Bonnie declared sharply, ushering the two away.

They did not appear regretful in leaving and followed her, quite happily, from Miss Quinton, who smiled widely at them both. As Penny turned to leave, however, she felt the urge to respond with a quip of her own.

“Perhaps we shall play Goose,” she suggested, glancing at the young woman. “Miss Quinton can roll first, as she seems to be one herself. A saddle-goose (20), that is.”

Upon hearing the remark, Yvonne peered over her shoulder, her brow rising in Penny’s direction. From the way her lips twitched, it was apparent that she was amused and she did not reproach her, for she clearly held a similar opinion. With that, they continued towards the fireplace, where Bonnie was instructing the servants to set the tables.

Observing their departure, Annie remained where she was, incensed that her friend could not understand the company she kept. She was inviting a great deal of trouble into her life, though, if that were the case, she would leave her be. If Bonnie wished to sully her reputation, she was at liberty to do so, but Annie did not want any part in it.

Her resolution satisfied her and she raised her head, prissily, a vexed humph emitting as she did. Joining the others, she ensured that there was no indication as to what had passed. She could not bear for anyone to know who she associated herself with; it would be an embarrassment to her.

After being split into small groups, Bonnie instructed that they were to play a game where one must write the beginning of a story, the other the middle, and the last group, the end. They would then pick the papers at random to create a new story. Everyone seemed happy to do so, and they set to task. Once finished, the papers were placed into two gentleman’s hats and Yvonne’s own D’Orsay. She had not wanted anyone to touch it, though Bonnie had asked and she did not wish to grieve her, so she passed it to her, rather reluctantly. The stories were then compiled and read aloud, much to the amusement of the party. Penny could not help convulsing with laughter at the thought of the little dog and his blue ribbon, who became a princess and escaped to be a pirate, though it was later spooked by a ghost and slept with a gun, only to find it was his late wife. It was funny, she insisted- when Yvonne did not laugh- for it was nonsensical.

They were then called to a game- Are you content with your neighbour? (21) The elderly guests did not play, for they could not move as fast as the game required, but the rest sat down in the circle. Bonnie was called to play first, as she was the hostess, and, unknowing of who to pick, chose Yvonne, who wrestled Penny quite militantly from the chair. If they were not among friends, Penny would have kicked her but, as it were, they were among polite society, so she allowed herself to be flung to the floor, where she sat, for a moment, with her arms crossed. Amidst their struggle, Bonnie had seated herself in Yvonne’s old chair, as neither had thought to include her in the brawl.

Now, it was Penny’s turn to choose. She avoided her sister, though she often glanced in her direction once she was seated, deciding that, when the moment came, she would win the chair against her. Yet, the game came to an end before either could engage in another altercation, perhaps a deliberate choice on Bonnie’s part, as she saw the way they were staring at each other.

Once the game was completed, they split into two and sat at the tables. One played whist; the other, backgammon. Annie was sat on the latter table with the Mounts and the Leongs, a sight that provoked Yvonne, as she did not want to sit where she could see any of them. The Leongs’ sole defect was that they were related to the Mount family, though it was a transgression that Yvonne could not forgive. This was not a violation they could rescind, however, which meant that they were perpetually on bad terms, in Yvonne’s mind at least, though the Leongs themselves were rather fond of the Davers family.

The games started well, but after two rounds, Bonnie began to worry that Miss Davers was no longer interested in the game, despite there being no evidence that this was the case. Her leg jittered under the table, though that was merely an unconscious habit of hers. Occasionally, she raised her gaze to Penny, who was quite incapable of deceiving anyone and, as a result, had lost each round. Her defeat was accepted with such good humour that it was clear she had not inherited the competitive instincts of the rest of her family. To the contrary, Yvonne wished to succeed and did win one round, losing the second to Mr Harington, a defeat she accepted, solely because she liked the Haringtons and did not wish to upset them.

Bonnie mistook her annoyance at having lost as disdain for the gathering as a whole. Worse, she felt the presence of Mr Leong, who had left the table opposite and had come to stand behind her with his sister, as they wished to watch the game. His visible interest in all that she did perturbed her and she turned to Yvonne, sighing lightly to catch her attention.

“Do you think we should occupy ourselves elsewhere?”

Yvonne raised a brow. She had been watching Mrs Spencer as she shuffled the cards, intent on winning this particular round, and had not considered there was anything else to do.

“Do you wish to play something else?”

“I am not sure what there is to do,” Bonnie admitted. Glancing around, she was determined to think of something, when she caught sight of the pianoforte. She turned promptly to the woman beside her and took hold of her arm. “You must play, Miss Davers.” Noting her alarm, she added- “Or if you wish to sing...”

Mrs McLaren, the younger, laughed. “I wish you all the best in encouraging Miss Davers to sing. She is quite resistant to showing any of her musical talent. I have not heard her since she was young.”

Mrs McLaren, the elder, raised her head, peering at them from over her spectacles.

“Is there to be music?” she cried. “Oh, how marvellous! I shall enjoy hearing the pianoforte; ours hardly gets used at home.”

Her daughter-in-law leant towards her. “We are encouraging Yvonne to sing, mother.”

This notion seemed to cheer the old woman considerably. “Yes, yes, you must!”

“I think everyone would like to hear someone more refined than I,” Yvonne insisted, visibly pained by the suggestion.

“Nonsense.” The elder Mrs McLaren frowned. “All of your family have been gifted with beautiful voices. It would be a waste not to use it to your advantage.”

There was a general murmur of agreement. Knowing that she was unsuccessful in dissuading them, Yvonne turned to Bonnie.

“I cannot play well, Miss Donoghue,” she reiterated. “I never had the skill nor the patience for the pianoforte, but I can play the flute. If I had known you wished to hear music, I would have brought it with me, as well as my book (22). Besides, I have not sung in years. I am rather out of practice.”

“My apologies, Miss Davers. I did not think of it.” Bonnie could not bear the thought that she would miss a performance by her neighbour, and said- “I have the pianoforte, the violin, the sitar, and a sarod; they are the only instruments I practice regularly. I can play, Miss Davers, if you tell me which piece you wish to sing. I am sure your voice is strong enough, despite your lack of practice."

“Nothing would content me more than to hear you and you alone, Miss Donoghue.”

Perceiving that Bonnie was adamant to hear her play, Yvonne glanced at Penny, hoping that she would come forward and present herself as an option, though the girl was staring down at the table, as if she did not wish to intervene in this particular debate. She turned back to Miss Donoghue, who saw her unease.

Leaning towards her, Bonnie whispered: “I am not so good, myself. We shall both be made fools of but we shall do it together."

Yvonne did not want to sing, though she smiled, unwittingly, as her neighbour leant closer. In doing so, it appeared as if she consented and Bonnie’s smile grew wider. Discerning what she had done, Yvonne opened her mouth, as if to protest, but she did not wish to disappoint her hostess, particularly when she believed it was to happen, and so, she relented.

“Then I suppose there is nobody that I would rather be made a fool with.”

Grinning, Bonnie took hold of her wrist and hauled her to her feet, an action that caused Yvonne to exclaim in surprise. The room sensed that they were to receive a performance, from Miss Davers no less, and there was a general bustle as they arranged the seats to watch them. Bonnie sat upon the stool, questioning which song she should like to perform. Flicking through the various sheets of music, Yvonne passed her the one that she desired the most.

“Silent Worship (23),” she mentioned, as Bonnie examined the piece.

The commotion in the room had come to a halt, as all were seated and staring expectantly at the two. Yvonne peered at Penny, who grimaced in apology, her hands rising as if to indicate there was nothing to be done. Displeased, Yvonne returned her attention to Bonnie, who motioned that she was ready to play. Nodding, she inhaled slowly.

Hearing the soft tune of the pianoforte, operated under the equally soft touch of Miss Donoghue, she began to sing. Yvonne did not wish to look at the audience nor did she wish to see the expression upon her neighbour’s face, so she stared at the sheet of music, as if she were reading the words. Her unease simply appeared to be uncertainty at not being familiar with the song, though she knew it well, and this disguise seemed so well-applied that it eased her slightly. Luckily, the song did not last long and within two minutes, it had come to its completion.

She fell silent, relieved that the ordeal was over, and observed Penny clapping with great enthusiasm, joined shortly by the other guests as they realised that it had come to its end. Smirking, despite herself, she was pleased to receive praise in any form and glanced across at her neighbour, who was beaming up at her. Yvonne bowed her head in gratitude, to which she reciprocated the gesture.

She leant forward slightly, so Miss Donoghue may hear her above the applause. “Please, Miss Donoghue, I think it would be appropriate for you to gift us with a piece of your own. It would far exceed anything I could do.”

Bonnie pinkened, though she did not seem adverse to the idea.

“If you wish, Miss Davers.”

“Most ardently.”

As Yvonne searched for an empty seat, Bonnie readied herself by thinking upon the piece she wished to play. It was her first time playing for anyone in the room, besides Miss Ainsley and Miss Quinton, and she thought it necessary to make a good first impression. Most importantly, she aspired to impress the eldest Miss Davers, one piece coming to mind as she thought of her.

Lowering her hands to the keys, she began to play, evident, from the first refrain, that it was Schumann’s Concerto in A Minor, Opus 7. More specifically, it was the second movement- Romanze (24), a piece that suited Miss Donoghue, for it had the same gentility and quietude as she did.

As she played, it was indisputable that she had not been entirely truthful, for Bonnie was an excellent pianist, and could never be made a fool of, not when it came to music. Yvonne perceived this with astonishment, though she was unsure as to why she was so startled; she expected nothing less from her neighbour. On the front row, Miss Ainsley was silently weeping, dabbing her eyes with her handkerchief as she watched the lady perform. The governess believed, despite the young woman’s faults, that all could be forgiven for such a talent, and thought no other woman in the room could be as genteel nor as accomplished, not when it came to music and, in this instance, she was correct.

Coming to a finish, the room was silent, too amazed, at first, to respond, though they soon applauded. Miss Ainsley was heard above them all, thrilled to see that Bonnie was where she ought to be- at the pianoforte and, best of all, in front of an audience, where she was the admiration of the entire room. As to Annie, she could not deny her talent, in spite of their disagreement, and applauded with the rest, elated to see, if only for a moment, that familiar spirit which had once resided in Bonnie; that being, a trace of certitude.

Bonnie bowed her head in gratitude, glimpsing Yvonne among the audience. Her neighbour smiled at her and she could not help but grin in response. Standing, she insisted someone else try, though nobody wished to follow, they protesting that she play one more piece. She excused herself on account of tiredness, unwilling to perform another.

Perceiving Penny among them, she urged her to play, but the girl was now bashful, having seen someone else perform, and protested as well as she could. This endeavour was unsuccessful and she was ushered to the pianoforte. Penny motioned for her sister to assist her, but Yvonne simply grimaced, her expression similar to that of Penny’s when she had refused to accompany her. Infuriated that she was to receive no support, she sat down at the instrument and began to play a favourite of hers- O Waly Waly (25), much to the delight of the audience, who also liked the song. The piece began hesitantly, though Penny was not one to be timid for long and soon returned to her usual theatrics, her loud voice resonating across the room.

Bonnie sat in the empty chair beside Yvonne and leant towards her.

“I hope you are feeling better, Miss Davers,” she whispered. “You have seen how I could do no better than you.”

Yvonne almost scoffed in her incredulity. “I can assure you, Miss Donoghue, you have simply made me look more the fool. I could never match your talent. You are certainly the favourite of the night.”

“Oh no!” Bonnie insisted, sincerely. “I do not believe that to be true. We are quite well-matched. I must admit that I enjoyed our duet and would happily partake in another, if you wished it. Perhaps you may bring your flute.”

Yvonne, who did not care for the flute either, nodded. “Yes, perhaps. Whenever you wish it, we shall play again but, as I said earlier, I would be happier to hear you alone.”

“Let us compromise.” Bonnie sensed her reluctance, determined to lure her into an agreement. “You play for me once and I shall play for you as much as you like.”

She was silent for a moment. “I accept."

Bonnie leant back, smiling conceitedly at her. “Then it is all agreed. You cannot withdraw now.”

“I would not dream of it,” Yvonne muttered, her head tilting towards her, an attempt to remain quiet whilst Penny sang.

This was a wasted endeavour, however, for she would not be heard either way above the deafening voice of her sister. Regardless, their expressions revealed that they were contented with each other, both sitting back in their chair to watch Penny as she played. As the girl sang, Bonnie felt her gaze return to the woman beside her, who did not appear to notice her staring. Observing her, Bonnie admitted that it had been the correct decision to appeal to the Davers, for the night had been a success and was favourable in more ways than one. She felt secure in the knowledge that she had the consideration of Miss Davers; they were becoming fast friends and that, in itself, was more than she had hoped for. Bonnie hardly knew what she would do without her.

Chapter Notations

20. Saddlegoose= a fool.

21. Are you content with your neighbour? (a.k.a. do you love your neighbour) is an old game that is very similar to musical chairs but without the music. Instead of playing a tune to indicate starting and stopping, people would pick someone, asking the question about the neighbour. If the person answers yes, the people on either side of them has to quickly interchange seats, including the person in the middle. Whoever doesn't manage to find a chair between them is the next person to pick. If the person answers no, they can then pick who has to fight for a chair, f.e. "I love everyone with brown hair" and everyone with that feature has to get up and find a new chair. I discovered this game in No Priest But Love (Anne Lister's published diaries by Helena Whitbread).

22. Acquiring sheet music during the Regency Era was expensive, and was often published in bound volumes. If one did not want to purchase the whole volume, they could lend the sheet music from the library where they could copy it into their own music books.

23. Silent Worship (a.k.a. Did You Not Hear My Lady?), an English adaptation by Arthur Somervell of Handel's (1728) 'Non lo dirò col labbro', an aria within the opera Tolomeo. I thought the lyrics suited Yvonne. https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=XqwwNBJoKsk

24. This piece was conducted by Clara Schumann (1835), a little after this is set, but the Regency Era was hardly known for romantic music- that came much later. So I fudged the dates. https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=3BL_6s_rtYI

25. O Waly Waly (a.k.a. The Water is Wide) is a Scottish Folk song. https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=N8vAWGK5C24

Chapter Text

Yvonne was recording the details of Miss Donoghue’s gathering when she perceived a knock at the door. Calling for them to enter, she raised her head, peering over her spectacles to view Mrs Prescott at the door.

“Ma’am, there is a Mister Dunce here to see you. Miss Penny has called for you to come to the lower study.”

“Which one?” she inquired, closing the journal.

“I did not see him, but I believe it to be the younger.”

“Hm.”

Yvonne removed her spectacles, leaving them atop the leather-bound book. She had not received any notice that he was to come, though Penny had allowed him entry- she could not refuse him now. If he had remained in the drawing room, she would have told him to wait till another day.

“Thank you, Teresa. I shall be there shortly.”

Mrs Prescott bowed her head, closing the door behind her as she left. Exhaling heavily, Yvonne stood, tucking her shirt hastily into her pantaloons as she walked to the door. She refused to leave until she was satisfied with her presentation, though that did not take long. Wandering downstairs, she observed a tendril had fallen across her brow, tossing her hair back with a flick of her head. Confirming that it had returned to its expected position, she ran her hands through her hair, brushing it backward, before reaching the bottom step and turning in the direction of the study.

Staring at the wall, Penny stifled a yawn, not wishing to be impolite. Nonetheless, she found it difficult and turned to look at the clock upon the mantelpiece. It had only been a few minutes since she had sent Mrs Prescott in pursuit of Yvonne and yet, to her, it was an eternity. Where her sister was, she did not know and she briefly wondered if she would leave her there, a punishment for allowing Mr Dunce entry. Still, Penny did not think she could be punished any further than this, for this was surely torment.

Kenneth Dunce stood in the centre of the room, leaning self-assuredly on his cane. He did not look much like his brother, though the arrogance was familiar. With his thick, black hair and athletic figure, many mistook him for someone other than a Dunce, but then he would smirk, his tone derisive as he spoke, and it appeared that he was one, after all. Whilst they awaited the eldest Miss Davers, he had taken to recounting the gathering he had attended the previous week. This may have been to counteract the one that had been held at Colworth House, as the news had spread rather quickly that the newest neighbour was to have a party, and only a select few were invited (26).

“Whoever cares about gatherings of that sort?” he scoffed. “Why, we attended dinner last week at the Eddingtons and it was duller than even I had imagined. They were fortunate that I attended, as I was the only one there of note. I arrived in my new curricle, did you know? It is faster than yours, I believe, though I am sure your sister would contend otherwise.... You know, if I were to host, which I rarely do, I would invite only a select few myself. There is hardly anyone in town worth inviting and I have a reputation to upkeep.” He looked directly at Penny, who was startled by his sudden attention and stared wildly about her, as if she could not comprehend why he was speaking to her. “Everyone in Bedford knows my parties are the most extravagant. We rely on a little more than silly games and some simple pieces of music. We would not accept anything less than a quartet!”

He continued to speak; as to what, Penny did not know. She was no longer listening. Slightly curious, she heeded him, realising that he was speaking on the most appropriate way to fashion his hair, and she soon returned to indifference. Seconds later, she perceived quickened footsteps on the carpet and she sprung to her feet, disrupting him in the midst of his talking.

“She is here!” she cried, excitedly.

The door opened and Yvonne entered, her brow rising at the scene before her. Penny rushed to her, grasping her arm in gratitude before dashing out of the room. Yvonne did not know what to make of it, assuming that he had tired her into insanity. It was understandable, then, that she was quite desperate to leave and she did not think to admonish her.

Opposite, Kenneth bowed. “Miss Davers.”

“Mister Dunce,” she acknowledged. “What is it that you came here for?”

He was visibly surprised by her candour, straightening to his full height upon noticing that she was taller than him. He had not seen her since he was a child, being considerably younger than she. Not believing it necessary to conduct business directly with the family, he had always had an intermediary do it for him, hence his never having seen her when delegating their deals with the farms. Now they were face-to-face, however, he discovered that he was quite daunted by the sight of her.

Flashing a crooked smile, he decided to be candid. “My brother and I heard that you were looking for associates. We would like to be involved in your new venture.”

She stared at him, indifferently.

“And what is your offer?”

“That is quite at your leisure to stipulate, Miss Davers. It is your factory, is it not?”

Perching on the arm of the nearest chair, she folded her arms and exhaled slowly, as if she were considering the matter. Then she glanced up at him.

“Alright. If you want to trade, and I assume you want to buy in quantity, you may have fifty-three pounds for the yarn; that’s per hundred, but if you want to start a little further ahead, you can have the muslin for one-hundred and thirty-five. I do not deal in calico, you see, though I know that is what you usually use (27).”

“One-hundred and thirty-five?” Kenneth cried out. “In pounds? Even you must realise that is too high...”

She did not believe so, telling him as much. “I have the figure from an agent.”

“Your agent is advising you wrong, Miss Davers.”

Yvonne frowned up at him. “That is the local price for the materials, Mister Dunce. That, in itself, cannot be wrong. If you cannot afford it, I suggest you buy the eighteen weft or the forty wrap for ten pounds or for twenty-one. That may be more to your liking, but they are hardly anything compared to the hundred-twist (28). Or you could continue to deal with calico, but that is no match for the muslin that I am importing.” She saw that he was to protest. “Mister Dunce, may I remind you of the profit you make? I shall not name it, for you know what you earn and it would simply shame you, as you are quite aware that you are refusing to pay a price that amounts to nothing, particularly in comparison to the profit you make.”

“Well, I...”

“My prices are the same as what everyone else buys and sells for. I do not believe that to be unreasonable, do you?”

“It is not the same as everyone...” he protested.

“In a sense, no,” she admitted. “The price is higher than what you would pay for in London, but the price matches what you would pay for in Bedfordshire, as we have the monopoly on the design, do we not? Besides, the lesser cost that you have in London equates to the same amount, either way, for you have to pay for its transportation. In that sense, you may have well paid the additional cost here in your own county and have it available to you immediately.

“If we were to trade, my price remains the same and you shall not get it any lower, as you would not anywhere else in the county, so you shall continue to make the same amount of profit, regardless, which I believe to be fair. It will be of no impediment to you and it allows me to make a reasonable profit, along with the other factories currently in production. That way, we are both happy, are we not?”

Kenneth licked his lips, slowly. He attempted a smile, though he was becoming visibly anxious. “Miss Davers... Whoever has informed you seems to have greatly exaggerated our profit, as you seem to think we have money that we do not. This information is unreliable.”

“I know how much you buy your calico for, as I know each trader you deal with. This is public knowledge and, as I also know how much you sell your wares for, I can easily calculate how much you earn per year, with some consideration to wages and factory costs. That is not hearsay, Mister Dunce; that is simple addition. A child could do it. I suggest, if your reports state differently, you ought to dismiss your accountant or start keeping better record of your finances, or else I shall have to have them investigated. If you do not know the detail of your accounts, that would make you either an imbecile or a rogue, and I shall not do business with either.”

Perceiving that he was not to get the better of her, he changed course.

“You have enough money as it is, Miss Davers. You are the wealthiest family in this county, are you not? In being charitable and helping your fellow neighbour, it would mean nothing to you to lower the prices, if only by a fraction. As the owner of the largest factory in the area, I can assist you in ways that others cannot. If you do not agree to conduct business with us, that would be a great mistake on your part. You will come to regret it, inexperienced as you are.”

Yvonne chuckled, unable to repress her amusement. “Mister Dunce, you do own the largest factory in the area and that is why I shall not lower my price. If a smaller owner had wished to lower the price, I would gladly do so, but you, by no means, need nor deserve that consideration. You are also one of the wealthiest families in the area, even if you have earned it through trade, so you do not need a lowering of price. To suggest so is simply insulting. Understand me when I say this...” She stood, towering to her full height. Astonished that she had moved, Kenneth took a step backward, as if he thought she were to strike him, though she was not in a foul temper and continued to smile at him in amusement. “I do not need to rely on you when it comes to trade, for I have a multitude of options. You are but one of many, and you are not the most important, I can assure you. If we do not trade, I shall not lose any sleep on the matter. I was simply trying to be a friendly neighbour, as much as you and your brother supposedly wish to be, and I extended you an offer, which seems to be more consideration than you deserve. If you cannot take me seriously as a fellow tradesman then I wish you good day. I shall take my offer to someone else.”

For a moment, Kenneth was silent. Then he said, reprehensibly- “To discount us would be more expensive.”

“I do not think so.” She raised her shoulders, lowering them a second later. “I have already inspected the other factories in the area. I do not believe I need to rely on you at all.”

“I shall take the muslin for one-hundred and that is the only offer we shall make, Miss Davers.”

“Then I shall decline. That is the only price I will agree upon.”

“Surely...” he began, half-laughing in his incredulity.

“I have extended the offer to the other factories,” she cut across, “and you appear to be the first person to find the price unreasonable. Strange, in light of the fact that your profit is considerably higher than theirs.”

Kenneth paused. “I shall have to discuss it with my brother before I can make any type of deal.”

Assured that the conversation was over, she questioned if he had any other business that he wished to attend to.

“No,” he said, abruptly.

“Excellent. Then I may wish you a good day; I have much to do.” Striding across the room, she reached for the door handle and pressed it down, flinging the door open as she did. “Mister Milton will show you the way out.”

Bowing, she gestured to the footman, who had remained outside, awaiting the departure of their guest. It was evident that Kenneth was displeased, the corner of his mouth down-turning as he frowned across at her. If he wished to say anything more, he did not share it and bowed in return. He followed the footman from the room, peering over his shoulder to observe his host, as if believing he may find some hidden sentiment upon her features. Yvonne, however, did not heed him once he had passed her, and closed the door of the study behind him.

From their conversation, it appeared that she must now write to Ingham to inform him that their trading was to commence without the assistance of the Dunce brothers. It was no loss to her, as she had previously alluded to, for she had other men who were willing to trade. The only loss was the time in which it took to write to Ingham, which she did not view to be a great inconvenience. She was simply glad that she did not have to see the brothers on a regular basis; that would have distressed her more than their failing to reach a deal.

Chapter Notations

26. It may seem contradictory that both the Davers and the Dunces are wealthy families and yet, they have nothing to do with each other, but this did happen. This was around the time of the Industrial Revolution and a lot of the old gentry/landed families, such as the Davers, were now faced with other families who had made their money through trade, which basically translates to old money vs new money. Even though these families, like the Dunces, were incredibly wealthy and could sometimes be wealthier than the gentry, the gentry didn't accept them as their social equals, as being involved in certain trades/businesses, as well as your sole income coming from trade and not land or family, was seen as them being of a lower class. This is hinted at also in Gentleman Jack and in Anne Lister's diaries in regards to the Walkers and sometimes the Rawsons, which is why Anne Lister considered the Walkers a lower class family, despite them being much wealthier than her. In simple terms, they were all snobs. So that's why the Davers and the Dunces can be of equal standing in trade and of somewhat equal wealth in a small town, but still not interact with each other. All of the families invited to Bonnie's gathering would have been considered landed families, hence the Dunces not being invited.

27. This is basically a jab at the Dunces. Muslin is deemed a more finer, delicate, and expensive material compared to calico.

28. These are just measurements for how much yarn you can get in one bulk, indicated in the number included in each measurement. Obviously, 100 is the highest number compared to the others, hence why it's more expensive.

Chapter Text

With only one day left before Miss Donoghue was to depart for Scotland, Yvonne was determined to speak with her and had arranged to spend the afternoon at her neighbour’s. This was an arrangement that she did not share with the lady herself, but was a decision that she would disclose once she had arrived at the House.

Upon arrival, she was received by Mr Reeves, who, for the first time, led her upstairs. She was directed to the main bedroom, where the footman indicated the presence of Miss Donoghue. As he turned to leave, Yvonne expressed her gratitude and rapped her knuckles against the door, hearing a call for her to enter.

Miss Donoghue was kneeling on the floor, unmoved, despite the open portmanteau before her, an indication that she had not yet finished her packing. She was staring dejectedly at the folded clothes that were piled within, her shoulders sagging in a clear expression of her lethargic state. It appeared that this endeavour was more effort than she was willing to give, and she had surrendered any further attempt at choosing what she wished to take. At the entrance of her neighbour, however, she visibly cheered and stood, a small handful of ribbons bunched within her grasp.

“Miss Davers!” she exclaimed, smiling. “How wonderful to see you.”

Yvonne gestured to the open trunk. “I did not mean to disturb you...”

“No, it is no trouble,” Bonnie insisted. “Quite a welcome distraction, I admit. I have been deciding all week what to take, but I cannot make up my mind. If I have to think any further on what ribbons to take, I shall be driven senseless.”

“Then I shall endeavour never to mention it,” Yvonne declared, determinedly. “Not that I would know the latest fashions or which colour goes with what. I must admit, women’s dress confounds me.”

Bonnie’s gaze wandered over the clothes of the woman before her.

“You are more fashionable than you know, Miss Davers. It does not have to be feminine to be tasteful. I would say, in fact, that your taste and eye for colour is quite impressive. You are always one of the most well-dressed people in the room. You are not, as they say...” Bonnie waved the ribbons in a circular motion, causing them to flutter trimly in the air. “...Frivolous.” Not wishing to be reminded of her failed attempt at packing, she tossed them towards the trunk, though they fell indiscriminately upon the carpet. Seemingly, she did not notice, or she simply did not mind, for she did not move to place them properly into the portmanteau. Her attention was taken on other matters. “It is too lovely a day to be sitting inside. Shall we sit by the window for some air?”

Yvonne consented, allowing herself to be led to the other side of the room. The flattery she had received was, admittedly, not one she was used to. She was used to praise when it came to her intellect, even to her peculiar interests, but not even her past companions had been forthcoming in adulation when it came to her appearance. It was treated cautiously by most, and she knew that people noticed her often, not because she was perceived as a great beauty, but because they mistook her for a man, particularly with her short hair and low voice. This was, perhaps, one of the sole times in her life that another person had taken favourably to her appearance, and this had caused Yvonne to fall silent, even in her pleasure, for she was not certain of how to respond.

Passing the bed, she observed the set of watercolours and halted to inspect them, as if she were to happen upon a collection of paintings nearby. She was an admirer of art, though she did not fully understand it. Yvonne merely liked to observe any piece that was pleasing to the eye, assuming that Miss Donoghue was surely as skilled an artist as she was a musician.

“You are a great artist, Miss Donoghue?” she inquired.

Bonnie paused. “Yes... Well... I am not a great artist, no, but I can paint a certain likeness. There is a skill in that.”

“I am sure you are very skilled.” When she was not offered to view a painting, Yvonne thought to ask. “May I see your work? I am sure it is wonderful.”

“I do not think it will excite you.” Bonnie laughed, though she did not seem to be amused, and she glanced down at her clasped hands. “They are not the same quality as those within the profession.”

Yvonne, in her discontent, glanced around the room, hoping to happen upon one. By chance, she did, viewing a lone piece of paper atop the chest of drawers.

“Is this yours?”

She advanced towards it before Bonnie could protest, leaning forward to view it in its entirety. It was the same drawing that Miss Donoghue had been working on previously- the bowl of fruit that she had painted in the orangery, and Yvonne marvelled at it.

“An incredible likeness!” she declared, zealously, though she did not have any technical knowledge to corroborate this statement. Still, it appeared to her like fruit, as was the intention and so, she thought it spectacular.

Bonnie joined her, abashed that Miss Davers had viewed a work of hers that she, personally, could not abide. The pear was unforgiveable and she had never made peace with it.

“Do you not think the pear odd?” she asked.

Yvonne squinted at it.

“Not at all,” she declared, shaking her head. “It is marvellous as it is.”

Bonnie did not believe so, but she was pleased with the compliment, nevertheless, and smiled. “Thank you, Miss Davers.”

“I really would like to see more, Miss Donoghue,” Yvonne persisted. “If this is any indication of your artistic skill, I shall be amazed at anything else you wish to show me.”

This adulation did not inspire Bonnie, but she appreciated the praise. Reluctantly, she conceded to show her several pieces of her work, despite her objection- as she was not opposed to being admired- and led her companion into the next room, where she kept some of her finished work. There was a collection of books that she had kept, each containing various sketches or paintings of hers that she had completed. She chose one, presenting it to Miss Davers.

“I think this is the book I most recently finished,” she told her. “I did not spend much time on them; they were purely for practice. Nothing extravagant...”

Yvonne examined each page, rather dutifully, ensuring to compliment her on each one. She noted there were some of the Ouse, which she thought indicative of its real charm, and there was one sketch of the country that could be viewed from the back of the House. Having traversed the territory a multitude of times, Yvonne recognised it instantly, delighted to see art of the land in which she was raised. She continued to scour the book until she happened onto a particular page, pausing.

“Oh,” she uttered.

She peered up at Bonnie. By the way her cheeks pinkened, her eyes widening, Bonnie suspected that some piece or another had bewildered her. Intrigued, she glanced down at the page and almost gasped in horror, reaching out, as if she were to snatch the book from her, clasping her hands to her chest instead. Her instinctive reaction was to usher her from the room, but she could not allow herself to be impolite, nor did she want to appear regretful at what she had done, and so, she continued to stand there, watching her companion stare, with equal bewilderment, between the drawing and the woman beside her.

Quite by accident, Yvonne had stumbled upon a sketch of herself that Bonnie had drawn the same evening she had lent her the handkerchief. The young woman appeared to have forgotten it was there. Faltering, Bonnie did not know what to say.

“You see- I...” She paused, deliberating which reasoning was the most suitable. “It has been some time since I have drawn anyone, particularly by memory. I apologise, Miss Davers; I should have asked your permission first.” That explanation did not please her, for she decided to add: “I did not want to draw Miss Ainsley.”

Yvonne accepted this clarification.

“Yes, well, I suppose one can only draw Miss Ainsley so much,” she concurred. “It must be tedious after a while.”

“Precisely, yes,” Bonnie nodded, earnestly. She hemmed, believing that would rid her of the disagreeable feeling that arose within her. It did not and she stared at the floor, her cheeks warming. This sensation did not subside either, so she thought to distract herself and her companion from the drawing. “Miss Davers... Perhaps, once I am back from Scotland, you may do me the honour of sketching you properly. I could paint you, if you wish. For free, naturally; there would be no fee.”

“I would be honoured, Miss Donoghue.” Yvonne glanced down at the drawing, the portrayal forming an impression on her, though she was not yet entirely sure what the impression was. “If you work is anything to go by, I shall be in good hands. And I should be pleased to pay any fee...”

“No, Miss Davers; I really must insist. I will only do it for free.”

Yvonne did not think so and they protested some more on the matter, though neither wished to concede. Soon after, Bonnie comprehended that they would not agree and decided to change the subject.

“I was hoping to paint some of the landscapes near where I am staying,” she cut across. “I wanted to show both yourself and Penny when I return. There will be some lovely scenery by the lakes and on the journey itself, I have no doubt. It is a shame you cannot see them directly, so I thought it may be beneficial for me to draw them; you will know then the places I have seen. I am taking a book solely for that purpose.”

“That is very thoughtful, Miss Donoghue.” Yvonne bowed her head in a sign of gratitude. “I have not visited Loch Ness, so I shall be quite at leisure perusing your work. I am certain you shall capture them perfectly.” Reminded of the journey, Yvonne recalled that she had brought her neighbour a gift and fumbled in her pocket to retrieve it. “I have something for you.”

She plucked a small box from her pocket and held it out to Bonnie, indicating that she may take it. From its outward appearance, Bonnie perceived the gift to be some form of jewellery and was unable to repress her delight. Swiftly reaching for it, she took the cover from the case, more forcibly than intended, and gasped loudly.

“Oh, it is beautiful!”

Inside was a hairpin, a royal sapphire placed in the centre, with a set of sapphires on either side- these being much smaller than the central jewel. Around these gemstones were miniature diamonds, all of which glistened in the sunlight as Bonnie turned it in her hand.

“I hope you like it,” Yvonne uttered. “I saw it in town and it reminded me of you. I thought you may like to wear it.” Upon seeing Bonnie raise her head, she added, nervously- “In Scotland. If you are to visit anywhere, or are invited to a dance or gathering, I thought you may want to wear something as...” She seemed to have a word in mind, though she lost the nerve to say it and replaced it with another. “...lovely as you. I hope that is not too impertinent of me. I was not sure if you would like the styling of it.”

Bonnie did not raise her gaze from the pin; she was repressing the urge to weep. There was nothing she loved more than gifts, besides exquisite jewellery, though the thought that Miss Davers had taken the time to think of her, if only for a moment, affected her greatly. She reached out and took hold of Yvonne’s hand, firmly within her own, and whispered, tearfully: “It is perfect.”

Yvonne did not know how to respond. Her neighbour was grateful, but she also appeared to be distressed. Her head was bent downward and she seemed to be composing herself, as if she were moved to tears. Tentatively, Yvonne raised her other hand and pat her lightly on the arm, hoping that may comfort her. At the touch, Bonnie raised her head, visibly gratified.

“I shall wear it whenever I am to go anywhere. I know everyone will admire it as much as I do.” Her gaze lowered to observe it once more, the sight troubling her, and she exhaled lightly. It seemed that not even a gift could lift her melancholy and this realisation merely furthered her despondency. She admitted- “I wish you could come with us. I hardly want to be with Annie; we are not the friends we used to be. Miss Ainsley is so friendly with her, she will forget me altogether. It would be different if you were there.” Her voice lowered and so did her gaze, staring wistfully downward. “I think I would much prefer a picnic at the Ouse.”

Her attention returned upward, abashed to have been so candid, and she flashed a smile, as if to feign she had never said it.

“How silly of me,” she said, her voice lilting in an attempt at light-heartedness.

Yvonne stared at her as they fell into reticence, her brow slowly furrowing.

“It is not silly,” she disputed. “Penny was right. You have always wanted to travel, and I think this is an experience you shall regret missing, if you do not. Scotland has many beautiful sights; you cannot stay here. I am simply sorry that you do not feel well-matched in your travelling companions.” Perceiving that her dejection had not lifted, she continued. “But I shall be here when you return. So will Penny. You may send us all the letters you wish in the meantime, and, perhaps, if they continue to be unsuitable in companionship, you may think more seriously upon the offer of travelling with me when I leave for Moscow. I hope we may be better suited.”

Bonnie visibly cheered at the suggestion, a smile forming upon her lips.

“Yes!” she exclaimed. “How right you are, Miss Davers, and how quickly you comfort me! You have always had such fine taste. If you say I shall like Scotland, I am inclined to believe you. Surely, if nothing else, it will accustom me to travel for when we are to go together.”

Yvonne was appreciative to see her in better spirits. “Precisely, you must not let your taste for adventure be thwarted before it has even begun. You will have many opportunities to travel again, and I will ensure that you are the much happier for it.”

“I do not doubt you will,” Bonnie mused, pressing the pin to her chest. She paused before saying- “I know we have not been long in each other’s lives, but I feel that you have been so invaluable to me that I can hardly do without you.”

She became tearful anew in sharing her conviction and, alarmed that she was to start weeping, Yvonne placed her hand atop hers and pressed it.

“Miss Donoghue, it is I who is grateful to have a friend in you.” Observing a tear, she hurried to say- “If you cannot bear being away from Colworth House, you must write to me and I shall come to you at once, but you must see how you fare first. I really believe you shall like Scotland.”

The door opened and Miss Quinton hurried through, calling Bonnie’s name. From the way she glanced wildly around her, it appeared that she had discovered the bedroom empty and, having expected Bonnie to be there, thought her to have escaped the manor altogether. On perceiving her to be in the adjoining room, she was satisfied, less so when she saw Miss Davers, and even less so again when she noted that Bonnie was on the verge of tears.

“Oh, for goodness’ sake,” she muttered, crossing her arms.

Yvonne scowled at her, displeased to find her so callous. Annie did not appear to care, either way, for she demanded to know when Bonnie would finish her packing.

“Later,” Bonnie uttered.

“I suppose I shall have to help you.”

Heeding that she may be of assistance, Yvonne said: “I can help.”

“No, thank you, Miss Davers,” Annie spoke across. “We can manage perfectly fine on our own.”

Discerning that she was no longer welcome, she pressed Bonnie’s hand, leaning forward to look her in the eye. “You will be fine; I promise. Write to me when you reach Scotland. I shall be glad to hear that all is well.”

“I will write to you the moment I arrive.”

Yvonne could feel Annie watching her and quickly released her hold on Bonnie, a motion that grieved the young woman, as she did not understand why she was so abashed by the contact between them. Before leaving, Yvonne held out her hand to Miss Quinton, who was startled by the notion. It was not often that another woman offered her hand to her. In her astonishment, she merely reciprocated the gesture without much thought as to what she was doing; yet, upon contact, Yvonne grasped her firmly, shaking her hand so vigorously that her arm shook with it. Annie exclaimed in surprise, but the action did not appear to be accidental, for Yvonne smiled at her, rather conceitedly.

Before she could say anything, Yvonne had released her, brushing past the young woman to reach the door. She spun on her heel halfway across the threshold and flashed a smile at Miss Donoghue, before turning and disappearing down the corridor. Her audacity caused Bonnie to laugh, amused primarily by the shaking of her friend’s arm. This series of events did not amuse Annie, however, who exclaimed, not long after- “Well, I never!” and, with that, bustled Bonnie into the next room to finish her packing.

Chapter Text

10th June, 1830

My Dear Miss Davers,

I promised to write to you on arriving in Inverness, and now, having arrived here, I am writing this letter in the hopes of fulfilling my promise.

10th June, 1830

My Dear Miss Davers,

In our last meeting, I vowed I shall write to you immediately upon arrival and I can heartily say, now that I am here, I shall fulfil my promise to you in the form of this letter. It has taken us several days to travel here; poor Miss Ainsley could hardly speak in her being so ill. The journey did not suit her. We had to stop more times than we had accounted for so that we may rest. She was close to emptying her stomach in the

10th June, 1830

My Dear Miss Davers,

I hope that you are well. It has been several days since we last saw each other and, thankfully, we have now arrived here in Inverness. We came into the city this morning, as it was not far from the last house that we stayed in. The Castle Inn, where we have arranged to stay, has very clean rooms, as far as we could tell, and the staff have been very friendly. As Miss Ainsley has been ill on the journey, we did not have much for breakfast, we being eager to depart, so, on arrival, we decided to eat. They were very considerate and brought Miss Ainsley some milk- she was terribly pale. I do not think the roads agreed with her; they were a little rougher in the North than what we are used to. Between Annie and I, we were offered some fowl and port. I think we all agreed it was of a good quality, and Miss Ainsley was able to eat some broth after the milk had settled. The poor woman has been in bed since, but she is not so pale as before.

You shall be thankful to hear that I am quite fortunate in

It was quite fortunate, when arranging the stay, that I had requested a room to myself. At first, I was to share with Annie, but I could not bear the thought of us sharing a bed for so long, and I believe she felt the same. We were placed in neighbouring rooms, with Miss Ainsley two along. She is now quite gone to the world, as I previously mentioned, and Annie says she may sleep too, as we did not sleep well last night. The beds were not comfortable

The rooms were all occupied at the inn. We had to share a room, despite us requesting two. Annie and I were two to a bed, and it was frightfully cold. I was almost fully dressed the entire night. Annie kept kicking me. I am unsure as to whether it was on purpose because I could not help shivering all night, or whether it was because she was asleep and could not help her violent impulses. I...

You see...

How silly of me to...

You may think it silly, Miss Davers, when you have travelled so far across the world...

Once we have settled, we shall be searching for an apartment where we will stay for the remainder of our visit. It would lessen the cost, as Miss Ainsley and Annie are both willing to share the rent. We could hire a cook and a maid, which may cost a little more than what we pay at the inn, but Annie assured me that it was worth the expense, if only for a little privacy. She said we may find somewhere on the outer part of the city, so we are nearer the country, and where, undoubtedly, it will be quieter. I am inclined to agree with her- this arrangement is more suitable to me than staying here. I remain in hope that we shall find such a place.

Regardless, we shall be travelling to Loch Ness in two days’ time, once we are settled. I do not think any of us could brave so long a journey in the carriage, not after the amount of travelling we have endured. Even Annie, who is boastful of how far she likes to travel, has been rather quiet. Before she went to her room, she exclaimed that ‘it should be too soon!’. I do not know if she refers to sharing a bed with me, to sitting beside Miss Ainsley who was almost heaving, quite violently, in the carriage, or whether it was travelling in general. She did not clarify. Still, I look forward to seeing the lake and travelling to the seafront. Nature here is quite different to Nature in Bedford; it reminds me of my homeland- wild. There is nothing more beautiful than Nature in all of her primitive and native glory, is there not? I am sure that if you were here,

I shall write to you after we have visited Loch Ness, for I think I may spend some time painting and capturing the scenery, so both yourself and Miss Penny may see it as I have. How quaint it would be for Miss Ainsley and I to sit by the water and picnic there, though Annie will complain. She thinks me sentimental. I cannot speak to any great likeness, but I think I can do it justice. You spoke so highly of my talent and skill that I can scarce disappoint you now. In disappointing you, I would

You see, I...

I cannot speak to how great a feeling you...

I hope your feelings on the matter are unchanged...

Exhaling heavily, Bonnie crumpled the paper within her hands and tossed it onto the side of the desk, where a pile of paper had accumulated. They were intended for the fireplace, though she did not resolve to have it lit until evening. This decision could easily be rescinded, however, for the room was beginning to cool and she was starting to shiver. As the desk was placed near the window, she could feel the frost creeping through the pane, despite it being summer, and she knew she could not stay there long- it would leave her ill.

Bonnie had waited until all was settled before writing the letter. With her two companions asleep, the afternoon had to be spent in some amusement, and she had tried to complete a draft to her neighbour- to no avail. Her finger tapped against the desk, as she stared down at the blank piece of paper. If she were to continue, she would need to buy more sheets, for she had used more than intended, solely in composing a draft.

Standing, she drifted across the room and opened the door. By chance, she saw a chambermaid and called to her, asking for tea to be sent to her room, as well as her lady’s maid.

“Her name is Bronagh Patten. She knows which room I am in.”

The woman curtseyed, assuring her that both the tea and her maid would be sent to the room, before hurrying down the hallway. Bonnie watched her depart, returning inside once she had disappeared from view. Clambering onto the bed, she lay atop it, exhaling heavily as she rest her head against the pillow. It appeared that the letters had exhausted her and she could not continue until she had regained her strength, her gaze settling forlornly on the embroidered flower on the edge of her pillowcase.

She was laying there when Bronagh entered, minutes later, a tea tray in hand. Her maid did not appear startled by this sorrowful sight, but placed the tray on the desk, brushing the crumpled papers, with one swift movement, into the fireplace.

“Would you like the fire lit, ma’am?” she questioned, her voice barely heard, even in the other’s reticence.

“No, thank you, Bronagh,” Bonnie mumbled. “Not right now.”

“Would you like your tea brought to you or will you have it here?”

Bronagh continued to stand by the desk, her hands clasped dutifully in front of her. Her curled hair was so abundant that it almost covered her forehead and eyes, a characteristic that Miss Ainsley could not abide, having protested numerous times before as to the maid’s hair. She thought it ought to be short. Bonnie, however, hardly noticed nor cared. The only quality she searched for in a servant was the ability to do the job she hired them for, and Bronagh could not be faulted.

With a light sigh, Bonnie raised herself to a sitting position. “No, I shall come to the desk. I want my drawers and my shawl.” She glanced around her. “Is there a blanket?”

“Yes, ma’am,” Bronagh nodded. “Miss Ainsley packed two blankets. She was worried for your health.”

Bonnie’s mouth twitched in a way that suggested she was displeased, but she requested the blanket, nevertheless. She stood and approached the desk, pouring herself a cup of tea whilst Bronagh searched through the unpacked trunks. The maid reached for the highest one, as the porter had piled them in the corner, her thin arms trembling as she attempted to lift it. A small exclamation escaped her as the trunk was lowered, the weight having pulled her downward, and she glanced sideways, hoping that she had remained unheard. Fortunately, Bonnie was preoccupied with pouring the milk and did not appear to notice that anything had happened. Relieved, Bronagh knelt, opening the trunk as she did.

Recovering the items, the girl brought them to her and assisted Bonnie into her drawers (29). The lady sat at the desk when they had finished, the maid arranging the shawl over her shoulders, with the blanket over her knees. Whilst she flitted around her, Bonnie stared out of the window, the cup cradled in her hands; it aided her in feeling warm, more so than the blanket and shawl.

“No woollen stockings, ma’am?” Bronagh inquired before she withdrew.

Bonnie was silent for a minute, staring out of the window.

“No, thank you,” she decided. “I am quite content with the blanket for now.”

Halting at the door, Bronagh thought to say- “I will return in two hours, ma’am. It will be evening soon and I shall have the fire lit for you.”

“Yes, very good,” Bonnie answered, absentmindedly.

Bronagh pardoned herself and quit the room, leaving her mistress to stare through the glass. The Castle Inn had been chosen specifically for its position by the water, and as Bonnie stared onto the River Ness, she was grateful that she had made the journey. It had posed its difficulties, though she had been content with all she had seen thus far. Withal, it pleased her that she was so close to a lake, similar to those in which she had been raised by, and, on the opposite side of the city was Beauly Firth, a tranquil, yet expansive bay. The thought of them inspired her, a circumstance that forced her to concede that a change in scenery was certainly beneficial to her, if not her mind.

Sipping her tea, she thought of the paintings that she would conceive and the happenings that would fill her letters to both her family and the Davers sisters. It was not often that she returned any letters to her family, as she hardly did anything of note- they inquiring mainly into her health, and she felt as if she may respond, for once, with good news. They would be glad to hear that she was contented.

Thinking of the Davers, she wondered how it would be different if they had travelled with her. She was certain of her happiness when she was with them, for they made for interesting companions, and she was convinced that the eldest would know more of the places they had travelled than her current associates, a thought that startled her into putting down her cup.

It appeared that she had discovered the answer in regards to how she should construct her letter, as she was sure that nothing would prompt an answer more than inquiring into her neighbour’s opinion. Surely, Bonnie could not recount the tedious detail of their journey and expect as inspired a reply as she anticipated. However, if she were to request a report of some kind, Miss Davers would have much to say and would promptly respond with a letter of her own, an event that roused Bonnie into action.

Turning to the desk, she grasped her pen and began to write.

10th June, 1830

My Dear Miss Davers,

I hope this letter finds you well. In being away, I have discovered that I think of Bedford often and I have come to miss it with the whole of my heart. There is some notion of being homely that calls me to return, though I know I shall be with you soon. In the meantime, I shall content myself in writing to you, as promised. Yet, I hope, in my telling the story, you will delight me with some knowledge of your own, for I know you have some intelligence of these places that I cannot gain elsewhere. I shall promise to tell you that all is well, if only you promise to write to me in saying that you are also well.

As to our journey, I can safely say that we have arrived here in Inverness. The establishment that we are now inhabiting is The Castle Inn, which came highly recommended by a friend of Annie’s and I must say that I was glad to have heeded them. Their rooms are clean and well-furbished, their view of the Ness magnificent, and the staff have been very friendly.

....

I shall not take your time any longer, though I hope to hear from you soon and all that is happening in Bedford whilst I am away. Find enclosed in this letter the sketches that I mentioned in regards to the beautiful scenery that we saw on the way to Carlisle (somewhere on the edge of Northumberland), Loch Tay, and the snow-capped mountains that we saw in Cairngorm. I hope I will have some paintings soon, as I did not have time to develop them beyond sketches. You shall see the reindeer in the Cairngorm sketch that I was speaking of- how large they were! I am sure you will be as astonished as I was!

Tell Penny that I hope to hear of her new pieces on the pianoforte when I return, as I hope she is putting my book to good use, and I hope to hear your mother well from the last time we spoke. Miss Ainsley advises that the magnetic treatment is quite the thing for her, as a cousin of hers suffered from the same condition, though I trust that you shall make the right judgement. It is like Dr Kensley to prescribe something different altogether- when he gives his opinion, it is always best to do the opposite of what he has recommended.

I must go, for Annie has come to my room and is impatient to eat. She thinks there are nicer places to dine than here, and she thinks that I should go wake Miss Ainsley, who has not yet stirred from her bed. I hardly know how any of us will turn out at the end of it all. God Bless You!

Yours, affectionately
Bonnie Donoghue

Miss B. Donoghue,
Castle Inn,
Crown Street,
Inverness.

Chapter Notations

29. I recently found out that, in the Regency Era, women didn’t wear underwear, not unless it was the winter or they were cold. They were really just walking around vag/ass out because a lot of the dresses were thin and see through (if they weren’t wearing their shift- a underdress, especially in the summer). Which, when you think about it, is wild.

Chapter Text

Not wishing to appear too impatient, Yvonne waited until the day after Miss Donoghue had returned from Scotland to visit her. She awoke early in the morning, so animated was she to see the lady and, within minutes of waking, had called for Paulette, who was not yet awake. By the time she had finally entered the room, a jug in hand, Yvonne was rereading the letters that had been sent to her by her neighbour, leaning closely to the flickering candlelight so that she may view them in the darkened hours of dawn.

Paulette poured the cold water into the china bowl, the one which had been placed atop the dresser, peering over her shoulder, seconds later, to call for her mistress, who was too absorbed by the letters to notice that she was ready. Drawing her gaze from the paper, Yvonne perceived that she was waiting for her.

“Ah, yes...”

She stood, folding the letters and leaving them atop the bed. It took her mere minutes to wash and dress, for she was hasty in her want to finish. Paulette tried to assist her where necessary, though she was still drowsy and her unhurried pace was too much for Yvonne, who would become impatient and dress herself. Obediently, Paulette stood back and, despite the propriety that she prided herself on, yawned, as she could not prevent the impulse, hiding it graciously behind her hand.

In the same moment, Yvonne brought her foot down onto the cupboard, a thud emitting where the boot struck the mahogany. The thump awoke Dr Johnson, who fluttered into the air. Upon realising that she was the cause of his disturbance, he chirped indignantly, settling back onto his perch and returning to his slumber. She leant forward, disregarding the cockatiel, her elbows pointing inelegantly outward as she fumbled with the laces. Paulette had offered to assist her but this suggestion had not been heeded, yet Yvonne was in such a hurry that she had knot them confusedly. Scowling, she endeavoured to tie them again, the second attempt more successful than the first.

Satisfied, she dismissed Paulette, though the maid reminded her that she had not yet brushed her hair. Yvonne’s brows rose at this fact, as though it had not crossed her mind, and she called the maid to the vanity, as if it had been the poor girl’s mistake, not hers. Paulette could not understand her confusion. Ordinarily, Yvonne kept to a meticulous routine and her haste was unexpected. There was no reason, that she could fathom, that Miss Davers had to be dressed so early. She combed her hair, nevertheless, for it was not her place to contend.

One precedent that Yvonne maintained was that her hair must be kempt at all times, despite it being short, and it was a preference that her maid could not fathom, for she had to brush and style it many times before her employer was satisfied. She could not tell the difference from one style to the next and would only relinquish the comb once instructed, for it all looked the same to her. Paulette had thought women with long hair were difficult, as they took so long to style, but Yvonne was more particular than any of them, despite having significantly less hair than they.

Only when the styling was approved was she dismissed, and Paulette withdrew from the room, an event that pleased her for she had been inconvenienced by the early call. As to Yvonne, she remained at the vanity, leaning forward to peer at her hair. It appeared to be orderly, which contented her, and she returned to the bed, where she retrieved the small pile of letters.

There was a soft thump as she fell onto the quilt, her legs swinging upward to rest atop the blanket, yet her consideration was taken solely on the letters as she continued to read, her hand reaching out moments later to retrieve a pile of paper that was resting atop the bedside table. They had been tied delicately together with string and she unfasted them, sorting through each one to view them separately.

These various papers comprised of sketches that Miss Donoghue had sent and, although Yvonne had perused each word and drawing from her neighbour, she believed it imperative that she do so again before meeting the lady. It was only until she was content with her review that she tucked them into the top drawer and headed downstairs, departing for the House hereafter.

Upon arrival, Yvonne was informed that Miss Donoghue was asleep- she had not yet left her room nor had she called for the maid. This report was received with astonishment. The notion that she would be asleep had not occurred to Yvonne. She had been too preoccupied in her wish to visit her neighbour that she had not considered the time. Having digested the news, she was somewhat contrite at having arrived so early, as it was before her usual hour and she did not wish to wake the lady. Mr Reeves, however, assured her that Miss Donoghue would be grieved in having missed her and requested that she wait whilst he spoke to the mistress of the house.

He withdrew from the hall, venturing upstairs to speak with her and satisfied that she was content in receiving visitors, the lady’s maid was called for, who was seen, moments later, dashing nimbly across the foyer, more forlorn than alarmed at this early morning call. Yvonne thought her a peculiar sight, watching the way she hastened up the stairs, her thick, curly hair tumbling unhelpfully across her eyes. Nevertheless, all thought of her had been abandoned by the time Yvonne had entered the drawing room. Seating herself on the divan, her finger tapped fervently against her knee, the toe of her boot drumming some staccato rhythm on the rug below. She had hardly waited long when the door opened, a motion that prompted her to stand.

Miss Donoghue had entered the room, her appearance no less genteel, despite the speed in which she had dressed. She looked as splendid as she always did, her smile radiant, despite the dimness of the room. The curtains had been opened by the maids, who came in to allow for some illumination, though the morrow was early and there was but little. Nevertheless, her presence caused Yvonne to experience all the warmth and joy that she expected from the summer sun, her own exuberance compensating for this scarcity of light.

They stood in silence, both intaking the sight of the other, yet their reticence was soon broken by Miss Donoghue, who ushered her to sit, joining her on the divan moments later. Not wishing to lose a second, they started immediately on the subject of Scotland, Yvonne recalling perfectly the places she had been and the sketches she had made. This was partly due to the effort she had undergone that morning to peruse all the letters. She had read them numerous times before and so, was unlikely to forget the detail, even if she had not taken the effort to reread them. Still, the visible delight upon Miss Donoghue’s countenance revealed that it had been an effort worth taking.

As they spoke, Bonnie repeatedly turned her head, switching positions often, as if she were observing the room. Yvonne was unsure as to what had caused the lady’s distraction, though she did not wish to mention it. It was not till minutes later that she noted the glistening of jewels- a cluster of sapphires visible amidst her raven-black hair. The pin was nestled handsomely in the bun atop Miss Donoghue’s head, a decadent centrepiece that complimented the impeccably curled ringlets, all of which fell elegantly to the side of her face.

“Oh, you are wearing the pin!” she uttered, suddenly.

“Why, yes, I am!” Bonnie exclaimed. She lightly patted the bun, the motion revealing that she was rather pleased with herself. “My maid must have used it, since I have worn it so much recently. It was well-received in Scotland; I have never had so many compliments.”

“I am pleased, Miss Donoghue, to hear that is the case. Nothing contents me more than to know that you like it.”

Animated, Bonnie thought to outline all of the times that she had worn the pin, as well as each compliment she had received. Yvonne listened with rapt attention, though the conversation soon passed. After touching upon the various happenings of her return journey, the events that she was unable to transmit before arriving at the House, Bonnie admitted that she had expected Yvonne to call. She had prepared accordingly and unpacked her paintings for when she arrived, as she had professed her to want to view them.

“I would certainly like to,” Yvonne admitted.

To this admission, Bonnie led her to the orangery, where she had left her sketchbook. It was passed to her, upon arrival, and Yvonne took care to view each painting, complementing each one in any way she could, often remarking how similar the depiction was to how it had been described in the letters.

“You have a way with words, as much as with art, Miss Donoghue!” she exclaimed, returning the book to her. “I hardly know anyone else who can do such justice to the nature surrounding us as you have done.”

Bonnie was not adverse to flattery on this occasion and received it, heartily. With an air of conceit, she said: “Why, thank you, Miss Davers. I must admit that I applied myself as well as I could, knowing that you would want to see them. I have felt more inspired in this mission than I have in a long while, trying to capture all the beautiful scenery on my travels.”

“Then I cannot wait to see what you do when you have travelled more.”

“It would be a pleasure to share these landscapes with you. It is as much to be experienced in person, as it is in art.” She slipped the book back onto the table, staring warmly at her. “Perhaps, when we travel next, we can experience it together. In the meantime, I suppose the sketches shall have to suffice.”

“They were certainly a pleasure, Miss Donoghue,” Yvonne assured her. “I have perused them often since you sent them. It has certainly rekindled my enthusiasm for travelling, I must say.”

It was not the enticement of unexplored terrain that solely captured her attention or her curiosity, though she would contend otherwise. The time that they had spent apart had formed a distinct impression on Yvonne and, now that she was able to see Miss Donoghue, she truly believed, in this instance, that Howell was correct- absence sweetened friendship (30). Yet, when she thought further upon it, she was reminded of Sextus (31), a circumstance that abashed her, for he used too strong a word, though she could not help but think of it, all the same.

Bonnie turned to stare out of the glass, a contented smile twitching upon her lips. She noted the sunlight that had begun to stretch its way across the multitude of flowers, and she craned her neck to see beyond the horizon. Enticed by the view, she questioned whether they should adjourn outside, to which Yvonne readily assented, and they departed through the rear entrance, intent on appreciating the garden in the warmth of summer.

Hands clasped before her, Bonnie was determined to continue their discussion, as there was a topic which she had hoped to broach and she would be loath to miss the opportunity. She spoke out with forced nonchalance.

“I am developing my own enthusiasm for travelling, Miss Davers. My sojourn to the lakes were of great benefit to me and I could not help but be soothed so close to a place that reminds me of home.” She paused, briefly. The option presented itself for her to finish but she was not yet satisfied in saying all she must, so she pressed on. “I must admit that I have spent many hours thinking upon your offer and all I can say, now I have deliberated it further, is that I would like to extend my affirmation to you- this time in the definite, for I am seriously considering leaving with you when you travel next.”

The astonishment that arose within Yvonne was released with a disbelieving laugh and she smiled widely at the array of flowers that lined the pathway. Glancing at the woman beside her, she perceived that she was being watched and her smile lessened, her lips pressing into a thin line. Swiftly, she bowed her head, her hands clasping behind her back.

“I appreciate your consideration; I really do, Miss Donoghue. I cannot express my gratitude in your trusting me to be a companion of yours. I promise to take you to the most wonderful places. Wherever you wish- Europe, Asia; the Scandinavian countries, perhaps? They are always a delight.”

“I do not know where to begin,” Bonnie admitted, her eyes widening in her bewilderment. “I could not possibly say which would be better. If I could, I would say them all. I never dreamed I could visit anywhere other than where I have been raised.” A thought struck her, her brow creasing. “But you were to travel soon? Lady Davers was quite insistent that you would not stay long. I suppose we shall have to wait till you return to organise any serious plans.”

Yvonne frowned. “No, I have decided that I do not want to travel at this moment in time. After some consideration, I think I have more reasons to stay than I do to leave.” She peered across, a smile forming. “Besides, if we are to travel together, I can wait. I do not mind.”

At the rear of the garden was the temple, the one in which they had sat for tea, and Bonnie headed towards it, Yvonne following, trusting that she would be content with wherever they were to go. As they walked, the notion of travelling still did not wholly inspire Bonnie, as she had a number of concerns that she wished to voice, one, in particular, coming to mind.

“We will have to wait,” she mentioned, the reflection causing her to be sullen. Her tone was not entirely dissimilar from when she had announced the arrival of Annie. “My cousins are to visit, later this year. There is no definite arrangement, as of yet, though I must wait on them to choose a date. I could not make any promise until then.”

“It is of no consequence to me; I shall merely wait for you. I would not want to rush you into any decision. Besides, it will take time to plan such a journey and I would like to ensure that you are comfortable before we are to leave. These months will be the perfect opportunity to outline all those details that are necessary for so long an excursion.”

They came to the temple, stepping onto the white-washed stone. Yvonne smiled in a way that suggested she was trying to be soothing, an expression that she could never quite achieve, for most thought the motion inelegant, while others could not tell if she was grimacing. Despite this, Bonnie understood her intention and was gratified.

She faced the garden, the stretch of countryside that could be seen far beyond the manor, and rested her head idly against the pillar, her hand pressing against the stone not far below. Inhaling heavily, she released the breath a moment later, a deep sense of contentment arising as she listened to the birdsong in the trees. It was not a sound she heard often, nor was she used to the sight of early morn, as she could not abide waking early, but she was willing to make an exception for Miss Davers.

She looked askance at the woman herself, who was staring fixedly across the grass. There was a slight furrow to her brow, as if she were not taken with the view but with some enigmatic thought. Captivated by the sight of her, Bonnie traced the sharp outline of her cheekbones, the angular curve of her shoulders, and the way her hair reflected golden in the sun.

“Miss Davers...”

Yvonne jolted slightly, glancing across with widened eyes. “Yes?”

“We have known each other awhile now.”

“Yes, it has been eight weeks.”

“Do you not think we should call each other by our given names?”

The notion appeared to startle Yvonne, who stared dazedly into the distance. She did not speak for a moment, her stance slowly straightening as if she wished to appear authoritative on the matter.

“Yes,” she finally decided. “I think... Well, I think that... It would be appropriate, yes.”

Bonnie smiled. “And I may sketch you here? I think this would be the perfect place to draw you.”

Yvonne glanced around the temple, her legs bending slightly as if she were to sit in the nearest chair before realising that it was further away than she had anticipated. She returned to her usual stance.

“Now?” she confirmed.

“Yes, now,” Bonnie giggled.

“Right...”

Yvonne went to the chair and settled upon it. The furniture was part of the iron table in which they had sat for tea. The sight of her sitting there, rather stiffly, enthused Bonnie, who clasped her hands together in delight.

“I shall fetch my sketchbook.” She stepped towards the grass, hesitating, before turning back to her guest. “Wait for me.”

“I will not move,” she quickly assured her. This resolution came less from her own determination than from a wish to do what was asked of her.

Her promise satisfied Bonnie, who hurried across the promenade. As she did not walk any faster than at a leisurely pace, the term hurry could be applied solely in the fact that she strolled quicker than usual, though she was not altogether swift. Bonnie did not like to be rushed, even then, and could only commit to a moderate speed. This impression came to form itself in Yvonne’s mind, who watched her leave. If it had been anyone else, she would have been unwilling to wait, but as it was, she was amused, her arms folding as she waited patiently for her return. Yvonne could not bring herself to fault her.

Chapter Notations

30. “Distance sometimes endears friendship, and absence sweetens it.” Familiar Letters by James Howell, 1650.

31. “Always toward absent lovers love’s tide stronger flows.” Elegies by Sextus Propertius, date unknown.

Chapter Text

In the dusk, the flutter of carnation was seen above all else, a flurry of dust arising behind, as if it were a terrible storm rushing toward her. Yet, this obscure vision revealed itself to be Penny, dashing across the driveway, her cheeks as pink as the dress she wore, though her expression was vehement. There was a redness to her eyes and she blinked rapidly, merely a second taken in her capturing breath before she demanded-

“Where have you been?”

Yvonne halted, glancing around her as if there were someone else present. She could not comprehend that she was the subject of this needless censure, for she had surely done nothing wrong.

“I am here,” she remarked, brashly.

This impetuous speech did not soften Penny, but merely proved to make her all the more indignant. She stepped forward as if she were to shove her backwards, though she soon tempered herself, her short bursts of breath resounding in the still air as her chest heaved up and down.

“I sent the servants to look for you!” she eventually exclaimed. “Nobody knew where you had gone. I sent poor Hughes, only ten minutes ago, to Colworth House, as I thought you may be there.”

“Well, that is where I was. I am sure he will discover that when he arrives and is informed that I have left.”

Yvonne moved as if to step past but Penny followed her movement, having not yet finished in voicing her displeasure.

“Mother has fallen ill; I had no choice but to call Doctor Kensley.”

“Why did you not say?” she uttered, irritably.

She started towards the house but her progression was hindered by Penny, who almost bent over in her fury, her fingers curling inward as she yelled-

“Because I did not know where you were, Yvonne! I did not know what to do; there was nobody there to help me. She was in pain... I thought some horrific injury had overcome her.” In her frustration, she could not help but sob, though she did not attempt to wipe away the tears. “Why do you always insist on doing it all your way? Why can you not think of anyone other than yourself?”

“I merely went to visit Miss Donoghue,” she replied, indignantly, her own temper rising. “How was I supposed to know mother would be ill?”

“And there lies the difficulty. For someone so intelligent, you never think.”

Yvonne was silent. She questioned whether she should say more on the matter. Her first instinct was to be defensive, yet the sight of her weeping sister caused her to be uneasy. Subduing each harsh emotion that arose within her, she strode towards the house, calling behind her.

“Where is she?”

“In her room,” Penny answered. Her agitation was so palpable that it was released in a half-shout.

Yvonne did not perceive any other option than to visit her mother. She did not know the precise condition that she was in and, if only for her sanity, she must visit her and exhibit concern, else she would expose herself to criticism. As she knew, quite well, her mother would discover a way to berate her, for she was not the type of woman to be so easily satisfied, particularly when it came to her daughters.

Moments later, she heard the scurry of footsteps and knew Penny was following, a circumstance that vexed her. She did not wish to be joined by her sister, not because she was irked with her but due to Penny’s feelings on the matter. Yvonne could not bear to be the target of her animosity, particularly if it was discovered that their mother was severely unwell. The fault would be placed on her, somehow, as it already had been, and she would feel that her day was ruined, as she had spent a more than amiable day at her neighbour’s, one that had left her in high spirits. Now, she felt as if they were dashed and she could not discern if she was exasperated with herself or the situation.

Her long limbs enabled her to ascend the stairs quickly, though she could hear the bursts of breath behind her. Penny was hastening up the steps as swiftly as she could, though it was a considerable effort to keep in pace with her sister, and she was turning a darker shade of crimson the closer she came to the top. Lady Davers’ rooms being on the first floor did not help matters and by the time they reached the correct level, both women were panting sharply from their rush.

As they came closer to her private apartments, Yvonne turned to Penny, her voice lowering. “Is the doctor here?”

The thought had only then occurred to her, the notion that she would see him vexing her considerably more than her sister’s accusation.

“No,” Penny wheezed. “He left some time ago. She was requested to rest and has been in bed since.”

This appeared to alleviate Yvonne’s irritation, if only slightly, and she straightened her stance, tugging at the front of her coat to present herself more favourably, an expression of relief forming in the realisation that there was no dreadful surprise awaiting her- at least, not in the form of the doctor. With that, she turned and entered the room.

A few moments passed before her eyes adjusted to the darkness within, the sole light being the flickering of the candles on the bedside table. Even in the dark, the monochromatic hue of the decoration was visible, though there was little furniture past what was considered necessary. Lady Davers did not care for a multitude of material possessions, so long as they served a purpose and were equal to the lavish lifestyle that she was adamant to maintain. Yvonne could not say whether this decoration was implemented before or after her father’s death, as her parents had never shared a room, or even a bed, for longer than was considered necessary. What’s more, she had visited the room only a small number of times and solely after her father’s death, for she never had any reason to visit. Her mother’s worsening health was the singular justification that anyone could give as to why someone should be allowed to enter.

The baroness could not abide anybody encroaching upon her private apartments, least of all her husband, and the notion that she was to have children with him merely furthered the inconvenience. Procreation repulsed her, as well as the thought that there would be small creatures intruding daily upon her privacy. She had solved the latter issue by hiring a nurse and later, a governess, and the former by never speaking to him. This had provided a sufficient amount of solitude, one that was now destroyed as she lay in her bed.

The sudden opening of the door, followed by the swift intrusion of her eldest daughter, did not please Lady Davers and she shrunk from her presence by sinking further into her pillow, pulling the blanket closer to her chin as she did so. Her long, thin fingers gripped the sheet with conviction, her complexion as equally pale as the covering she lay under. Towering above her, as she stood beside the bed, Yvonne mustered all of her effort into appearing concerned.

“You are ill, mother?” she questioned.

Lady Davers stared back, an air of defiance to her gaze, yet that may have been due to the way her daughter was standing over her. The motion in itself was not threatening, though, in this instance, she felt that it was.

“This is the last thing I need,” she muttered, contemptuously. “The cavalry...”

Her gaze drifted to the view before her, preferring to stare at the wall, rather than her daughters, who were both watching her- Penny, worriedly; Yvonne, inhospitably.

“You are ill?” Yvonne repeated, her impatience markedly heard in her tone.

“No,” she said, simply, as though no illness had ever dared to grace itself upon her. “I am not. I did not require the doctor but the silly girl called him anyway.”

This insult was uttered as placidly as the rest of her speech, her gaze continuing to stare indifferently ahead, the only indication that she was alive being in her slow blinking. Penny shook her head in protest, clinging to the arm of Yvonne’s coat.

“No,” she contended, quietly. Peering up at Yvonne, she tugged at her so that she may have her attention, firmly reiterating- “She was not well.”

Lady Davers continued, regardless. “I had a stomach spasm, nothing that would not pass. I would hardly say that I was in danger.”

“And your legs!” Penny protested.

“Yes, and them. It was all an inconvenience but it was even more so that I had to see the dolt.” Her voice sharpened at the end, her temper rising at the thought of the doctor. As she spoke, Yvonne nodded, as if she could at least comprehend the annoyance in being visited by Dr Kensley. “He could not do anything about the pain and has left me here. He will be returning in the morning to see if it has subsided and to prescribe any further treatment that he can think of. I suppose he has come to the end of his suggestions, for none have worked, but I have come to the end of my wits.” Her gaze flickered to the side, in the direction of her daughter, as if that were all the consideration she could allow her. “Do not grant him entry tomorrow, Yvonne.”

Penny almost wailed in her incredulity. “He must see you, mother!”

Yvonne exhaled slowly, her gaze rising to the ceiling, as if she were praying silently to the Lord above, before returning her attention to her mother, whose expression was that of perfect indifference.

“No, I shall let Doctor Kensley in myself and he shall come to assess you.” Upon seeing the beginning of a protest, she added: “This is my estate, after all, and I shall do as I please.”

“It is my body!”

“And you may do as you wish to it, but not in my home. If you are here, you are to see the doctor when unwell. God forbid I shall allow anything to happen to you; I shall never hear the end of it.”

“I...”

“Good, I am glad we agree.” Yvonne peered behind her to view Penny, who was flitting nervously around the room. It seemed that she could not settle; she was overcome with nerves. Perturbed to see her so agitated, she said- “I require you to either calm yourself or leave the room. It is no use being a disturbance.”

Penny promptly seated herself on the windowsill, her earlier indignation replaced with disquietude. She glanced at their mother, as if to observe whether she was still breathing, but the baroness simply shrunk further under the quilt. Satisfied to see her well, though not quite experiencing the feeling that came with the expression, she glimpsed in the direction of her sister, who appeared to be stepping towards the door.

This motion caught the attention of Lady Davers, who spoke out before she could leave.

“It need not matter if the doctor comes, today or tomorrow,” she remarked. “You were not here either way. I could have died and you were nowhere to be seen. How little you must think of me...”

“I was at Colworth House. It is hardly a distance away.”

“And how was I to know?” she contended, a grimace contorting her features. “I cannot speak to the way you think or to what you do. You should be more considerate in the future of saying where you have gone.”

“I shall endeavour to do that.” She stood there for a moment, before adding: “I am pleased to hear you well.” This show of compassion was more than she could bear, her hand clenching by her side. Some silent skirmish appeared to be unfolding within her and it visibly aggravated her, for she turned on her heel and strode to the door. “I shall visit you in the morning; good night, mother.”

Astounded, Penny stood. “You are not leaving, Yvonne?”

The eldest halted. She did not seem as if she wanted to stay, peering around her- at the furniture, the shadowy figures that they created in the gloom and amidst them all, the outline of their mother upon the bed. Concluding that Penny must be confused, else she would not have asked such a question, Yvonne lowered her voice.

“You do not have to stay,” she assured her, flicking her head towards the door. “We have done all we can. Come, let us leave.”

Penny glanced at the bed, observing the glare of the baroness’ nightgown in the candlelight, the woman having turned to face away from them. Wringing her hands together, she peered at Yvonne.

“Do you not think we should stay awhile?” she whispered.

“Whatever for?”

Penny did not have an answer. There was no reason, that she could fathom, that she should. Heavens knew she did not care for her mother, not in the way that was expected of her, and she had prayed for forgiveness many a time, but she continued in her daughterly duty, as had been impressed upon her from an early age. Still, she did it of her own accord, as she feared the consequences. So did Yvonne, though, for once, her want to be alone overcame all fear of their lame mother.

Penny’s silence irked the eldest, who inhaled sharply, her brows rising, an indication that she awaited an answer. It was evident that she was desperate to leave the chamber and would not wait much longer. In response, Penny shook her head, timidly.

“I think I ought to stay,” she muttered.

It felt the most compassionate course of action. Undoubtedly, she would be berated for it by both her mother and her sister, but she always aimed to be as agreeable as she could. She did not heed the rising feeling of regret and terror in the wake of her decision, particularly when Yvonne opened the door. Penny did not want to be alone with the baroness, a reflection that she did not share.

“Then I shall see you in the morning,” Yvonne sighed. “Good night, Penny.”

Penny did not respond but flinched upon hearing the closing of the door, staring at the wood until she felt all resolution leave her. Her lips parted, a small burst of air escaping in her remorse. One glance revealed that Lady Davers continued to face the opposite side of the room and would not acknowledge her presence.

Despondent, Penny was reminded of her childhood. Lady Davers had been fond of locking her in her room, where she would leave her until nightfall, even as the girl would wail and shake the handle, sometimes running into the wood in the hopes of escaping. Her only reprieve would be in the form of Yvonne, who was too fearful to take her from the room but would sit with her, allowing her to sit in her lap whilst they read Robinson Crusoe or Gulliver’s Travels (32), they remarking on how different the world was beyond the confines of their familial home.

She could not help but feel that she was trapped, as she had so often been, though it was not her mother that had kept her there, but her sister. Sinking to the floor, Penny brought her knees to her chest and rested her head atop them, her forehead pressing against the bone.

“Silly girl,” she whispered.

Her instinct was to leave, to dash from the room and abandon her mother. The nurse could remain with her; she did not have to stay if she did not want to. Yet, she felt the wickedness of her thoughts and so, did not leave to fetch her. It was not fair to subject someone else to the torture she felt, though she wished she could. Silent, she sat there, unmoving, until she had fallen asleep, her head almost drooping between her knees.

Yvonne heard the clock strike midnight and sighed. It was not the irritable sound that was usually emitted, but one that shuddered its way through the whole of her body- a small, sorrowful sound. She was in the study, having entered to write her journal, but she had become distracted in finishing her letter to Florence, whose missive had arrived the day before. Despite the diversion, Yvonne could not help but think of Penny. She was remorseful for having left her; the girl did not deserve to care for their mother in her old age. Lady Davers did not care for them.

Once, Yvonne would have feared the consequences of defying her mother and, on occasion, she still did, but she had spent several years travelling the country, as well as the Continent. In those years, she had learnt the baroness could not exert her influence over her as she once had. For Penny, it had been different; Yvonne had prevented the repercussions of their mother’s temper where possible, a service that she, herself, had sorely required as a child. As a result, Penny continued to believe that compassion was necessary, even if she did not truly feel the impulse. She had yet to experience life beyond Haynes Park; more specifically, their mother, and Yvonne did not like to see her martyr herself. She suffered for it unnecessarily, although it was arguable that they all suffered, in the end.

Standing, she perceived that she could not leave her there; it would be cruel. Yvonne could be unreasonable, but she could not bring herself to be as callous as her parents had been, not consciously. With renewed conviction, she withdrew from the study and returned to the chamber, pausing at the door. Her hand reached up to press against the wood but she did not touch it, the corner of her mouth twitching, the longer she stood there. Curling her hand into a fist, she hoped to repress the nervous impulse, though she discerned she could not. Yvonne would not allow herself to be so easily defeated, however, and grasped the handle, slowly pushing the door open.

She waited silently at the entrance, perceiving that the figure upon the bed was breathing deeply. In the dark, she noted another on the floor, sprawled across the wooden boards. Yvonne stepped towards the sleeping girl and crouched down, sensing the way she dithered in the cold. Brushing the dishevelled ringlets, she softly called Penny’s name, watching as she stirred in the dark.

“It is past midnight,” Yvonne whispered. “This is no place to sleep.”

Penny protested, a speech that merely came out as a mumble. She stared around her in the dark, inclined to return to her fitful slumber when she felt large hands pulling her upward. Groaning, she was shushed.

When she came to stand, she felt herself being lifted into the air, her feet swept from the floor, and she came to realise that she was being held. Yvonne cradled her securely within her arms, a burst of air released in the effort to take hold of her. Assured that she would not release her, mainly by accident, she carried her from the room, closing the door behind them. This action was done with considerable effort, though no complaint was voiced, nor did Yvonne attempt to put her down. She walked silently in the obscurity of nightfall, Penny almost lulled to sleep by the sturdy way in which she was held, although the darkness that encased them also aided her drowsiness.

Penny was nearly asleep when she was lowered onto a soft, pillowed surface, a moment taken in the realisation that it was her bed. She attempted to lie down but she was pulled upward, the mattress drooping beside her where Yvonne appeared to have sat. Allowing her hair to be untied, she mumbled her gratitude, though she did not receive a response.

Once her hair was undone, she lay down, not bothering to brush it aside. The decline in the bed lessened and she felt the quilt drape over her, a hand curling over her own. A small smile appeared on her lips as she felt it’s comforting touch. The girl was already asleep by the time Yvonne said-

“Sleep well, Penelope.”

Chapter Notations

32. Gulliver’s Travels (1726) is a series of prose satire novels by Jonathan Swift, which outlines fantastical adventures across the globe by the English traveller, Gulliver.

Chapter Text

9th July, 1830

The dinner went splendidly; I hardly think it could have gone any better. Miss Donoghue came to visit and was quite charming compared to the usual guests we receive. I had prepared to ask whether she could stay for dinner, having requested several dishes in advance from the kitchens. She protested, as she did not wish to intrude, but I insisted that she should stay. If she were concerned for Miss Ainsley, she may be collected from the school. Our groom and driver may fetch her and bring her to the Park, a circumstance that would delight her. Miss Donoghue thought it would and conceded. I think Penny was as pleased as I was. She has been dreadfully dull since mother became ill, though she is recovering her good spirits, as she is not one to be sullen for long.

I believe she thinks me heartless, but I cannot bring myself to sit with mother. It is quite stifling in her room and, whenever I am there, I have this terrible feeling in the pit of my stomach. It has been a few years since I have been near my mother, or even alone with her; I do not quite like the feeling. I have managed so far to be distant, even when in the same room, and she does not always mind me, so I am quite used to evading her company. She has been in a more elevated mood recently, though that may be due to the new treatment Dr Kensley prescribed. It has alleviated her, somewhat, which has eased us too. She does not complain as she did before, which has been a relief to us both.

Only the other day, she threw her cane at Penny. She is in a much better temper now, due to her prescription, but that is why I have sat with her more than I usually would. I do not like Penny being alone with her so often. But I digress, for that is not the reason for my writing today and I do not like to fill the pages with talk of my family. It is too bleak a subject.

....

I am quite aware that Miss Donoghue does not have the same diet as I- she has mentioned several times what she likes to eat and she has more concern than I thought as to what she can and cannot consume. I took it all into consideration, listing the food that she will not eat and the way in which it must be prepared. In anticipation for her stay, I had the seasonal game captured, though they had to be killed differently from our usual method. Miss Donoghue says that it is called Jhakta, if I remember correctly, and says it is the act of killing the animal swiftly by means of removing its head on first contact. This is the more humane method, so I was certain to have the animals prepared as she prefers, though the scullery maid was quite nervous to cut the fowl and almost released it, as it was flapping wildly. Poor Mrs Dunkhurst had to chase it around the courtyard so that it would not escape.

I have also heard of several sweets that Miss Donoghue is fond of and had some prepared specifically for her- Gulab Jamun (33) and Kaju Katli (34). Mrs Dunkhurst had never heard of such dishes but I had the cook from Colworth House share the recipe, as it had been forwarded from Miss Donoghue’s home in Ireland.

I, myself, have never heard of the dishes but I was yearning to sample them if they were particular favourites of Miss Donoghue. Now I have tried them, I must say that I quite enjoyed them, though I now realise Miss Donoghue has a sweeter tooth than I credited her for. Penny kept some for herself, but I was quite satisfied with what I had eaten- the rest were taken to C.H. as Miss Donoghue was quite adamant to eat the rest.

During the dinner, I told Miss Donoghue that the fowl was my particular favourite of the food presented, and there was quite the difference from when I had seen it earlier. She did not know what I meant, so I mentioned that I had visited the kitchens early this morning and it was a horrid sight, to be sure. The cook must have taken to it several times with the knife, as there was quite the mess. Certainly, it was a murder most fowl. Miss Donoghue took it very well and laughed openly; it was an undeniable success. Penny did not like it so much, as she has been quite out of temper. Miss Ainsley laughed also, though she did not appear to fully understand the joke. Mother did not respond at all. She is not one to find humour in most things. Though, I see it did well with the intended audience so I shall ensure to think of another in due course.

....

We parted ways in good spirits and as fondly as ever. I followed them to the driveway and helped Miss Donoghue to the carriage, to which she let me. I hardly do her such a service ordinarily and I am quite gratified to do so, as well as the fact that she permitted it. On saying farewell, I placed my hand on the carriage window, since I had closed the door behind them. It was merely a few moments before she placed her own atop mine, thanking me for inviting her to dinner. Her thumb brushed against my hand and though she wore gloves, I do not know what overcame me, for I hardly knew what to say. My difficulty was evident, I believe, since she laughed and sat back, waving at me as she withdrew down the driveway.

I caught sight of the driver as they circled round and gave him quite the look. He seemed rather nervous and bewildered as to why, and he hurried the horses along as quickly as he could. I have not forgotten his indiscretion with Elijah Bell and I shall not let him forget it either.

....

It has been hours since; yet, I have thought of nothing else. How peculiar that I cannot prevent myself from thinking upon the way she took my hand. On occasion, I am of the utmost belief that she likes to confound me. She does these things so often that I cannot help but think it is true! Still, we are becoming good friends, as well as anybody can be, but I cannot think of what to do with her. She is a mystery to me.

“Yvonne?”

Tugging her gloves on, Yvonne came to a halt, peering over her shoulder. Penny was walking toward her, a familiar expression upon her face that revealed she was determined to speak with her. The nature of the subject, she could not say, but she hoped it did not pertain to their mother.

“Yes, Penny?”

“I know you are leaving, so I might as well say it as candidly as I can.” She paused, primarily for dramatic effect, continuing once she was satisfied with the suspense that she had created. “I would like a lady’s maid. I keep borrowing Paulette and, as I am a young woman- would you not agree?- I think it would be wise for me to have one of my own.” Before a protest was voiced, she added: “It is becoming of my age and status.”

Yvonne was silent for a moment. “You have never wanted one before... What is the matter with Paulette? You wake much later than me; she can serve us both.”

“Bonnie has one,” Penny remarked, “and she is not much older than I. Money is certainly not an issue. Besides, it would be nice to have my own, similar to Paulette or Bronagh.”

“We do not have a maid called Bronagh.”

“She is Bonnie’s maid.”

“Oh....” Yvonne had not known that was her name. “Well, I shall not argue.” This decision was mainly aided by the notion that she wished to leave. “I shall think some more on the matter.”

Thinking to display an interest towards her sister, she added- “And how will you be occupying your time today?”

“I found a frog.”

“How lovely.”

“I think I shall dissect him.”

Yvonne tutted. “And you have nothing else to do?”

“No,” Penny mused. “Although, I did think of sketching the butterflies in the garden. I have yet to finish them, but I shall attend to the frog first. He was already dead when I discovered him so it is better to do it now.”

Penny was fond of animals, particularly those that appeared whimsical, and Yvonne had once bought her a case of Lepidoptera specimens (35) , believing it to be of interest to her. Her reaction, however, was unexpected, for she had burst into tears at the thought of their capture, and Yvonne could not promise to release them since they were no longer living. The case was now in Yvonne’s study, as Penny was opposed to the killing of animals, but as she became older, she could not deny that she was interested in zoology and had taken to experiments, though it was an interest that she pursued solely in the understanding that she had not disrupted their natural lifespan. Nevertheless, it was not an interest that Yvonne encouraged, despite her own fascination for science, but she perceived that her sister would act as she chose, a notion that vexed her, since she preferred that Penny would do as she was told.

“Well, if you are to dissect it, you ought to do it properly,” she remarked. “You may borrow my book on the subject. It’s...”

“In the biology section- second case, third row down.”

Yvonne felt her eye twitch. “Have you been reading my books?”

“No?”

The eldest stared silently at her, hoping to gauge her intentions. “You may have it but you must return it to the same place from which you took it. Besides that, you do not touch them.”

Penny smiled, though her guiltless expression was unconvincing. “Naturally, dear sister. I would not think of it.”

She stepped forward from her natural impulse to hold her, and wrapped her arms around her torso. Yvonne did not react instantly, standing fixedly under her grasp. Still, she knew she ought to respond with some affection of her own and raised her hand to pat her lightly on the head. Hemming, she said-

“Yes, very good.” When Penny stepped back with a questioning gaze, Yvonne attempted a smile, her arms falling to her sides, before gesturing that she should move away from her. “Run along now.”

Penny did not heed her tactlessness, turning and hurrying to the library from whence she came, skipping lightly as she did. Observing the withdrawal of her sister, Yvonne exhaled in relief, brushing the front of her coat as though there were some particles of dust upon it, though she knew there was not.

Satisfied that she was presentable, she spun on her heel and headed for the door, whistling some low tune as she thought of calling upon her neighbour. It had been too long since their last tête-à-tête, or so she believed. In reality, it had been two days. Regardless, she longed to visit the lady and ensure that all was well.

However, upon being received at the House, she was prevented from entering by Mr Reeves. It was unlike him to be impudent, as she believed this action to be, and she insisted that she speak with Miss Donoghue. He hesitated, reiterating that visitors were not permitted, though the lady was at home.

“If you were to tell her that I am here, I do not think she will refuse,” Yvonne contended.

“Not usually, no,” he admitted, “but I apologise, Miss Davers; those were the orders I was given. I cannot alter them for anyone.”

Fortunately, Miss Ainsley had perceived the doorbell, her curiosity roused by this unexpected call. She was adamant to discover the identity of the caller, leaning against the window to try and view them on the doorstep, though she was unsuccessful. She soon noted the carriage upon the driveway, which she knew to be that of the Davers, and she dashed to the entrance hall, calling to Yvonne, it being unlikely that any other member of the family had come to visit.

“Oh, Miss Davers, it is you!” she exclaimed, coming to a breathless halt before her. “How relieved I am to see such a familiar, friendly face.”

“The pleasure is all mine, Miss Ainsley. Yet, I have been told that I cannot enter.”

Yvonne glanced indignantly at the footman, who turned to Miss Ainsley as if silently pleading that she explain herself. An expression of dread crossed the custodian’s features and she exhaled heavily, her hands clasping together as she raised her gaze to the ceiling, an epitome of divine penitence. It appeared that she was waiting upon some heavenly interference, some fortuitous circumstance that would delay the news she was about to confess, though none came, and she lowered her hands, her shoulders drooping as she returned her gaze to her guest.

“Miss Donoghue is ill,” she lamented. “There is not much that can be done for her; she must rest. I have been with her these past two days.” Miss Ainsley leant forward, her voice lowering, furtively. “I do not like to leave her alone when she is in such a state.”

Yvonne was startled to hear so.

“I saw her two days previous,” she mentioned. “When you both came to dinner. She did not seem unwell then. In fact, quite the opposite.” She paused, strenuously contemplating the whole of the visit. The conclusion did not satisfy her, however, as it did not appear to explain the reason for the sudden illness, so she persisted. “Is it possible to see her? I wish to be of help. It will be no bother to me; I have no business to attend to. Besides, I will be happy to do it.”

It was visible, from her expression, that Miss Ainsley was unsure. Some silent debate appeared to be occurring within her and she could not decide which option she preferred.

“I suppose there would be no harm in seeing her,” she muttered, her speech merely an outward thought. She was not directing it at her visitor but, rather, herself. Nonetheless, this appeared to restore her conviction for she began to speak excitedly. “Yes, it may lift her spirits. It is precisely what she needs.” Determined, she returned her attention to Yvonne, her voice rising to its usual volume. “She needs a good friend. Someone who is older, wiser, and who may be able to provide her with guidance that she will heed. The Lord knows she does not listen to me anymore. I do not know what else I can do.”

For the first time, Miss Ainsley appeared truly perplexed, an assessment that merely furthered her agitation. She had no solution as to how she could be of assistance to the young woman and had come to her last scheme, which was to rely on the aid of someone else. There was no misunderstanding, on her part, that she could be of any further comfort to her ward, not in their current circumstance.

Perceiving this impasse, Yvonne perceived a heavy sensation settle upon her breast, one that she detected to be dismay, this strange sensitivity arising from her confusion as to why her neighbour was unwell. There had been no trace, that she knew of, that Miss Donoghue had any ailment that could confine her to bedrest. To her knowledge, she was a healthy young woman; in body, at least.

Having been allowed to enter, she ascended the stairs, her footsteps echoing in the spacious foyer. She mounted alone, for Miss Ainsley did not think she would be of any use, and knowing the custodian as well as she did, she supposed, in this instance, that she was correct. Rapping her knuckles against the door, she waited, her head bending forward to perceive any sound that came from within. A faint admission was heard seconds later and she entered, closing the door delicately behind her, so as not to startle her neighbour.

Bonnie was lying in bed, her back turned from the door. She was covered almost entirely by her quilt. All that was visible was a stream of sleek black hair, which had been tied into a plait, and one arm that reached over the top of the covering to lie idly above. A detectable sigh wracked through her body and, as she released it, she spoke out.

“Please do not ask for Doctor Kensley,” she uttered, her voice barely audible. “I could not bear to see him again.”

“I think you know my position on changing your doctor,” Yvonne remarked.

“Yvonne!”

Bonnie whirled around. A fleeting expression of happiness crossed her features, but the longer she stared, the more the sight of her neighbour caused her grief and humiliation, and she turned to face away from her. She hauled the quilt upward, simultaneously sinking beneath it, so that the majority of her face was hidden. From amidst the sheets, her muffled voice could be heard.

“You should not have come. This has been a wasted journey; you should return home. I will be an inconvenience to you.”

“You are not an inconvenience, nor will you ever be.” When there was no response, she spoke louder, as if that were the solution. “I am concerned for you.”

The reticence continued. Yvonne felt the dismay settle deeper within her and she straightened her posture, her head rising slightly, so that she had the appearance of being self-assured. Nevertheless, she could not remove the underlying feeling of anxiety within her. She was desperate to be of use, urging herself from the lingering position by the door and stepping around the bed. Halting before the lady, she leant sideways so that Bonnie may view the earnestness upon her features, but so that she may also view Bonnie, since she had attempted to conceal herself.

“I hope it is not impertinent,” she persisted, “but I will do all that I can to help you recover.”

Bonnie stared obstinately ahead. “I cannot be helped.”

Yvonne did not believe that to be the case and peered around the room, as if the furniture may prompt her into discovering the answer. By chance, it did. A collection of poems and an assortment of books had been placed upon the bedside table.

“I can read to you,” she suggested. “We have not yet had the pleasure of reading together.”

“If you wish,” Bonnie murmured, indifferently.

In her want to be of assistance, Yvonne thought of all she could do and thought to list them to her companion, her determination causing her to feel more resolute, the longer she talked.

“If you tell me what is ailing you, I shall have the finest doctor in the area come and examine you. I shall fetch them myself, if it is necessary. And... and I shall have the cook make you some of those desserts you like, the- erm, the Gulab Jamun, or I was told by Miss Ainsley that there are some macaroons in the kitchen. Or, if you would prefer to build your strength, some broth shall do nicely. If not, I shall read you these poems until you feel better, or until you tire of my voice.”

From beneath the quilt came- “I will not tire of you.”

Perusing the books nearby, Yvonne noted there were some in another language, though she did not recognise it.

“What book is this?” she inquired.

Bonnie peered over the quilt, her head rising slightly, though it soon fell onto the pillow once she was finished.

“That is the Mahabharata (36). It used to belong to my mother; there are some other books that were hers. They were one of the only pieces of literature that I brought with me from Ireland.”

“Your mother was Indian?” Yvonne remarked, her brows rising.

Bonnie stared up at her, bursting into laughter a moment later.

“Could you not tell?”

Yvonne pinkened. “Well... I do not like to make assumptions.”

“Yes, my father met my mother whilst travelling abroad.” The thought of her parents appeased her and she settled against the pillow, staring serenely up at the ceiling. “He was unhappy at home. My father never felt that he liked living in Ireland during his childhood and there had been hopes, perhaps, that he would become involved in the clergy. He did not want to and was able to convince my grandparents to let him seek a profession elsewhere, to learn a trade. They granted him some time in travelling across the Continent, but he went as far as Asia and then, to India.

“He said, of all the countries he had visited, he was most drawn to India and it was his favourite country to have lived in. After my parents were married, they returned to Ireland, though it was not viewed as an agreeable match on either side. Still, they were happily married for many years, despite the disapproval of my family.” She paused, the recollection of her parents now causing her some distress, though she hurried to say: “I have never been, myself, but I have heard it is a beautiful country. I write to my family often and they always write back, asking when I shall come. I would like to but I hardly have the nerve for it, not at the moment. I can tell you a bit more of India, though I am no expert, or I could tell you more of how they met.”

Yvonne bowed her head. “I would be delighted. Anything you have to say, I shall gladly listen to.” Unthinkingly, she took hold of the Mahabharata, observing how greatly Bonnie thought of it, and held it up. “I shall read to you then, if that shall make you feel better.”

She clutched it within both hands, reading the title page, before remembering it was not in a language that she could read. Bashful, she returned it to the pile. From the bed, she could hear Bonnie laughing once more, which caused her to feel all the more contrite at her mindless mistake. The sound of her laughter, however, encouraged her, as it appeared that Bonnie was not as melancholy as she had been. Gratified, Yvonne decided to choose the selection of poems, knowing that her companion was incredibly fond of them.

As she searched for a chair, Bonnie instructed her to bring one closer to the bed, so that she was not sitting too far from her. Yvonne did so, seating herself and fumbling in her pocket for her monocle. Fitting it into place, she opened the book.

“Right... Let me begin.”

She began to read, straining through the lens to read the small print, her head tilting slightly to aid herself in the endeavour. Bonnie was silent, listening dutifully to her recitation. There was a slight twitch at the edge of her mouth, which indicated her contentment in sitting with Miss Davers. She had returned the quilt to its original position, so that she could be seen, and was studiously watching her guest as she spoke, the only movement being in the small rise and fall of the blanket where she breathed.

Every so often, Yvonne would peer upward to inspect Bonnie’s countenance. It occurred to her that she did not appear physically unwell. She was fatigued and there was a melancholic air to her, but there did not appear to be any symptoms of illness. Her eyes had reddened from what appeared to be tears but she did not complain of a headache, nor any ailment of the body that may have indicated that she was in pain. She simply lay there, her smile flickering, from one moment to the other, between existence and none, as though she could not decide the precise nature of her mood. Despite the attempt to appear cheerful, there was an emptiness to her stare, as though the sound of Yvonne’s voice calmed her, yet, beyond that, she could not fixate upon any other thought or emotion.

Yvonne was reminded once more of what Dr Kensley had said, the day they had met- that she suffered from nerves. This was a characteristic of Bonnie’s that was particularly new to her, despite her previous sullenness, though it was not this, in itself, that perturbed her, but rather, the thought that she may not be of any assistance. Determined, she continued to read. Yvonne could not say whether it was of any use, but she would do all she could to help her recover from her despondency. She was prepared to remain at the House all day, and she did, for she could not bring herself to leave her.

Chapter Notations

33. Gulab Juman is a milk-solid-based sweet that was created in Medieval Iran, but that also became popular in several other Asian countries.

34. Kaju Katli (also spelled and known as kaju katri or kaju barfi) is an Indian dessert made with cashew nuts, sugar, and ghee.

35. Lepidoptera is an order of insects that includes moths and butterflies. There are averagely 180,000 species of Lepidoptera on Earth and they are also considered the most widely recognisable insect orders in the world.

36. The Mahābhārata is an ancient Indian Sanskrit epic, the only other main epic being the Rāmāyana. The Mahābhārata depicts the struggle between the Pāndava and Kaurava families during the Kurukshetra War whilst they battle for the throne of Hastinapura.

Chapter Text

A knock on her bedroom door announced the arrival of Kenneth Dunce. The footman expressed that the manufacturer wished to speak with her, though he had not written beforehand to state his intentions, a circumstance that did not act in his favour in being received. However, Yvonne was willing to speak with him, as she was in high spirits for once, and asked the footman to take him to her study. Laying down the book she was reading, she swung her legs from off of the bed and pulled on her boots, tying them hastily, and withdrawing from the room once she had finished.

Kenneth was awaiting her, as instructed, a smirk appearing whilst he watched her enter the room. It appeared that he had come to present his new terms for the factory, though she did not believe they would be favourable to her, which caused his attempt at underhandedness to vex her considerably more than before, as he had undoubtedly refused to learn his lesson the first time. The high spirits that she had enjoyed that morning were slowly dwindling, the longer she looked at him. Withal, Kenneth did not appear to notice and bowed, his voice and expression retaining his usual self-assurance.

“Miss Davers.”

She inclined her head to a slight degree, unable to bring herself to reveal any further courtesy than that.

“Mister Dunce. I trust that you have come here solely in the circumstance that you have considered my deal.”

“Indeed, Miss Davers; that is the case. I have discussed your terms with my brother, but we have come to an agreement that the price is too high for what it is worth. We do not believe any of the materials that you have offered are of a fair price.”

As he spoke, his smirk had not lessened and Yvonne wished to laugh in response to this absurdity, astonished to discover, in this moment, that her disbelief reached higher heights than even she had expected. There were numerous contentions that she wished to voice, all of which were based in logic and fact, but she watched him as he stood there, his expression revealing that he believed himself to have bested her in some simple game of wits, and she knew that she could not reason with him. It was apparent that they would not accept, regardless of the conditions she laid out. They would only advance on their terms. Certainly then, it was true- they were Dunces in name, as well as in nature, for she could not have offered them a fairer and better deal than the one she had already given.

She remarked- “I will not change the price.”

He scoffed.

“You should be more reasonable!” he exclaimed, starting in the wake of her defiance. “We had every reason to hope that you would be, being a gentlewoman such as yourself. Surely, your father would have been. He would have thought the offer quite justifiable.”

Yvonne knew that her incredulousness was plainly visible upon her face, though she could not force herself to remove it. “My father has no place in this discussion, Mister Dunce. You did not know him in any capacity, and I will not have you come into my home and speak of him as if he were some dim-witted fellow. It need not matter what he thought. He is not here; I am.” Her voice rose in its steadiness, him leaning backward in an attempt to distance himself from the effrontery of her speech. “I am the owner of the factory and I will be the one to stipulate the price. I know the price to be reasonable and you cannot influence me to think otherwise. There is no reason that I should lower it, simply because you refuse to pay the full amount.”

Kenneth grimaced, his gaze flickering to the side of him in a fleeting moment of petulance.

“Perhaps I do not know you as well as I thought,” he uttered.

Amidst her vexation, she felt the etchings of amusement. Smiling, she said: “Need I remind you, Mister Dunce, that you do not know me at all. But do not fear. You shall come to know me better if we are to keep having these pointless meetings.”

“I would not call them pointless,” he protested.

“No, you would not.” Her brows rose, her arms crossing, as though that produced every indication to her feeling on the matter. “It is not your time that is being wasted; it is mine, and you seem to think it is best squandered by insulting my intelligence and undermining my business. I shall continue on the same price. If you do not approve, I will continue to refuse the deal. It will only become harder to speak with me if you keep arriving here with no news that is worth sharing. I do not take kindly to people who waste my time. It is unbecoming of a man in your position.

“Luckily for you, I have some news of my own. I have a new stipulation that I think will be worth your consideration. In the contract that I have formulated for all of my associates, I would like an agreement to access your place of business- in this circumstance, your factories. Not on a managerial level, but simply as an observer. If we were to have dealings with each other, I want to ensure that we are all of the same understanding when it comes to how we conduct business.”

Kenneth slowly licked his lips, a huff of laughter emitting from him. “Why?”

Yvonne raised her hands in response, lowering them a moment later. “Why not? I am new to the business and I wish to learn more. As you stated, you know considerably more than I do, so what is information shared between friends? I would like to oversee how you work. What’s more, I always believe it essential to be honest when it comes to how I conduct business and, if we were to be associates, it would be of the utmost importance to me that you feel similarly. It would make for a solid partnership, would it not, Mister Dunce?”

“It is hardly necessary and quite a trivial requirement when we are focused primarily on the making of profit. What you are outlining is very particular. Perhaps, when you work solely for yourself, you are not aware of the trifling way in which you work, but we do not require such finicky means for maintaining the greatest profit of lace in the county. You should trust that we do what is required.” He flicked his head slightly, his thick black hair tumbling attractively to the side. Raising his slim shoulders, he was genuinely mystified as to the necessity of such a request, his smirk returning, though in a way that suggested his bewilderment. “We are providing you with a chance that we rarely extend to others. We do well within our trade and we would be pleased to hear you grateful in the extension of our offer to you. I cannot approve of such trivial means and neither shall Martin; we can merely ask that you trust us in our word, and that you be at ease in all that we share with you.”

Yvonne was silent. The edge of her lips turned slowly upward, though her gaze did not reciprocate the sentiment. There was a sense of ire in her eyes that was not entirely sensed by Kenneth, who thought his speech to be quite inspiring.

With great restraint, she said: “You will broach these terms with your brother, anyhow? The contract has been made, trust or not.”

“Certainly, I can do you that favour,” Kenneth beamed, believing that he was providing her with a great service.

From the mantelpiece, the clock chimed, which was fortunate for Yvonne, as she could not formulate a response. Her incredulousness had amounted to a state that would not lessen, not at that moment in time, and she discerned that the best way to approach the situation was to abandon it.

Peering over her shoulder, she noted the hour, checking her watch in case either was slow. Satisfied, she excused herself, relief forming in the thought that she could prompt his leaving without appearing impolite.

“I must visit my solicitor; I agreed to meet him,” she mentioned. “Whilst I am there, I will discuss the contract with him. Once it has been completed, he shall send it to your office. Expect it soon, Mister Dunce.”

He uttered a non-committal response in promising to read it, but she did not care either way, for she had lost all expectation of becoming their associate in business. This was not a shared impression, however, as he continued to believe that the meeting had been a positive one.

Whilst she called for her outdoor attire, she allowed the footman to lead Mr Dunce to the door, as she did not wish to be in his presence any longer than necessary. Yvonne was slow in adorning her coat, hat, and gloves, as she had nowhere pressing to be. She did not plan to see her solicitor till the day after; her leaving was for Colworth House, not for town. Yet, Mr Dunce was none the wiser, her conscience primarily eased by the notion that she had been forced to end the discussion. There was nothing more to be said, and she did not believe that she needed their assistance. She would be better without them- if only they would leave her be.

Chapter Text

Penny ambled down the thin, wooden stairs, humming to herself as she rifled through the pages. She liked the drawings best, observing, with a steady eye, the detail of the dresses, the various colours that they were adorned in. The World of Fashion and Continental Feuilletons (37) was a magazine that she had recently discovered, having overheard the young women in town speaking of it. Not used to having any subscriptions other than for news, science, and politics, Penny had been enamoured by this publication and had begged Yvonne to subscribe to the magazine. Her sister had relented, allowing her to receive a monthly paper on the latest fashions.

She was taken by two dresses in particular but, having little in the way of friends and a sister who did not understand ladies dress, Penny was uncertain of whether she had chosen the right sort of attire for a lady of her age and position. Certainly, she was not the type of young woman to be consumed by fashion nor to place a particular importance on appearance, but she did want to be taken seriously. Her friendship with Miss Donoghue meant that she was being introduced to wider society, to the neighbours that she had not been permitted to associate with on a frequent basis, not before the gathering, and the Davers had a reputation that she was eager to maintain.

Penny had heard that Paris was one of the most influential cities for fashion and, knowing Paulette had been raised in the city itself, she had thought to ask her, which was why she had detoured to the servants’ quarters instead of spending her usual hours in the library. The staff were astonished to observe her, as she passed through the kitchen and into the hallway, though nobody expressed this aloud, merely bowing and curtseying as she passed. The notion embarrassed her; she always insisted that they treat her less formally, but they dared not to, for her mother and sister would not allow it. In spite of her usual manner, she simply bowed her head in response, too preoccupied in searching for Paulette to notice anyone else.

Yet, the maid was nowhere to be found. One of the laundry maids, upon inquiry, supposed that she was to be discovered in her room- Paulette had mentioned that she was unwell, and had retired after dressing the eldest Miss Davers. Expressing her gratitude, Penny continued down the corridor to the room in question, where she knocked soundly against the door. There was no answer and she tried again.

“Paulette, it is me,” she called. “If you can, I have some questions for you that I think you can answer.”

The silence persisted, though it was interrupted, seconds later, by a strangled cry. Startled, Penny grasped the handle, prepared to enter, when the door opened and Mrs Prescott exited the room.

The housekeeper did not appear to be well either, a judgement that caused Penny to consider that there may be an illness spreading its way through the staff. Her features revealed her fatigue, the expression upon them unnerved, as though she had viewed some ghastly sight and could not quite recover. Her blonde hair was dishevelled in its tight bun, her cheeks reddened. In her grip was a white sheet, which covered both her hands and forearms, though there seemed to be no reason why she was holding it. Laundry was below her station.

“I beg your pardon, Miss Davers...” Her voice gasped for air as she spoke, the usual strength in her tone reduced to a rasp. “...but Paulette is unwell. I will have one of the other maids come to you if you require her service.”

“What is the matter?” Penny inquired, the urge to be of assistance instantly arising within her. “Can I help?”

She leant to the side, trying to peer into the slim view that she had of the room, the door having been left slightly ajar, but Mrs Prescott was quicker, closing the door firmly behind her. Penny glowered, standing upright. Her fingers gripped tightly onto the magazine as she stared defiantly up at the housekeeper. Mrs Prescott stared calmly back.

It was evident that Paulette was unwell, her condition currently unknown, but Penny believed that she could be of assistance, and she wanted to be. If the matter was serious, she would treat it with the consideration it deserved. Numerous times she had perused her sister’s volumes on medicine and science- surely, she had proven her worth when Elijah Bell had been brought to the estate. Penny knew she had the ability to be of service, as she had done it before, though she wished, for once, that somebody would believe her.

“It is best that you remain outside, Miss Davers,” Mrs Prescott insisted. “This is not a sight that you wish to see. Miss Yacine is severely unwell. We are not yet certain of what ails her. If it is an infection, it is worth you avoiding the risk of becoming ill yourself.”

“I am not frightened of infection,” she declared, boldly. “I should like to see her.” A thought struck her and she added- “Has the doctor been called for?”

Mrs Prescott was silent for a moment. “Yes, ma’am. He shall be here soon, but I would rather you return upstairs where you cannot be harmed.”

Penny tried to move past her twice, insisting that she did not care for her own health, but she could not reach the door. The domestic’s large stature was a benefit to her, and she hardly needed to move to prevent Penny from passing. At these futile attempts, both women were starting to become irked with one another.

“I beg your pardon once again, Miss Davers,” Mrs Prescott stated, resolutely, “but I really must insist that you refrain from entering and that you return upstairs.”

Penny stood back, her hands curling at her sides, the paper in her hand starting to compress under her grasp. “I do not appreciate your tone, Mrs Prescott! Need I remind you that I hold authority over this household and if you will not allow me to enter, I shall call for Yvonne! I am sure she would be interested in the welfare of her lady’s maid, and she shall do all she can to ensure that she is cared for. If you will not allow me to attend to her then Yvonne shall. I would urge you to consider which is best.”

It had not been her intention to be impolite nor disagreeable, and she tried to avoid acting childish, yet the words had left her before she had any chance of controlling them. Penny did not want to involve Yvonne any more than the housekeeper did, but it was a threat that she would carry out, as she had done before, so long as she had her way.

In being refused access to anything and everything as a child, she had learnt how to manoeuvre situations to her preference by simply demanding that Yvonne cave to her wishes, and, in wanting a peaceful life, her sister often gave her all that she wanted; the only exception being in the question of travel. However, her greatest wish was that someone would view her as their equal. In the circumstance that this had not yet occurred, she felt a resentment that had built itself, over time, into a tremendous force, one which would often erupt at a time that she wished it had not. Penny did not want to be dictated to; she wanted to be shown the same consideration as her mother and sister. In her defiance, she would do as she pleased, for everyone else seemed to.

Mrs Prescott was silent in the aftermath of her outburst. It appeared that she was considering the most appropriate course of action and, as she thought upon it, seemed to conclude that, in this circumstance, one was better than the other. Craning her neck forward, she peered down the hallway, her voice lowering as she leant closer to Penny, the admittance coming out in a rapid whisper.

“Miss Davers, if you insist upon entering, I appeal to your good nature, one which I know you have. I was not originally aware of the condition of Miss Yacine and I was told, upon discovery, that it would soon be remedied. Not by medicinal or surgical treatment, but by marriage, whereupon the situation in which she found herself would be remedied by having a husband and his financial support. As this has not yet manifested, the time has now passed. The illness that she has presented to me will no longer be a hindrance, but I request, if I may be so bold, that you do what you feel is correct in assisting her condition, but in doing so, promising that it remains between the three of us.”

Penny contemplated all that had been said to her, her own response uttered in an uncertain stutter.

“The three of us. You are referring to us both and Doctor Kensley?”

“No, ma’am,” Mrs Prescott said, uneasily. “I refer to us both and Miss Yacine.”

“But the doctor shall come...”

“I hope you may forgive me but I was not honest with you. I had hoped you were placated by the thought of the doctor, but I have not called for one.”

“Why?” Penny exclaimed, loudly, shushed simultaneously by the woman before her. “Mrs Prescott, how could you be so careless?”

Perceiving that she was not going to lower her voice, Mrs Prescott took hold of her arm through the sheet, pulling her sharply into the room and closing the door resolutely behind them. She dropped the material onto the stone floor, a motion that revealed her hands were smeared with blood. Glancing at the ground, Penny noted, now that it had been released, that the sheet also had smatterings of blood upon it, similar to Mrs Prescott’s hands, and the bed beside her had been stripped of its coverings.

Aghast, Penny turned, a faint imagining of what had occurred flickering in her mind, though she did not wish to believe it, preferring to remain in ignorance as to the circumstances that had led to this unfortunate position. This did not quash the apprehension that arose within her, however, a slight scent of copper reaching her nostrils as she surveyed the room, her stomach lurching uncomfortably in response.

Paulette was sitting against the wall, openly sobbing, her tan skin beaded in sweat. Being slim, the gauntness of her features merely caused her to look all the more ill, the only difference being in the slight raise of her stomach, which had not always appeared to be there. Her white nightgown was stained, a bowl of water and a wooden pail not far from her. The water was visibly crimson, though Penny did not dare to inquire into the reason for the pail. From behind, Mrs Prescott spoke out.

“Miss Yacine has requested that a doctor not be called and I, for one, agree with her. This shall have to be reported to Miss Davers, if that were the case.” Her voice softened, conscious that her sole ally in this situation was the girl before her. The youngest Miss Davers was the one who would decide the outcome of this incident and she was unnervingly silent, an event that did not occur often. “I cannot command you, ma’am; you may do as you please, although I would prefer that this is not reported to Miss Davers. Not at this moment in time. Miss Yacine is not in a fit state to reap the consequences; I feel she has suffered enough.”

Penny did not respond but stepped forward, the magazine in her hand falling to the floor. She crouched down, gently resting her hand upon the maid’s damp arm.

“Paulette?” she uttered, softly. “Que se passe-t-il? Laissez-moi vous aider (38).”

Forcefully, Paulette yanked her arm away, holding it closely to her body. She leant to the side, turning her face from the girl in shame. “Non, tu ne peux pas m'aider (39).”
Penny was silent for a minute, watching her steadily in the hopes that some positive notion would come to her, a solution that would produce as little difficulty as possible to the young woman before her, but none came.

“Je ne dirai rien à Yvonne, je promets.” Pausing, she leant forward, the earnestness of her feelings revealed in her speech. “Dites-moi quoi faire, ce que Mme Prescott doit faire, et nous garderons votre secret. Tu n'es pas bien (40).”

There was no other response than a repressed sob and an emittance of- “My baby!”

Swiftly, Mrs Prescott interjected, her disquietude revealed in the speed in which she spoke. “She did not want to keep it, but I did not want to risk any further harm to her. I encouraged her to marry. She says the father died; he was a sailor, but he passed before he could return and marry her. She has no family and nowhere else to go; it would be fateful for her to be dismissed.”

Penny peered over her shoulder, incensed at such a suggestion.

“I have no intention of dismissing her!” Then her countenance changed, her brows down-turning, her gaze lowered. With a hushed voice, she said: “Yvonne... she would understand.” She glanced upward, staring fiercely at the housekeeper. “I know she would.”

Mrs Prescott did not contend. Tentatively, she asked:

“So, you will tell her?”

Penny’s defiant stare lessened and she appeared uncertain of herself.

“No...” Returning her attention to the woman beside her, she believed it best to revert the conversation back to the one who was most in need. “I think we should clean Paulette, have her rest, and we shall call for the doctor.” Deliberating the matter, she thought to add a further resolution. “I shall answer for my family and I shall handle the incident. The doctor is bound by secrecy. If he is to say anything, I would be willing to provide him with the money I have, but I will not risk her life for my honour. In the meantime, you will send one of the maids to attend to my sister and I, as you originally stated. I shall speak to Yvonne on the matter.”

Mrs Prescott bowed her head. “Yes, ma’am.”

Nevertheless, a realisation dawned upon Penny and she stood.

“No, I shall leave to call him and I shall find a maid. You must remain here in case anyone sees you.”

She glanced down at Mrs Prescott’s hands and dress, both streaked in blood, and the housekeeper followed her gaze, having forgotten, for a moment, that that was the case. Relenting, she allowed Penny to leave, thanking her for her assistance. Before she departed, however, Penny turned to Paulette, her voice lowering, softly.

“Nous appelons le docteur. Madame Prescott va vous aider avant qu'il ne vienne. Tout ce dont vous avez besoin, dites-le (41).”

“Non, non!” she protested, vehemently.

Mrs Prescott attempted to shush her as gently as she could, conscious that someone may hear, stepping closer and crouching down in the hope of reassuring her.

“Vous avez perdu beaucoup de sang,” she told her. “S'il vous plaît, nous ne pouvons garantir votre santé à moins que quelqu'un ne vous examine. Penny m'a assuré qu'elle gérerait la situation; l'aînée Miss Davers ne le saura pas (42).”

Paulette glanced frantically between them, her hands pressing against the floor to raise herself, but there appeared to be some difficulty, for she groaned in pain and returned to her sitting position. Staring wide-eyed at Mrs Prescott, she allowed the older woman to take hold of her trembling hand.

“Personne ne saura (43)?”

“Personne (44).”

Nodding, Paulette leant back against the wall, staring up at Penny. It was clear that she had accepted, though there was a trace of surrender to her gaze. “Vous pouvez l'appeler, Mademoiselle (45).”

Penny clasped her hands together, bowing in relief. “Merci, Paulette; merci. Je vous promets qu'il ne vous arrivera rien. Je ne le permettrai pas (46).”

She managed a strained smile before she withdrew, pausing in the corridor once she was alone. Unattended, she allowed herself to fully comprehend the scene that she had intruded upon, her breathing accelerating to a degree that she had not expected, and she emitted some panicked sound, her hands clutching together and pressing against her chest.

Knowing she must calm herself, she returned her hands to her side, realising she had left her magazine in the room. She did not return to fetch it but breathed inward, eyes closing. A long breath was released shortly after and she hardened herself to continue down the corridor, discerning that she could not abandon Paulette in the state she was in.

With resolution, she hurried from the servants’ quarters, determined to have a message sent instantly to the doctor. She could not think upon whether he would accept the excuse for Paulette’s incapacitation, or whether she would have to pay him more than he usually required for his services. All she knew was that she wanted to do all in her power to assist Paulette, whether the woman wanted her help or not. Regardless of their wishes, neither had the privilege of choice; if she were to recover, she would need medical assistance. There was nothing else to be done.

Tentatively, Penny sat on the windowsill, her hands smoothing her skirt as she lowered onto the wood, an attempt to remain quiet whilst she did so. She turned to stare out of the window, though it was night-time and there was nothing to be seen. Still, the blank square before her was comforting and she continued to watch this vastness with absent-minded interest. From across the room came a rustle of paper, Yvonne having sat in her usual chair to read the newspaper, the sound indicating that she was preoccupied with reading and would not be disturbed. This daily undertaking had a detectable difference, however. Yvonne had perceived it and could not allow herself to dismiss the notion, despite her fixation on the articles.

As she peered through her rounded spectacles, she said- “You are rather quiet.” When there was no response, she decided to press on. “And you missed supper. It is unlike you to miss the opportunity of gorging yourself on whatever meal happens to be before you. Are you unwell?”

“No,” Penny managed to say, meekly. “I am not unwell.”

Yvonne lowered her paper, though Penny was not before her but behind her. “You are upset then. What is it that has upset you? Is it the affair with the lady’s maid?” She peered around the chair to observe the shadowed form of her sister, returning to her paper, seconds later, with a sigh. “I see Paulette has neglected her duties today.”

“She is unwell,” Penny exclaimed, her gaze flickering from the window to Yvonne. “That is unfair of you to say.”

“She is always unwell.” There was a corresponding rustle of the newspaper, as if that attested to the truth of the matter. “She has been useless since arriving here; I was told she was a good maid, though I have yet to be proven otherwise. At this point, I might as well send her home.”

“You have a duty to care for her, Yvonne,” she chastised. Striving to repress the agitation within her, she inhaled sharply, a jittery breath exhaled a moment later. “She clearly has an affliction and yet, you ridicule her and do not help.”

“She certainly has an affliction to working,” Yvonne scoffed, “Though I shall see her, if you are so worried for her health.”

“There is no need,” she hurried to say, her eyes widening. “I saw to her earlier. Doctor Kensley came and prescribed bed rest for the time-being; he says it is better that you not see her. He is unsure of her exact condition and says it could be infectious.”

Yvonne humphed in amusement.

“Of course he does not know of her condition!” A moment later, she uttered- “Useless...” She sounded so alike to her mother that she would have been loath to hear it, but she did not recognise her own tone, and continued to speak. “You should have sent for me; how much was his consultation?”

“I paid for it, Yvonne. It need not matter.”

“No, she is my maid, heavens knows why, and I shall cover the cost. Pass me his bill and I shall reimburse you. If you think she is too ill to be seen then I shall avoid speaking with her until she feels ready. It may be pertinent for us to speak about her contract once she is better.”

“She has not been neglectful in her duties,” Penny contended.

Yvonne’s gaze quickly scanned the articles, even as she spoke. It appeared she had lost interest in what the newspaper had to say, although she would continue to read till she had reached the last column. “Not when she is well, no, but I cannot pay for a maid that constantly requires medical attention. At this rate, I shall have to seek another.”

Penny’s thumbs fumbled together, she staring down at them whilst endeavouring to calm the restless beating of her heart. There was no circumstance in which she would allow for Paulette’s dismissal; at least, not if she were to have her say, but it was ultimately Yvonne’s decision, and her sister could be as obstinate as she could, meaning that one would have to bend to the other’s will- whose in this instance, she was unsure.

With a quiet resignation, she attempted her final reasoning. “Do not be so hasty, Yvonne. I should wait until she recovers to see how she fares. She may be better once this illness has passed. It seems that she is overcoming the worst of it.”

Yvonne was silent for a minute. Penny thought her attention was taken with the newspaper, but she eventually spoke out with her own sense of resignation.

“If you want me to be patient, I shall, but I cannot promise to keep her if she continues this way.”

Penny was overcome with emotion, standing and rushing across the room. Falling to the floor, she took hold of Yvonne’s legs, pressing herself to them, her head resting against her knee. Yvonne peered at her from over the newspaper, bewildered as to why she was acting so strangely, though she could not fathom what had possibly transpired to cause her to behave that way. It did not occur to her to ask.

The reason behind it was known to Penny, at least. She could not bear to see anyone ill, particularly in such a circumstance as the one she had witnessed. She had tried to distract herself but the consultation with the doctor had rekindled her anxiety, and she could not help but think upon all that had happened, the mere recollection maintaining her sense of discomfort. If she were unnerved, she could not comprehend how Paulette was feeling, though she did not wish to mention the subject again if it would further the maid’s distress. Hesitant as to what she may do, Penny clung vigorously onto her sister’s legs in some vain attempt at comfort, staring into the empty fireplace, as she had done into the darkness of night.

Sensing that she was distressed in some way, Yvonne humphed, mainly from the belief that she could be of no help to her, and she rustled her newspaper to express that irritation as she passed from one page to the next. Nevertheless, the tightening of her sister’s grip caused her some concern, both for the girl and for the circulation of her legs, an assessment that caused her to reach down and rest her hand atop Penny’s curls. She could not decide on what to say in consolation, resolving to pat her head in an ungainly attempt at comfort. It was unclear whether Penny appreciated the motion, though she hoped that was the case.

In truth, Penny did, the heaviness in her heart lifting ever so slightly. It did not improve the situation, but it did cause her to feel a little less alone, to feel some stirrings of tenderness in her heart, and that, in itself, comforted her. Even in the darkest hours, it was kindness that had the ability to right all, or so she believed, and she knew she had the ability to be thoughtful, if nothing else. Surely then, everything would right itself, the way it was supposed to be righted. She could not imagine any other outcome.

Chapter Notations

37. The World of Fashion and Continental Feuilletons was a monthly magazine published in London between the years 1824-1851, and was a publication dedicated “expressly to high life, fashionables and fashions, polite literature, fine arts, the opera, theatres, &c.”

38.Translation: What is the matter? Let me help you.

39. Translation: No, you cannot help me.

40. Translation: I will not say anything to Yvonne, I promise. Tell me what I must do, what Mrs Prescott must do, and we shall keep your secret. You are not well.

41. Translation: We are calling the doctor. Mrs Prescott is going to assist you before he comes. Anything you need, please say.

42. Translation: You have lost a lot of blood. Please, we cannot vouch for your health unless someone examines you. Penny has assured me that she will handle the situation; the eldest Miss Davers will not know.

43. Translation: Nobody will know?

44. Translation: Nobody.

45. Translation: You may call him, Miss.

46. Translation: Thank you, Paulette; thank you. I promise nothing shall happen to you. I will not allow it.

Chapter Text

Bonnie had returned to her usual routine after a week of bedrest, though her spirits had not quite lifted to the degree that Miss Ainsley had hoped for. Nevertheless, the sight of her wandering the halls of Colworth House was an achievement within itself, and the custodian had taken comfort in seeing her active in some form or another. She had sent a letter, even so, to both the Donoghue family, who had recently travelled to Austria, and to the Maukhari family in India, who were awaiting news from Bonnie, she not having written since being confined to bedrest. The two had received the account of her health with varying degrees of optimism, though neither were truly positive. Miss Ainsley hoped to hear of their intervention, they being her closest relatives, but neither responded with any hint that they were to travel to England. Discouraged, she did not write to them again, urging Bonnie to maintain the contact between them, as she had more luck in receiving a response.

As expected, Bonnie did not write. She allowed a small handful of visitors into the House, those being the families that had attended the gathering and the Davers, but her social attempts did not develop any further than that. This was a circumstance that did not pass unnoticed by Yvonne, though she did not mention it to Bonnie or Miss Ainsley, despite observing that the elder was equally troubled by it. Instead, she continued to call, one occasion in particular yielding hope for her possible improvement.

During an afternoon visit, Yvonne had entered the drawing room to discover Bonnie seemingly content. Yet, even in her equanimity, she would often grasp Yvonne by the arm or wrist, her clasp firm but not tight. It was evident that she was troubled by some thought or another, though Yvonne was unsure of how to broach the subject, particularly with the sensitivity that she felt it required. Fortunately for her, Bonnie approached it of her own accord, her hand coming to rest, once more, on her neighbour’s wrist, her fingers gently curling around it.

“I know you must depart for London in a couple of days,” she uttered, forlornly. “I understand it is vital that you visit; it is an exciting time for you and your business. All the same, I shall miss you.”

Leaning her head against the back of the sofa, she stared sullenly ahead, her slumped figure revealing both her dejection and her fatigue.

“You have Penny,” Yvonne mentioned.

Bonnie’s countenance revealed that she did not quite think her equal to the eldest Miss Davers, despite the fondness that she held for her. “I suppose.”

Some thought struck her and she visibly cheered, albeit to a small degree, and she insisted that Yvonne wait for her, standing and rushing from the room. Uncertain as to where she had gone, Yvonne sat in bemused silence, deciding to seize the unexpected respite to think further upon a riddle that she had read in the newspaper.

Whilst she amused herself, Bonnie ascended the stairs. Her pace was unnaturally quick, though she could not abide racing anywhere and was short-winded before she had reached the landing, pausing, once she did, to pant loudly. A minute later, she rushed down the corridor, a pink flush spreading its way across her countenance, an occurrence that was caused primarily from the exertion that she had undergone to reach the main bedroom.

Arriving at the door, she flung it open and approached the bedside table, rummaging through its top drawer. She seized a small object, laughing triumphantly- if not a little breathlessly- before closing the drawer and returning downstairs, her pace lessening the closer she came to the drawing room. She hoped to regain some composure before she re-entered.

Flattening the front of her dress, she patted her hair, aiming to discern whether it had altered in any way. It had not and she inhaled deeply, mainly in the gratification that she was presentable. Entering the room, she held her hands behind her, advancing determinedly towards her guest.

“You must close your eyes,” she instructed. Although the directive was visibly followed, she added- “No peeking.”

“I am not,” Yvonne promised, scrunching her eyes in a more conspicuous way, as if to reassure her.

Stepping towards her, Bonnie leant forward, studying her reaction. When there was none, she returned to her usual stance, discerning that she could do as she pleased; her guest could not see. She brought her hands to her front, carefully opening the box so that there was no indication as to what it may be. Reaching inside, she pinched the cool, thin metal between her thumb and forefinger, lifting it upward till it was dangling before her. The sight of it thrilled her, her teeth biting into her bottom lip to stifle the rising excitement.

Placing the box onto the nearest table, she knelt beside Yvonne, reaching across to take hold of her hand. The sensation of their skin brushing together caused her neighbour to stir, and Bonnie was anxious that she may ruin the surprise.

“You cannot look!”

“I am not,” she contended.

Yvonne was uncertain as to why she had touched her, yet Bonnie did not explain herself, gently turning her hand so that her palm was facing upward. Laying the gold ornament in the centre, Bonnie placed the chain atop it, the small rings swirling haphazardly across her palm. Delighted by this, she placed her hands atop Yvonne’s, as if to hide it.

“All right,” she laughed. “You may look now!”

She removed her hands from her companion’s, revealing the present within. Yvonne peered downward, her features revealing her astonishment. Intrigued by the item, she raised her hand to observe it better.

In her grasp was a locket, its repoussé metalwork depicting little images of foliate and fruit, miniature diamonds placed in the tips of the leaves. Despite her consideration for the gift, she could not help but be conscious that she was being watched, as Bonnie was staring up at her, her hands resting neatly on her companion’s knee. Yvonne glanced across, offering her a small smile, one which Bonnie returned with ardency, before gazing downward.

“Open it,” Bonnie urged.

She did so, noting that a curl of thick, black hair had been placed within. On the underside of the lid, a message had been etched- To Yvonne, for luck in all ventures. Yours, Bonnie.

The sight caused her to fall into contemplative reticence, staring, rather simply, at the locket, the note inside, and the small piece of hair. Her expression was so stupefied that it revealed no further sentiment, the silence lasting so long that Bonnie’s smile faded, she sitting back in disappointment. Her hands slid from atop her knee, falling into her own lap, and she stared dourly up at her.

“You do not like it?”

Yvonne glanced across, her gaze reflecting that she had not realised her own silence.

“No, it is wonderful,” she assured her, a smile appearing on her lips. “I shall wear it always.”

Appeased, Bonnie returned her hands to her neighbour’s knee.

“I did not know if you would like it,” she admitted. “You hardly wear jewellery. I thought you might not like a necklace.”

“Anything you give, I shall happily receive.” Yvonne glanced down at the locket, staring once more at the inside, before carefully closing it. “Besides, it is more thoughtful than I deserve. You did not have to give me so dear a present.”

“But you gave me the pin,” she protested.

“Well, you deserve to have many gifts, but you have given me a lock of your hair. That is more precious a gift than I can justify having. I cannot keep so prized a possession. I have hardly done anything to deserve it.”

“I do not like you saying that, Yvonne,” Bonnie frowned, admonishingly. “You keep saying the word deserve as if you do not, and I do not cut my hair for anyone, you know. It is too lovely for that.” She brandished her head to exhibit the comeliness of her hair, although nobody had thought to disagree with her on the matter. “I wish you would accept that I want to give it to you. So long as you want it, that is.”

“Of course! It is a great honour.” Holding the locket out to her, she asked- “Will you assist me in putting it on?”

“Yes,” Bonnie smiled, standing and grasping the necklace.

Yvonne turned in her seat, noting, moments later, that the pendant was dangling in front of her. The heart-shaped locket was lowered, coming to rest against her shirt, before being brought upward, its cool metal perched neatly against her cravat. Bonnie fastened the clasp together, now that she could see it, gently resting the chain against the back of her neck, so that it could hang of its own accord. Without thinking, she placed her hands atop Yvonne’s shoulders, leaning over to view the locket whilst she was wearing it.

“How lovely!” she remarked. “It suits you well.”

Yvonne was not used to wearing jewellery, particularly around the neck, and she stared down at it with some exultation. It was not often that she preferred to wear anything feminine but she discovered she quite liked it. Her fingers brushed lightly against the surface, feeling the etchings in the metal before peering upward, moments later, to stare at Bonnie, who was still leaning over her.

“I shall keep it here,” she told her, her fingers lingering on the locket. “Fitting that it should be so near to my heart, for I shall I treasure it always.”

Bonnie did not respond, watching her steadily for a moment. It appeared that she had some feeling that she wished to express, but she decided against it, stepping back and releasing her hold on Yvonne’s shoulders. She returned to her seat, her demeanour subdued.

“Thank you, Yvonne. I am glad to hear that you like it.” Reminded of their imminent separation, she reached out to grasp her arm, her tone revealing her concern. “You must not forget to write to me.”

Yvonne could not understand her apprehension, simply because she could not comprehend a reality where she did not write to her. She shook her head. “I could not. I will write to you on arrival and once more before I leave. How are you supposed to know if you have brought me luck, otherwise?”

Bonnie beamed, an air of conceit arising. “I suppose I would not.”

“Fortunate, indeed, that you thought to give it to me now,” Yvonne continued, peering down at the locket. “It is very much needed. Since I cannot bring you with me, I would have been forced to acquire another lucky charm, but you have gifted me one, so there needn’t be any worry on that account. I would be quite hapless without you.”

The thought of their separation was distressing to Bonnie, though the sincerity with which her neighbour spoke prevented her from returning to her melancholic state. Merrily, she gestured towards the locket.

“It is the luck of the Irish. I have passed it to you. Now, I shall wait eagerly for the good news that you are likely to have.”

Yvonne expressed her gratitude, unable to prevent herself from peering once more at the locket. She was quite enamoured by the golden heart and did not think she could fully articulate her thoughts on the matter, not to the degree that she wished. Beside her, however, Bonnie was inattentive. Now the gift had been received, her pleasure at its response faded, as she perceived a sensation within her stomach that she believed to be of more importance.

“I think it is time for cake,” she decided. “Are you hungry?”

“I am quite alright, thank you. I had a cup of coffee this morning.”

Bonnie rest a hand against her stomach, her brows down-turning as she bemoaned- “It has been two hours since I last ate. I am starved.” On perceiving that Yvonne was not hungry, nor would she insist upon eating, Bonnie decided to take matters into her own hands. “I shall call for cake anyhow. It is precisely what we need before you leave.”

She reached for the bell that rested on the table beside her. As for Yvonne, she had eaten at dawn and had not consumed anything since, startled to hear that Bonnie had awoken so late as to have had her breakfast, theoretically, at lunchtime. Yet, she would not deny her and supposed she could eat whatever Miss Donoghue wished her to. Nevertheless, it needn’t matter what her opinion was, for Bonnie was already ringing the bell.

Chapter Text

As she swayed to and fro, only slightly, Yvonne pursed her lips, staring peevishly ahead. She was used to travelling alone or with someone familiar to her, but in this instance, she was travelling with Ingham, which she thought to be of the greatest inconvenience. He had not acted terribly in any way; he was simply there and that, to her, was pretty horrid of him.

The poor man had no other choice but to come with her, as he was her delegate, and they were travelling to London on the matter of business. He could not afford his own carriage and she refused to rent him a seat in the coach. For all that money, she believed she ought to bring him with her. Yet, in doing so, that meant she was unable to stretch across the seats and sleep, which was her preferred mode of travelling, or she often liked to lie across her own side of the carriage and read. Yvonne had a reputation to maintain, but in keeping to it, that meant she was required to sit upright the whole way to London, her arms crossed stiffly before her.

Without realising, she would occasionally glance in his direction, a severe expression upon her features that caused him to avert his gaze, staring studiously out of the window. He would often remark on the sights he could see, as he had never travelled beyond the county border, or he would speak on the associates that they were to meet. Nevertheless, there would fall an intermittent silence and he would turn back to the window, uncertain as to why, in those moments of reticence, she appeared so offended by his presence.

It was not an impression that she was conscious of giving, so she did not alter or lessen it, but also took to staring out of the window, watching the fields as they passed by. Often, her attention would turn to the metal pressed against her skin, the locket she had tucked under her shirt. She had ensured not to forget it, though that was not difficult, for she had kept it on the bedside table whilst she slept and was already wearing it by the time Paulette came to assist her. It offered her some comfort.

Despite her sister’s belief, Yvonne did not prefer being apart from her family; at the least, Penny, and she felt the same impression forming in the instance of her neighbour. Yet, the locket allowed her to achieve some sense of closeness, even as she was far from them. She believed it would bring her luck, which she felt she so desperately needed- there was no foretelling how she would be received in London. Only time would tell.

27th July, 1830

It has been quite the week. I have barely had time to write, as this journal attests to, and any time I could have had, I spent writing to Miss Donoghue; I promised her two letters. There is only so much I could include, as I wanted to leave some conversation for when I return. I do not think she shall mind. Nonetheless, I have found some time to record my week here in London, but I shall try to do it as quickly as possible, for there is far too much to include. I will be forced to write till the early hours of the morning if I were to encompass everything, but we are travelling tomorrow and I do not wish to be fatigued on the journey home.

The most important news is that we met with some potential partners, some men of trade that I have heard of through my importing of agriculture, a couple of others being men recommended by Draper, who was kind enough to present me with a list of his own. I wrote to them and received a letter of acceptance from almost all of them, besides two, who were not interested in trading. Apparently, they were fine as they were. It was hardly a promising start, but I had the opportunity to speak with the others, which I was grateful for. Admittedly, I did not expect a warm response; to have only two refuse was a better outcome than I had previously predicted.

This week, I met with several men who were interested in my offer- Wyndham, Ashikaga, Saad, Mores, Roydon, Ortiga, and Hooper. Wyndham was interested, though a little demanding on his terms; he seemed to want more of a percentage than what it was worth. As for Ashikaga, Saad, Mores, Ortiga, and Hooper, they all seemed pleased to make a deal and did not offer anything in return that I could not give. Ashikaga is based in Manchester, Saad- Liverpool, Mores in Birmingham, Ortiga- London, and Hooper in Bristol. This gives me a quite an extensive range of associates, far more than I was hoping for, and I can return knowing I have a secure network from which to work from. As for Roydon, he is still contemplating whether he wants to make a deal, whether he thinks it worth his time. He does not seem to favour either side, and promised to let me know within the next few weeks. Either way, I have secured a promising handful of associates to trade with; I shall not struggle, whether Roydon accepts or not.

I think I am departing quite merrily and satisfactorily. There was less of an objection to my trading than I originally anticipated and, without Roydon, Wyndham, or the Dunces, I shall be quite on my way. Consequently, I can proceed as planned and proceed securely, knowing I have the backing I need. If I were to encounter any obstacles in the future, I am sure to overcome them much more easily than before.

Besides business, all anybody can talk about this week is the upcoming election (47). The death of our King has brought many arguments to the fore that have gradually intensified over the years, reaching a fervour that is quite astonishing but not wholly unexpected. Between the men I spoke to, there was an interesting combination of support for both the Whigs (48) and the Tories (49), though their sentiment is merely a product of the eternal debate for Reform (50) and the lasting feeling that has derived from the Emancipation Bill (51)- it has divided opinion. I was startled to hear the preference for reformation from some of the men, but I suppose they do not consider it from the same perspective that I do. Even so, I am quite tired of hearing about the Bill from Penny, who is still hoping to convince me that it is for the best, even at the expense of our rights. We cannot bring ourselves to agree. I cannot speak to the others but I shall be supporting Polhill (52). Penny threatens that she shall throw her financial support behind Whitbread (53), which I think rather nasty of her, but that is how she feels and I know I could not prevent her from doing otherwise, even if I tried. Fortunate then that she has no money of her own, for it would be squandered on nonsense. The other day, I caught her with a yellow ribbon (54) but she darted off before I could question where she had obtained it from. I do not know where she has hidden it, no matter how much I threaten her.

Still, I cannot help but notice that there is a murmur of support for Whitbread, which appears to become louder at every moment, particularly with the election so close. He is already so popular and has been known throughout this town for many a year. There is hardly a complaint against him. Undoubtedly, he is in favour of being re-elected. In the meantime, nobody has the nerve to show a blue ribbon, for fear of attack. Politics is not the same as it used to be- it becomes more dangerous every year.

Of greater concern, to me, is the threat of insurrection. The unrest that began further south has found its way to Bedford, I fear, and I am starting to believe I shall have to find a better way of securing my farms, as well as the factory when it re-opens. They have taken to thrashing whatever they can in Kent (55). I know there have been talks in town as to whether the same should be done here, although I cannot pinpoint where the talks are coming from. They would be jailed, if they were discovered, but I am quite interested to hear what they have to say. If my business is vulnerable, I wish to know the charges against it, so I may refute it. If they want fairer pay, I would rather listen to reason than have my property damaged. Besides, any loss to the farms will cost the livelihoods of my tenants. Some people do not see it that way. They mean to inflict damage where they can. This bodes ill after all that has occurred in France; they say there is more to come (56). God grant it shall not be so bloody here.

Be that as it may, I do not wish to speak further on it. The subject has been quite exhausted already, and it never fails to provoke me. So, I shall bring myself to another discussion that I found to be of more interest, one that is a particular passion of mine- the opening of the railway between Manchester and Liverpool (57). I had quite the talk about it with both Ashikaga and Saad! I think the railways are a disturbance to the land, as well as the fact that they are extremely dirty and noisy, but my!- if a train, within itself, is not one of the greatest inventions known to Man! I have kept a noted interest in the development of trains- for a keen interest in the rise of technology, but also for the changing rates of canal passages, due to the increase of locomotives. Having shares in canal development, I am not ignorant to the debate that has arisen as time goes on. The canals are a costly business, as well as slow. They have been a blessing when reaching beyond Bedfordshire, but we are now approaching a time where we can travel, in one single route, beyond neighbouring towns and counties to a different part of the country altogether (58)! And at a much faster rate. What a marvel! An invention that shows the true excellence of Man, similar to that of the Pyramids, the Great Wall, or the Taj Mahal. Now, we have a machine built of iron and steel that transports us at great speed from one place to another. Stephenson (59) is the engineer behind this new railway, but his son, Robert, will be operating his infamous Rocket (60) and Northumbrian on the opening day, although I do not know which lines he shall carry them. What a thrill to think there will be two trains averaging a speed of up to 30 miles per hour travelling simultaneously along the tracks. When I was younger, I would never have dreamed there would be anything like it.

As I wrote some years ago, I managed to obtain a ticket on the Locomotion during her maiden launch on the newly built Stockton and Darlington railway (61), starting from Darlington and stretching all the way to Stockton Quay. It cost quite the expense and I only managed to obtain a ticket because a dear friend of mine – Lord Worsley- knew one of the Parliamentary members travelling with the Minister. Quite fortunately for me! I remember the thrill of moving at so great a speed, sitting within a coach not pulled by horses but by the power of steam, and seeing the spectators run alongside the train, some on horses, some children- shouting and jumping around, and a small handful waving the flag. There was one man who sat atop the coals in the wagon and waved as the carriage drew past- I could see him if I stuck my head out of the window. He was lucky not to slip and injure himself; I remember it even now. The experience was more than I could comprehend, and I would be eager for the chance to try it again. There was a similar opening earlier this year, though I missed it- between Canterbury and Whitstable (62). Not quite the grand event compared to the S&DR but still, very respectable.

Railways are opening all over the country, providing faster transport than we could have imagined. Many of my acquaintances are quite disturbed by it, being so used to the canals; they do not trust the locomotives as being equal to the task. Yet, I have seen it for myself, and I would be willing to trust in its development if it is to make our lives easier, to make labour easier. Is that not what invention is for? What is it, if not an advancement of innovation, one which alters both life itself and our very understanding of it, revising the lives we lead in a way that could not have possibly been imagined beforehand? They say the world is watching. If all goes well, there are rumours that the Americans shall want it next (63). It all depends on the L&MR. I will certainly want to keep updated on its progress, either way.

One reflection that has struck me this week is that returning to London has been a strange but pleasant experience. The last time I was here, I had abandoned Hastings and was passing through the city, hardly that long after I had left Josephine in Paris. How time changes your perspective! I was quite devastated; I hardly thought I could return home, not in such a state, but now, I do not feel that overwhelming misery that gripped me on my last arrival. My feelings on the matter are but a morsel in comparison, a small twinge of discomfort that arises from the mere memory of it. I have not forgiven her nor have I forgotten her, but the world seems a little brighter now than it did before. It is bearable again. The event has established itself into the far recesses of my mind so that it can no longer hinder me but, even in this circumstance, I do not think I am yet ready for another disappointment, not when it comes to matters of the heart. I could not allow myself any further attempt at trying to form some semblance of marital bliss. If I wanted to, I could not succeed anyhow, for there is nobody to share it with. All in all, the wound does not seem to have healed itself entirely and I know my discomfort is borne from this, rather than Josephine.

I know, on reflection, that she was not equal to me. Or I was not equal to her. Either way, we were not as agreeable to one another as I had believed at the time. We often disagreed; she was frequently ashamed of me, openly critical in front of others when it came to my hair, my clothes, my interests, the way that I walked, talked. In private, she did not seem to mind but some people cannot always reconcile their feelings to the persona that they wish to share with others. Clearly, I was not the image she had of an acceptable partner. I could not live to that expectation. In trying, I would not be true to myself. Still, I did try- at first. I tried as well as I could for her, but it was no good for either of us, in the end. I would lose my temper, knowing how she felt, never expressing it directly to me, and we became resentful of one another. I think she is best where she is now. His Great Excellence is undoubtedly the one who matches her image of an ideal partner. Now, it is his turn to try and please her. I wish him all the luck in that endeavour!

Walking around London, I thought how much Penny would like it here. How Bonnie would too. They would like the shops, the plays, the exhibitions. I know I do not like Penny to travel with me, but I think I could bring her here. It is not far and it is much beyond anything she has experienced yet. I felt quite terrible when thinking upon it. Very monstrous, indeed. We have not spent much time together in recent years, the sole reason being in my desperation to escape Bedford. Yet, in achieving that distance, I left her too; I do recognise that, even as I may not always show it. In compensation, I bought her two dresses, though it is not much. Paulette came to me with a magazine, the silly one that Penny likes, and she noted that Penny had been enamoured by two dresses in particular. I had them made and ordered to my room, and they will return with me tomorrow. They shall suit her. Her height and frame do not always do her justice and when she wears those dresses that are of the latest fashion- those big, frilly things, she looks like some demented bird, a bit like those Polish chickens with the feathery heads. On the odd occasion, she looks like a strawberry bonbon. She is much better wearing these new dresses; they are much more elegant than the ones she usually wears. I do not know much about fashion, but I certainly know that much.

Speaking of Paulette, she has been acting rather odd lately. She has been very quiet compared to her usual self. I know she has not been in good health, but she is meant to have recovered and yet, she does not appear to be wholly well. Her travel sickness has lessened- she did not emit anything this time, compared to the journey we undertook from Hastings. Perhaps then, she has recovered. There has been some colour in her cheeks, more so than usual. It seems that her ailment, whatever it was, is now gone. Her appearance was starting to trouble me; she did not look well, but she is starting to mend. In body, that is. I cannot say that she looks happy. Sometimes, I believe Penny is too protective; she has a tendency towards the dramatic, but I think, in this instance, she may have been correct in allowing Paulette time to recover. Hopefully, we hear and see no more of it and we can all return to some semblance of normality. As harsh as I have been- in words, that is- I believe Paulette to be a more than competent maid, and I would be sorry to be rid of her. I cannot help but give her the benefit of the doubt in the hope that she overcomes whatever ailment is troubling her. Mrs Prescott assures me that she has been monitoring her and thinks her much improved. We can all take comfort in that.

As we are returning tomorrow, I have checked the weather- my thermometer says it shall be warm, as it has been this whole week. The weather has been clear and bright; it will do us a world of good to travel in such conditions. Paulette needs the fresh air and at least, she will not be in any danger when travelling atop the box. Ingham will also have much to keep himself entertained; he need not talk to me. What bliss! Nevertheless, he did well this week and I am pleased with him. He socialised well with the associates and I believe his presence helped warm some of them to me and to the offer. He has proven himself to be reliable, resourceful, and capable. For that, I have no complaint. The man is evidently pleased with himself, though I told him he ought to not show it when among others. Nobody likes to trade with a pompous ass- look at the Dunces.

On returning, I shall ensure to see Bonnie the day after tomorrow. She asked me to visit but I would have, anyhow. Her mood appears to have slowly lifted; she is almost entirely back to her former self. I still do not wholly understand what the matter was, what precise illness overcame her, but she is well and that is all that matters. I only hope I can be of more help next time- God forbid there is one- as I hardly felt I was. She did not seem to like that I was leaving, but took it well, especially after she had given me the locket. It was very thoughtful of her. I have kept it with me, as promised, and I do not intend to remove it. I shall tell her when I next see her; I think she shall be glad to hear it.

When I departed, the other day, she was reluctant to release me and kept clutching my hands until I insisted I must leave; there was much to be done before I travelled. She was very hesitant but did, eventually. Before I went, she asked me once more if I would write to her and I promised that I would. A part of me thought she was a little muddled, as she had already asked, but she looked so troubled that I hardly minded telling her again. Once I promised, she was much calmer and was happy to see me leave.

Recently, she has been quite desperate for my company, though she does not appear to want to visit anyone else. She has seen the McLarens, the Spencers, and the Mounts, but she hardly engages with anyone or attempts to travel anywhere, not even to town, though she insists that is her aim. She has also become good friends with the Haringtons but they are currently staying in the Midlands with Mrs Harington’s sister, and she has not seen them since. Nevertheless, I am flattered to perceive that she seems to prefer my company to most, and I cannot help but wonder if there is anything to it. Perhaps not.

I hardly know what I say, even now, yet I cannot prevent myself from thinking of it often. She does not treat the others as she treats me. I have been taken into her confidence, she spends the most time with me, and she is not prone to being affectionate with others as she is with me. It is an honour to be considered such a great friend, but I cannot entirely understand my own feelings on the matter. A part of me does not care for it; I do not know why. It makes me nervous, but I also very much like being her favourite, all the same. I must admit she is a favourite of mine. I could not say it aloud nor share it with anyone. Penny, especially, would view it in a different light and would take to jesting me about it. It is not the circumstance that she imagines, though I am also perplexed as to how she understands such a notion in the first place.

No, I must keep my opinions to myself; they have gotten me into trouble in the past. Besides, I do not wholly understand my own sentiment. I could not define whether I approve of the friendship or not. I do not quite know why. She is more than I expected when first meeting her; she is considerably more charming than I credited her for, and she has done me no wrong. For all of my puzzlement, I would not alter our friendship, that much I know. The thought of our reuniting after tomorrow has been the guiding light through these past several days; it shall be the very thought that carries me home.

Now, I must sleep. If I stay awake any longer, I shall be quite displeased with Ingham for sharing the carriage with me. He does not know the injustice he does me by not letting me sleep. I am beginning to think the expense of an extra carriage would be worthwhile, if only for the privacy. Luckily, we need not travel together in the future- one can hope!

Chapter Notations

47. After the death of King George IV on 26th June, a general election was announced. The results were not revealed until August, where the Tories won a majority over the Whigs, placing the Duke of Wellington as the Prime Minister. However, there was division among the party and the Duke of Wellington eventually resigned, allowing for Lord Earl Grey (Whig) to become Prime Minister during November of the same year.

48. The Whigs were a political party founded during 1678, later dissolving in the year 1859. They then merged into the new Liberal Party, which later became known as the Liberal Democrats. The Whigs were the main opposition to the Tory Party.

49. The Tory Party were a political party founded in 1678 and dissolved in 1834. After the arising of division among the party, it was later transformed into the Conservative Party through the Tamworth Manifesto, written by the then Prime Minister, Sir Robert Peel.

50. This is a reference to both electoral reform and the reformation of the Old Poor Law, which incorporated a collection of laws that were in practice between the 16th and 18th centuries. Electoral reform did occur under Lord Grey in 1832, known as The Representation of the People Act. It was known as the first Reform Act within England and Wales. See Chapter 15 for an overview of the Poor Law.

51. Even after the passing of the Catholic Emancipation Act 1829, there was divided opinion in England as to whether Catholics should be granted those rights, and there was a number of hostile responses throughout the country. This was a feeling that fed into the general election.

52. Frederik Polhill (later known as Polhill-Turner) was a Conservative politician and was elected as an MP for Bedford in 1874.

53. William Henry Whitbread was a Whig and Liberal Party politician who was an MP for Bedford from 1818-1835. In the 1830 election, he won by a notable majority over the other candidates, Frederik Polhill and Lord John Russell.

54. Yellow was the colour of the Whig Party and blue the colour of the Tories.

55. The Swing Riots were an uprising during the summer of 1830 that started with the destruction of threshing machines in the Elham Valley, East Kent. By the end of the year, it had spread its way through southern England and East Anglia. This was to protest the rise in machinery that displaced workers within agricultural settings, and the lowering of wages. The main targets of these riots were the Poor Law guardians, the tithe system, and the rich tenant farmers who were paying a lower wage to workers due to the introduction of new machinery.

56. The 27th of July, 1830 is the exact date that the July Revolution occurred in France. Yvonne would not have been aware of this, as news travelled by letter and word of mouth, but there would have undoubtedly been unrest in France before the publishing of King Charles X’s new laws, which were revealed to the public the day before. There was already widespread dissatisfaction with French democracy, political leadership and involvement, and the demands on and of the working class. Coupled with the knowledge of the French Revolution, Yvonne has made an assumption that the unrest in England could lead to revolution, an event that occurred again for the neighbouring country that very same day.

57. The Liverpool and Manchester Railway opened on 15th September 1830. It was the first inter-city railway in the world. However, on the opening day, it was also infamously known for the world’s first railway accident and death, where Liverpool MP, William Huskisson, was fatally injured after the Rocket rolled over his leg at Parkside station. Enraged by his death, a crowd met the train at Manchester and pelted the Duke of Wellington’s coach with cabbages and potatoes.

58. It would be common for landed families, particularly in consideration that they tended to own farms, mills, or mines, to have shares in the canals, as this was the primary mode of transporting goods before trains were invented. However, canals were slow and costly compared to wagonways and trains. Some landed owners were quick to invest in new technology, but others were wary of trains and refused to convert from the use of canals until much later.

59. George Stephenson (1781-1848) was known as the Father of Railways, and was the Chief Engineer of both the Stockton and Darlington Railway, and the Liverpool and Manchester Railway, the two mentioned in the journal.

60. The Rocket was a train engineered by Robert Stephenson and was invented for the sake of the 1829 Rainhill Trials, a competition to determine the best new locomotive. Changing the shape of trains forever by altering the cylinders from vertical to angled, as well as changing the type to that of 0-2-2, Stephenson’s Rocket also achieved a record-breaking speed of 30mph. The Rocket was in use on the L&MR from 1830-1834. It now sits in the Science Museum in London.

61. The Stockton and Darlington Railway opened on 27th September, 1825. It was the world’s first ever passenger-carrying steam train to travel along a public railway. The train was named Locomotion, whilst the carriage carrying the passengers was called The Experiment. All the other wagons were carrying coal. For a re-imaging of the event, an artwork by Terence Cuneo was produced to celebrate its 150th anniversary- The Opening of the Stockton and Darlington Railway, 1825.

62. The Canterbury and Whitstable Railway was opened on 3rd May, 1830.

63. The Americans did want it next. George Stephenson was inundated with requests shortly after the successful opening of the L&MR. Despite this, the English economy was in a slump during 1830 and banks were unable to lend money for the building of railways, due to political and social unrest

Chapter Text

The day after her return, precisely at the time agreed upon, Yvonne rang the doorbell at Colworth House and was received, moments later, into the manor. She was led to the orangery, where Bonnie was sat among a multitude of shrubs, trees, and plants, her back to the door as she sat upon her stool, earnestly painting the polyscias fruitcosa tree, which had been placed prettily between the assortment of greenery. She appeared content whilst she worked, an observation that pleased Yvonne. However, on perceiving her footsteps, Bonnie turned, a smile appearing.

“Yvonne!”

“Please, do not let me disturb you,” she insisted, though Bonnie had already placed down her easel and brush.

Guiding her to the nearest chair, they sat beside one another, Bonnie having moved her seat closer so that she may reach across and grasp Yvonne’s wrist in excitement. She demanded to hear all that had passed, any detail that she wished to share where she had not in the letters, and Yvonne started immediately on the subject. On narrating the whole of her week, she came to a closure by stating how successful the excursion had been, how she believed it to be due to the locket.

“I kept it with me at all times,” she told her.

Bonnie was overjoyed, her grip tightening ever so slightly, her thumb brushing lightly against her wrist. “I am honoured to have been of any help to you, even if it is in a small way.”

Having finished their talk of London, they started on the subject of Bonnie’s new painting, how well it was progressing, when there was a knock at the door, Mr Reeves entering to inform them that the Mounts had arrived.

At the mention of their name, Yvonne raised a brow, though she said nothing. It was her preference that they were not admitted. She preferred her own visits to be uninterrupted. Nevertheless, her opinion was not shared by Bonnie, who had continued the family’s acquaintance after their meeting at the gathering, and did not view any impediment to them being received. She graciously allowed them entry and instructed that they be brought to the orangery- she thought it nicer than sitting in the drawing room. Before they arrived, however, she turned, with a sigh, to Yvonne.

“I suppose we cannot always be fortunate in being alone together.”

She removed her hand from her companion’s wrist and onto her lap, where it rested atop her ruffled skirt. Astonished to hear her sentiment, Yvonne did not instantly respond, uttering, much later-

“No, I suppose we cannot.”

She was staring at Bonnie when the Mounts entered, their hostess having glanced wistfully down at her skirt. Her gaze rose upon their entry, any indication of despondency removed entirely by her welcoming smile, she gesturing to the sofa in front.

“Henrietta, Euphemia,” she exclaimed, “Please, sit.”

They did so, their backs perfectly straight as they lowered, in unison, onto the settee. The sight of Miss Davers and Miss Donoghue seated so closely together, despite being in separate chairs, was perplexing and unseemly- the reason behind it incomprehensible to them- and they glanced at one another, their wonderment quite evident, despite their best efforts. Noting their astonishment, Bonnie spoke out.

“You are more than welcome to join us.” She peered contentedly across to the woman beside her. “We were talking, merely a moment ago, about Yvonne’s recent excursion to London. How exciting it all is! Though, perhaps, not to you both, who are so used to travelling there, but I cannot quite believe it, myself.”

She laughed, good-humouredly, her head shaking in amazement. It appeared that her assessment was correct- the sisters did not find it exciting, for Henrietta was staring directly ahead, her lips pursed together, her hands folded neatly in her lap. As for Euphemia, she could not prevent herself from glancing frequently in Yvonne’s direction, as if she were some wild animal lurking ruthlessly among the plants. The girl seemed to think that she would be mauled if she were to bring attention to herself, or if she were to heed the presence of the gentlewoman and so, said nothing.

Comprehending that she must be the one to speak, Henrietta asked- “Was it to see friends or was it to visit the shops?”

“Neither,” Yvonne answered. “I went for business. I am opening a factory, you see.”

The courteous expression upon the girl’s face faltered, crumpling in her distaste. She did not express her opinion but it was, undoubtedly, a low one, and she was startled so suddenly into silence that Euphemia answered for her, the question spurred mainly by her own curiosity.

“What type of factory?”

As she spoke, Euphemia sensed a weight press down onto her toes, soon realising that it was her sister’s foot. It was done so slightly that Henrietta was certain that the other two had not noticed; in reality, they had. A sense of tedium emerged within Yvonne, upon viewing the motion, and she leant back in her chair, raising a leg so that she could rest it atop the other.

“Lace.”

The weariness in her tone was discernible. There was a moment of reticence before Bonnie spoke out, cheerfully.

“You would not believe how accomplished Yvonne is in her trade. So knowledgeable and efficient! Well, I say you would not believe it, but you have known her longer than I have. I am certain it is exceedingly believable, indeed!” She paused to laugh. “There is no doubt, in my mind, that Yvonne shall proceed onto greater heights once the factory is open.” She glanced askance with an affectionate smile before turning, matter-of-factly, to the two guests. “The Davers have always been at the forefront of industry or so I have been told, but I have it on good authority, so I would not dare to question it.”

“I would hardly say I am any more accomplished than you, Miss Donoghue,” Yvonne insisted. “Certainly, not more knowledgeable.”

A trace of pink permeated Bonnie’s cheeks and she laughed once more in response. “Oh, how humble you are, Miss Davers!”

“If you two are occupied, we may return another time,” came the interruption.

The sound of Henrietta’s voice caused them to turn their attention from one another, their smiles fading into an expression of astonishment, as if they could not understand why she had come to such a conclusion. Their distraction with each other may have been the central justification; yet, it became apparent from the way that they glanced at Yvonne, whilst simultaneously trying to discount her altogether, that she was the sole reason for their uneasiness. Their unwillingness to socialise with her came as a surprise to Bonnie, but not to her neighbour.

Despite their parents’ friendship, the children of the Mounts and the Davers did not take so easily to one another, preferring to avoid each other’s company. This resolution was made all the more steadfast by the Mounts having heard, over time, the rumours that circulated around the eldest Miss Davers. Yvonne perceived this and felt a familiar sensation within her chest, one that was acutely sharp, and one that she knew was related to her nerves. The insinuation had been voiced and could not be retracted, despite the brief silence that followed, and she was unsettled to have been placed in such a situation. Worse, that Bonnie had been. She comprehended very well that she was not welcome by the sisters, but she was not within their home- she was in Bonnie’s.

Peering at the lady herself, she observed her countenance, the bewilderment that she was currently experiencing. If her neighbour wished for her to leave, she would do so but not until it was directly expressed. Yvonne wanted Bonnie to socialise beyond herself, yet there was an underlying concern that she may wish for her to leave, that she would prefer to socialise with those more suitable to her age. Howbeit, her concerns were unfounded, for Bonnie did not hesitate in responding.

“Then you may go,” she stated, nonchalantly. “You may return another time, whenever it suits you. I shall be here, so it is of no bother to me, yet both Yvonne and I are happy to share this time with you, so long as you are happy to share it with us.”

There was no other response than silence. Euphemia was staring uncertainly at her sister, whilst Henrietta dared not look anywhere other than Bonnie, whose attention was directed wholly on her. With a faltering smile, Henrietta attempted to laugh.

“It is of no bother to us. Is it, Euphemia? I was simply inquiring, in case we were intruding. We would not want to be impolite.”

The youngest did not like to be drawn into the conversation, quickly insisting that it was not a bother. She also shook her head, as if to reiterate this statement. In response, Bonnie smiled widely, glancing at Yvonne.

“Then we shall all be merry together, I am sure.”

She turned back to the sisters, returning to their original discussion. The topic of business tired them, however, and the Mounts soon passed onto the local hearsay, relating the news that they had heard through their family and friends. Bonnie listened with rapt attention, her response always appropriately touching upon the accounts that were relayed to her. She was particularly pleased when they mentioned her recent charity work, and the donations that she had granted to the school and the local hospital, it being a particular passion of hers. What’s more, she appreciated the praise. Not only did it gratify her, but she was pleased to have it heard by Miss Davers, who was not entirely aware of her charitable work. Certainly, it recommended her character and she would be considered in the highest praise by her neighbour.

Nevertheless, as the Mounts turned to the small gatherings and picnics that Bonnie had attended with them, she glanced in her neighbour’s direction, hoping to view some visible sentiment, any expression that revealed she was impressed by what she had heard, but Yvonne was apathetic to the conversation. Her hand had curled at her chin and she was staring vacantly ahead. Troubled, Bonnie’s attempt to converse lessened until she was no longer responding, with any great enthusiasm, to Henrietta’s recollections.

As to Yvonne, she did not realise her own distraction and had fallen silent in the presence of the two sisters. She considered their company to be the epitome of dullness; undoubtedly, they regarded her similarly. Often, when she was disinterested in a subject, she would endeavour to reply as best as she could, but she comprehended that she could not in this instance. She thought it difficult, allowing Bonnie to speak for her.

In any other circumstance, she would have excused herself and returned another time, but she wished to outstay them and would continue to sit there until they departed or until she was dismissed. Yvonne had waited all week to see her neighbour and she refused to have her time shortened. Yet, she was becoming impatient, even when hearing of Bonnie’s efforts.

The burgeoning silence became too arduous for Henrietta, who could think of nothing else to say. Euphemia was not helpful; she continued to sit in timid silence, glancing fearfully in the direction of Yvonne. Noting that there was nothing else to be done, Henrietta exhaled heavily, feigning that she was happily exhausted, and flashed a smile.

“I think we shall leave you now,” she decided. “We have talked you into insanity, I am sure.”

Yvonne’s brows rose, as if to concur.

Beside her, Bonnie uttered- “It is a shame you have to leave, but we shall see each other soon.”

“In three days’ time,” Henrietta reminded her. “Do not forget.”

“I could never.” Bonnie mimicked a smile, standing and reaching out her hand for the two to take. “I shall see you then.”

The Mounts curtseyed, both emitting a farewell and shaking her hand with minimal effort, before allowing themselves to be led from the room by the footman. Once the door had closed behind them, Bonnie swiftly lowered onto the chair, her shoulders drooping. She reached across to grasp Yvonne’s wrist, her gaze flickering to the woman beside her.

“I thought they would never leave,” she remarked. “I am pleased to see them go. Their company is amusing, for the most part, but I do not like sharing yours. Now, we can talk more freely.”

Yvonne glanced across, observing her small, yet candid smile, and she offered her own, though it was not quite content as it was apologetic.

“I did not mean to be difficult,” she confessed. “I am sure you would have preferred to speak more freely with them. We simply have nothing in common, the Mounts and I. I could not add anything to the conversation that was not already said.”

Bonnie tilted her head, her smile transitioning into one of assurance. “You were not difficult, Yvonne. If anyone was being unreasonable, it was Henrietta. She did not need to make such a remark and they may have, at the very least, attempted to be less indiscreet in the way that they behaved.” Her smile faltered, her voice lowering. “You know, I have experienced my own share of animosity, even if it is never voiced. People find other ways of displaying their contempt, even if you have never wronged them. It is wise to discount them. I have discovered that they are the sort of people who can never be pleased.”

“I cannot believe that anybody would hold you in such contempt.”

“Oh, they do.” Bonnie emitted a sharp laugh. “My family name affords a certain impression, one that is usually positive; that is, until they see me.” Discerning that Yvonne did not wholly understand the implication, she elaborated. “If it is not one aspect of me that they dislike, it is another. So many people within my homeland and here, in this country, are offended by my religion and if it is not that, they do not like that I am Indian, as well as Irish. If they are not against my being Catholic, they do not like to hear that I practice both Catholicism and Hinduism. My parents encouraged me to explore both, not wishing to constrain me to either religion, which, in hindsight, I am grateful for, but in formally allowing me to be Catholic, there are those within the religion who do not believe that I belong with them; I am of some other category. My Indian family do not see me as Indian; to them, I am Irish, for that is my name and where I have been raised. And then I arrive here in England with an Irish name and they already assume that I am someone to be regarded with hostility for having travelled across the sea to settle here. Imagine their further surprise when they see me and realise that neither of my parents have the fair skin that is so commonly associated with the Irish. It is difficult not to see their astonishment; they rarely try to disguise it.

“So, you see, I know prejudice when I see it; I have experienced it more times than I wish. Yet, I like to think that I know you, not as well as others, but I recognise you, from one kindred soul to another, and I have yet to see any behaviour that deserves such contempt. In turn, I hope you see the same in me, that you do not define me solely by my identity, nor by the opinions of others, but by the person that I am.”

Yvonne was silent for a moment, her brows down-turning. The corner of her mouth twitched, as if some overwhelming feeling were arising within her and she blinked rapidly. Resolutely, she turned to her neighbour, staring directly at her so that Bonnie could see the veracity within her gaze.

“Nobody could ever speak a word against you and have me believe it. I would not allow it. Perhaps there are those who think you should be someone other than who you are, that believe you are not quite suitable for the narrow view that they have of this world, but I think you are more than they deserve. I have seen the mundane and tedious lives they live here; they are the ones who are restricted. I would be loath to live like them and yet, they want me to be the exact same as they. In doing so, I know I would be miserable and I think... I think, perchance, you would be too. Do not allow them to inhibit you, to mould you into whatever spiritless effigy they wish you to be. I have tried countless times and failed miserably at each, for I cannot change my nature, no more than you can. It is unmoveable and we, in return, should remain steadfast in knowing that we cannot alter the way we are nor should we have to. I, for one, think that these different aspects of you are interesting, unique. You do not need to be anybody other than who you are, Miss Bonnie Donoghue, for I like you very well. I would not ask you to be anybody else, nor would I want you to be.

“And you need not worry for me. I can handle myself. Henrietta knows what shall happen if she upsets me, for she has done it on more than one occasion, and she knows I shall not alter, which is why she is so nervous to be rid of me. Though I sincerely ask, if you are uncomfortable here, if someone has treated you unkindly in any way, you do not speak to them again. There are not many families here, I guarantee, but there are others who you can speak to. Do not make yourself unhappy in trying to make friends. Why do you think I never stay here?”

Bonnie tightened her grip, ever so slightly, on her wrist, a smile appearing in her gratitude.

“Nobody has been unkind,” she assured her. “Not those who you have introduced me to. That does not mean I can allow them to be unkind to you.”

Yvonne laughed. “Henrietta has always been unkind, and it has been a source of entertainment, in the past, to be unkind in return. Neither of us would want it any other way. Do not concern yourself over me; I have known the people in this town my whole life. There is nothing they could say or do that would harm me, not enough for any lasting damage. Yet, I must reiterate, if anyone has made you uncomfortable or has been unkind, you must tell me. If I have learnt anything from living here, it is how to avoid people.” The thought caused her to smile and she added, conceitedly: “In fact, I am quite excellent at it. Let me be of service to you.”

Bonnie was silent for a moment, the brief interlude allowing her to repress the mounting tears. She was not distressed, but she was affected and she emitted a soft laugh, a tear simultaneously falling as she did. Her visible emotion abashed her, though she could not prevent it. Her grip on her companion’s arm offered her some comfort, and she raised her gaze from the touch to smile kindly at her.

“Thank you, Yvonne.”

The woman beside her was equally affected; yet, she was less capable of expressing her emotion. She plucked the handkerchief from her pocket and held it outward, so that her neighbour may take it. Once she had, she rested her hand atop Bonnie’s, pressing it lightly.

“It is my pleasure.”

Chapter Text

By the time the two had finished talking, it was night-time, the grandfather clock striking ten from the corner of the room. The chiming startled them, as they had not realised the lateness of the hour. They had moved from the orangery to the dining room upon dinnertime, relocating to the drawing room once finished. As the sun began to set, Bonnie had closed the curtains, calling for a maid to light the candles, the removal of all indications of time catching them unawares, both women now realising how long they had been occupied in conversation.

Excusing herself, Yvonne stood, conscious that the Park would soon be locking its doors. She had tried to be more attentive to the time since her mother had fallen ill, preferring that she did not cause another argument. However, before she could leave, Bonnie reached out and took hold of her hand.

“Yvonne,” she uttered. “Before you depart, I was hoping you may do me a favour?”

“Anything.”

“Assist me with my dress.”

“Oh.” Yvonne stared down at her, incapable of formulating a response. It was not the task that she had imagined, yet she could not refuse, not after she had stated she would complete the favour. “I can fetch the maid, Br-Brenda?”

“Bronagh.”

“Yes, Bronagh. I shall fetch her and bring her to you. It is no bother; I am certain...”

Bonnie exhaled lightly, causing her companion to fall silent. “No, do not disturb her. It is late and it shall be a great bother to her, and to me also in waiting for her. Since you are here, you might as well help me. You know how to. Well, even if you did not, it is simply some buttons.”

Yvonne stared wistfully at the door, praying that it may open and the maid would enter of her own accord. Yet, Bonnie tugged lightly at her hand, softly calling her name. The sound was more of a question and Yvonne peered back to note that she had tilted her head, her dark brown gaze staring imploringly up at her. It was a motion that perplexed its recipient, for Yvonne did not like to be compelled by anyone, but she also could not allow herself to refuse her. With the realisation that she was to relent, her lips drew into a thin line, her brow down-turning, as if she were being terribly mistreated.

“All right,” she grumbled.

Bonnie grinned, standing and releasing her hand. “Follow me.”

Yvonne did. She remembered the route from the occasions that she had ventured upstairs, certain that she could have located the room, even in the dark. Nevertheless, she followed her companion, quite freely, to the bedroom, incapable of removing her gaze from her.

The journey passed quickly, due to her distraction, she watching the way the small patches of light filtered gently onto the figure of Miss Donoghue, the candelabras that were positioned along the corridor being the primary cause of this enchanting effect. Infrequently, Bonnie would peer over her shoulder to smile and Yvonne would return the gesture, withdrawing back into her watchful state when her neighbour turned to observe the space in front of her.

On reaching the room, Bonnie headed for the vanity, lighting a candle as she did, whilst Yvonne closed the door reluctantly behind them. She peered either side of the corridor before doing so, some notion occurring to her that she did not want to be seen, despite the harmlessness of her presence. Satisfied, she closed the door, waiting until the latch had clicked into place before turning to view the room. Bonnie awaited her- the lady was staring expectantly over her shoulder, offering a smile of encouragement.

“It is only the dress.” Her temperate voice disrupted the heavy silence. “You need not help with the petticoat, and once you unfasten the first few knots, I am perfectly capable of unlacing the corset myself.”

Yvonne was unsure, despite the simplicity of the task. The last time she had worn a dress, she had been an adolescent. She had continued to wear skirts into her early twenties, alongside a shirt, but that had soon altered entirely for the use of breeches and pantaloons. Faced with the prospect of being near women’s clothes, of having to operate them, Yvonne did not feel as assured as she had hoped, as well as the fact that she was not quite comfortable undressing her neighbour, even in so decorous a manner.

Reaching out, she fumbled with the first button, her hands trembling, though she hoped her companion did not notice. The intimacy of enacting so familiar a task caused her to be apprehensive and she did not savour the silence, particularly whilst they were standing in the dark, a candle on the vanity being their sole source of light, so she spoke out, her voice strained.

“Penny has been inquiring into a lady’s maid. I am rather surprised she asked, for she has always been independent and has never held any desire to have one, no more than necessary. I know it is expected, but we have never comported ourselves as expected. We have always had one of the maids come and help her; there is not one in particular who is assigned the role. On occasion, she has had mine, as she wakes later than I and the maid can assist us both. Do you think, perhaps, it is right for me to hire one?”

It was unclear whether Bonnie was astounded or provoked by this information, for she gasped loudly. “A lady should always have someone at hand to help her with the dresses! It is suitable for a girl of her age and status, is it not? One must do what is proper.”

Yvonne considered her speech. “I think I shall hire one, if you believe that is necessary. I suppose it would be helpful to have two, in case we ever needed assistance at the same time. It would require less of Paulette; I do not think she can handle more than one person, not in her current state.”

Having finished the buttons, she started to unfasten the corset, insisting to Bonnie that it would be easier than having her unlace it on her own. She did not wish to gape, however, and glanced upward, staring at the back of her head, her gaze lowering slowly to her neck, tracing the length of it, and then to the shape of her ears. Yvonne was musing on how astonishingly large they appeared when she came upon a sight that she had not noticed before.

“You have a small hole in your ear!” she blurted out in her astonishment.

“Yes, I had them pierced when I was younger.”

Yvonne winced, her hands trembling at the thought. “Did it hurt?”

“I have no memory of it,” Bonnie admitted. “I was an infant. Around fifteen months old, I believe.”

Her brows rose. “That young? I suppose if you were to have your ears pierced, that is the time to do it, so you never remember. I could not agree to have it done now; one would have to restrain me. Rather cowardly, I know, but I could not imagine having a needle pierced through me. I feel faint thinking of it.”

“My, my, Miss Davers,” Bonnie chuckled. “I have found a weakness in you! It is not as frightening as it sounds. The lobe of your ear hardly hurts; it is more likely to be painful if the needle went through the top half. For all of your interest in science, I am surprised you do not like it.”

“Oh no, I like it. I think it is splendid when you see other people wearing their earrings. They are brave to have them pierced; I am worried that it should hurt too much. Did anyone else have their ears pierced in your family?”

“Yes, my mother and my brother. It is one of our traditions. There are sixteen samskaras (64) in Hinduism; sacraments in English. One of them is Karnavedha, which is a ceremony solely for having your ears pierced. Despite being christened, I followed the samskaras as well as I could. Some of it was difficult, since we were in Ireland, but my mother did all in her power to involve us. I inherited my mother’s earrings if you wish to see them?”

“I look forward to it,” Yvonne asserted. “I am no great expert on jewellery but I know they shall be beautiful and tasteful. Everything you own always is. Will you wear them in the future?”

“I think I shall,” Bonnie mused. “It is time to get them from the box. It is not fair to keep them locked away.”

As she spoke, Yvonne finished untying the corset. She glanced down, startled to have come to a halt, and inadvertently observed the outline of her back, the slim view of it that was visible beneath the untied corset. Despite the lack of light, the outline of her shoulders could be seen, her skin now discernible beyond the hem of her dress, the path trailing from the top of her shoulders, past her shoulder blades, and down her back, all the way to her petticoat.

Bonnie was watching her over her shoulder, her hands pressed against her front, the motion preventing the dress from tumbling unceremoniously to the floor. Observing the way her neighbour stared, she smiled, the mellowness of her voice barely penetrating the silence as she said, rather teasingly-

“Good night, Yvonne.”

The gentlewoman reddened at the sound of her name, almost starting in horror. She glanced upward at Bonnie’s face, some strange noise emitting from her that may have been an attempt at speaking. Curling her fingers into her palm, she rushed towards the door, pausing once she had reached it, her stance straightening in a final attempt to appear dignified.

“Good night,” she stated, resolutely, her head nodding slightly in her strained conviction.

Opening the door, she hurried through, closing it sharply behind her, though the force was accidental. Yvonne remained there for a moment, her hand resting atop the handle. She stared confusedly into the dark, her chest heaving as if she had physically exerted herself to a point of breathlessness. Exhaling heavily to regain her composure, she closed her eyes, opening them a minute later to dash down the hallway.

No other word was spoken than a hasty farewell to the footman as he dismissed her, she refusing to meet his gaze. Mr Reeves pondered upon her skittish manner, the reason as to why she had turned a deep shade of red upon viewing him, but did not dare to question her for the reason behind it. He simply wished her a good night and locked the entrance behind her.

Chapter Notations

64. Samskara (a.k.a. sanskara) are rites of passage for those within the Hindu religion, all of which are described within ancient Sanskrit texts, as well as through concepts of karma theory that can be found within Indian philosophy. They can vary in number but there are considered to be sixteen main Sanskaras. Karnavedha (or Karnavedham) is one of the sixteen major Sanskaras and can be undergone by any gender, though it is no longer a common practice for males.

Chapter Text

With the confirmation of trading associates, those who had signed the contract in London, there was no notable obstacle to proceeding with the opening of the factory. A building was already owned; it simply needed to be emptied of its contents, as a number of tools and machinery had come to be stored there. In order to remove them, Yvonne either had to delegate them to the farmhands who needed them most, or she had to inquire into selling them.

She had visited the factory with Ingham, observing the state of the inside, the slight disorder that was starting to arise from the number of items abandoned there. Uncertain as to why she had agreed to such a system in the first place, she arranged a method that would remove them with the least amount of effort, leaving Ingham to frantically scrawl her instructions onto a piece of parchment that he had brought with him. He reminded her that he could not attend to the business until the end of the week, as his duties as Miss Donoghue’s steward were more pressing. Her penchant for importing plants and flowers from overseas, as well as the disrepair of the gate at the far end, meant that he had the accounts to scour through, whilst overseeing the new greenery that was arriving.

Yvonne thought it inconvenient. Still, it was an agreement that she had entered into knowingly, he having disclosed during their first meeting that he was her steward, and that his duties at Colworth House were first and foremost to him. She allowed him to leave with a consequent promise that she would receive an inventory of the items in her factory by the beginning of the following week.

Content with that promise, she returned to the Park, where she was informed of the presence of Miss Donoghue- the lady was in the library with the youngest Miss Davers. When she opened the door, she observed that they were sitting on one of the sofas situated in the centre of the room, the paired furniture being carved and gilded beechwood, upholstered in silk. They were particular favourites of Yvonne’s, having been imported from France by her late grandparents, although this impressive acquisition remained unnoticed by its two occupants, who were sat side-by-side, their backs to the entrance.

They were whispering excitedly, pausing only to laugh. Penny was much louder than the woman beside her, as she was incapable of whispering, yet their neighbour’s voice lent itself to such an occasion, and she could barely be heard in comparison.

“What have we here?” Yvonne asked as she strode towards them.

They both started, pleased to discern that she was to join them, and Penny yelled her name in delight. Yvonne placed her hand atop her sister’s head as she passed, removing it a moment later to bow in their guest’s direction.

“Miss Donoghue.”

Bonnie bowed her head in return. “Miss Davers.”

Yvonne lowered onto the opposite settee, her arm coming to rest along the back of the chair, whilst simultaneously raising one leg to place it atop the other.

“Well, well, aren’t you two acting mysteriously!” There was a lightness to her gaze, her amusement visible. “I hardly know what has caused you so much excitement.”

Penny did not hesitate in telling her- “We are organising a dance!”

“A dance?”

“We were hoping to hire the assembly rooms,” she chattered, excitably. “It would be inappropriate to host a dance at Bonnie’s, considering how little she knows everyone. We have the means and the room here, but you know how mother shall like it. Well, I know how you shall like it too...”

“Not very well. People never leave when they should and the manor is always in a state of dishevelment once the morning comes.”

“So, the assembly rooms appear to be the most appropriate option. We could invite all of our friends, those who Bonnie knows too.”

“Hosting a ball is not quite the capital idea that you believe it to be; there is too much to be done and it is an unnecessary stress, one that I can hardly handle at this moment in time.”

“It will be a joyous occasion!” Penny contended, frowning across at her. “It shall... You know it shall.”

“I will not change my mind, Penny,” she declared, resolutely. “It is all a lot of frivolity and raucousness for no reason.”

Observing that there was to be a disagreement between them, Bonnie decided to add her own opinion in the hopes that it would dispel any concerns. “I believe it to be an excellent idea. It is the perfect way to meet new people and integrate ourselves into society a little more, especially if you would be so kind as to extend your own friends and acquaintances. We could not be any more indebted to you.” She smiled, assuredly, as though she were certain that her neighbour would agree with her. Her charming smile, the slight trace of beseeching in her gaze, could be considered purposefully done, yet she conducted herself with such grace that nobody thought to accuse her of the sort. “It has been a while now since I have moved here and I know it would be appropriate for me to socialise more, but I never seem to be invited anywhere, only to the Mounts, but they do not introduce me to anyone besides their cousins. You have both been so kind to me previously that I hoped we may host together, that we may share this experience between us- the Donoghues and the Davers alike. Do you not think us quite the pair?”

Bonnie continued to stare pleadingly across at the eldest Miss Davers, who, in this short speech, appeared to have completely transformed her opinion. She could not quite determine what had inspired her, but inspired she felt and she remarked, rather cheerfully-

“It is an exceptional idea! Quite right you are. We shall have a ball, if that is what you desire.”

Penny was astounded, which soon progressed into irritation. She could not accept that her own idea had been dismissed when the same proposal was accepted, moments later, for the comfort of someone else. Nevertheless, the thought of Yvonne being at the mercy of her neighbour’s whims caused her to laugh, and she reconciled herself to the news, particularly as she was to have the dance, regardless. It was to her benefit to have a friend who could manage her sister, and she resolved to call upon Bonnie’s influence if need be.

“I am pleased to hear that is the case,” the lady was saying. “We have already decided on the invitations.”

The paper was passed to Yvonne, who stared down at the list in befuddlement. She was visibly displeased at needing an aid but she could not do without it, and removed the monocle from her pocket. Upon peering through the glass, she groaned.

“The Mounts?”

Bonnie chuckled. “Do not be so obstinate, Yvonne.”

“Yes, do not be so obstinate,” Penny imitated, though her smirk soon lessened, her sister having glowered in her direction.

“I hardly think they deserve an invitation,” was her reasoning.

“It would be unmannerly if they were not to receive one. Are Mr and Mrs Mount not friends of the Davers family?” Bonnie glanced between the two sisters, who were not forthcoming in their answer. “Regardless of the daughters, they must be there. They are also considered acquaintances of mine, and they are one of the most highly regarded families in the area. It would be a terrible slight on our part not to invite them, whether we care for them or not.” Staring directly at the eldest, she said- “Penny stated the same when she invited them to the gathering. You have not forgotten already, Yvonne?”

Yvonne pursed her lips together but did not answer, particularly when the youngest glanced shrewdly in her direction. After a brief pause, Bonnie continued.

“Both Penny and I thought that we should deliver the invitations by calling upon the families; all three of us, that is. It will incline people to attend, more so than if they were to receive a card.”

Yvonne’s gaze rose quickly from the paper to the woman before her.

“No!” she protested. Composing herself, she added- “It is unnecessary for me to travel with you. I will be working closely with Ingham after this week in emptying the factory and arranging for the new machinery to be imported. It would be easier if the two of you were to visit without me. Penny will be adequate as the Davers representative and you may have a chaperone in Miss Ainsley, who I am sure will be delighted to socialise with the families. She has been waiting for an opportunity such as this, has she not?”

Bonnie conceded that she had. Beside her, Penny was staring cynically across at her sister, her own brow rising. She knew how desperately Yvonne avoided socialising and she did not believe that the eldest was so occupied as to miss each visit that they were likely to conduct. Nevertheless, it was the first time that she had been granted permission to leave the Park without the accompaniment of her sister or mother; she had never been considered mature enough to act as the Davers representative. This was unexpected and she perceived that her spirits were lifting to a tremendous height, despite her disbelief in her sister’s alibi.

“I think it is appropriate to proceed in that manner, so long as everyone is satisfied,” she stated, imperiously.

Bonnie insisted she was. Opposite, Yvonne removed her monocle, returning it to her pocket.

“Good, then we all agree.”

Despite her efforts to appear genteel, Penny could not quash her elation and squealed, reaching out to grasp Bonnie’s arm so that she may tug at it, excitedly.

“We are to have a dance!” she hollered, though her neighbour was directly beside her and could, undoubtedly, hear her.

Whilst she bounced in her seat, Bonnie smiled, serenely. She did not appear offended by the grip on her arm but reached toward the small hands that clutched her, patting them lightly in acknowledgement. Yvonne, however, merely arched her gaze from one side to the other, her arms crossing. She knew that Penny would not organise the event and she doubted Bonnie would have the ability to assist her, inexperienced as she was in the art of hosting. Besides, she was not acquainted with anyone beyond the few families she had been introduced to. Undoubtedly, it would be directed to Yvonne to organise the dance, despite her protests. She could not resign herself to the role, though she chastised herself- when Bonnie glanced in her direction, she almost accepted without ever having been asked. That, she realised, was exceedingly foolish and yet, she was prepared to do it anyhow, so long as it contented Miss Donoghue.

Chapter Text

Penny awoke with a startled grunt, her hair springing in a multitude of directions as her head rose. The dark chestnut waves were tied tightly into her cloth curlers, and she had moved her head so suddenly that they bounced with her. She had been asleep face-down in the bed, though she peered over her shoulder on being prodded, and squinted into the darkened room to see the looming figure of her sister.

“What time is it?” she grumbled.

“Morning.”

There was a second of silence.

“Is there a reason you have awoken me, Yvonne?”

“Yes, I want you to be awake. I have work to complete, and you were supposed to join me for breakfast thirty minutes ago. Bonnie shall be coming with her coach soon; you were to call on the Leongs. Do you not remember?”

Penny did remember, although she did not recall agreeing to such an early time. She would not have concurred, if she had known. It astonished her, for Bonnie also preferred to awake late. Perhaps, then, it had been Yvonne’s insistence that they leave early and that is why she did not remember, as she rarely heeded anything that the eldest had to say, not when she perceived that she was being dictated to, which, when conversing with Yvonne, was often.

“Oh, yes. The Leongs...” She lowered her face onto the pillow, her voice becoming muffled as it was covered by the linen. “I shall be prepared when the time comes.”

Despite facing into the pillow, she noticed the stream of light that now entered the room and she exclaimed, lifting herself upward and sitting atop her tucked legs. She raised her hand to her eyes, as she faced the glare of the early morning sun, and angled it towards her sister, who had tucked the heavy drapes behind the tieback and was now striding to the door.

“I shall be prepared!” she repeated in a shrill tone, a tinge of agitation seeping into her voice.

“Yes, I know.” Yvonne halted at the door, placing her hand upon the handle. “I have a surprise for you.”

“Is it an hour or two of additional sleep?”

The edge of Yvonne’s mouth twitched. “No, it is better.”

She flung open the door, a smirk appearing on her countenance. Turning her head, she peered through the open frame to whoever was positioned on the other side, her hand rising to beckon them into the room.

“Come.”

There was a minute of anticipation, where Penny could not fathom the surprise that awaited her, but she needn’t wait long, as a young woman stepped obediently into the room. Slender, pale, and with light golden-copper hair that barely brushed against her shoulders, the stranger stood upright, her hands clasped dutifully before her, her heels placed together, though the front of her feet pointed outward. The stance appeared unnatural, though disciplined, her deportment causing Penny to realise the reason behind her presence.

“Penny, this is Margaret. She shall be your new lady’s maid. As you are insistent on having the dance and you see it as your coming out of sorts, I acknowledge my own responsibility in assisting your transition into a respectable young woman. You asked and you shall receive; Margaret is solely your maid, starting from today. You no longer need to inquire after Paulette.”

As she came to the end of her speech, she became breathless, as Penny had bounded off of the bed, across the room, and into her stomach, where she wrapped her arms around her.

“Thank you, thank you, thank you!” she exclaimed, swivelling from one side to the other, jolting Yvonne along with her.

Stepping back, she released her, leaping upward with puckered lips. She could not reach her intended target, especially as Yvonne was not forthcoming in receiving the gesture, so she reached up to grasp either side of her head, bringing her face downward so that she could kiss her several times on the cheek. Yvonne waved her away, though she was not irritable, merely unnerved by this show of affection.

“Yes, that is quite enough, thank you!” she commanded.

Penny had already abandoned her kisses and had turned her attention to the maid, who was staring at her with some degree of trepidation. Reaching out, she took Margaret’s hands into her own and stared reverently up at her.

“Hello,” she breathed.

Margaret pinkened, managing a greeting in return, though it was uttered with hesitation. A small smile tugged at her lips as she noted the way Penny smiled widely up at her, though she felt the stare of the eldest Miss Davers and glanced nervously across at her. Not wishing to displease her employer on her first day, she lowered her hands, removing them from the girl’s grasp, and clasping them stoically together. Penny was irked, conscious that her sister did not believe she had acted decorously, though she, personally, could not discern the issue.

With an inaudible sigh, she stepped back and curtseyed. “It is a pleasure to meet you, Margaret.”

Margaret reciprocated the gesture. “The pleasure is all mine, Miss Davers.”

“Please, call me Penny.”

“Miss Davers shall do nicely,” Yvonne intervened, a directive that caused her sister to scowl.

With the introductions completed, Margaret was ordered to dress Penny, who informed her where all of the clothes were located. They were observed by Yvonne, who had been requested to stay by the youngest Miss Davers. She had obliged, but their prolonged investigation into the drawers and wardrobe was starting to wear upon her, and she insisted that they hurry, else she shall have to be called another time; she had a meeting arranged with Mrs Sutton.

Penny hastily chose a dress and allowed Margaret to carry her undergarments to her. Turning, so she may face her sister, she decided to broach the topic that she had been hoping to discuss.

“I have conducted a list of all that we shall need for the dance,” she told her. “Food, decorations, the band or quartet, whichever you prefer. It is over there on the vanity. Peruse it at your leisure, for I know you do not like to be hurried into any decision, but there are some fine details that need your consideration. I informed Bonnie that we shall see to every expense; it would be in the interest of fairness.”

Yvonne scoffed. “We shall not see to every expense, Penny, as you will not be paying for anything. It is I, and I alone, who shall be paying, if Bonnie is not to contribute. Is she not a host? How would it be in the interest of fairness if we were to complete all arrangements, including the payments, but the dance is not solely for us?”

“I have told her that we shall pay; it would be unmannerly to rescind our promise now.” As she spoke, she inhaled sharply, as Margaret had pulled firmly at her corset.

“Not our promise; yours.” Yvonne scoffed, her arms crossing in her offence. “This is precisely what I expected of you. How typical that you should shirk all responsibility and leave it to someone else! If you want to be treated as an equal, you should act with the maturity that comes with the expectation. It was you that wanted the dance; not only can you not afford to contribute, having no money of your own, but the only other benefactor that may have eased our expenses, you have now released of all responsibility.”

When she did not receive a response, Penny seemingly undaunted by this chastisement, she huffed in disbelief and went to the vanity, plucking the paper that rested atop the wooden table. She perused the list, several provoked comments arising as she did. None of these remarks grieved Penny, who believed the demands to be inevitable, exhaling heavily as if there was nothing else to be done.

Undoubtedly, it was a notable expense, but she also wished to heed that her sister had travelled continuously since her own coming out and had not believed this investment to be unnecessary, despite how costly it could be. Penny had requested one event in her lifetime that was of considerable expense, it being this ball, and she was hardly sorry for the inconvenience it caused her family. Her prudence indicated that she should be, but she could not quite reconcile the guilt that she was supposed to feel to the desire that she was currently experiencing, not when she was so close to partaking in the first great event of her life.

“I suppose I shall have to organise it on my own,” Yvonne exclaimed, impeding upon her private reflection. “Was this not your ball? Are you nor our neighbour to be involved in its development?”

“As you stated yourself,” Penny interceded, composedly, “I have no money of my own, and it is the least you could do to finance your sister’s coming out, since mother is not to do it. In all respect, Yvonne, was it not you that inherited the family fortune?”

Yvonne could not dispute this, being a reasonable contention. Nevertheless, she concluded that it was the right time for Penny to start learning some social graces of her own, and it would be beneficial to her to witness the planning of such an event, should she need such a skill in the future, which, if her sister’s temperament was accounted for, she would.

All of this was relayed to Penny, who accepted her reasoning with civility.

“I will be a worthy apprentice; I shall endeavour to listen to all that you say.” She grinned across at her sister, who could not disguise her dubiety. Undeterred, Penny clambered into her dress, allowing Margaret to fasten the buttons. As she straightened her stance, she added, impudently- “I knew that you would come to my way of thinking eventually. It would be of the greatest assistance to Bonnie too. Would it not be correct, in this instance, to relieve her of all worry, especially when she has no parents to guide her? Miss Ainsley cannot be trusted to do it alone; she has not the social standing. And who better than you- you, who is so fond of our neighbour, and who our beloved Miss Donoghue is so fond of in return.”

Yvonne stared, admonishingly, over her spectacles. “Penny...”

“Are you two not the closest of friends?” she questioned, incapable of restraining herself. “You are always together. I cannot come between you for being so close.”

Yvonne’s arms folded tighter, her gaze flashing apprehensively towards the maid. She wished to discern her reaction to the discussion, whether she had perceived anything unbecoming, but there was no visible sentiment upon her features. Appeased, Yvonne reproved her sister. “I do not think that is accurate.”

“You have never been perceptive.” Penny allowed Margaret to assist her with her pelisse. “Not when it comes to yourself.”

There was no response to this remark, as Yvonne had sat down on the edge of the vanity, remaining silent in her petulance. She did not remain reticent for long, however, as there was a knock on the door, the footman being called to enter. He had a letter for Yvonne, informing her that it had been sent by the Dunce brothers. Expressing her gratitude, he was dismissed, and she opened the letter.

Miss Davers,
We have discussed your offer further and we cannot come to an agreement that it is a fair price. In its place, we ask that the price be lowered to

With a flick of her wrist, she threw it into the nearby hearth, the paper instantly igniting, slowly burning until it was no more than a heap of ash atop the wood and coal.

“What did it say?” Penny inquired, curiously.

Yvonne stared into the glowing embers. “Nothing worth my time. It deserved to be set alight.”

Having finished dressing, her bonnet now tied neatly, Penny thanked Margaret, who stepped back, curtseying. She was dismissed and the young woman withdrew, a farewell emitted before she left. At the closing of the door, Yvonne stood, believing the discussion to be completed, and she removed her spectacles whilst she strolled across the room, halting before her sister. In response, Penny stood on her toes, her neck strained upward, leaving a kiss upon her cheek as Yvonne lowered to her height.

“I must be leaving,” she told her, as if the hour and her dress did not indicate as such. “I cannot help but be delighted in spending the day with Bonnie! I am hardly able to see her; you keep her so ungenerously to yourself.” Before Yvonne could protest, she lightly patted her on the chest with her folded gloves. A smile tugged at her lips, though the artless manner in which she displayed it was not as genuine as she feigned, for she knew perfectly well what she alluded to. “Yet, she is becoming more than a friend to me, I believe. In fact, she is more like a sister. I feel she is, considering the circumstances.”

“I do not like your riddles nor your presumption to familiarity,” Yvonne uttered.

Penny giggled, raising her hand in an attempt to conceal her smirk. “But you are always so familiar when it comes to our friend, are you not? I do not see you exercising caution.”

The displeasure upon her sister’s countenance was an indication of what was to come, her mouth opening to contest, but Penny had dashed to the door before any word could be said, calling behind her-

“Do not forget the list!”

Her reminder was completed with the thud of the door behind her, she having pulled it forcefully into the frame. Yvonne realised that her mouth was still open in protest, though she discerned that she was not to have the last word, and closed it. Exhaling heavily, she took the list from the vanity, tucked it into her pocket, and departed, closing the door firmly behind her. She strode down the corridor, towards the study, and, as she descended to the lower floor, shook her head, muttering-

“Typical.”

Chapter Text

Mrs Sutton arrived at the appointed time. Both herself and her daughter were adorned in black, as was traditional, this solemn view causing a sharp sensation to pass fleetingly in Yvonne’s chest. She had received word, two days previous, that her former delegate had passed. He had lived longer than expected, though that was no consolation in the wake of his death. It had not been short nor painless, and there had been no treatment, in the end, that could have rectified his condition. Accustomed as she was to the notion that money would resolve any matter, she discovered, in this circumstance, that it could not. She could not be of any assistance to him. Nature would simply take its course and she would be subject to its caprice, regardless of the sentiment of those involved, an assessment that did not lessen her uneasiness but, rather, increased it. Ruminating upon the ensuing discussion, she was unnerved and she discerned that it would be easier for them all if she were to confront it, so that, hereafter, they may be left to grieve in peace.

She called them into the study, where they sat before her. They were as visibly apprehensive as she was, which caused a nervous silence- they all staring at one another. Hemming, Yvonne sat forward, her tone firm but gentle.

“Words cannot describe how sorry I am, Mrs Sutton, to hear of your husband’s passing. Mister Sutton was regarded with eternal gratitude and consideration in this household, for all of the years’ service he provided for our family and for the good man that he was. Therefore, I believe it my duty to cover the costs of his funeral arrangements.” Here, there was a faint murmur of appreciation from Mrs Sutton, though it was barely heard above the sob that threatened to arise within her. Yvonne was uncertain of how to respond to this show of emotion and persisted, believing that it would ease them all to complete the discussion as quickly as possible. “And, if you are in search of employment, as I know you had to release your duties, I have been planning to reopen my factory and I would be more than willing to hold a position for you, so that you have a promise of permanent employment in the future.”

Mrs Sutton lightly dabbed a handkerchief beneath her eyes, her voice quivering. “I cannot express my gratitude enough, Miss Davers. To know that I can return to work is an immense gift.”

“It shall not be opening for some time,” Yvonne informed her, “but I have heard from Miss Donoghue- who now resides at Colworth House- that she is in need of a chambermaid, as one of hers was recently dismissed. Would you be willing to work there in the meantime? I have come to know Miss Donoghue personally and you will be treated well; she is a kindly employer.”

“Is Miss Donoghue the young lady from Ireland, ma’am?”

“Indeed.”

Mrs Sutton smiled assuredly. “I have no objections to working for her.”

“Excellent, I shall inform her later today. You can start immediately.”

Yvonne peered across at the young girl, who had sat silently during this exchange. Daisy Sutton could not allow herself to meet the gaze of Miss Davers, whose figure appeared colossal to her, a perception that made her all the more frightening, and she stared down at her legs, which were dangling over the edge of the chair- they being not quite long enough to reach the floor. Her timidity did not remain unnoticed by Yvonne, whose voice lowered in the assumption that it may ease the girl, compared to her usual loudness.

“I have another offer for you, Mrs Sutton, hence my request for Daisy. May I ask if she has been educated in any way?”

“A little, ma’am,” the mother replied. “She used to read with her father and she has been attending school, but she shall have to work now that he is gone. We cannot afford for her not to.”

Yvonne leant back in her chair, adorning her monocle and gesturing for the girl to stand beside her.

“Daisy, come here, please.”

Daisy clambered from the chair, walking hesitantly around the desk. Staring up at Miss Davers, wide-eyed, she stuttered- “Ye-yes, ma’am?”

Yvonne passed her an open book, pointing directly at the section that she wished for her to narrate. “Please, read from here onwards.”

The instruction appeared to terrify Daisy, who glanced towards her mother, the book visibly trembling where she had gripped it. Tears started to well in her eyes, a perception that disconcerted Yvonne, who reached across and plucked a paper packet from her desk, holding it toward the girl so that she could see it.

“You need not be alarmed; I simply want to hear you read. See? If you do, you may have these sweets.” When the girl continued to stare at her, she added- “They are Pontefracts (65).”

Daisy immediately glanced down at the book, speaking out in a trembling voice. “A rich man’s wife b-be-be...”

“Became,” Yvonne urged.

“Became sick and when she felt that her end was dr...dray...draw...”

“Drawing.”

“Near, she called her only daughter to her bedside.” She continued to read until Miss Davers requested that she finish, she completing the paragraph before doing so. “And because she always looked dusty and dirty, they called her... erm...”

“Cinderella.”

“Cinderella,” she completed.

“Wonderful.”

Yvonne accepted the book, which was handed to her, closing it and placing it atop the desk. Mrs Sutton was staring nervously across at her, uncertain as to why she had requested her daughter to read aloud. Once Daisy had settled herself onto the chair, Yvonne explained the reasoning behind the exercise.

“Your daughter has basic reading comprehension. It is not, perhaps, where it should be for a girl of her age but it is still impressive for such a small amount of schooling. With your permission, I would like to enrol her into a nearby girl’s school. There, she will learn reading, writing, and accounting, as well as her usual subjects. This will be for a period of twelve months and, if she holds promise, I will keep her there until she is of age. My plan is that she learns a trade in dress making for when she is older. If she has enough skills, I will hire her myself or, if she has refined the skill to an art, she may open her own shop, which I shall pay for initially and which she can return in a subsequent loan.

“However, this is your decision, Mrs Sutton. I appreciate that she will not remain at home during this time, nor will you receive the same allowance that you would have if she were working. If you cannot part with her then no more shall be said on the subject, but if your only concern is in regards to finance, I must urge you to consider that I shall cover the costs of her education, including board, so you need not worry on that account. You shall simply have to continue paying for your own living costs and rent, which will be lowered to the agreed price, considering your circumstances. With the wage that you will earn with Miss Donoghue and then with myself, you shall be living within your means, regardless of whether Daisy works or not.”

This proposal was met with silence, Mrs Sutton too astonished to respond. She peered down at Daisy, a short laugh erupting in her bewilderment. As to the girl beside her, she did not appear to fully comprehend the situation, her features crumpling, moments later, in the realisation that she was to continue attending school. Mrs Sutton did not heed her repugnance but sat forward, a smile appearing.

“Miss Davers,” she uttered. “How could I refuse so generous an offer? I never dreamed, in all my years, that Daisy could have such an opportunity. We will gladly accept, for I can think of nothing better for her. I am truly grateful; thank you.”

“It is the least I can do, Mrs Sutton,” Yvonne insisted. “Mister Sutton was a mentor to me when my father passed and the farms would not be in so excellent a condition, if it were not for him. I am eternally grateful for his guidance. Resultantly, I hope to impart my patronage on his daughter, so that she may have the opportunity to live comfortably. With your permission, I can now complete the arrangements and have a date settled for her arrival at the school.” She peered down at the child before her. “I hope you are pleased, Daisy?”

Daisy stared sullenly up at her, a trace of accusation in her gaze, as if attending to her studies was a severe punishment. Beside her, Mrs Sutton reddened, placing her hand atop Daisy’s and pressing it.

“She is!” she exclaimed. “She sincerely is, Miss Davers.”

Yvonne did not believe that to be true, but she also did not wish to press her any further. Undoubtedly, Daisy did not wish to be separated from her mother, but there were further considerations to be had that a young girl could not possibly understand or, at the least, appreciate.

“Good, then it is settled.”

This was not received well by little Daisy, though her bad humour was relieved when she was handed the packet of liquorice that she was promised. Subsequently, she thought more kindly of Miss Davers, as there was every potential that she would receive more sweets if she were to do as she was told and that, in itself, was not disagreeable to her. In fact, she was delighted by it.

Chapter Notations

65. Pontefract cakes (a.k.a. Pomfret and Pomfrey cakes) are a small, circular sweet that is made from liquorice. They were originally manufactured in Pontefract, Yorkshire, hence the name.

Chapter Text

The newspaper arrived, as expected, in the morning. It could easily be carried by the servants to the upper study, where the eldest Miss Davers preferred to read it during the evenings, but Penny chose to do it herself and could often be seen traversing to the second floor with the newspaper tucked under her arm. Recently, she had taken to reading it on her way, the paper unfolded before her. In doing so, she could not view where she was headed, often walking into various tables and chairs as she went.

The account of the riots had fascinated her, though this interest was not shared by her relatives. Consequently, she had decided to read the newspaper alone and with ardent dedication. These inked pages were her connection to the outer world, one far beyond the confines of her familial home and the boundaries of propriety that were expected of her; it enthralled her. However, this usual undertaking was disturbed by a particular article that she had observed, merely by chance. Penny relished in reading the marital column, the notion of romance exhilarating to her, and she had discovered an article in particular that caught her attention. It read:

By a ceremony performed Friday afternoon, the fifth of August, by Rev. John Joyce, at Chelsea Old Church, London, Miss Josephine Langdon and Captain Edmund Fawcett were married.

Startled, Penny entered the study and collapsed into the chair, her lips parting in her astonishment. This discovery answered her question as to why her sister had returned in the manner she did, though she wished she had not learnt this information publicly; rather, she would have preferred to have heard it from Yvonne. Nevertheless, the severity of the situation was now comprehensible to her, distress arising on behalf of her sister, who had not shared her grief with anyone.

A teardrop escaped her as she stared down at the article, closing the newspaper and resting it gently against the desk. Wiping away the tear, she inhaled sharply to prevent herself from weeping and leant back in the chair, her head thudding against the wooden frame.

“Oh, Yvonne,” she lamented.

There was no other response than the sound of silence, though it eased her to express herself. She was certain that if she were to reveal her sympathy to her sister, it would merely cause her to become distant, more so than usual; Yvonne did not like to be pitied. Withal, Penny believed it would relieve her. There was a comfort in vulnerability and the ability to share it with those who one cared for, if only Yvonne would believe it too. Penny did care for her and she would be of help to her, whether she accepted or not. She knew how deeply loneliness could impress upon a person and she did not wish for others to be at its mercy, not when she believed it to be preventable. It troubled her to conceive that anyone would feel unappreciated, as she felt she was, and she refused to treat others as she, herself, was treated; it was not in her nature.

“I have spoken to the master of the hall and they shall have the banquet prepared, as requested. The wine that you have listed has been ordered and will be arriving soon.”

“I wish you would let me pay, Yvonne.”

Yvonne glanced across. “It is no bother to me. I do not mind paying.”

Bonnie sat back with a frown, displeased that she had been rebuffed. She had insisted that she share the cost, but Yvonne would not allow her. As one of the hosts, she did not believe the expense should be accounted for by one person, though it was difficult to convince her companion to relent, as she had decided upon her course of action and would not alter it. This resolution was not agreeable to her, yet her cross expression did not remain unnoticed, Yvonne smiling askance in reassurance.

“The money does not impact me in any way; I would have spent it on travelling if I had not decided to stay. There is a surplus that is now available to me, as a result, and I wish to gift it to both yourself and Penny. She has expressed her opinion on the matter, about her wishes for the ball. On further reflection, it is my duty to finance the event, for my sister at least, but I should prefer it to be a present to you both.”

“My parents had their inheritance saved for an occasion such as this. Please, let me.”

“No, keep it for when you travel or for another ball, if you ever want to host one of your own.”

Bonnie was silent. She discerned that she could not convince her, resigning herself to the notion. Instead, she decided to alter the discussion to one more enjoyable to them both. Reaching out, she took hold of Yvonne’s wrist, leaning forward with a grin.

“I cannot wait for the dance!” she chattered. “Everyone has accepted and it has been talked about highly in town. Henrietta told me that everyone is in anticipation. I believe they are but I think I am, the most. There have only been a couple of occasions where I was able to dance, those being at school and at home, but I have never been to an assembly room. My aunt and uncle often discussed whether I should have a coming out at their estate but it was never decided. I do not think they wanted the expense. I never thought I would attend one; there has been not one mention of a ball since I have arrived here in Bedford, but it is happening at long last! I can hardly believe it!”

Her speech ended in a joyous exclamation. Bonnie was smiling so widely, her voice so exuberant, that Yvonne would sincerely have done all in her power to ensure that she was happy. She would arrange the night so that her neighbour could experience all that she wished; nothing less than perfection could be deemed acceptable for the likes of Miss Donoghue.

“Will you be taking your carriage?” she inquired. “As you will be accompanied by Miss Ainsley.”

“I had hoped that we would travel together,” Bonnie admitted, unabashedly. “All four of us could fit into the carriage; there is no reason we could not detour to Haynes Park before entering town.”

Yvonne would not allow her the difficulty. “There is no need. I shall employ mine and you can travel with us. You do not need to travel any more than necessary.”

“Wonderful!” She sighed, happily, though her smile lessened, a moment later, her eyes widening as she clung to her wrist. Her lowered voice was an indication of the gravity that she had bestowed upon the inquiry. “I had planned to ask you, you see, about the idea of us attending together.” She paused, before clarifying- “As a pair.” She appeared to remember Penny, for she spoke again. “Or the three of us.”

“If you do not wish to be chaperoned by Miss Ainsley then yes, I shall be delighted to stand in her place,” Yvonne nodded, earnestly. “Between myself and Miss Ainsley, we can supervise the two of you.”

There was a mixture of perplexment and amusement on Bonnie’s features, as she stared across at her companion. She glanced down, repressing the urge to laugh at this misunderstanding, pondering whether she should correct her on the meaning of the insinuation. Yet, she decided against it and smiled, her thumb brushing lightly against her wrist.

“I will be content, no matter what happens, if you are to be by my side.”

Yvonne did not fathom her meaning beyond the confirmation of acting as her chaperone, though this, in itself, pleased her. In addition, she questioned- “Would you not prefer a train? We have time to inquire, if that is what you wish.”

“I do not want any party or train (66),” Bonnie insisted. “I am perfectly content to attend with your family, and Miss Ainsley. I do not want to be saddled with the same people all night; I do not think anyone else to be interesting enough.” After a moment, she noted another consideration. “And what of Lady Davers? Must we make provisions for her comfort? Surely, she shall need seating that is more suitable for her.”

“It is no matter; she is not to attend. She cannot take the excitement. Besides, she despises large gatherings and her legs are weak. My mother cannot stand for long periods of time but, if she is forced to sit among others, she will soon become irritable and will want to be taken home. She shall be satisfied there, since she is comfortable. A friend of hers, Miss White, shall remain with her. She will not be alone.”

With the knowledge that there were no further deliberations to be had, Bonnie’s spirits rose to a higher degree, her clutch loosening on Yvonne’s wrist. Her fingers brushed gently along her skin, lowering and enclosing upon her neighbour’s hand.

“I consider myself blessed for having met you,” she confided, “and for knowing you as well as I do. Your friendship has been a gift to me. The thought that we shall share so much together, this ball and then, perhaps, to travel, even so far as Moscow, it brings me great happiness. When I moved here, I did not comprehend that I could be so fortunate, although I had wished so much to be. It is because of you; you have created so much joy in my life.”

Yvonne curled her fingers around Bonnie’s, their hands now resting in each other’s. She lifted the other hand to reach across and rest atop them, so that both were enfolding her companion’s. The topic had returned her attention to a subject that she had hoped to broach and, with Bonnie’s earnest desire to travel with her, she was emboldened to speak.

“I have also thought upon us travelling together,” she admitted. “I wanted your first excursion to be one of importance and to be the creation of many joyful memories for you. So, if we were to agree that we are good travelling companions, that we suit one another, I had hoped that we would visit India together. I would be honoured to travel with you, if that is what you wish, to be your companion when you choose to visit your family and your ancestral home, and to offer aid in whichever way so that you can achieve all that you desire whilst you are there. I hope that is not impertinent of me?”

Bonnie gasped loudly, a euphoric grin appearing on her countenance, and she released her hand to fling her arms around her neck, clasping her tightly.

“It is not,” she cried, pressing her face into her shoulder. “Yes! A million times yes; I shall go with you!” In her ecstasy, she leant back and placed her hands on either side of her face, inclining swiftly forward to press her forehead against Yvonne’s, her eyes closing in an attempt to subdue her overwhelming emotion. With a contented sigh, she murmured- “Oh, Yvonne, I could not be happier. There is not anyone else in the world who I would want to share this with.”

She reached up to press her lips firmly on the centre of her companion’s forehead, returning, hereafter, to her previous position. The avidity of her response, the haste in which it had been enacted, had bewildered Yvonne, who was sat in silence. She was in a state of modesty, though her countenance revealed that she was equally pleased. The edge of her lips twitched upward and she hemmed, tugging at her vest to rearrange its position, it having veered askew in their embrace.

“Then we shall go,” she decided.

Bonnie pressed her hand. “I look forward to it.”

Chapter Notations

66. This is another way of indicating whether Bonnie wished to be among a small gathering of acquaintances, so that she was among people she was familiar with during a large social event.

Chapter Text

Peonies, dahlias, roses, carnations; they were merely a small number of flowers that were amongst the exquisite and vast display of Rococo (67) bouquets that were carried through the hallways. With the greatest care, three intricately designed vases were handled by the footmen, who were relocating them upstairs. They had been delivered through the servants’ quarters, an ornate card transmitted with them, and they were to be displayed in the bedroom of Miss Donoghue. As of yet, the lady was unaware of their arrival- she was currently in the kitchens, although she had already eaten that evening.

The vases were lined along the top of the dresser by the instruction of the housekeeper, they withdrawing from the room in time to see Miss Donoghue ambling up the stairs in her nightgown, a plate in hand. She had piled the dish with a number of pastries, the journey and the refreshments having eased her nerves. Expressing her gratitude to the passing servants, though she did not know what they had done, she entered her room, closing the door behind her and removing her nightgown. This article of clothing was thrown unceremoniously atop the bed, the plate left upon it, she turning to approach the vanity. As she did so, she viewed the flowers.

They were a picture of such natural artistry that Bosschaert (68), van Huysum (69), or Ruysch (70) would have been inspired by the scene before them, though this was not the first thought that crossed Bonnie’s mind but, rather, the small card that had been left resting against the middle vase, her name visibly written in a familiar hand.

Gasping in delight, hands clasping together, Bonnie dashed towards them. It did not occur to her to dress first, as she was clothed solely in her undergarments and corset, her loose hair streaming behind her in waves of ebony as she bounded towards the dresser. She came to a halt when she reached it, seizing the card and turning it around so that she may view the message upon it.

For your first, but not your last, dance. May it be all that you wish. Please accept this humble gift for your coming out in Bedford. Their beauty may rival but never surpass your own.
Your faithful servant,
Y. Davers.

Exultant, Bonnie bounced on her toes, her teeth biting into her bottom lip. She placed the card on the dresser, her hands resting against the wood as she leant forward, her face burying into the array of flowers, the aroma instantly calming the nerves she had previously felt. Amongst the larger blossom were various wildflowers, depending on which arrangement she chose. She was enchanted by the hemp-agrimonies, heather, centauries, wild parsnip, and musk mallows, and she reverently stroked them. Her enchantment was soon interrupted by the entrance of Bronagh, who was startled by the sight of the bouquets.

The sudden appearance of her maid caused Bonnie to slip the card into one of the drawers, turning from the door so that she may clandestinely wipe a tear that had escaped her. Despite the maid’s surprise at the gift, she was not as astounded to perceive her weeping mistress and started to dress her without any inquiry into what had affected her. If it had been an irregular occurrence, she would have felt some semblance of consideration, but it happened so frequently that it was hardly ever a cause for concern.

“It is happening! It is happening!” A momentary pause. “It is happening!”

Yvonne peered through the mirror, observing the way her sister bounced mercilessly upon the bed, chanting breathlessly, her cheeks turning a deep shade of red, the thud of her feet as she landed on the mattress agonising to listen to.

“Get down from that bed at once!” she remarked.

Penny bounced once more for good measure, hurling her petticoat, mid-air, across the room. It landed, quite satisfactorily, upon Yvonne’s head, who exclaimed in irritation and hurried to remove it, anxious that it had mussed her hair.

“Penny!”

“Do not fear,” was the response. “You shall be the finest maiden at the ball, for your hair is the most kempt. How Miss Donoghue shall adore thine golden locks.”

Yvonne reached out to grasp the girl’s ankles but Penny had fallen onto her behind, scrambling from the bed as swiftly as she could, though her short-winded giggling prevented her from moving as quickly as she would like. She had been wild all afternoon at the thought of the dance, Yvonne locking herself in the study to avoid the intensity of her sister’s excitement. Nevertheless, she was forced to leave by compulsion and Penny had hurried into her room, incapable of allowing her to receive one moment’s peace.

Now, having been almost caught by the eldest, she paced the other side of the bed, unable to restrain her laughter. Yvonne scowled and returned to the vanity, where Paulette was awaiting her. The maid did not wish to demand anything from her mistress whilst she was occupied with the youngest Miss Davers, though the girl’s frolicking was not received well by Paulette, her expression slowly becoming embittered by the frequent interruptions.

“Do as you are told, please,” Yvonne instructed, turning away from the girl. This appeal did not have the desired effect, however. Penny stuck out her tongue and made a noise so loud and offensive that Yvonne whirled around in repugnance. “You are incredibly bothersome, do you know that?”

“Do not be so austere, Yvonne.” Penny sauntered towards the door, her arms swinging back and forth. “I do it in jest.”

Perceiving that Paulette was not looking, as she was laying the clothes primly on the bed, Yvonne stuck out her own tongue, crossly. This motion merely emboldened Penny, who thought it a great antic, though her response was hindered by a knock at the door.

“Who is it?” Yvonne called.

“Margaret, ma’am.”

“Enter.”

Margaret peered timidly around the door, an expression of relief forming as she noted that Penny was present, though there was a hint of dread upon noting that her mistress had disrobed. Stepping inside, she curtseyed, addressing the eldest Miss Davers.

“Excuse me, Miss Davers; I could not find Miss Penny anywhere. If you do not mind, I have come to dress her.”

“Yes, take her away,” Yvonne asserted. “She has been nothing but a nuisance. I am sure you will have more luck with her than me.”

Penny’s bare feet padded silently along the carpet as she withdrew from the room, though she paused when she came to the hallway. Spinning on her heel, she raised her arm, bowing deeply.

“Fare thee well, my fair lady!”

The vexed expression that was directed toward her remained unnoticed, as the door had been closed in the wake of her hollering, Margaret having led her to her room, the thrown petticoat in hand. Penny’s elation had not lessened in the walk to her bedchamber, but she wished her maid to esteem her, and endeavoured to act in the decorous manner that was expected of her. Dressed in her petticoat, she lowered into the chair at her vanity, so that her hair may be styled. Having troubled her sister, she discerned that she was not as restless as she had been; Penny was almost reverent in her silence.

Once the diversion had been removed, Yvonne was dressed within minutes. Paulette was dismissed, now that her work was complete, and the eldest was resigned to observing herself in the mirror. She was wearing her finest black pantaloons, brocade vest, and high-cut tailed coat, with her mustard-coloured cravat nestled comfortably against her throat. At the vanity was her silk hat, which she rarely adorned, its sole use being for special occasions.

Raising her hand, her fingers brushed against her white shirt, the gentle touch discerning the chain beneath. She had worn the locket in the understanding that Bonnie would somehow perceive it, though she knew not how. Staring into the mirror, she swept her hands over the front of her coat, as if that may improve her appearance.

Her breath hitched in her throat as she stared at herself. It was an involuntary reaction to the thrill that she was experiencing; yet, the feeling abashed her and she glowered at her reflection, muttering-

“You foolish woman.”

Her ecstasy had been overwhelmed by her trepidation and she peered into the mirror, a grimace forming as she scrutinised her appearance.

Yvonne was not a lover of dance, nor of large social parties. Her lack of poise when it came to dancing had been a source of humiliation to her as a child, and she had not the talent for consorting with multiple people simultaneously, which led her, in consequence, to avoid any circumstance where she may be forced to confront either quandary.

When she had socialised with Augusta, she had overcome her natural instincts and involved herself in whatever situation she had been allocated to. She had worn fashionable dresses, allowed her hair to be tied into all manners of design, and danced with whoever Augusta thought it becoming to dance with. In the midst of this attachment, she had not believed it unnatural to conduct herself in this way but, in hindsight, it had been. It was not in her nature and so, each part of it had been unnatural. Yvonne had not involved herself in a dance since, though she had attended many.

On reflection, she pondered whether she should be asked to dance by Bonnie, whether the lady would want her to dress and to comport herself in the appointed fashion. Her first instinct was to think not, for she believed she knew her well and her neighbour had not indicated that this was the case. Yet, the longer she speculated, the more concerned she became, and Yvonne discovered that she was no longer delighted by the thought of attending to her that evening.

Inspecting her appearance once more, she decided that she was satisfied, withdrawing from the room, her top hat tucked securely under her arm. She directed her route towards the stairs- Yvonne was intent on visiting her mother before they were to leave, primarily out of formality than from genuine want. Arriving at the door, she rapt her knuckles against it, waiting for permission before entering the private parlour.

Lady Davers was seated in her chair, listening with astonishing amicability to her guest as she read aloud. Miss Patience White had already arrived at the Park, intent that the noblewoman should not perceive the absence of her daughters and become distressed, this being a misconception on her part, for Lady Davers would not perceive their absence in any case. Nevertheless, Miss White was a pious, timid young woman. She could not comprehend that anyone should be malicious, particularly when they were born so high of rank, as she was trusting and sympathetic by nature, and these qualities were what endeared her, if this should be the correct term, to Lady Davers. The baroness comprehended that she had a ready attendant in Miss White and, accordingly, would not deny her friendship. Furthermore, the young woman’s meek nature was deemed satisfactory in comparison to her daughters, who she believed to be deliberately obstinate and so, she was willing to entertain her.

Yvonne bowed in the direction of Miss White, who stood and curtseyed in return. Approaching her mother, she bent over and kissed her, though Lady Davers did not appear to notice.

“We shall be leaving shortly,” Yvonne informed her. “I am fetching Penny and then, we shall depart.”

There was an absence of response from the chair below, although Miss White spoke out, reverentially and quietly, peering up at her through one eye, she being blind in the other.

“I wish you a joyous evening, Miss Davers, and I pray for your safe return.”

The edge of Yvonne’s mouth twitched, as though she were uncertain of how to respond. She settled upon expressing her gratitude, adding- “I also wish you a joyful evening, Miss White. I hope my mother will not be too taxing.”

Lady Davers glared upwards, indignantly, whilst their guest protested, fiercely, beside her.

“No, no, she shall not! We are quite content here with Evelina (71).”

“Yes, away with you,” Lady Davers murmured. As she watched her daughter withdraw from the room, she said, louder: “May your dancing have improved from the last time I saw you, sunlight. It was quite a shock to observe you. No wonder you were never able to marry.”

“Thank you, mother. I shall endeavour to dance better, if only to ease your poor mind.”

Yvonne passed through the door, closing it resolutely behind her. She strode leisurely down the corridor, halting on the opposite side of the manor to knock at Penny’s door, where she placed on her top hat. Despite the girl’s penchant for tardiness, she was dressed and prepared for departure, primarily on Margaret’s insistence, and they walked together to the carriage. Yvonne noted, in this time, that Penny was wearing one of the dresses that she had purchased from London.

“You look graceful tonight,” she remarked. “A comely young woman, indeed.”

“I do not look like a chicken?”

Yvonne humphed in amusement. “Not as much as you usually do.”

Penny pressed her hands to her chest. With a sigh of contentment, she uttered- “Oh, how long I have waited to hear you say so. I am no longer a chicken, but a lovely swan. How fitting for my first ball!”

“I would not compliment you that far.”

Yvonne was struck sharply in the side. She guffawed, holding out her hand for Penny to take, who grasped it and used it as an aid to enter the carriage. The footman offered his hand to Yvonne but she refused any assistance and stepped inside. With a brief instruction, the footman climbed onto the back of the carriage, the coachman urging the horses onward; more specifically, in the direction of Colworth House, where they were to retrieve the rest of the party.

They arrived at the time Yvonne indicated, the lady waiting patiently atop the outer steps. The carriage came to a halt afore her, but before anyone could approach the door, Yvonne had stepped from within, ushering the footman away with a sharp flick of her hand, so that she could assist Miss Donoghue and Miss Ainsley herself.

As Bonnie entered the carriage, Penny inquired as to her day, how greatly she had anticipated the evening. Bonnie said immensely, though she was no longer hungry for the banquet; she had already eaten a considerable amount of pastries, to which there was a disgruntled tut from Miss Ainsley.

“I am sure you behaved like an angel,” Bonnie continued, teasingly, discounting the custodian. “Unlike myself.”

“Oh, you must ask Yvonne,” Penny chattered. “I was like a nun, was I not? I was so quiet.”

There was a scoff from the doorway.

“Is that so?” Bonnie smirked. “In my experience, nuns were never much quiet.”

She did not proceed with that thought, as Miss Ainsley had seated herself beside her and had glanced admonishingly in her direction.

“You are not wearing white!” Penny exclaimed, noting the cloak that Bonnie adorned. “It is the tradition, you know. All the young ladies are expected to wear white, isn’t that so?” She directed the question towards Yvonne, who was settling beside her. Without waiting for an answer, she continued. “I am wearing white. Yvonne bought the dress from London.”

“I have never seen a more beautiful dress for a coming out,” Miss Ainsley endorsed with an approving nod.

“Yes, it is very pretty,” Bonnie acknowledged with a placid smile. “I know I am not wearing white but I felt that this was the right decision. I wanted everyone to understand me, who I am, as I am not entirely known here in Bedford. Green is the colour of my country, after all- both Ireland and India. I think it suits me, does it not?”

She peered down at her velvet cloak, glancing upward a second later to incite the opinion of those around her.

Miss Ainsley was the first to speak. “Your dress illustrates the magnificence of the Donoghue household! Your parents would be proud.”

This last admission caused her to reach for her kerchief, dabbing it frantically at her eyes, she exhaling with a trembling breath. Penny stifled her laughter and nodded, ardently.

“Very much so.”

Bonnie glanced towards Yvonne, this being her natural end in receiving her compliments. On the contrary, she did not receive the flattery she was expecting, as Yvonne merely mumbled an assertion and stared at the carriage wall. This reception startled her, though she was reminded of the flowers and discerning that, perhaps, she did not wish to express herself before the others, sat back in satisfaction, convinced that they should have the opportunity to speak later. The brief glance that was directed towards her was not missed, and she smiled, which caused the other to flush and turn her attention back to the wall, a motion that purely served to encourage Bonnie. She distinguished that there was affection in her gaze, the apathy notwithstanding, and she was so assured in where she had placed her own affection that she could not possibly perceive that there was anything the matter.

Chapter Notations

67. The Rococo Period (1715-1744) was a style popularised during the reign of Louis V in France, the word Rococo itself deriving from the French word ‘rocaille’. This style was used in interior design, architecture, painting, sculpture, and decorative arts. As for the Rococo floral design, it was usually characterised by lighter, playful, elegant, and happier colours and forms, similar to the Baroque Period.

68. Ambrosius Bosschaert the Elder (1573-1621) is recognised as one of the earliest floral still-life painters. He was one of the first artists to specialise in painting flowers as a stand-alone subject.

69. Jacob Van Huysum (1687-1740) was a botanical painter. His work can be viewed in Martyn’s Historia Plantarum Rariorum (1728-38) and Catalogus Plantarum (1730).

70. Rachel Ruysch (1664-1750) was a floral still-life painter. She became the best documented woman painter of the Dutch Golden Age.

71. Evelina (1778), a novel by Frances Burney.

Chapter Text

The staff greeted them at the entrance, admitting them into the foyer so that they could remove their outwear. There was a general flurry of movement, as all four women did so, Yvonne glancing upward as she flung her coat in the direction of a footman. Bonnie was stood opposite her, unpinning her cloak, watching as a nearby servant laid it carefully in their arms. It was the first opportunity Yvonne had had to perceive her, having been sat in the dark for the whole of the journey, the sight that greeted her startling her into silence.

The dress was a dark emerald satin, a similar shade to that of the cloak. Its fitting torso accentuated the shapely figure of Miss Donoghue, the skirt pooling from all sides. Despite the lowness along the top of her dress, the upper sleeve was voluminous, though if anyone were to wear the gigot (72) effortlessly, Yvonne believed it was the lady before her. With the hem situated below the tops of her shoulders, her collarbone and shoulder blades were visible, a style that she appeared to favour, allowing her exposed, elongated neck to display a golden necklace. Its centre was rounded, a primary emerald heralding smaller fragments of the jewel on either side, causing an X to be inscribed across the circular midpoint. From it drooped an additional piece of gold, tear-shaped in its ornamentation, and within this was another emerald, formed precisely into the shape of a teardrop, this centrepiece nestling itself comfortably above her breast. Her ears were adorned in jewellery, the earrings constructed in the shape of a chandelier, exhibiting both diamonds and emeralds alike.

The only view of her had been in the cover of nightfall but, with the multitude of candlelight in the foyer, it was apparent that the detail of her jewellery matched the golden detail along the edge of her cloak. She watched as it was carried away, the tranquil expression upon her face, the softness of her figure as she stood amongst the candlelight, conjuring images of the divine. One may be mistaken in thinking that she was Lakshmi (73) herself. Peering down, her gloved hands pressed against her stomach, as though she were trying to appraise her appearance, now she was at the ball, the glimmering of the miniscule flames against her hair almost like a multitude of stars in the dark of night.

The lady glanced upward, their gaze meeting, and there was such tenderness in the way she smiled that it did not ease Yvonne’s anxieties but, rather, increased them. Nevertheless, she could not refuse her and smiled in return. This appeared to content Bonnie, who stepped towards her, glancing askance at Penny and Miss Ainsley. Perceiving that they were distracted, she spoke out.

“You are exceedingly beautiful tonight,” she uttered, lowly.

“No, it is you who is beautiful,” Yvonne protested.

Bonnie’s lips parted, some chastisement prepared, though it simply died away below an uprising of chatter that came from the entrance. The Mounts had arrived, their presence received with a mixture of emotion. Mr and Mrs Mount were received warmly by all, the exception being Bonnie, who was disheartened to see them. She had wished for a private audience with Yvonne. There was much she felt she ought to share but there was no longer any privacy in which she could, and she could not remove the sensation of displeasure that arose within her.

Henrietta and Euphemia were received coolly by both the Misses Davers and Bonnie, yet their separate reasons for being offended by their presence was outweighed by the enthusiasm in which Miss Ainsley greeted them. Moments later, Henrietta inquired into whether Miss Donoghue expected there to be a train with her.

“I decided against it,” was the response.

Henrietta was aghast. “It would be unwise not to have one, especially if you want to avoid any discomfort that may arise if one is not well-received. You should have asked; we would have been delighted to stay with you.”

This revelation disturbed Miss Ainsley, who perceived that she may have placed Bonnie at a disadvantage by not surrounding her with established acquaintances.

“She is quite right,” she fretted aloud. Glancing at Yvonne, she seemed to question whether Miss Davers had hindered her ward. “We should have taken that into consideration.”

“I did not want one...” Bonnie frowned. “Yvonne did ask.”

Penny took hold of her arm, glaring up at the sisters before her. “She has one- Yvonne and I, so you need not worry. Miss Donoghue has all that she requires for her first dance, and there is no doubt that she will be well-received. I could not fathom any ball where the most eligible young woman was not.” As an afterthought, she added- “If your services are required, I am certain that they shall be asked for.”

Before another word was spoken, the loud baritone of Mr Mount’s voice was heard by the doorway, the one which led into the hall. Neither he nor his wife appeared to have noticed their discussion, but had been admiring the decoration.

“By Gad!” he declared. “What a marvel this is.” He nodded approvingly in the direction of Yvonne. “It is a shame your father could not be here to see it, God rest his soul, and that your mother is unable to join us tonight. You have truly commended the Davers name.”

“I could not have chosen finer arrangements, myself,” Mrs Mount added, staring admiringly at the flowers.

Yvonne bowed her head. “Thank you, both. Your praise is appreciated, but I was not the sole organiser of the event. Penny was also involved in its preparation.”

They swiftly complimented the youngest, as well as her dress, thinking her to be a fine young woman. She curtseyed her gratitude. Nevertheless, Mr Mount was already distracted by which part of the room he should be situated, wondering whether it be the chairs or by the window.

“It is best to keep from the fire,” he told the group. “Awful nuisance in this weather, and you can never start in the middle of the room, for everyone shall usher you out of the way once the dancing starts. It is best to sit, so you know that you can be quite comfortable for the remainder of the evening.”

“Then let us sit,” Mrs Mount urged.

“There are chairs over there by the window; do you see, Lan? That would best. You know how terribly hot the room is once everyone arrives.” Linking his arm with his wife’s, he beckoned for Miss Ainsley to follow. “Come, old gal; sit with us. We shall let the girls have their fun. I am certain there is much to say among them about the young men that they will be dancing with tonight. In the meantime, you must tell me all about the school...”

Miss Ainsley was already following him in delight, honoured to have the opportunity to talk about her work. She never had a willing participant in Bonnie and she had recited her stories several times to Yvonne, who was kind enough to show an equal amount of pleasure each time they spoke. Withal, even the old governess was tiring of telling the same person and was delighted to find a new, faithful attendant to whom she could speak endlessly about her passion.

The young women watched her depart with a degree of relief, although Yvonne wished that they had taken their daughters with them. It would be difficult, however, to be rid of them so early in the evening, as they were the only occupants of the room and they could not avoid each other. Still, she would have preferred to stare silently at them from the opposite side of the hall in comparison to speaking with them.

Nevertheless, this was not an issue that perturbed her for long, for the hall was soon filled with guests, each craning their necks to observe the comely Miss Donoghue. Those who had she had already become acquainted with found themselves regarded with equal attention for knowing the young woman, but the Misses Mount praised themselves more highly than anyone could praise them, flattering each other with compliments whilst they conversed with the other guests. Euphemia nervously stuttered hers, as she was imitating her sister, but Henrietta’s exaggerations were received with a mixture of admiration and amusement, depending on who she spoke to.

It was a great delight to the younger Mr Leong that he should already know Miss Donoghue and, without needing an introduction, could ask her for the first dance. This was to the indignation of all the other bachelors in the room but even more so to Yvonne, who advised Bonnie that he was a rather silly fellow, and should not be associated with her. Bonnie merely laughed.

“It is a dance, Yvonne. He has not asked me for my hand in marriage.”

It was then that Miss Ainsley came hurrying through the crowd, red-faced in her excitement, reaching out to grasp Bonnie’s hands in her own.

“Oh, my dear Bonnie, it is time!” She was breathless in her hysteria. “How long we have waited for such an opportunity as this. Do not refuse them! I hear there are some fine gentlemen here tonight and oh my, their families alone will be enough to keep us in good stead when it comes to social engagements. You shall live quite happily here for years if you impress tonight! Not only when it comes to friendship but to the potential of your future husband.” At this speech, Bonnie’s smile lessened until it appeared that any feeling of warmth had abandoned her altogether. Her custodian did not heed her expression, however, but pressed her hands. She released them to stand beside her, nodding knowingly in her direction. “Smile, my dear. They are taken with you already.”

Bonnie stared sullenly ahead, noting, for the first time, the men around the room that were peering hopefully in her direction. This spectacle did not align with what she had hoped for her first dance, though she knew it was inevitable, and her spirits were lowering to such a degree that they only recovered once she perceived that Yvonne was leaning towards her.

“Tell me which is the dullest.”

Repressing a smile, Bonnie uttered- “Surely, you know better than I.”

“I do not know them all, not intimately. Some of the men present at my coming out are now fathers themselves.” This thought amused her, though there was a tinge of alarm that arose simultaneously at the reminder of her age, and she distracted herself by furthering her observations. “These are mere schoolboys; I hardly know them.”

Yvonne gestured at Penny to join them, as she was speaking earnestly with Miss Leong and a friend of hers, Miss Palmer. Comprehending the motion, the girl excused herself and returned to the small group. This action signified to many the beginning of the introductions, the most courageous approaching first (74). Yvonne introduced them all, to Bonnie and to Penny. The role of Miss Ainsley was to discern whether they were appropriate partners for her ward, though she was delighted with them all and consequently, approved each man that came forward. Bonnie, not wishing to appear boorish, agreed to each offer.

All the bachelors in the room offered a dance to Miss Donoghue, though the same was not offered to the youngest Miss Davers. Howbeit, Penny was not offended and preferred this result, as she knew some of the men by reputation and would not have agreed, even if they had asked. This discernment was approved of by Yvonne, who did not wish to see her sister dancing with any dolt who approached her. She was concerned, however, that a refusal on Penny’s part meant that she was unable to dance (75), which was her greatest wish, and Yvonne did not want her to be prohibited during her first ball. Mentioning as such to her sister, Penny was untroubled by this result.

“I do not have to be constantly dancing to be happy,” she noted. “I shall be satisfied talking.”

This was true of her character; Yvonne knew how fond her sister was of conversing endlessly. Bonnie had noticed too how little Penny was approached and questioned if she would not like as many offers as she. The girl shook her head, telling her-

“That is not my sole aim for the evening. I wish to cultivate friendships and be merry; I think that a good balance between dancing and sitting would be a good way to achieve both. One cannot be happy if they are so fixated on one event that they miss another.”

Bonnie murmured her agreement, though she fell silent afterward. The words appeared to have impacted her and she did not agree so readily to the dances as before. Withal, it need not matter, for the introductions had finished and soon after, supper was announced (76).

She was directed to the table, relieved and gladdened to perceive that she was seated near the eldest Miss Davers, though Mr Leong had somehow acquired a seat beside her. Bonnie did not dislike his presence, but she did view it as a hindrance to her conversation with Yvonne and would often turn the discussion to her neighbour, who was happy to dominate the discourse with conjecture regarding the opening of the Stockton and Darlington railway. This delighted some of the guests around her, though not all. Their aversion to the topic was hardly noted, for the host was quite capable of conducting the discussion without any input on their part, and was so animated that it convinced a few of the guests to turn their opinion to hers.

Gratified, Bonnie listened, wishing to hear all she had to say, though she was often disturbed by Mr Leong, who was interested to hear her opinion. She told him, each time, that she did not wish to give one but would prefer to simply listen to her neighbour, who knew so much more than her on the subject. Despite her reiteration, he continued to ask her throughout the meal. She would glance wistfully in the direction of the eldest Miss Davers and even the youngest, who was savouring the opportunity to be surrounded by those who were not her family. Penny appeared to have become fast friends with Miss Palmer and Miss Leong, who were seated beside her, and they were chatting quite exuberantly together. Sullen, Bonnie sipped her soup, despite the amount she had eaten earlier. It was fortunate for her that she could use her dining as an excuse to not speak with the man beside her, though she would often forget that she was not supposed to be talking and would speak to the Haringtons, who were on the other side of her.

Once the dining was completed, Bonnie was heartened to be released from the table, approaching Yvonne to compliment her on the choice of dishes served.

“It was wonderful,” she appraised. “I know we agreed the food together but it was more than I expected! I thoroughly enjoyed it. The punch was refreshing after standing in the heat.”

Yvonne bowed. “So long as you are happy, Miss Donoghue, I know I have succeeded.”

The two were pleased to be within each other’s presence, it being impossible to spend a moment alone that evening. Bonnie thought to ask her if they could walk together by the windows when she heard her name being called. She peered over her shoulder to note Mr Leong standing behind her. He bowed, visibly apologetic at having interrupted her.

“The first dance is in a few moments time. I was wondering if I may escort you to the floor? It would be a great honour.”

Bonnie wished to dismiss him, preferring to stay awhile with her companion, but she had already accepted. She glanced at Yvonne, silently questioning her opinion on the matter. Yvonne merely smiled and bowed.

“Please, do not restrain yourself on my behalf, Miss Donoghue.”

In response, Bonnie thought to say that her heart would be in a state of discontent if she were to not have her by her side, but they were not alone and Mr Leong was calling her name, questioningly. The room was alive with movement; couples were beginning to take their place on the floor. Penny was already standing with a young man by the name of Mr Johnathan Selby, one of the only men that both she and Yvonne had approved of. Despite her own excitement, she was peering among the crowd for her neighbour, who she had expected to see nearby.

Hesitant, Bonnie scoured the scene before her, the multitude of bodies now forming in the centre. From the border, she noted her custodian, who had been hoping that her ward would sight her. Miss Ainsley perceived her staring and gestured for her to hurry, glancing meaningfully in the direction of Mr Leong. This motion did not encourage Bonnie, in spite of the elderly woman’s intentions, and she turned her attention to the couples lining themselves for the dance. Her hands wrung together, some abandoned, half-formed excuse dying in her throat, when her abstraction was disrupted by a hand pressing gently onto her lower back. Although the person was not in her direct line of vision, she knew it to be Yvonne.

She stared uncertainly up at the woman beside her, but the expression she received was so kindly that her nerves began to ease. With a compelled smile, she nodded in resolution, though she was not entirely convinced that she wanted to join the others, despite her wish to dance. Her arm was taken by Mr Leong and they approached the floor together. In spite of her precarious conviction, she could not resist peering behind her to watch the woman she had left behind, hoping that her silent dependability would soothe her further, but she could not view her. She had disappeared among the crowd.

Several rounds (77) had passed; men had escorted her to the dance and from it, not allowing her one moment of peace. Bonnie was surrounded by men, most of whom she did not know, this scene fractured occasionally by the appearance of Penny, Miss Leong, and Miss Palmer, or, on occasion, the Mount sisters. Other women came, those who she had become acquainted with in her own home and others who she had met that night, but they would disappear soon after. The sole constant was the amount of men who conversed with her, walked with her, sat with her. The sole benefit of having them near was that she hardly needed to move, for they would retrieve anything she required, including a fan, one of them insisting that they be the one to cool her, so her wrist would not tire. Bonnie had thought it droll at first, as she preferred to be idle, but she soon became discomposed when they did not begin to leave.

She would peer around for Yvonne, though she could not always see her. On the occasions she did, she would view her standing along the edge of the room, either pacing or standing wholly still. She was usually accompanied by a group of acquaintances or long-standing friends, but there were times she was alone and did not appear to want it any other way.

Bonnie did not like to view her so, but the gaggle of men would follow her, a sight that must have alarmed Yvonne, for she avoided them whenever she noticed that they were approaching her. Despondent, Bonnie had suggested that one of the men approach her, inquire after a dance, and bring her to them so that they may socialise. If they were to do this, she would be immensely grateful. This did not occur as she had anticipated, however, as one brave gentleman walked towards Yvonne in the hope of gaining Miss Donoghue’s favour, but as soon as Miss Davers noticed his approach, she shook her head.

“No,” she had said loudly, so that he could not mistake her.

The poor man had turned around and returned to the group, whilst Yvonne merely continued to drink her wine.

This was not how Bonnie had envisioned her first ball, having believed that she would spend it entirely with the Misses Davers. Penny was not to be seen and Yvonne would not approach her, almost equally as mysterious as her sister in where she disappeared to. Bonnie had not been entertained by the gentlemen surrounding her, not to a degree that she thought the night pleasurable, but she could not rescind her offer to dance with them. She had hoped to excite a favourable first impression and to retract one’s word was inconceivable. Yet, she could already discern the consequence of such an action; she had neglected someone dear to her in exchange for one’s social standing.

Throughout the night, she would watch her friend, absorbing each tiny detail of the way she was dressed, the way her expression fluctuated, depending on the situation she was discovered in, though she did not have the opportunity to come any closer, for the men would cause Yvonne to migrate to another part of the room before she could be reached.

Observing her, Bonnie thought her so handsome that her heart ached. She believed they would have looked so charming beside one another, being well-dressed, that she thought it a lost opportunity that they had hardly spent the night together. With her finery, her silk hat, the way the garments complimented her angular body into a fine-looking figure, Miss Davers was the most stately she had ever looked. Her almost perfectly Grecian countenance was formed into a petulant expression, the softness of her yellow hair perfectly visible in the equally soft light from the lamps on the wall behind her. That hazel gaze which was so well-known to her was acerbic. She had seen Yvonne in a state of happiness and of warmth, but she was now viewing her in a state that she had not discerned to be possible. It was resentful, and she was uncertain of how this temperament had occurred, let alone how to quell it.

Chapter Notations

72. The gigot sleeve (a.k.a. the leg-of-mutton sleeve) was termed so due to its resemblance to a sheep’s hind leg, being wide at the top and narrow at the bottom. It is named gigot, as this is the French word for the back leg of an animal, especially that of a lamb or sheep.

73. Lakshmi is the Hindu goddess of beauty, wealth, fortune, luxury, fertility, power, and auspiciousness.

74. An introduction was more complex in the Georgian Era than it is now. If a formal introduction had not taken place, two people could not acknowledge each other as if they knew each other. In a formal setting, such as a ball, a third party had to be involved. The third party, in this case- Yvonne, would recommend one person to another, especially as she is the host or considered the master of ceremonies. It was then upon the other person or their chaperone to decide whether they accepted the introduction; if they denied, the acquaintance with the lady ceases to exist. The lady is allowed to accept a dance but refuse acquaintanceship, meaning the gentleman must not approach her again afterwards. If the lady accepts, they may become formally acknowledged as an acquaintance but the lady is then expected to dance with the gentleman; she cannot acknowledge him and then not dance. The only exception is if she is not dancing at all or if she has already accepted another gentleman. In these scenarios, it is always important that the gentleman is presented to the lady and not the other way around, as written in A System of Etiquette (1804) by Trusler and The Pocket Book of Etiquette (1837) by Freeling.

75. In Freeling’s The Ladies’ Pocket Book of Etiquette (1840), the text states: “When a gentleman who has been properly introduced requests the honour of dancing with you, etiquette requires that you will accede, unless prevented by a previous engagement.” In this scenario, if Penny were to refuse a dance with a particular person, she would not be able to dance at all for that round.

76. Typically, a ball started at 9/10pm. Supper would be served at 1am, and then the remainder of the ball, including any dancing, would continue until 5am unless the ball was being hosted at a house. The host could choose to continue until around 7am so the guests may have breakfast before retiring.

77. This simply refers to a single round of dancing. One dance could last as long as fifteen minutes; some partners would choose to have two in a row, meaning they could be dancing together for an average of thirty minutes.

Chapter Text

The news that the dragoons (78) were clustered outside of the assembly rooms, some having been welcomed alongside the invited guests, others remaining outdoors in the dark, talking, smoking, singing, was received with great delight by some of the younger women in the hall. Miss Palmer had suggested that they greet the regiment- it would not be improper if a number of them were guests, though this rationale was not entirely convincing. Withal, Penny did not care so much for propriety as to whether it would be an amusing pastime and agreed to accompany her outside. Miss Leong was uncertain, but she did not wish to be left behind in the circumstance that she missed a great event and followed them, infrequent protestations emitting from her as they journeyed to the gardens.

The sight of so large a party, so many men gathered together, simultaneously fascinated and thrilled Penny, who had never seen such a display in her life. The sound of laughter, the clashing somewhere of a concertina (78) and a guitar being played together, the fog of smoke that arose from a variety of pipes was equally as thrilling as the dance inside. Penny had merely a second to observe the scene in front of her before she was guided through the mass of red coats (80), Miss Palmer and Miss Leong on either side of her. The sight of three young women amidst the crowd soon caught the attention of the dragoons, who called out to them or bowed.

They continued through the congregation till they came to the two men playing the instruments. A young soldier was plucking at the strings of the guitar, his eyes closed, as though he was deeply consumed by the music. It was not a song nor piece that anyone recognised; he appeared to be composing it as he went, though it was masterfully done- the piece could have been mistaken for an existing composition. As for the soldier beside him, he seemed to imitate the other, which many of the men thought a great joke.

When the piece finally came to its completion, they all jeered or laughed, which caused the guitar player to flush. It was not the type of raillery that the girls were familiar with, though Miss Leong and Miss Palmer laughed also, absorbed by the high spirits that surrounded them. As for Penny, she did not laugh but frantically applauded. This reaction appeared to confound the other soldiers, whose laughter lessened in the face of her ardent ovation. Opposite, the young dragoon continued to redden, though he stood and bowed. The man who had played the concertina slapped him on the back.

“Good show, Deering. Better luck keeping up with me next time!”

Deering murmured his acknowledgement, placing down his guitar. Seconds later, he was startled by the sudden movement of Penny, who had rushed towards him.

“That was wonderful,” she complimented.

He did not appear to think she was sincere. “Thank you.”

“What was the piece called?”

“I call it Cosmos: one man’s expedition through the universe.”

Miss Leong snickered, though her smile soon disappeared when she noted that Penny was glowering at her. The girl had genuinely believed it to be a farce, but she soon perceived that the young man was serious. Repentant, she endeavoured not to laugh again. In the meantime, Penny had returned her attention to the dragoon.

“I think you are incredibly skilled,” she commended. “You must be to write such a piece.”

Deering bowed his head. “I am grateful once more, Miss...”

“Davers.”

“Miss Davers, for your kind words.”

They stood in silence, staring demurely at one another. Hesitant, Deering gestured to his guitar.

“Would you like to hear another piece?”

Before she could respond, another soldier called across- “Nobody does.”

There was a collection of laughter, including from the two girls behind them. One solider stepped forward, bowing extravagantly in the direction of Penny.

“M’lady, would you care for a dance?”

“I would be delighted,” she grinned.

“He will play us a piece to dance to, isn’t that so?” Her partner nodded towards Deering. “Oblige the lady.”

Deering stared sullenly at them, though he grasped the guitar. “Certainly.”

The other girls were asked to dance by a pair of men who had been standing nearby and they completed a full round before they decided to rest. Some of the soldiers offered to retrieve a glass of water from inside, hurrying across the grass to do so. Penny leant against the wall as they disappeared, breathless. Close by, Miss Leong and Miss Palmer were speaking to another group of soldiers, although Penny did not wish to join them. She preferred to wait until the others returned. Standing in reticence, she was staring contently across the gardens when she heard a short hem beside her. She discovered it to be Deering, he holding out her handkerchief.

“You dropped it, ma’am. I thought you may want it returned to your possession.”

She observed him for a moment, the way he stared meekly and reverentially across at her, and she felt a strange sensation arise within her. Penny was unsure of the exact sentiment but she decided she rather liked it. Taking the handkerchief, she expressed her gratitude, though she dropped it again a moment later. Apologising, she tittered, as though she had been a terrible oaf, but Deering insisted that he would retrieve it.

He bent over, seizing the silk, and as he did, Penny plucked wildly at her cheeks, despite having pinkened during the dance, dabbing her brow hereafter where she had become warm in the summer heat. When he returned to his usual stance, she was leaning composedly against the wall.

“Why, thank you,” she uttered, placidly.

“It is my honour,” he nodded in recognition.

There was another minute of reticence.

“My name is Penny...”

“May I play you this song?”

They both emitted an- “Oh!” as they realised the other had spoken, both reddening in their abashment. Each took turns to gesture to one another, indicating that they should speak. Eventually, Penny said:

“My name is Penny... Penny Davers. Do you answer to any other name than Deering?”

“Yes, my Christian name is Gregory.”

“It is lovely,” she complimented.

Gregory peered upward, inspecting the sincerity of her expression. Satisfied, he smiled warmly, holding up his guitar, so that she could note the instrument in his grasp.

“Would you like to hear a song I composed?”

“I would love to,” she breathed.

Softly strumming the stringed instrument, he began to sing, his voice emitting gently into the summer night air. Any other sound appeared to dwindle, though this was merely a fixation on Penny’s part in listening to the song than from any real occurrence. The ballad was about destiny, the bloom of eternal love, of paradise found, yet it was not a song about heaven nor of heroic deeds; rather, it was about the romanticism of life, of love found in both chance and endurance. And was that not what this was, he asked of her- a chance encounter? In the verse, he contended that it would be his greatest mistake if he were not to seize the opportunity to know her and, as the song concluded, he stood in silence, waiting in anticipation.

“When did you compose it?” she questioned.

“While you were dancing.”

Penny flushed, though her flustered state was soon overcome by her vanity, and she pompously pursed her lips together. “It was excellent.”

He beamed. “Thank you, Miss.”

“Penny,” she corrected him.

Slowly, as if savouring the word, he repeated the name. She stood upright, conceitedly, repressing the urge to grin.

“How long have you played? You must have been practicing from an early age to play and sing so well.”

“Not at all,” he conceded. “This belonged to another soldier in my regiment. He passed and nobody else wanted to keep it, but I had always appreciated the instrument. I requested to have it; nobody objected, so it is now my own. I taught myself, though I have had various lessons from people I have met on my travels. Not many, mind, but I play every day. If I were to leave the army, why, I would love to be a musician. I could play at the theatre or, if I could learn another instrument, at the opera houses.”

Penny sighed, whimsically, clasping her hands together. “Oh, how romantic! You must; you truly must! I could not imagine anything better than to live a life of passion.”

Gregory glanced at her lavish dress. “Even if it were a life of poverty?”

“What is a life of poverty to passion?” she demanded.

He laughed, genially. “That is precisely what a lady would say! Someone who does not know what it is to be without.”

Her countenance reddened and she retorted- “I am not some impudent child!”

This fit of temper did not perturb him. He raised his shoulders, good-naturedly, lowering them a second later.

“I would never suggest anything of the sort to a beautiful lady, such as yourself. Sincerely, I hope that you never know what it is to be poor. A woman like you deserves to be treated like a queen or an empress.” His voice rose in his enthusiasm. “Or better! As the goddess you are. I almost mistook you for Astraea herself on her way to the stars (81), for you are not of this world.” He added, courteously- “If you do not mind me saying so.”

Penny’s temper had vanished as quickly as it had come, her conceit returning. Acknowledging his kindness, she bowed her head in a state of poise. “I do not mind; I appreciate your sentiment. Certainly, I do not object to being mistaken for Astraea. I would say that is a fair comparison. Yet, if I could return to your claim, I truly believe that one should strive for happiness, and happiness can be found in a number of sources other than wealth.”

“I could not agree more.” He placed down the guitar. “Which leads us naturally to a question that I hope will bring me much happiness.” Observing that she had raised her brows, inquiringly, he asked: “Will you dance with me?”

Accepting, she took his hand, allowing him to lead her to a clearing on the grass, they starting their dance, though there was no musical accompaniment. They did not appear to mind but laughed their way through the steps, both energetically cavorting across the garden. Both Miss Leong and Miss Palmer, as well as the nearby soldiers, watched them, entertained by the sight.

“Which one is he?” Miss Palmer inquired.

“That is the solider with the guitar,” Miss Leong replied, refraining an oncoming laugh at the reminder of his song. “He took a liking to Penny; I could tell.”

“I see,” the other mused.

The dragoons who they had danced with earlier returned with their drinks, the fellow who had partnered with Penny observing that she was now accompanied by another. He cursed the unwitting Gregory and passed the glass to her friends, since he no longer perceived the benefit in attending to her. This was not an inaccurate judgement on his part, for she did not remember him, but remained with Deering, even after they had finished dancing, though some of the people around them may have argued that their wild gestures could not be termed as such.

They sat together on a bench, remarking excitedly upon Cygnus, Deneb and its companions- Vega and Altair (82), talking later of their favourite pieces of literature- they both preferring adventures and romance. He described to her all of the music he had heard, the theatres and park performances that he had attended. She could not comprehend such a lifestyle and she felt a tinge of envy that he should travel so far and wide, whilst she was rarely allowed to leave her home. This feeling was expelled, however, when he suggested that she should travel in the future.

“I would love nothing more!” she smiled, staring contentedly across the garden. Her brow started to furrow, the edge of her lips down-turning, and she peered across at him. “It shall be a while before I could begin to dream of such a journey. My family...” She did not wish to continue, but his kindly gaze encouraged her. “They will not allow it.”

“Ah.” He gazed up into the sky, his expression one of contemplation. “I had the same predicament with my family.”

“You did?”

“Yes,” he nodded. “They work within the wool trade. I was never much of a mercantile, though I had the schooling for it. My heart was always following anything it desired, mainly the arts. I wanted to be a dancer, an actor; now, I want to be a musician, but there is no money to be had in such work. It would be a disgrace to my family. Yet, what I wanted more than anything was to travel, to live an adventure of my own. I was not happy at home; my parents and I could never quite agree on anything. They were disappointed in me, though I did not feel as guilty as I should have in leaving. I have a cousin, Andrew, who would be pleased to join the business, so it was not a wasted position. As far as I am aware, he has taken the role as my father’s apprentice. Yet, before he was offered that position, I came home one day and told them that I was joining the army. We fought, my father and I; it did not end well... I have not returned to them since.

“I think, if you have an opportunity, you should always endeavour to seize it, rather than waiting for circumstances to change. Sometimes, in waiting, they may never occur. I do not know your family, but I knew mine would never alter their ways. If I wanted to accomplish something, I had to do it on my own. I know, for you, it would be more difficult. I can finance myself readily enough, but I think, if you have a dream, you should at least attempt to achieve it, as best as you can. I do not want to live my life with regret and I certainly do not want to live within the boundaries of other people’s restrictions.”

Penny was inspired by this speech, her mind hastening through all of the different opportunities that would allow her to do the same. This was not the first time that the idea of travel had crossed her mind; why, if her sister could do it, why not she?

“Then how about we travel to Rome?” she asked. “We shall both be free one day, and we can explore all that we want to. I have always wanted to visit the city.”

“All right,” he grinned. “We shall venture to the Colosseum.”

“Where the gladiators fought?”

He chuckled. “Precisely. And once we have quenched our bloodlust, we shall scour the city for its art.”

She grasped his arm in her excitement, unable to repress her grin.

“Non potrei essere più felice (83)!” she exclaimed.

Gregory did not appear to understand her, she repeating herself in English.

“Oh,” he laughed. “Excellent.”

They spoke more of their interests, how they occupied their time. Penny stumbled onto the topic of science, particularly anatomy, how much she wished she could learn more. It was not a subject that he was familiar with but he politely inquired into her experience regarding the topic.

“I discovered a dead mouse last Tuesday,” she told him. “I managed to dissect him, for it was a him- I checked, and I made a note of my discoveries in my journal. It was not the first mouse I have dissected but there are only so many you can try before it all becomes the same. Frogs are another common creature, but I think I should like to attempt a bigger animal next time, though I do not know what. My sister once attended a lobotomy- a human lobotomy, that is! She was not forthcoming with the details. It is not a surprise for her to act so taciturn; Yvonne is miserly, even when it comes to knowledge. In the end, I thought I should conduct my own research on the matter, if she will not share with me. If one wants to learn, it is beneficial that one pursues all avenues and, at worse, teaches themselves. Do you not think so?”

Deering was staring at her, astounded. He did not appear to know how to respond to this particular interest and merely nodded.

“Yes... That sounds the most logical approach.” In the ensuing silence, he added- “It is welcoming to hear that you are able to pursue your interests, even if it is alone. Do you, perchance, have any other interests?”

“I like flowers,” she chatted. “I have been requesting my own greenhouse for a while now, but Yvonne, she does not listen. Our neighbour, Miss Donoghue, she has a wonderful orangery and I am more determined than ever that I shall have the same.” She sighed, heartily. “I love plants and flowers! I like to be among them and to have them everywhere.”

He exhaled in relief. “Flowers, yes, I can speak a little on that!”

And so, they did, Gregory relieved to discern that they did not return to the subject of dissection and lobotomy for the remainder of the night.

Chapter Notations

78. Dragoons were originally designed to be a class of mounted infantry, who travelled on horses but fought on foot. They were primarily used in European armies during the 17th and 18th Century, and were used because of their faster mobility but lesser expense, especially in comparison to the cavalry. In the 18th Century, when this was set, Dragoon Guards were known as heavy cavalry regiments within the British Army.

79. A concertina is a free-reed musical instrument, similar to that of the accordion and harmonica. The first version was created by Sir Charles Wheatstone in 1829, though Carl Friedrich Uhlig created a German version in 1834.

80. A reference to the red coats and scarlet tunics that were extensively used, during the 17th to 20th Century, as a military garment within the British Empire.

81. Astraea (a.k.a Astrea, Astria: ‘star-maiden’ or ‘starry night’) is the Greek goddess of justice, purity, and innocence. In Greek mythology, she is a celestial virgin who becomes disillusioned with the lawlessness of Earth and flees to the heavens where she becomes the constellation Virgo. It is said that she will one day return to Earth, where she will bring the return of the Golden Age.

82. Cygnus, a.k.a. the Northern Cross, is a constellation that can be seen during the summer in the UK. Deneb is a tail star that belongs to the Summer Triangle, the other stars forming this triangle being Vega and Altair.

83. Translation: I could not be happier!

Chapter Text

The restlessness caused her to pace, this visceral feeling merely a response to the disquiet that was arising within her. It had developed to such a degree that she could no longer discount it. When she ambulated around the room, the restive sensation began to subside until it was no more than a dull ache. There would be nothing left but a sense of indignation, that was so deeply ingrained within her, that it caused her to be still, staring silently across the assembly, vaguely conscious of the faint echoes of laughter, of the orchestra, the thud of feet against the floor. Withal, Yvonne could not perceive anything beyond her vexation.

Infrequently, the sudden rising of laughter, a shout across the room, would cause her to flinch, the constant flickering of the oil lamps inducing her to squint whenever she was near one, as if each sensation furthered her weariness and her irritation. The noise was overpowering and she would often excuse herself from any conversation that she was drawn into, retreating to the windows to regain a sense of peace. Whether it was the fatigue of hosting, of being surrounded by such extensive activity for a number of hours, or whether it was another matter, she could not tell. Yvonne believed it to be both. She would repeatedly glance in the direction of Miss Donoghue, merely to view the same sight that she always did- her neighbour was surrounded by men. This observation irked her, furthering her weariness to a degree that she no longer wished for any other outcome than that of retiring to bed.

Her wish was soon answered, as the night was drawn to a close, and the last round of dancing was called upon. Alleviated somewhat, her spirits lifted; yet, only to a slight degree. There was a hurrying of footsteps and she noted Bonnie hastening through the crowd, a smile appearing on the lady’s face as she came closer. Astonishingly, she was not followed by a horde of men; she was alone for the first time that night. This did not bring Yvonne any relief, but was noted with a contemptuous air.

“Yvonne!” her neighbour called as she came closer, breathless in her delight to be near her. “Yvonne, hurry! It is the last dance. We must have one, the two of us. I have waited all night to dance with you and it is our final chance!” Halting before her, she took hold of her wrist, urging her forward. “Please, let us not dawdle.” She laughed as she tugged at her. “Imagine their faces when they see us. It shall be quite scandalous! But I think they will forgive us.”

Yvonne plucked her arm from her grasp. This was not the response that Bonnie had anticipated, however, and she peered up to note the hardened expression on her neighbour’s countenance.

“Yvonne?”

“I am not dancing, Bonnie.”

Bonnie laughed in her perplexment. “Come, do not be so sour...”

She reached out once more to take her hand but her companion avoided her touch.

“I said no. I do not want to; I will not be made a fool of.”

“A fool?” she frowned. “Where have you obtained such an idea? It is merely a dance; it shall not take long. I thought you would want to.” When there was no response, she became impassioned. “I fail to understand the issue, Yvonne. I said, did I not, that we should dance and I have come to dance. I have been waiting all night to be with you.”

Yvonne scowled, her voice rising. “I simply do not want to dance.” She gestured towards the men, on the other side of the room, that were awaiting Bonnie. “You are not at a loss for partners; ask any of the men who have followed you mindlessly all night. They will not rebuff you.”

Her companion’s voice rose almost as much as her own. “And yet, you do? My friend? I do not know these men.”

“You have spent all night with them!”

“All I have asked for is a dance!”

Yvonne seemed to become taller in her imperiousness, her lips thinning in her displeasure, her sharp tone revealing her feelings on the matter. “I do not want to dance, Bonnie. Do not ask me again! I am in no mood to make a fool of myself; I wish to return home.”

“You wish to leave me here?” exclaimed Bonnie, incredulously. Her own exasperation disappeared and she became distressed, her lip trembling. “Yvonne... If something has happened, please tell me. I am at a loss as to why you are so bad-tempered.” Tears arose and she refrained herself from sobbing. “I have waited all night for this dance with you and you promised we shall have it. You are not one to break your promise? We were to come together and leave together.”

The expression on Yvonne’s face seemed to soften, a repentant demeanour forming in its place. Yet, she raised her gaze, her attention settling on the loitering bachelors, and the tenderness disappeared as quickly as it had come.

Accusatory, she remarked- “You did not seem to think so when you were gallivanting all night with your admirers.”

“It was only for a little enjoyment,” Bonnie protested. “I have never attended a ball before. What was I to do? Refuse them? It was impossible. How could you think so lowly of me to believe that I had forgotten you? I did ask for you to come, but you said you did not want to join me...”

Yvonne felt her fingers curl into her palm, reminded of the gentleman that had approached her. Any reasoning that she may have had receded. The thought that she had been disturbed by the very men that had followed Bonnie all night was offensive; to her, at least.

Curtly, she emitted- “I wish you goodnight, Miss Donoghue. Do not wait for the carriage; I would not want to refrain you from all of your adoring enthusiasts. Certainly, you would prefer to depart with them.”

“Yvonne...” came the despairing but admonishing riposte.

“I am sure you will not have any difficulty returning home.”

Before she could receive a response, Yvonne withdrew, marching along the perimeter of the room. The eldest Miss Davers had not observed Penny for some time, though she had believed this to be a lesser concern when preoccupied with her vexation towards Miss Donoghue. Now that she was to leave, she wished to know where she was, assuming that she was not in the hall but outside. Nevertheless, as she came to the foyer, she noted Penny returning to the room, Miss Leong and Miss Palmer in tow. The two girls noted her vehement expression and soon hurried into the hall. They had hardly passed through the door when Yvonne spoke out.

“Where have you been?” she demanded.

Startled by her temper, Penny’s eyes widened, though she was not fearful, merely perplexed. “I was outside. I... I wanted some air.”

Yvonne clicked her fingers together, pointing towards the cloak room. “Get your cloak. The guests will be departing soon. There shall be no dallying.”

“Why? Certainly, there is no hurry?”

Penny hastened after her. The other had started towards the hall, yet this was impeded as she halted suddenly at the door, causing her sister to collide into the back of her.

“I wish to retire for the evening,” she murmured, her voice unusually faint. “And I...”

Penny waited for the remainder of her sentence, but it never came. Her sister was clasping at some faint object beneath her shirt and the youngest questioned whether she was wearing a necklace, a notion that surprised her, for her sister rarely wore jewellery.

“And what of Bonnie?” she inquired. “She is coming with us. I thought she would have wanted to stay a little longer; there is no need to return home so quickly.”

This served to provoke Yvonne, whose incensed expression returned, her hand falling to her side.

“She wants to spend her time with the other guests and I will not stop her. I am growing quite impatient, Penny, so I ask you to acquire your cloak and gloves so we can leave immediately after the dance has ended.”

Penny sensed that there had been a dispute, staring dolefully up at her. Gently, she uttered her name, yet the eldest did not wish to hear her sympathies and spoke across her.

“I will not repeat myself.” Continuing into the hall, she reminded her: “I expect to see you on your most outstanding behaviour; do not disappear again. You are required to stand with me.”

Not wishing to aggravate her any further, Penny did as she was told. She followed her sister into the hall with a passing mention to the footman that they would require their outerwear. This instruction was received with a bow and she hurried to stand beside the eldest Miss Davers, who had situated herself by the mantlepiece at the far end of the room. She peered upward, as she came to be beside her, observing her sullen manner, uncertain as to what had caused such a reaction.

Examining the scene before her, she observed Miss Donoghue at the rear of the room. The lady was faced towards the wall, Miss Ainsley stood before her, one hand on the woman’s wrist, the other subtly offering her a handkerchief. Miss Donoghue dabbed the cotton delicately at her eyes, declining any man who approached her with a wave of her hand. She would not turn and face the room, but kept leaning towards her chaperone, who appeared distressed at the abrupt way in which she had been approached.

Watching them, a vague comprehension dawned upon Penny. Undoubtedly, there had been dissension; its exact nature, she could not say. She believed she could now speculate as to the reason behind her sister’s peculiarity. Nevertheless, she did not mention this theory to Yvonne, as it would only further her vexation, and so, she continued to dedicate herself to her given task.

Whilst most of the guests were filing from the room, talking loudly, laughing, some cheering, Bonnie was nowhere to be seen, though Miss Ainsley approached them to wish them adieu. She excused her ward, for she was unwell. Accordingly, they had called for a carriage. The custodian hoped this would not cause offence, considering that they were scheduled to travel together. Penny assured her that this was not the case, though Yvonne merely inquired as to whether she had enjoyed the ball. Miss Ainsley asserted she had, her visible joy corresponding to her response, and she assured them that Miss Donoghue had too. Perhaps too much, she noted as she left, which was the reason for her departing in such a state- Bonnie had danced herself into exhaustion.

Neither of the Misses Davers spoke as Miss Ainsley retreated but soon walked together to their carriage, the hall being empty. Not one word was exchanged between them as they adorned their cloak and pelisse. As the coachman urged the horses onward, Penny stared out into the darkened gardens, the lights that were being dimmed along the pathway and in the hall. She peered across at Yvonne, an ache in her chest arising to match the distress that her sister was experiencing.

“It is a shame that Bonnie could not travel with us,” she remarked. “How lovely it would have been to have ended the evening as we started it- together.”

Yvonne stared dourly out of the window, her arms folded. “She does not have to rely on us, Penny; she is a grown woman. She may come and go as she pleases.”

“But to call her own carriage...”

“Miss Donoghue is a woman of independent means. There are a number of people who can take her home, and if not, she is quite at leisure to call for her own carriage, which she did. If she is unwell, it would only be correct that she travel immediately. It would not do to wait for us.”

Her callous tone astonished Penny. For all of her sister’s indifference, she was a devoted friend. It was unlike her to care so little when someone was ill, or appeared to be, and she pondered once more on what had passed between them. Regardless, she would not receive an answer from her sister- at the least, not until the morrow- so she sat in silence, both of them preoccupied with their own thoughts regarding the night that had passed. Penny was remorseful that it had not ended well for Yvonne or for Bonnie, but she could not quite distinguish the joy that arose within her as she thought upon her own experience. It was precisely what she had hoped for when it came to her first ball; she could not be happier. She simply wished that this sentiment could be extended to those closest to her.

Chapter Text

29th August 1830

How many hours I have whiled away in thinking, I do not know. Though the word ‘whiled’ is not the most accurate, for it would suggest pleasure in the act and there is none. How quickly the pleasure of thinking of her, of seeing her, has vanished completely, until I hardly know what is left in these dismal ruins. I have hardly slept; the image of me sitting here, past midnight, a candle as my sole companion, must testify to this statement. I have squandered my day in a haze and I have come here to absolve these thoughts to paper, so that they should no longer torment me, my sole wish being that I may rest peacefully tonight. Even as I write this, I do not believe it possible. To forget her is inconceivable and yet, I wish I could.

How predictable that I should lose my nerve, that it should come so ill-timed, as my emotions and realisations always do. Humiliating that I should stand there all night, waiting, so dutifully and for so long, for nothing. This is not the first time that this has occurred and each time, I promise it shall be my last; yet, here I stand- a woman of seven and thirty, who has experienced an admirable amount in this world, but one who is still so naïve, so simple-minded as to think that this time should be any different than the last. I have been made a fool of once again, yet I have only myself to blame.

I have built a castle in the sky, one that is precious and regarded to the highest degree. One that I did not realise I had created. It appeared to me unexpectedly last night and I saw it clearly for the first time, but I recognise that this had been built long before I perceived it. Withal, it is precisely as it states- an illusion, a fantasy. I saw what I wanted to see; it is not reality but a projection of all that I have hoped and longed for. You see, Miss Donoghue is a dear friend but in my infatuation, I have moulded her into a being that she is not. I would have protested against such a word, but after last night, I can no longer deny it; ‘infatuation’ is entirely correct, for I adore Miss Bonnie Donoghue. I idolise her; I worship the ground on which she walks. In knowing her, I no longer wish to be without her. I realised this harrowing truth last night, when I watched her dancing, when she was smiling and laughing, when she was so preoccupied with everyone else that she did not look my way, and in realising this, I could not loathe myself any further. How predictable! Reprehensible.

The realisation that I had fallen once more into a trap of my own making, I could not repress my fury, a sore temper that I readily unleashed on Miss Donoghue. In doing so, I have merely caused myself further humiliation. I recognise that it is not her fault; that she holds little blame in the situation. She said how lowly I must think of her but, in actuality, how highly! And that is where the issue lies. Miss Donoghue is young; she still has so much of her life to live. She told me herself, on our second meeting, that she wished for a family, for children. Despite her wish to avoid marriage, I do not wholly believe that she will retain that promise as she grows older. Marriage ensures all that she has ever wished for, and I think she shall soon realise, like so many before her, that she is destined for matrimony. Who am I to prevent her? To cause her distress in choosing between spinsterhood and partnership? I cannot force her to abstain, not for my own satisfaction and comfort. I could not distress her by admitting the truth of my affections; never could she know it! This infatuation is my burden alone to carry.

And here lies my resentment. What it is to follow a path so lonesome and desolate! There has been both folly and remorse in pursuing all of the women I have loved; each parting has been a wound to my heart that has never quite recovered. In viewing her last night, surrounded by those men, I was reminded that it does not matter how I feel. I shall lose her, regardless. Yet, I cannot help thinking- Si je te perds, je suis perdu! (84)

I must remind myself that I cannot commit my time and affections to someone who could not possibly return them. In some other world, I could love and be loved; Miss Donoghue could be the answer to all that I have longed for. I would give my all to her happiness. But this is fiction; it is not a world that resides in reality, and it is a loathsome reminder that I cannot compete when it comes to the second sex, my despicable and persistent competitor: the love of a Man. What I would not do for the woman who consented to be my wife. I would align Heaven and Earth, take hold of Excalibur (85); I would chase the Argo (86) across the seas! I would give her all of me. The lengths, breadths, and widths that I would endure if only someone were to choose me, to have me as their wife, and to love me with a semblance of the love that I hold for them. How desperately I wish for this woman to be Miss Donoghue.

And how quickly this castle fades, back into the air from whence it came. Although I am the one who waved it away, how much I regret to see it leave, to watch it vanish before my very eyes. It was in its infancy; it could have grown to become something beautiful, but it need not matter, for it is made of air and there is no use to a dream if one cannot make tangible remnants of it.

All night the vision of Miss Donoghue has haunted me, joined predictably by my most notable failures... Must Augusta always come to mind? Must she taunt me, even now? There are times when I think she has disappeared forever, far into the recesses of my mind, but then she returns, that familiar hurt brought with her. And then I think of Josephine. I know she is married- the date has long passed- but I could see it in Penny’s eyes. It was in the newspaper; I noticed it whilst I was reading. There is no doubt that she saw it but I do not want anyone’s pity; surely, I pity myself with enough vigour that I hardly need anybody else’s contribution.

Despite the haunting memories, there is no sadness left. When I think of them both, there is only a hollowness inside of me, a spacious cavern that was once filled with hope, and each time it starts to fill with the promise of a new love, it is emptied in a matter of seconds, simply by a look or a word. The process had begun once more, it seems, without my realising, merely for it to dwindle away, like a wave that comes crashing onto the shore; yet, as soon as it reaches its intended destination, it retreats, back into itself, withdrawing into the depths from whence it came.

Dear journal- my truest confidante and oldest friend- I could not transcribe the despair that I feel onto these pages. There has always been hope. With Augusta, with Josephine, there has been a belief that I could succeed, that we could have achieved all that we wanted. It would have been so easy to reach for the castle and to find that we had grasped it, if only they had not chosen the comfort of matrimony. But time has passed me by. I am older and wearier; I do not have hope. Not this time. There is no chance that I can succeed. I simply have to release her, allow her to be as she is, and refuse to entertain the notion that there could be any fondness on her part. How terrible it is to love someone so dearly and to know that they will never be yours!

And so, here I sit in the ruins of my castle. I can and will learn, in time, to be content, that it is impossible for me to find the love that I dream of. Society was not made for one such as me. I must learn to be satisfied with friendship and strive to be the epitome of goodness to Miss Donoghue, no matter where her path may lead her. I sincerely hope that her path will always be intertwined with mine, that she will always be in my life. I could not ask nor hope for more.

Now, it is time to sleep. In writing my thoughts, I hope that they no longer plague me, not whilst I am trying to form some semblance of slumber. I know that whatever awaits me, I shall dream of her only. How sweet it is to be near her! Even if it is a dream. Because when I am with her, I am happy. And there is no sin in being happy; it is but the tenderest bliss.

Chapter Notations

84. Translation: (French motto) If I lose you, I am lost!

85. Excalibur is a sword that belongs to King Arthur in the legend of Camelot.

86. Argo is a mythological ship, which was built by the Greek gods.

Chapter Text

The regular visitation of the eldest Miss Davers elapsed without the lady herself appearing. No rapid knock against the pane, nor the insistent echoing of the bell could be heard at Colworth House, and both the House and its neighbouring estate spent its following days in quiet reflection. Penny had attempted to broach the subject more than once, but was rebuffed at each turn. She often passed the study or the library to find Yvonne sitting in pensive silence, staring fixedly out of the window; once, she had discovered her at the pianoforte, her ungainly attempt to play Schumann’s Romanze resounding against the walls in which she had placed herself, the strain of the keys echoing dispiritedly into the empty foyer that lay beyond the music room.

Upon perceiving this ghastly refrain, Lady Davers remarked on how dismal the estate had become in the wake of the dance, she glancing with severe abhorrence and disdain in the direction of the pianoforte whilst the nurse continued to wheel her to the morning room. Nothing else was said in regards to her daughter’s peculiar behaviour. The baroness simply believed that this was the natural consequence of excitement and debauchery- her offspring had learnt a lesson in how deeply the soul could be affected by gluttony, a remark that she later bestowed upon a visiting Miss White and one which caused the terrified young woman to pray later that night for their immortal souls.

Once those first few days had elapsed, the solemn air that surrounded the eldest appeared to lift, yet it would not have been so accurate to say that she was in high spirits. She paced the boards of the library, the study, her bedroom, and even the path through the gardens, until she returned one evening, from a walk along the river, with an expression akin to a smile. The following morning, she disappeared and Penny had to concede that her resolve had returned to her, for she had recovered her usual habits of leaving the Park without notifying anyone as to where she had gone- a custom that would usually aggravate her but, in this instance, was gratifying. It marked the return of normality.

As to Yvonne, she had ridden to Colworth House, the downward slate of her brow, the harsh line of her lips, revealing her determination as she spurred the horse onward. She had reflected on the evening of the ball and had come to deeply regret her actions. The thought that she had lowered in her neighbour’s esteem was grievous to her. From mere humiliation, she had refrained from visiting the House, but that simply furthered her contrition. It was apparent to her that she must atone for her conduct.

Howbeit, she believed it wise that she remain at a distance, that she decline to impart her company so often upon her neighbour, yet there was every reason to remain friends, if Miss Donoghue would be so generous as to forgive her. This conclusion, she thought to share with the young woman, though she did not wish to express the method in which she had come to this decision. Her dependence on her neighbour would merely become an embarrassment to them both and that reason was more than adequate for her to be wary. Yes, she thought; it had to be done. There was no other solution.

Arriving at Colworth House, Mr Reeves requested that she remain at the door. He stared at her, undecidedly, before disappearing into the depths of the manor. The footman did not return, though Miss Ainsley approached her, moments later. Her countenance was startling to Yvonne- the elderly woman was visibly fatigued, some unknown affliction burdening her. She did not appear the same woman who had left the ball, only five days earlier. Her visible weariness had caused her to resemble an age older than she was, her grey hair carelessly tied into a knot at the back of her neck. She was adorned in black, the sight suggestive of mourning, her sombre countenance furthering this assumption. Yet, despite her exhaustion, the custodian smiled, genuinely pleased to see her guest.

“Miss Davers,” she uttered, the name in itself a comfort to her, as if she had experienced little relief when it came to visitors. “I cannot say how comforted I am to see you. I am afraid to report that Bonnie is unwell and has been since the dance. I think it will do her well to know you have visited, but, on this occasion, it is with regret that I suggest you return another day. She is not well enough to see anybody.”

Yvonne hesitated, the brim of her hat clutched tightly between her fingers. She peered past the old governess and up the stairs in a manner that suggested she expected to see Bonnie. There was nobody there. It was unclear whether her neighbour was abstaining from seeing her, or whether there was a genuine cause for concern. In order to discover the answer, she pressed on.

“If she has told you of our disagreement, Miss Ainsley, I can assure you I have come to apologise.” She spoke with conviction, certain that this earnestness would grant her entry. “I am incredibly repentant for the way that I behaved and I would like to express this to her myself.”

Miss Ainsley was perplexed by this statement, though a sense of realisation dawned upon her features. With a soft smile, she insisted: “That is not the issue, Miss Davers. You are not barred from this household on a mere disagreement. Miss Donoghue is unwell and she is in no state to receive visitors.”

Yvonne wished to contend, but she remained silent. She knew the custodian well enough to know that she was not an untruthful woman. If she sincerely believed that the disagreement had not caused her ward’s isolation, then Yvonne believed, at the least, that this must be correct. Nevertheless, it was evident to Yvonne that she would not be admitted, her fingers curling tighter around the brim of her hat. She bowed, rigidly.

“I apologise for disturbing you, madam, if that is the case. Please recount my well wishes to Miss Donoghue; I hope that she is able to obtain a swift recovery.”

Miss Ainsley was pleased with her concern and assured her that she would inform the lady of her visit. The custodian did not wait for her guest’s departure, as she was prone to do, but uttered her farewell, closing the door and hastening upstairs. Yvonne waited by the entrance, hoping to glimpse the young woman through the pane, but she did not, and she unwillingly returned to the horse.

Halting beside him, she glanced upward, ardently perusing each window before mounting the steed, discontent that she had not caught a glimpse of movement from within. Nobody but the lady herself could refuse her, but it appeared that Miss Donoghue was not to admit her of her own accord. Reluctantly, she departed, assured that she would return at a later date.

Watching the grass as it curved sideways, the small blades fluttering in the breeze, Yvonne yawned. As she did, she observed a trio of starlings as they swooped around the bushes, one hopping curiously along the pathway. They disappeared once they had ascertained there was no food to be had, rushing collectively upward into the clear, cool air. This short spectacle had been of interest to her but, now that she was alone, her mind returned to its earlier distraction, staring absent-mindedly at the greenery in front.

Merely two minutes had passed in this manner before she heard the dashing of hooves. She started, springing to her feet and peering into the distance, unmoving until she was certain of the rider’s identity. Hastening into the hall to retrieve her coat, she returned to the steps thereafter, one arm in the outerwear, where she clutched her hat, the other fumbling its way through the sleeve. The horse came to a halt on the driveway and she beckoned for him to come closer.

Sat atop was Percy Denver, who could sense her agitation. He allowed the horse to trot toward her so that he could inform her of what he had discovered. As he came closer, he rummaged in his pocket to retrieve her timepiece, which she gratefully received back.

“You was right, ma’am,” he said. “There she was. As clear as day. She went when you said; I checked the clock. I saw it was six, the little hand was on it, and the big hand up top, and I thought you was correct.” Viewing her questioning gaze, he added- “She never saw me. I was waiting by the trees like you asked and then I waited till she was away before I came back. Off to the school she went, I was sure of it.”

Yvonne sighed in relief, assisting the boy in dismounting. “Thank you, Percy. Here is a shilling for your trouble.”

Percy caught the coin with an undisguised earnestness, bowing lowly. “Any time, Miss Davers.”

The boy skipped away, a short whoop emitting from him as he pocketed the money. Whilst he returned to the stables, his mistress mounted the abandoned horse. “Onward, Othello!”

She whistled sharply and he started instantly in the direction of the House.

To her knowledge, Miss Ainsley would be at the school. Yvonne had resolved to return to her neighbour’s, knowing that the custodian would not be present. She wished to speak directly to Miss Donoghue and discover the matter from the lady herself. If she did not wish to see her, Yvonne could accept the request, but only if it was the words of her neighbour and not someone else. It was not in her nature to be impertinent, not when it came to authority nor her elders, but Yvonne could not accept Miss Ainsley’s assertion that she wait, particularly if Miss Donoghue was ill and required assistance.

It occurred to her that she was interfering, and that she was certainly discourteous, but she was concerned that if she did not speak with her neighbour, she would not have the chance to speak with her at all, and their friendship would soon diminish. If she could prevent that from occurring, she would.

Upon arrival, she rang the bell, waiting until the footman opened the door to step past. This startled the servant, who watched her hasten up the stairs.

“Miss Davers!” he exclaimed in surprise.

She called behind her: “I am sorry, Adam, but I must speak to her myself.”

He did not protest, but simply closed the door behind her.

Yvonne did not falter in her step until she reached the bedroom, where she came to an abrupt halt, her hand rising. It lowered a moment later. She did not mean to hesitate, yet her inaction caused her further uncertainty and she stood beside the door in wretched silence. Nevertheless, the apprehension she felt in regards to her neighbour caused her to try once more and she rapt her knuckles against the wood.

From the other side came a muffled noise. It did not appear to be a definitive response but rather a dolorous wail that emerged from the disturbance. At the sound, Yvonne questioned whether she should have disturbed her, questioning if this would not distress Miss Donoghue more. She did not wish to intrude on her privacy, but she wanted to atone for her actions and she did not know if she would have the opportunity again, not if her neighbour was to refuse her entry. This thought in itself resolved her to act, adamant that she would not lose the lady’s friendship. Flexing her fingers, she reached upward and knocked once more, entering the room with an air of feigned fortitude.

The chamber was scarcely lit. All of the curtains had been drawn to a close, excluding the one in which Bonnie was sat beside, the silk barely parted to allow her a slim view of the garden below. A chaise longue had been placed by the window and she was seated upon it, adorned solely in her nightgown, her Prussian blue shawl draped over her. She tugged it tightly around herself as she peered over her shoulder. Startled to view a tall, slim figure in the darkness, Bonnie’s eyes widened, but she soon realised it was not the doctor, as she had feared, and she gasped faintly at the sight of her.

“Yvonne?”

Even in her melancholia, her voice was soft. It sounded hoarse; presumably from the amount of weeping she had undergone since waking. Its combination of hope and sorrow was distressing to Yvonne, who knew it to be her fault. She slowly removed her top hat, staring repentantly across the room at this haunting image of a woman, whose half-veiled countenance peered up at her, an almost perfect depiction of Our Lady of Sorrows (87). Yet, even in her dishevelment, she was the most beautiful woman she had ever seen.

Yvonne placed her hat atop the dresser and hastened towards her. As she lowered quickly into the seat, she leant forward, searching her mournful expression for any sign of forgiveness, for the tenderness that she was accustomed to.

“Bonnie!” she exclaimed, breathlessly. “Bonnie, I came yesterday but Miss Ainsley said you were not well and that you did not want visitors. I thought that I may be of help to you; I will do all that I can to nurse you to health.” She reached up to place her hand atop Bonnie’s. “Since the ball, I have been ashamed of myself and I wish to do all that I can to atone for my actions. Please, allow me.”

She stared across imploringly, tempted to kneel, as if she were some poor sinner repenting her sins before the altar of a goddess. Yet, this deity watched her in silence, her brow down-turning in her bewilderment. Bonnie had not anticipated so striking an apology; it would have been accurate to say that she had not expected one at all. In thinking so, she had come to assume that it was not Miss Davers who should apologise, but herself. She glanced down at the hand that rested atop hers, she having sat with her knees to her chest, her hands resting gently upon them, and she perceived that the last residues of endurance had abandoned her altogether.

“I thought you were not coming back.” Her admittance was spoken in a trembling tone and she turned to face the window, assuming that the motion would grant her courage. “I thought that we were to never see each other again and it was my fault.”

Her lip trembled, a tear falling into her lap. Abashed, she tried to wipe the tear that had fallen, her hand reaching up, seconds later, to cover her face as the edge of her lips began to turn downward, arching to a degree that Yvonne had not thought possible. Her body trembled from a sob that she had hoped to subdue but she began to weep with a terrible vigour, it becoming clear that she could not repress it. Yvonne faltered, though she leant forward, a moment later, to brush the tears that glided unrestrainedly down her cheeks. They were damp from her previous bout of weeping, her eyes having retained a tinge of red.

Her attempts to assist her were feebly prevented but the lady soon relented, allowing her to wipe away the tears that fell. Encouraged, Yvonne cupped her face within her hands, her thumbs gently brushing the teardrops she shed.

“No, Bonnie; the fault lies with me.” She tried to look her steadily in the eye. “I was selfish.”

“No, I am,” she whimpered. “I expected you to wait for me and I left you on your own. That was unfair of me; I should have stayed with you.”

Yvonne shook her head in protest. “I am the one who was unfair.” Miss Donoghue was young; it was natural that she would want to be known to those within the town, as well as to circulate the balls and parties that were available to her. It was not for Yvonne to prevent her, but to encourage her in her pursuit of happiness. “The ball was for you. You were supposed to be enjoying yourself and... and dancing with men.” She attempted to smile, though it was not entirely convincing. “That is what you wanted. I should not have made you feel as if that was wrong of you.”

Bonnie reached up, her hand taking hold of Yvonne’s, which had continued to rest against her cheek. Faintly, she emitted some noise of defiance. “But I did not want to dance with them! I wanted to dance with you, and with my friends. It would hardly have been respectable of me to decline; I did not want to be impolite.” She paused, remembering- “And I asked you if you wanted to join me but you did not; I thought you may change your mind when it came to the last dance, so that we may have danced together. Alone...”

If Yvonne was a woman predisposed to the display of sentiment, she may have mirrored her companion in the force of her tears, but she was not. She simply sat in silence. Hereafter, she produced some faint response, though she was incapable of disguising her dejection.

“I would have liked that,” she admitted, humbly. “I was being obstinate and could not see how courteous you were to me. I should have done what you asked of me. The night was not for me; it was for you.”

Bonnie brought her hand, entwined with Yvonne’s, to rest atop her knees, her head shaking.

“It was for both of us,” she contended. “But I feared I had lost you when you left and did not return. You did not come at your usual time.” Gingerly, she uttered- “I waited for you.”

Yvonne was reminded of her previous resolution, that they were to spend less time together. If there was an appropriate moment to state so, she believed it was then. Staring across at her neighbour, who was staring expectantly at her, she compelled herself to respond.

“I will not leave you, Bonnie,” she vowed. “I could never leave you.” She leant forward, pressing her hand within her own. “I will do all I can to convince you, to apologise to you. I do not deserve your friendship, but I shall endeavour to do right by you.”

Her companion’s eyes widened, though there was a lightness to her gaze that was not present before, her voice lilting upward in her delight.

“You promise you will not leave me?”

Without hesitation, she said- “I promise. I shall be here as long as you need me to be.”

Bonnie leapt forward, falling into her companion, resting her head against her chest, her arms wrapping tightly around her.

“Oh, Yvonne,” she sighed. “Let us not argue. Never again! I cannot take it.”

Yvonne reciprocated the gesture, though the motion was less ardent. She patted her lightly on the back, as if to assure her that the embrace had come to its end, but Bonnie did not release her.

Waveringly, she sat there, conscious that she had not completed her resolution. It was the most appropriate course of action, yet she was aware of how difficult it had become to refuse her. In her justification, Yvonne did not wish to be so terrible a friend as to depart this resolution when Bonnie was so evidently distressed. It would have been irresponsible to abandon her in such a state. She thought it best, on consideration, that she should nurse her back to health, agreeing to separate once Bonnie was in a healthier state of mind.

On choosing this decision, she urged herself to keep to it, although Yvonne knew that what she thought and how she acted were two entirely different matters. Glancing down at the peaceful features of Miss Donoghue, observing the way her thick hair partly obscured her face, despite it being tied into a plait, Yvonne was tempted to omit her resolve altogether. Reaching down, she lightly brushed the tendrils of hair from her wet cheek, tucking it carefully behind her ear. Bonnie smiled at the touch, though her eyes remained closed, and she burrowed herself closer against her chest. At the sight, Yvonne raised her gaze, staring across at the small crucifix above the door, hoping the display would grant her the strength to do as she must. She thought it to be an impossible task, otherwise.

Chapter Notations

87. Our Lady of Sorrows, as well as several other names such as Our Lady of Dolours and Mother of Sorrows, is a name that refers to the Virgin Mary, as her image under this name represents all of the sorrows one can experience in life.

Chapter Text

The flicking of the cards, as they were placed onto the table, was the primary sound in the drawing room, bar the incessant ticking of the clock. With the oncoming of autumn, the candles were lit at the table, as the room was starting to darken earlier than usual. A fire had also been lit, so that the occupants were not disturbed by the chill weather. This warmth did not seem to affect one person in particular, who was wrapped in a dressing gown and shawl, her feet resting idly in her slippers, the thin material barely maintaining the warmth that she had hoped for. The suggestion that she should wear her stockings was met with rejection, and she continued to sit in pensive silence.

There were only two women present; one was notably absent. Miss Ainsley had departed from the House, solely with the reassurance that Bonnie was cared for. She had been highly concerned for the lady’s welfare, thinking that she could not be left alone whilst the custodian called upon the clergy. Nevertheless, under the vigilant watch of Miss Davers, it was difficult to believe that any harm would come to her. She had questioned her ward as to whether she wanted another companion, knowing of their previous disagreement, but Bonnie had insisted that nobody else was permitted to attend to her that evening. Despite this request, Bonnie did not appear pleased to view Miss Davers as she entered the estate, nor did her spirits lift any further when she viewed the cards being taken from the pack. She had watched her custodian leave with an uncharacteristic repentance that the woman should be far from her.

Yvonne had been her most charming self, determined that she should lighten her neighbour’s despondency, but their game of cards had simply plunged her companion into further silence. She watched her over her packet (88), offering a smile whenever Bonnie glanced upward, but the smile would lessen into an expression of concern once her companion was no longer looking. It had become difficult to rouse her in any way and Yvonne was coming to the last of her suggestions, desperate that she should think of more.

Inquiring into her day, Bonnie did not seem to have done anything of note and fell once more into silence. Nevertheless, this prompted an innate sense of decorum in Bonnie, who inquired into hers. In response, Yvonne described, at great length, the business she had undergone, the few meetings that she had conducted with her farmhands.

“Yes, the sheep were aplenty, but Yates was a little concerned about the oncoming winter. The sheepfold is sturdy- some of the stones had to be replaced after the years of damage; surely, the storm last year did not do it any good, but I see no reason to be worried. Even if there were some deaths over the winter, God forbid, we shall continue to have more than we did last year.”

“You think there will be a good profit then?”

“I hardly see why not. The sheep are healthy. They are in good condition; we had plenty of lambs this year. When I went to see them, they were rather sheepish but that is only natural, considering.”

Yvonne raised the cards in her hand, hoping to disguise the smirk that arose, and she peered across at her companion, who slowly raised her gaze. There was an amused glint to Bonnie’s eye and she huffed in laughter, glancing admonishingly in her direction.

“Well, I am pleased to hear that is the case,” she uttered, determined to overlook the jape.

It was apparent that her spirits had lifted, if only slightly, but the game had tested her patience, and she soon took to sighing lightly, staring distractedly into the fire. She did not say that she wished to finish, but her actions indicated that this was the case.

“Have you any new paintings to view?” Yvonne asked, her voice maintaining an airy tone. Despite her effort, she perceived her mood was lowering to the same degree as her neighbour’s.

“No,” was the response. “I have hardly painted anything.” After a minute’s silence, she added- “The McLarens invited me to tea but I declined. I thought I may go to the river for a while, but I scarcely have the energy for walking. It has all been rather... rather difficult.”

This admittance was spoken with a trembling lip and she stared dolefully into the fire. Yvonne watched her, placing down her cards, observing the way Bonnie clung to her own, they hanging limply from her fingers whilst her hand slumped into her lap. Contemplating this scene, Yvonne was determined to restore some sense of happiness to the woman before her, and spoke out, quashing her own apprehension, so as not to distress Bonnie.

“Nowadays, there are a plenitude of remedies, particularly when it comes to the treatment of nerves and...” She hesitated before emitting- “And melancholia. I know an excellent doctor- Doctor Chifamba. He is related to an old friend of mine- Mrs Alston; I believe I have mentioned her before? Well, he is her cousin, so he is, by extension, an old friend of the family. He comes highly recommended, not only by me, but by many of his patients. If you would permit it, he could examine you but we would have to travel to Oxford. That is where he is based, you see, but we shall only leave if that is an excursion that interests you... You do not have to feel compelled to see him.”

Bonnie continued to stare into the fire. “Yes, I think that would be suitable. Perhaps an outing is precisely what I need.” With a faint smile, she turned her head to rest her gaze thoughtfully upon Yvonne. “And I would be pleased to spend more time with you.”

Yvonne returned the smile, a motion that was primarily induced by relief. She was gratified that she had consented; there had been a prior concern that she would refuse. If that had been the case, Yvonne was unsure what else could be done for her.

“Do not worry!” Her tone was genuinely cheerful for the first time that evening. “I shall organise it all. We will go together.”

The thought appeared to satisfy Bonnie, who returned a smile, her countenance reviving. This feeling was momentary, however. Her despondency was not entirely lifted and she stared down at her cards with a sigh. Placing them on the table, she finally admitted:

“I no longer want to play cards.”

Yvonne was prepared for this eventuality.

“We can play chess. You always beat me! Certainly, I do not mind such a defeat on this occasion.” It was not in her nature to be outplayed; she always wished to be the victor, even in games, yet Yvonne was willing to dismiss her competitive instincts, if it was to please her companion. Nevertheless, she could not concede without maintaining the appearance of a worthy adversary. “Do not be complacent. I shall triumph over you one of these days!”

Bonnie did not believe her to be a threat, in any case, and denied the offer.

“Not today,” she muttered.

Yvonne remained undeterred. “Then poems?”

“No, I do not think so.”

Standing, Yvonne went to the pianoforte, where she seated herself. “Then I shall play for you.”

She did not wait for a response, anxious that it would be in the negative, pressing down onto the keys in a rhythm that soon revealed itself to be Romanze. Wincing, she turned her face towards the wall. This unsteady production was a humiliation to her; she had hoped that her practice would make it worthy of an audience but she now perceived that this was not the case. It was not to the standard that Bonnie was used to and the lady would undoubtedly notice. Her poor attempt at performing could not be compared to the natural skill of her neighbour. She was tempted to complete the piece early when she perceived that Bonnie had stood.

Miss Donoghue strolled towards her, settling beside her on the stool. There was room to share, as she wore her nightgown, her skirts usually too extensive for such an indulgence, and she pressed this advantage by leaning sideways, gently resting her head against Yvonne’s shoulder. Silently, she watched her play. Her expression was serene, though not entirely cheerful. It appeared that all the joy had left her, but she listened composedly to the music, her hands clutching onto her shawl. Her concession to listen was an achievement within itself and Yvonne endeavoured to remain there a little longer in the hopes that it would calm her, if not gladden her. It was apparent that she required medical intervention; the doctor would have to be called sooner than anticipated. In that moment, Yvonne believed that the journey to Oxford was their only hope, for Bonnie had not recovered as quickly as she had in the past. To the contrary, she was becoming worse.

Chapter Notations

88. A packet is a term in card games that refers to part of a deck, usually consisting of a number of individual cards.

Chapter Text

“It is the loveliest little apartment. I have stayed there before. It was by the recommendation of Mrs Alston and her taste is commendable, very refined.” Her gaze arched, her arms folding, as she uttered- “Although, that taste comes at quite the expense.” It occurred to her to elaborate, hoping to assuage any fears of her companion. “But this was not dear; it is altogether the right price for what we were searching for, and there is enough room for the servants too. I hope you shall see its merit once we arrive.”

Bonnie smiled serenely across at her, pleased to simply sit and listen to her friend as she talked. “I trust that you have chosen the perfect place. For my part, I have no concerns.”

Yvonne was encouraged. “You are in anticipation for Oxford?”

“Yes, I am!” This thought enthused Bonnie, whose countenance brightened as she spoke. “We were wondering if we would be good travelling companions. Now is the time to see.” Her gaze traced the open window, the trees that could be seen through the pane as they passed them by. A notion struck her as she watched them, and she felt compelled to share it. Warmly, she turned her attention to the woman in front, her gaze revealing her delight. “I know we shall be happy together in Oxford; we will have time alone, away from the prying eyes of everyone else. They always want to know what is happening in our lives. It will be nice to spend some time away from them.”

“Yes, that often happens.”

Yvonne’s expression darkened. The indecency of their journey had presented itself to her. Despite the general understanding that it was suitable to do so, she thought it inappropriate to be travelling alone with Miss Donoghue. Even in their propriety, they could not escape small town gossip. This concern had arisen on multiple occasions and she had been tempted to include Penny or Miss Ainsley, for the respectability only, but Bonnie had insisted that the additional cost was unnecessary. Yet, the apprehension she was experiencing would not diminish. Yvonne was unsure whether this impropriety was the cause for her disquietude or whether there was an additional reason. She perceived that there was an underlying sense of guilt, due to her continuing affection, and it had now manifested itself to a degree that she struggled to ignore. This, in itself, unsettled her and resultantly, she preferred not to be alone with Bonnie.

Noting that her companion was watching her, she added: “What is most important is your health and happiness. I hope that you are beginning to be happy?”

“I cannot be anything other than happy when I am with you,” she answered, sincerely.

Yvonne stared out of the window, her arms crossing even tighter across her chest. “I am pleased to hear it.”

Her tone did not match her assertion, but she did not respond further. Bonnie waited for her to continue but soon realised that the compliment was not to be returned. Disheartened, she stared out of the window, although she continued to glance frequently in her companion’s direction, studying her features with an air of sullen curiousness.

It had not escaped Bonnie’s notice that there was something amiss. Despite their reconciliation, she felt there was a lack of closeness between them; Yvonne had retained her distant and offended air with no promise of relief. Bonnie was left to question whether they would return to their previous intimacy, if their friendship would continue to prosper as it once had. She could not have been any more joyous in travelling with Miss Davers, in having time solely between the two of them, but it appeared, even in this circumstance, that they were not to be friends, not as they used to be. This was an event that Bonnie could not be reconciled to. Yvonne had apologised, but with each passing day, it appeared as if her neighbour continued to be vexed with her. Bonnie would have done anything to earn her forgiveness, yet she dared not say so, for the thought that it was impossible was more distressing than the coldness between them. She could not bear to hear the words and so, she remained silent, hopeful that they would soon come to forget the events of the ball and return to the way they had once been. It was this hope that lifted her spirits and kept her faith that all would end as it should, as she desired it to. She had entirely convinced herself that they were to remain friends; this belief was so exceedingly settled that she refused to consider the alternative. To her, there was none.

Descending from the coach, she accepted the gloved hand of her companion, who offered to assist her. As was customary, Yvonne had burst from the coach once it had come to a halt and would not be contained any longer than necessary. Bonnie had followed at a more temperate pace, pleased to stand and remove herself from the confines of the carriage. They held onto each other for a moment longer, even as Bonnie alighted onto the cobbles, but she soon released Yvonne’s hand upon hearing an expression of indignance from behind them.

The maids were clambering from atop the coach, Paulette visibly disgruntled by the journey. She wrapped her shawl around her, staring up at the grey sky with an air of offence, her tan skin retaining a pale hue. It appeared that the English weather did not agree with her, although the rest she had previously taken had aided her recovery; she had returned to her full duties. From behind, Bronagh rubbed her back, peering over her companion’s shoulder to determine her welfare. Paulette merely looked irritated but did not step away from her touch, and Bronagh did not rescind it.

Bonnie leant towards Yvonne, her voice lowering. “Paulette... She has been rather unwell recently. Was it wise to bring her? She appears rather irritable.”

Yvonne scoffed. “She is always ill and she is always irritable. I cannot do right by her; at this rate, she shall have to stop serving me altogether. Penny says that is unfair but I cannot keep a maid who is incapable of fulfilling her duties. She has recently recovered but now, she always looks miserable. I cannot make my mind up about her.”

Bonnie was unperturbed by this information.

“I suppose it is the French way to look petulant,” she mused.

“Hm, perhaps.”

They stepped towards the apartments, Yvonne leading her up a small flight of stairs to a black painted door. This tenement was nestled amidst a row of houses and apartments, the neat line of bath-stone buildings stretching down the remainder of the street. This handsome view charmed her and Bonnie was delighted to be seen traversing the steps towards the apartment. It was a privilege to be witnessed entering the building; with the likes of Miss Davers, no less. Yet, despite her anticipation, Bonnie peered over her shoulder, unable to discount the look that she had seen upon the maid’s face. She watched her a second longer before turning decisively towards Yvonne.

“I hope she is better soon,” she uttered, “though I do agree with you. She is of no use if she cannot fulfil her duties. Penny is too kind for her own good; she would keep all the servants on full pay and let them do as they please, if it were her choice.”

“But it is not,” Yvonne remarked. “It is mine. Once she keeps her own house, she may do as she pleases. I have done as she asked and that is all she can expect of me.”

Grasping the brass knocker, she rapt it against the door, its echo on the other side heard from the front steps. There was a minute’s silence, then the door opened, revealing a short, plump man on the other side.

“Miss Davers,” he greeted with a bow.

“Mister Biagi.”

The owner stepped back, allowing them to enter the spacious foyer. Whilst he explained, in thorough detail, the fashionable detail of the décor, he led them upstairs. Their apartment was on the second floor, the entire area containing their private rooms and parlour. Mr Biagi made a passing comment to the servants as to which door would take them to their quarters. With a swift curtsey, Paulette hastened to this passage and departed, Bronagh following at a subdued pace. Their employers did not notice that they had left, too preoccupied with ascending the stairs to think of anything else.

Once the proprietor had unlocked the entrance, they were allowed into the parlour, where he passed the key to Yvonne. She expressed her gratitude, although her attention was taken with Miss Donoghue, who had entered and was peering, with intense curiosity, around the room. The sight of her intaking her surroundings, her wide-eyed amazement, warmed Yvonne and she peered askance at the landlord to pardon their presence, conveying that they wished to rest after the long journey.

Mr Biagi bowed. “I understand, Miss Davers.”

He wished them a comfortable stay, departing with the satisfaction that he had completed his duties. She waited until the door had closed behind him to speak.

“Is it to your taste?” she inquired.

Bonnie turned from the window, a liveliness to her expression that had not been present in the past two weeks. Affected, her voice expressed how overcome she was by their shared lodging.

“Oh, Yvonne, it is lovely!”

The room was not the size that they were used to, but it was spacious enough to be comfortable. It had a view of the street below and not far from them, the College and the Cathedral could be viewed. The parlour was the smallest distance they had ever slept to one another, their bedrooms adjoining the room in which they were currently standing. This fact did not remain unnoticed by Bonnie, who was delighted to think she would be close to her neighbour, that their friendship had advanced to such a degree of intimacy, even if she did not always sense that sentiment from the woman herself. She did not question, so she did not realise, that this proximity in rooms was the precise reason why Yvonne had chosen the apartment, and she continued to circle it in admiration.

Pleased to see her contentment, Yvonne opened the door to Bonnie’s bedroom. “This shall be your room. I chose it, specially. When I inquired, I thought you must have it, for it is precisely what you like.”

Enthused, Bonnie hurried after her, halting at the door to crane her neck forward, surveying the room ahead. It was pleasantly decorated, though the furniture was simple compared to the arrangements that she was used to. She continued to glance around her in wonderment, despite this observation, for she could not discern the precise reason she had been gifted this chamber. Perplexed, she glanced at Yvonne, who was stood by the window. It was apparent that the woman expected her to follow, so she did, imitating her gaze to look through the small, square panes of glass, her eyes widening at the sight before her.

Below, an intricate design of flowers could be viewed in the garden, its serpentine design curving in a multitude of directions, a grass pathway placed in the centre of the enclosure, so that one could walk between them. At the far wall was an adornment of vines and blossoms, climbing the brick in a thick coating of greenery, a white statue placed prettily in front. There were two benches in the garden, their positions perfect if one wanted to sit and read, converse with others, or simply sit alone, the curious design of flowers, along with the rear wall and statue, seen in all of its glory from either seat.

“It’s wonderful,” she breathed. Glancing askance, her eyes widened in her excitement. “Is this also the view from your room?”

“Perhaps,” Yvonne mused. “I am sure I will like it, no matter what, but you can stay in this room if you like. I know it will help you to feel comforted. So long as you are happy, I will be.”

She did not say that she had inquired beforehand regarding the view from the apartment, and that the other bedroom looked out over the private bank opposite- Wright & Co., not quite the gentile view that was granted from the other. When asked by Penny, she had informed her of such, and the girl had said- “Well, serves you Wright for choosing that one.” There the conversation ended, as the joke was unappreciated.

Inspecting her neighbour’s countenance, it occurred to her that Bonnie may wish to rest, knowing how travelling tired her, and she turned to leave. Yet, before she could, the lady reached out and took hold of her hand.

“I am starting to be happy, Yvonne; truly happy. Thank you. Your friendship has been faultless, as always.”

“I am only doing what I can to be a friend to you,” was the earnest response. “You deserve much more than this.”

Bonnie shook her head in protest. “I do not want any more than this.”

She cradled her hand gently within her own. Smiling, she wished to further the sentiment, pressing it lightly. There was a moment’s hesitation where she waited for a response, her thumb brushing instinctively against her hand. Bonnie trusted that she felt the sensation, although they had not yet removed their gloves, her gaze lowering to stare abashedly at the way their fingers entwined. Although she had not received a response, the sight inspired her, emboldened to declare the feelings that arose within her as she beheld this picture.

“Yvonne, I...”

There was a thud at the door, both of them swiftly releasing their hold on one another. Yvonne scowled in the direction of the entryway, her chest heaving where she endeavoured to catch her breath, the flutter of her heartbeat thumping restlessly against her breast. She perceived that Bonnie had wished to share some private sentiment but the moment had now passed. There was no time in which to ponder on it, for the groom was bent over at the doorway, his cheeks flushing a deep red as he scrambled to grasp the case that he had dropped. He noticed that they were watching him, which unnerved him further. He quickly stood, case in hand.

“Would you like the maids to come upstairs and unpack for you, ma’am?”

His attempt to distract them from his blunder was unsuccessful, merely causing him to fall under further scrutiny.

“They may do as they please,” Yvonne remarked. “We are occupied at present. Besides, they have minds of their own; they know they must unpack eventually.”

The groom did not know how to respond. He uttered- “Then I will fetch them for you.”

Before he departed, Yvonne pointed at the case in his grasp.

“You ought to be more careful with my thermometer,” she demanded. “It has never failed me yet and I would not like to see it broken.”

The groom hurried away with a flustered: “Yes, ma’am.”

“Why have you brought a thermometer?” Bonnie inquired.

Yvonne stared at her, as if she could not understand the question.

“For the weather.” Viewing Bonnie’s confusion, she became diffident. “Do you think it odd?”

“Well...” Bonnie did not know if it was, for she rarely travelled anywhere. “No. I did not expect it, that’s all.”

Yvonne was determined to alter the discussion, not wishing for her thermometer to come under scrutinization when it had served her so well over the years. “Would you prefer to rest a while or would you like to stroll through town and see the sights?”

“I would prefer to rest, if you have no objection to it,” Bonnie answered. “It would be nice to spend the evening with you here and then we are quite at leisure tomorrow to see the town before we are to meet with Doctor Chifamba.”

Yvonne nodded. “Quite right. You always know best. I could never object to your wishes; I shall leave you in peace.” She appeared as if she were to step back but she decided against it, adding reverentially- “Let me know if you require anything.”

Bonnie smiled, gratified with her neighbour’s consideration. “Thank you, Miss Davers.”

Yvonne returned the smile, she ushering the groom out of the hallway as she departed, closing the door graciously behind them. Once the lock had latched into the frame, the affectionate smile upon Bonnie’s lips lessened and she was left to stare aghast at the wood.

It had not been her intention to say anything to Yvonne; she had been uncomfortably close to humiliating herself. There was no definite thought as to what she had hoped to say but she knew it would have shamed her, once it had been revealed. Miss Davers did not want to hear of her feelings. The gentlewoman’s lack of visible sentiment, her aversion to displaying affection beyond propriety, had not remained unnoticed by Bonnie, who keenly felt this outward indifference. She respected their disparity in temperament; she did not believe Yvonne was unfeeling simply because she did not express herself, but there was a distinction between the modesty that she had become acquainted with in her neighbour, and the apathy that had followed in the wake of the dance. In the short time they had been in the apartment, she had forgotten their alienation to one another, so occupied was she by the thought of their being alone together for the first time in weeks. How foolish she had been! They had secured their friendship; now, the novelty had worn thin. For Miss Davers, at least, but she did not feel the same. She comprehended her feelings were as strong as they had ever been, if not more steadfast.

Stepping forward, she lowered abruptly onto the bed, plucking her gloves from her hands before untying her bonnet with an impatient air. Thereafter, she removed her shoes, allowing them to fall, with a thump, onto the wooden floor below. Sighing heavily, Bonnie collapsed onto the bed, her hands resting on her stomach as she stared upward at the heavily draped canopy.

She could have lain there for hours, a notion that appealed to her, and she was pleased to hear the knock at the door, moments later, her maid inquiring into the trunks. Bonnie allowed her entry, questioning whether she could acquire her nightgown. It always suited her to sleep when she was distressed or when she was disinterested in all that was around her, and as she was in both minds, she happily undressed for bed, awaiting the moment she could lie down with great anticipation. She was soon allowed to do so- Bronagh having finished her duties- and she clambered below the sheets, asleep within moments of having settled, the last conscious thought that appeared before her being that of Miss Davers. It hardly occurred to her to think of anything else.

Chapter Text

In the dark hours of early morning, there was barely a sound to be heard in the apartment. A quiet rustle of cloth would intermittently disturb the silence, a faint creak from the floorboards whenever pressure was applied. If it were daytime, the noise would have been barely perceptible, but at such an hour, any slight movement could cause a cacophony of sound. Witching hour was long past; there was no ghastly figure to be found, but there was a ghostly one, their white nightshirt scarcely perceptible in the obscurity of night. It appeared to be some spirit, who was incapable of resting peacefully and was kept unsettled by a responsibility that was endured solely by them, one that kept them close to the sleeping inhabitant within, merely a thin wall distancing them from one another. One may have termed it unfinished business, but it was not so severe as to describe it as thus. It was merely the thought that there would be no resolution, not to the issue that had presented itself, the sole conclusion being to accept the worsening condition of a once healthy mind.

Yvonne had succumbed to sleep at her usual time; hardly two hours had passed before she awoke once more. The restless feeling within her was unbearable, both in body and mind. She had remained in bed for an hour, hearing the chiming of the grandfather clock from the floor below, its doleful echo resounding through the floorboards. Thereafter, she had clambered from bed, incapable of remaining stationary any longer, entering the parlour with bated breath- there was no indication of life within. With a parted curtain, she had paced the agitation away, guided solely by the light of the moon whilst she weaved amongst the furniture. Further clangs of the clock passed, they barely heard as she pondered furiously on the situation at hand. At every turn, there came no resolution and she began the silent discussion again, discontent with the outcome.

Her thoughts were her sole companion and so occupied was she in their presence that she did not note the opening of a door. It barely stood ajar, the darkness within the apartment covering any indication of life within. Nevertheless, she was observed pacing, her bare feet padding lightly against the wood, her path starting to weave unconsciously around the areas that had creaked, so as not to make a sound. Despite the dim light from the window, her glower was visible and it was this that spurred the door to open wider. The creak which it emitted startled Yvonne, who spun around to stare in its direction. There, she saw Bonnie, the moonlight falling softly upon her figure, though her features were barely detectable.

“What is the matter?” came the low inquiry. Her voice cracked as she spoke, an indication of her weariness.

“N-nothing.” Yvonne was silent for a moment, her thoughts frantically trying to return to the scene before her, rather than the one that she had conjured in her mind. She brushed her hand through her hair, stepping towards her bedroom door once she had done so with an apologetic grimace. “I am sorry to have disturbed you; I shall return to my room.”

“You are not worried, Yvonne?”

“No, not at all. Whatever for?” She huffed a noise of amusement. After another pause, she added, resolutely: “Tomorrow will be promising... We shall have good news.”

It was not apparent whether these words were for her neighbour’s benefit or her own. Regardless, Bonnie did not respond immediately to them. She continued to stare at her in the gloom, Yvonne almost thinking she was upset, but then she raised her hand, beckoning for her to approach.

“Come.”

“I am quite alright. I shall be quiet...”

“Come here.”

It was unfathomable to refuse. Yvonne drifted toward her, uncertainly, and, once she was in arms’ reach, was taken hold of, Bonnie pulling her gently into the room.

“You are in no state to be left alone,” she stated, candidly. “You must stay with me.”

There was no protest from the woman beside her, Bonnie leading her to the bed. Reaching it, Yvonne sat obediently on the edge of the mattress, as she had been guided to do, feeling the grip on her wrist loosen until it had disappeared altogether. Anxious, she knot her fingers together, watching her shadowy figure drift across the room. She was instructed to lie down, which caused her to hesitate, but the direction was given once more and she relented. There was a low hum of approval as Bonnie climbed onto the bed, reaching across to tug at the sheet underneath her companion. Once it was loose, she draped it tenderly over the woman beside her, Yvonne allowing her to do as she wished, lying motionless under the sheets. She watched as the figure lay down beside her, the mattress lowering under her weight, the blanket rustling softly as it settled upon her.

They came to face each other in the dark. Although no definite features could be discerned, they continued to watch one another in silence. Yvonne wished to know which sentiment was upon her neighbour’s features, invoking images from one moment to the next, both terrible and tender. She yearned to determine whether she was irritated by the disruption, whether she was being kind merely to relieve her, or whether she felt a different type of emotion altogether from the ones she had imagined. There was another rustle from somewhere in the shadows and she felt Bonnie’s hand enclose upon hers. Delicately, Bonnie stroked it, they lying in silence, their hands resting in the space between them. A minute later, she brought her companion’s hand to her lips, pressing them firmly against the back of her fingers.

“Now, I have passed my courage to you,” she told her. “I do not have much but I know you shall use it well. Will you return it to me once you are done?”

“I shall do better,” responded Yvonne, her hand pressing her companion’s. “I shall return it with my own, so you have more than before. You will have no reason to be afraid.”

“I never am when I am with you.”

It was stated so simply, sincerely, that Yvonne believed her. They lay together, neither turning away, their hands resting entwined between them, and, in that moment, Yvonne perceived that she did have courage. How much she would have endured in exchange for that simple touch!

She knew Bonnie had closed her eyes and she watched the outline of her figure a moment longer, the faint form of her nose and cheek in the dark. Eased in mind, though not entirely in heart, she imitated the gesture, closing her eyes in return. She did not know it but she soon fell into a deep slumber, better than she would have if she had slept alone.

Doctor Chifamba exited the room with a cheery countenance. He was well-dressed and clean shaven, his good nature visible in his almost constant smile. In comparison to the last time he had seen Yvonne, he had started to form a large stomach, this being, in his opinion, a natural product of marriage. It did not perturb him but, rather, delighted him, and he would pat this growing stomach with affection. It was this motion that he enacted unconsciously as he halted at the table where Yvonne was sitting, she having employed herself with the newspaper whilst Bonnie was being examined. She peered over her monocle and stood, perceiving that it was him, reaching down to present him with the package of fine silk and lace that she had acquired.

The doctor perused the package, intaking the bold and colourful patterns with delight. He peered up when he heard her speaking, a wide smile forming upon his lips.

“For Gazala,” she was saying. “I dared not alter them to any size or shape. She is better using them as she sees fit. Our taste is so vastly different; I would not want to produce anything unfavourable.”

“This is more than favourable,” he beamed, peering down at the patterns of yellow, blue, green, and pink. “Thank you, Yvonne; Gazala will be overjoyed to have them.”

Pleased, Yvonne’s smile lessened as she glanced at the closed door. Lowering her voice, she asked-

“How was it?”

“It went well,” he confirmed. “I am certain Miss Donoghue will tell you herself. She is currently with her maid, getting dressed.”

“Thank you for agreeing to see her. I know it has been some time since we have last spoken; I did not mean to intrude on your daily business...”

“I always have time for you, Yvonne. Please, do not be so formal.”

Inhaling deeply, Yvonne was compelled to ask the question that had been troubling her. “Is there anything to be done?”

“We discussed her family history, her own history, what treatment or medicine she received whilst in Ireland. It does appear that her physical condition has worsened since arriving in England; she is sleeping and eating less and, as she is not employing daily exercise, she is starting to become tired. It appears to be cerebral. Her ailing mind has affected her body, or has started to, and she could soon become physically unwell if she does not receive treatment. It is an undeniable case of melancholia; there appears to be no further classification to define it with. If she is cured of this condition, there would be nothing else, cognitive or somatic, that would raise any cause for concern. There is no other affliction that ails her.”

Yvonne wrung her hands together. “Is there any way to prevent it? If it is solely a cognitive condition?”

“I do not see why not,” he encouraged, offering a consoling smile. “Even so, it may be a condition that she experiences for many years; her physical suffering can still be acute. From all that she said, she has handled the hardships and bereavement in her life in a way that is grievous to her. Miss Donoghue does not have a capable structure around her, nor a method of living in which to alleviate her symptoms, nor did she have a doctor when she was at home in Ireland, not one that came to examine her regularly. This was not explained as to why; she did not elaborate. It may have been because of her rural location, or her family may have been unwilling to produce one for her benefit. By all accounts, she does not take well to change or to loss in her life. It is understandable that she is still in grief from her parents’ and brother’s passing; it does not appear that she has received any treatment for her past nerves or low spirit, and it has now established itself into a position that will be quite difficult to remove, though I do not believe it to be impossible.”

“What can I do to be of assistance?” she asked. “I do not know much about the condition but I want to be of help to her.”

“You are already assisting Miss Donoghue as well as you can. You were right to seek medical help and to educate yourself on the matter. I know Penny will be a good friend to her too; she always knows how to cheer everyone around her. You will both be good for her recovery, I am sure of it.

“When conversing with Miss Donoghue, she talked readily of you. She openly respects you and your family. I am certain your friendship will aid her; she certainly requires someone around her who understands her condition, who is willing to offer the care that is needed, but someone who also knows when to encourage her beyond the lifestyle and habits that she has accumulated.”

“She has a custodian...”

“Yes, Miss Ainsley. She should be informed of the outcome but it would be wise to share the responsibility, particularly if Miss Ainsley has other means of employment. Her age would also indicate that she has not the health herself for certain matters; someone else ought to accompany Miss Donoghue when employing her daily exercise. It would be easier for everyone involved if they were to participate in Miss Donoghue’s treatment and recovery, so that they may initiate it faster. One person alone cannot bear the burden of fostering the conditions for mental improvement; certainly, it is to be shared.” Viewing the perturbed expression that Yvonne had adopted, he pressed on. “Miss Donoghue mentioned that you were to travel to India.”

Yvonne peered up at him, a softness settling upon her countenance.

“Yes,” she smiled. “We are to travel together. She has never been and wishes to meet her family who live there.”

“An excursion abroad will be beneficial to her,” he nodded. “Whether that be your usual jaunts across Europe, or in Asia. I would highly recommend it on the account it will raise her spirits and maintain them. It shall provide an aspiration for her, an event to be awaited with pleasure. Travelling will also keep her mind and body active, which is what we must always encourage. We must hope that the family she encounters there will nurture her health where it has not been nurtured before. In losing her parents and brother, it will vastly improve her condition to have it be the familial home that provides her comfort and aids her in such a time.”

Yvonne was silent for a moment whilst she considered all that had been disclosed to her. Hereafter, she concluded that there was nothing to say. There was no response that she could provide that was not an acknowledgement and assent to all that he had said. This was not a subject that she was well-versed in; on this occasion, she could not rely on her given intellect but simply accept that of another. There was no other option.

“I understand, Cornelius; thank you. Miss Donoghue will be granted the time to discuss this information with her custodian, but I shall speak with Miss Ainsley as to the manner in which we shall proceed. She knows Miss Donoghue better than I. You are correct; I do not think I could handle this responsibility on my own. I have not the knowledge, the correct judgement, for such matters.”

Exhaling deeply, Yvonne plucked a piece of paper from the table, passing it to him. “This is your bill, as requested.”

He accepted it, graciously, pocketing it within his waistcoat. “You know I did not want any payment but if you insist, I am pleased you agreed to the lower offer.”

“I want us to remain friends, naturally.”

“I am honoured,” he laughed. “I know how selective you are in the friends that you keep.”

“We are better suited to each other than Florence and I could ever be.”

“Yes, that is true. You are the strangest pair I have ever seen. Have you spoken to Flo recently?”

“She visited not long ago.” As she recalled the incident, a flicker of amusement alighted her features. “She was not entirely taken with the idea of my owning a factory, but we ended on good terms. We had practically forgotten our disagreement by the time she had left. I did write to her expressing that we would be visiting Oxford; Florence was deeply hurt that we were unable to see each other. I think the entirety of her letter consisted of a complaint.”

He tutted, light-heartedly. “She always has a complaint.”

Behind, the door opened and Bonnie entered, her features brightening when she saw that they were in good humour. Expressing her gratitude to the doctor, she offered for him to stay and dine with them, as breakfast was expected. He declined, respectfully, as he had clients to meet but he turned to Yvonne with a smile.

“You must visit tonight. For supper, no less. You know Gazala shall never forgive you if you were to dine here or in town when we can provide you with food at home.”

The Chifamba household, both that of the doctor’s and of Florence’s upbringing, held a warmth that Yvonne was unaccustomed to. When she had first accessed this deluge of kindness and hospitality, it had simultaneously enthralled and unnerved her. She could not comprehend that such a place existed, anticipative that, one day, it could belong to her, whilst despondent at the thought that she may never quite grasp it, even if she spent her whole life in pursuit of this refuge.

Bowing her head, she replied- “I would not dare to insult Gazala. Besides, she is entirely correct, for I am sure there is nothing in town that could equal the supper we would receive with you. That sentiment is extended for your company too.”

“Well, it is not every day that we are granted a visit by the marvellous Miss Davers. We always find great amusement and inspiration in the stories that you share with us.”

“And I equally in yours.”

“Then you shall come. I shall inform my wife immediately.” He glanced towards Bonnie. “Miss Donoghue, I hope you will accept?”

“Of course,” she smiled, good-naturedly. “I am thankful for the service you have provided me; I could not be more honoured in being invited to your home.”

“Then I shall write a report with your recommended treatment and deliver it to you personally when I see you tonight.” He bowed deeply. “Till then, Miss Donoghue, Miss Davers.”

Bonnie curtseyed in response, Yvonne bowing. They waited till he had been shown from the room before seating themselves at the table. Yvonne poured her companion a cup of tea, determined that she should start tending to her at once. Sliding the cup across the table, she noted the palpable exuberance of her neighbour. Pleased, she was determined to hear of her opinion now that the examination had been received.

“Were you pleased?”

“Yes,” Bonnie smiled, serenely. “I think I am. There appears to be hope for me, after all. I may regain my spirits yet.”

“And you think him better than Doctor Kensley?”

“Very much so.”

Yvonne’s murmur was barely heard as she lifted her cup to her mouth. “Kensley is an odd fellow.”

A smile tugged at Bonnie’s lips whilst she stared down into her tea.

“Quite.”

As the breakfast was brought into the room, Yvonne stared across at her companion, the modest change that accompanied her after the doctor’s visit. There was a healthier tint to her cheeks, a contentment to her gaze, an earnest expression upon her countenance that was a marked difference to her previous despondency. She had dressed herself in expectation for the doctor, an activity that had not always been fulfilled during her days at the House, and it was a relief to see her in clothes other than her nightgown. In her curled hair, her ornate jewellery, the delicate way in which she drank her tea, and in her silver-laden fingers as they plucked at the fruit that had been lain beside her, Bonnie almost appeared as she had always done- tranquil.

“If you wish to travel further than Oxford, there is every possibility for us to travel to Scarborough (89) or to Bath (90),” Yvonne suggested.

“Oh, yes! That would be wonderful.” She paused to pile the food upon her plate, her curious custom of eating every meal with a baked potato shown in the vegetable that was placed neatly in the centre of her plate (91). Biting heartily into the spiced fruit-bread, she continued. “Miss Ainsley has mentioned both Scarborough and Bath before, but it has never been an idea that I considered seriously. It may be time for me to do so. They have such good reputations that I should at least ruminate upon it, do you not think so?”

Yvonne chewed thoughtfully on a piece of toast. “Yes, I do.”

Equally pleased were they with one another, with the outcome of the examination, that their breakfast overflowed with conversation- about the potential attractions in Oxford, the places that they could visit before they were to dine with the Chifambas. This was not the scene that had been regularly observed these past two weeks; it was no longer solemn or dejected. There was a seed of hope, one that was present in them both, for they discerned there was every reason to anticipate the renewal of Bonnie’s health, the remedy having been discerned for her melancholia, and this promise alone lightened their spirits.

Chapter Notations

89. In the early 17th Century, natural mineral waters were found in Scarborough which held medicinal properties. As a result, a spa house was built to sell the water to visitors, who wanted to improve their health. In the 18th Century, Scarborough expanded considerably, as it also became England’s first seaside resort. Many of those who suffered from ill-health would be encouraged to travel to the town to enjoy the benefits of the mineral water but also of being by the sea.

90. Founded by the Romans as a thermal spa, Bath became famous in the Middle Ages as an important centre for the industry of wool but also for the health benefits of using the thermal spa. During the Georgian Era, the city developed into an elegant tourist destination, which was also famed for its literature and art. Additionally, this became a very popular place for wealthy people to travel if they were in poor health, as they could attend the spa and then enjoy the cultural attributes that the city had to offer.

91. During a tour of Ireland, it was noted that there was a custom of eating jacket potatoes during every meal.

Chapter Text

As her foot touched the gravel, Bonnie inhaled deeply, her neck craning upward so that she could stare into the clear sky ahead, the sharp, cold wind causing her ringlets to flutter gently along the edge of her face. The bonnet she wore prevented any further disruption to her hair, though the same could not be said for Bronagh, who had dismounted the carriage with ruddy cheeks and a wild dishevelment from having sat atop the roof whilst the wind was blowing. She attempted to tuck her hair into her bonnet- with the ardent help of Paulette- whilst her mistress was distracted with her farewell.

Once the trunks had been unloaded, Miss Davers returned to the inside of the carriage, satisfied that she had assisted Miss Donoghue in all that she could. Equally, her companion was satisfied, pleased to the consideration that she had been shown. She peered up into the window, a content smile upon her lips, whilst Yvonne stared down at her, her face peering worriedly through the opening.

“Will you be fine from here, Miss Donoghue?” she inquired.

“Yes, perfectly so.” Noting her apprehension, she reached up, her fingers curling over the ledge as she gripped onto the wood. “You must not worry on my account, Miss Davers; you have been more than helpful. I cannot express my gratitude for our short tour to Oxford. It was certainly a marvel! And I shall not forget it any time soon.”

Appeased, Yvonne reached across, her hand patting the fingers that were curled over the ledge. The motion was brief but understood, and Bonnie released her hold on the carriage with a smile. Their farewells said, the carriage departed, Miss Davers doffing her hat to Miss Donoghue as they circled the driveway. Observing them, Bonnie remained where she was until they had disappeared from sight, her elation unfaltering, even as the reason for her delight drew further from her. Turning, she pranced up the stairs and through the open door, where she acknowledged Mr Reeves, passing him her outerwear as she greeted him. He departed with these adornments and she resumed her cavorting through the house, impeded, moments later, by Miss Ainsley.

The governess had become aware of her ward’s presence and was determined to hear all that had passed. The young woman’s high spirits were not a clear indication, to her custodian’s mind, for Bonnie had the habit of appearing cheerful, even as Miss Ainsley believed that there was nothing to be cheerful about. Surely, the excitement of the journey must be tempered with the gravity of her treatment.

“How was it?” she asked, forthwith.

Disdain settled upon Bonnie’s features, even as she elected to ignore the remark. She countered:

“Is tea to be served? I would like to have some. I am positively parched.”

The alliteration amused her and she smirked as she wandered through the house, Miss Ainsley following close behind. Her fretfulness was palpable and she was incapable of dropping the subject, inquiring once more as to the excursion she had undergone.

“It was successful,” Bonnie told her, candidly. “Doctor Chifamba has prescribed me some tasks for daily occupation; he recommends light physical labour. He thinks that I should walk every day and it would certainly aid me if I were to return to horse riding. He also said that I should focus on compassionate care, that I should consider travelling to live with my family for some time in India. He thinks it shall do me good to be with them, although he has also prescribed some recreational activities to keep my mind occupied, not simply my body (92). It shall not be anything too strenuous, he promises.

“By all accounts, I will be well if I follow his instructions. He does not see any hindrance to my making a full recovery. I questioned Yvonne about India; she said she is to travel with me, as promised. There is no difficulty on that account.”

Miss Ainsley stared at her in amazement. “Why, that is hardly any different from what Doctor Kensley prescribed! Do you not remember?”

She stared across, genuinely perturbed for her mental state if the young woman could not remember her last examination, but Bonnie scowled. The quivering of her skirts as she swiftly lowered onto the seat was her vehement answer. Whilst she settled, the tea was brought to them and she occupied herself with expressing her gratitude, rather than watching Miss Ainsley as she was seated in the opposite chair. Once the maid had departed, Bonnie straightened her posture, her chin lifting defiantly as she glowered at the woman before her.

“Miss Ainsley, it is quite different and I believe that you are aware of that. There is all the difference. Doctor Kensley was practically barbarian! Do you not remember that he recommended blood-letting (93)? I hardly know how that shall cure me unless I simply perish from a lack of blood in my body, and by falling into endless slumber, I shall be forever cured. How archaic, indeed! And as for the gyrator (94), I refuse to undergo such treatment. It is inhumane! How could you encourage me to participate in such measures? Soon, you shall be encouraging me to parade around with a walnut on my head (95).”

Miss Ainsley quivered in her distress. “Sincerely, Bonnie, I wish we had no reason to call upon the doctor but these treatments are established. They are highly recommended for those with strong passions and delusions (96). Why, my dear, that is the exact nature of which you suffer!”

“Strong passions?” Bonnie exclaimed. “Miss Ainsley, you have a strong passion whenever a child does not know the correct term in French and yet, you accuse me of the same! Besides, is not everyone deluded in their own way?”

“I hardly think...”

“The treatment that Doctor Chifamba has prescribed is said to be successful in America. It is so well-received, in fact, that they are inundated with requests. It is not quite the dismal institutions we have here. Yes, Doctor Chifamba was much more helpful and particular in his report. He offered treatments that would be of use to me.” Conceitedly, she added- “I hardly know how draining me of my blood and ensuring I attend local dances is any sort of suggestion at all. Besides, I know I must socialise; I hardly needed a doctor to tell me so. If that is all he can say, I might as well become my own doctor.”

“You should not be so brazen when it comes to the employment of your physician,” Miss Ainsley retorted. “It will be viewed as an affront in this town. You should know better! If we are not to have Doctor Kensley, who else shall come? We cannot have a doctor who lives miles away! Surely, if he is esteemed by the other families, he is to be esteemed by us.”

“I would hardly use the word esteemed...” Bonnie snorted.

“And everyone has spoken of it since you have been gone. They were astonished to discover it was not me with who you travelled but Miss Davers. It was highly unusual to their minds.” Miss Ainsley became apprehensive. It was evident that this consideration had not been taken into account by her, that she had not believed it necessary, but on perceiving the reaction of others, uncertainty had formed itself within her. Despite her veneration for the Davers family, it was her duty, first and foremost, to assist Bonnie until such a time that her legacy was secured, her greatest hope being that this opportunity would arise in the form of a husband. Certainly, any blemish to her reputation would prevent such an occurrence, a circumstance that she could not possibly allow. “I had not seen the harm in it, I must admit. Two respectable women with maids and servants are not to be thought of in such a way, but my judgement must have been incorrect. Nobody thought it wise at all. I should not have allowed you to leave without me.”

Bonnie raised her brows. “We have been gone for four days. I hardly think there is any excitement in that.”

“There have been whispers, my dear.” Miss Ainsley wrung her hands together. She had spent the last few days in a state of disquiet. Her initial elation in allowing Bonnie to travel had now dwindled; she came to wish that she had never allowed her to leave at all. The custodian had reflected ardently, during this time, on how she governed Miss Donoghue and the blunders she had enacted whilst doing so. “Certainly, we know by now that Miss Davers has a reputation- of what nature, nobody seems capable of saying. They say it is the sort of thing she would do! To travel alone with another woman- that is where she acquires her reputation for being odd. I should not have let you be so bold...” Perceiving the protest that had begun to arise in the woman before her, Miss Ainsley persisted. “I admire Miss Davers for her independence, her oddities. Surely, she is a woman to be respected, but I will not be swayed, Bonnie, in believing myself wrong in allowing you to travel without me. I have learnt my lesson. Very harshly, I must add. How I have suffered in the time you have been gone! Thinking I had led you to harm and that I had done so willingly! It is imperative that your reputation remains untarnished, that you are not suspected of... well, whatever the town suspects. It may be better if you were to spend time with your other friends and acquaintances, now that you have them...

“People have come to suspect too much when two women spend all their time together. They suspect impossibilities that even I cannot fathom, not in its entirety. How this has come about, I do not know; I cannot comprehend the way the youth think nowadays, with their impure, un-Christian ways of thinking. The degradation and corruption of which they hint of, I could not begin to express to you. That a young woman, such as yourself, could even begin to comprehend it... Oh, it is too distressing to think how poorly you have been branded- will be- if you continue this way!”

Bonnie was silent. She stared solemnly into her tea, her mouth resting into a firm line, her hands folded neatly upon her lap. They had trembled upon hearing her custodian’s concerns, but the longer the woman talked, the less she quivered and she soon became enveloped in a still sense of indignation. Not at the elderly woman before her, who quavered and fretted, but at those who had cultivated that fear inside of her.

Raising her gaze, the unyielding quietness that was present within caused Miss Ainsley to shiver. Yet, the resolve brought her to reality and she began to calm. She soon fell into silence, though her ward had not yet completed the discussion to her satisfaction. Bonnie inhaled deeply before speaking, her voice composed and quiet, though it did not contain its usual softness.

“If they are un-Christian, then we should remain steadfast against them and refuse to socialise with such people. Surely, we would not want to be among those who accuse anyone with such distasteful manners as you have described to me. Such presumption! We are better for our connection to the Davers family. Was it not they who assisted us in our hour of need? Who assisted our entry into society here? Miss Ainsley, I appeal to your better judgement, as I know you to have, and ask how you can be dismissive of those who have shown us great kindness?

“Is it not of the utmost importance that my health is improved? Is it not the Davers who introduced us to two doctors, so that this could be achieved, and surely, does it not calm your mind to hear that I am well? I feel happier than I have in weeks! Does that not bear any worth in this conversation? I have a future that I can anticipate with much happiness, with zeal. We plan to travel across Europe, to Scandinavia, and then east to Russia. After that, we may stay with my family in India, visit my ancestral home, my mother’s home. One day, perhaps, Miss Davers may view my home town; we may visit an Ireland that is free and settled...” Hesitating, the reference to her home appeared to perturb her, but she continued, resolvedly, with-

“I will leave with Miss Davers; I could not imagine being without her. In fact, I detest the insinuation. I will be happy, Miss Ainsley, content. You may come with us, if you please; I do not wish to prevent you. You may travel with us and I would cover all expenses, or you can remain here at Colworth House, where you may have your own freedom, until such a time that I return, but there is no other option. I will not hear of it.”

“It is not the time for grand excursions,” Miss Ainsley contended. “I am pleased to see you travelling, to see the acquaintances you make here, but you have no family, Bonnie. No immediate family. You must not make the mistake of placing yourself in danger. Your brother and parents died at home where it was supposed to be safe. If you were to travel abroad, it is even more likely that you should fall ill or come to harm. As someone who maintains an interest in your wellbeing, your safety, I must encourage you to remain here.”

It was not in Bonnie’s nature to accept the advice of someone else, not when its message bore the opposite of her intention. Her irritation grew at the thought and she retorted-

“I shall leave if I want to!”

Miss Ainsley sighed, the tone plaintive rather than irritable. She was accustomed to these outbursts; there was no indication, upon her features, that she perceived them as a personal affront.

“I think you should consider the situation carefully,” she remarked. “You are becoming too attached. It would be wise for you to entertain other guests, visit other houses, and lessen the frequency of your visits to the Davers, as well as theirs here.”

“Are you not delighted, Miss Ainsley, that I am at least well?” Bonnie repeated. “I have said that I am starting to feel better than I have in a long time, in perhaps years. Yes, I have slipped into the oblivion but I have raised myself once more above it. Do you not care for my wellbeing nor my happiness?”

“I care for it all, but I also care for your future. There will be none, not socially, if you obtain a reputation for yourself that cannot be removed. You must act with greater prudence than you currently are.”

Bonnie did not respond but took hold of the small plate and cup before her, standing once she had done so. Without looking at the custodian, she murmured:

“I require rest after my journey. I shall finish my tea in my room; please, do not disturb me.”

Miss Ainsley recognised that she was not to complete the discussion; it would remain unfinished between them. There was to be no agreement, nor could she sooth her, so she allowed her to depart, watching her retreating figure, forlornly. She was repentant that they could not be happier with one another, though neither believed that they were the one who must compromise. Resultantly, they were at an impasse, one that would not be relieved for some time. This was no different from their previous quarrels, a reflection that merely caused Miss Ainsley to sigh heavily before sipping her tea. Surely, she could not do right by her, a belief that was so settled in her mind that she did not consider an alternative. To her, there was none.

Chapter Notations

92. In comparison to the inhumane conditions that those with mental illness previously lived, the 18th and 19th centuries saw a rise in advocacy for a humanitarian view of mental illness, which included practicing good hygiene, as well as recreational and occupational training (see Vincenzo Chiarughi, 1759-1820), whilst other physicians and former patients (such as Philippe Pinel, 1745-1826, & Jean-Baptiste Pussin) encouraged ‘traitement moral’, which encouraged unshackled patients to live in well-aired, well-lit rooms, and have a purposeful activity, in both body and mind, throughout the day. Another major change came the encouragement of ‘compassionate care’ and ‘physical labour’ rather than the use of tranquiliser chairs, blood-letting, and gyrators.

93. The tradition of blood-letting was created by Hippocrates (460-370 BC), who believed that physical and mental illness was due to an excess or lack of these four fluids: blood, yellow bile, black bile, and phlegm. If someone was believed to be temperamental or hysterical, blood-letting was a common treatment for ‘curing’ these illnesses. It wasn’t until the 19th Century that this no longer became the main treatment and approach to mental illness.

94. In simple terms, a gyrator is a two-terminal device that emits an electrical voltage through its circuit. This was built into a horizontal board and strapped to the patient’s head. During the 18th and 19th centuries, people who were diagnosed with melancholia were often believed to have a depletion of blood in the brain. Besides blood-letting, a gyrator could also be used on a regular basis, as it was believed to stimulate blood circulation, but it also induced nausea, vertigo, and perspiration in order to “drive out the illness.”

95. Because the walnut looks like a small brain in its shape, some people believed that women with hysteria should carry the walnut on their head, which would help cure them of their illness.

96. During this period of time, these two ‘symptoms’ were believed to be characteristic of melancholia.

Chapter Text

With the trunks piled in her room, her solitude secured, Yvonne hurriedly removed her boots and went to the cage of Dr Johnson. He chirped in excitement, hopping along the perch to greet her, she beckoning for him to come closer to the opening. Unlatching the door, he took flight, flurrying around her, elatedly. She too was pleased in their reconvening, boasting to him the time that she had spent in Oxford. Whilst she did so, she retrieved a book from one of the trunks and clambered onto the bed, her back resting against the mahogany board. Dr Johnson descended beside her, bouncing along the wood. Hereafter, he came to a halt, his head tilting sideways as he watched her peruse the book. The cockatiel chirped at her as she stared down at the pages in silence.

At the noise, she began to read aloud, the act encouraging him to perch on her shoulder, leaning forward to stare curiously at the book. Reaching upward, she gently stroked his head, one finger running affectionately along his feathers. He responded by leaning toward her, though this did not satisfy him, and he swooped across onto her chest, where he settled himself against her. With one hand nestling the bird, the other holding the book, she continued to read, but his occasional chirping displeased her, as she was required to pause whenever he did. She glared down at him.

“I cannot read to you if you insist on talking!” she remarked.

Dr Johnson fell silent, enabling her to continue. The book she had endeavoured to read was Disquisitiones Arithmeticae (97), a text that was encouraged at any creditable university. Over the years, she had educated herself in the same rigorous and methodical manner as men, as if she had engaged in the same schooling. She did not wish to know less than them; in truth, she aimed to know more, and she had accomplished such a feat over the years through a mixture of self-learning and the sporadic teachings that the men she knew had been willing to give. Similarly, she had ventured to travel across Europe as a young woman in the sole understanding that she enacted her own Grand Tour (98). She wished to know what was so fascinating about the world beyond, so beyond she had gone, and she had never wished to return, though duty had inevitably induced her to.

Despite all that had passed in the years gone by, Yvonne had not forsaken her studying, yet she recognised that she was now distracted and closed the book with a thump, which caused Dr Johnson to chirrup in annoyance. He recognised what was to come.

“My apologies, Samuel, but I cannot sit all day. There are still plenty of hours in which to occupy oneself.”

She ushered him into the cage, where she promised to remove him once evening came. He appeared to understand the routine, lowering his head to be kissed, and returning to his previous position on the perch, where he rocked it back and forth in amusement.

Strolling downstairs, Yvonne happened upon Penny, who was prancing between the short passage from the gardens to the library. She was murmuring some faint tune, a handful of flowers swinging in her grasp. Often, she would press flowers that she had collected from the grounds, flattening them within the vast display of books that were stored around the manor, or she would snatch the lovingly grown herbs from the kitchens so she could dry and hang them wherever she thought them pleasing to the eye. It was in this fancy that Yvonne found her, trusting that another one of her pages would soon be stained by the present assortment that was being thrust back and forth in the air.

“Penny!”

The girl turned on her heel, exclaiming in delight, before darting towards her. She collided into her sister, her arms wrapping tightly around her. “Yvonne!”

The woman in question stared fondly down at her dishevelled and dirt-strewn sister. “How have you been?”

Penny stared up at her, her rounded chin jutting into Yvonne’s chest as she did so.

“You know I do not like being left with mother,” she reprimanded, though her scowl soon adjusted into a grin. “But she was rather subdued for once. She has barely come out of her room. I have been talking with friends and have sent them letters- you know, some people that I met at the dance... And I have taken to singing lessons!”

Yvonne raised her brow.

“You sing already.”

“But I do not have much structure!” she contended. “The last time I was formally instructed was when I was eight.”

“And whose fault is that?” she remarked, her voice rising. “You refused to do as you were told.”

Penny was impervious to this rebuke.

“Well, I think I would like to take it up again,” she decided with great resolution.

“I shall not pay!”

Penny smiled up at her. “No need. I have found a teacher who shall teach me for free.”

Yvonne snorted. “They must be brave.”

Penny sighed with an air of endearment. As she did, she turned her head to press it affectionately against Yvonne’s chest. “Oh, they are!”

This conduct was not considered strange. Penny had always been whimsical; this was not unordinary for her. Resultantly, Yvonne did not think any further into her speech, despite it striking her as odd. Yet, it did not matter whether she did, for Penny was staring up at her once more, her rounded face peering delightedly at her.

“How silly of me to forget,” she chuckled. “How is Bonnie?”

Yvonne’s countenance brightened at the question.

“She is very well!” she affirmed. “Employing Cornelius was the right decision; he certainly cheered her and she is almost completely different from when you saw her last. I think she has been given hope.”

“That is comforting to hear. She was rather low for a while and I was unsure whether we could be of any assistance to her, but it seems she is returning to her livelier self.” Penny paused, a thought occurring to her, and she questioned- “What of the bath in Droitwich Spa (99)? It has recently opened; the papers say it is incredibly relaxing. I do not know if it equals Bath but it is certainly worth the consideration.”

“By all means, it is worth noting.” Yvonne peered down at her watch, murmuring- “Ah, I am too late.” She sighed, dispiritedly. “I was supposed to travel to town; now, I shall have to wait until the morning.”

Penny jolted her as she sprung upward. “I shall come with you!”

“I am visiting the factory,” she informed her.

“Well, I am not planning to go with you all the way,” Penny laughed, as if this were apparent. “I am meeting with friends and it would be nice to travel with you, now that you are home. You can leave me at the meeting place and I can wait for them there.”

Pondering on the proposal, she uttered- “Do not bother; you may keep the carriage. I will walk the rest of the way. I am not leaving you without a way to return home. Let me know what time you are departing, so I shall be prepared.”

Before Penny could respond, the footman approached, announcing that a Mr Dunce had arrived and wished to speak with her. Brows rising, she returned her attention to Penny, her voice lowering.

“I suppose he does not appreciate my lack of response.”

Standing on her toes, Penny’s smile widened, relishing in this open contempt. “You know the Dunces are not used to waiting, particularly on women. You must have made them irate.”

Yvonne emitted a short, clamorous laugh. “Good, let them be! It makes for irrational thinking and if I can convince them into accepting my offer, that will be of benefit to me. They do not seem the type to engage in rational thinking ordinarily, so it will not be too hard to rile them.”

Releasing her, Penny stepped back. Despite her earlier smile, there was a gravity to her countenance.

“Be careful, Yvonne,” she petitioned, adding, candidly- “I would wish you luck but you never need it.”

With a small smile, she turned and retraced her steps towards the library, the assemblage of flowers still in her grasp, though they were slightly trodden where she had pressed them against the eldest’s back. Yvonne watched her leave, aware that the footman was awaiting her response. Instead, her attention was drawn to the metal beneath her shirt, though she refrained from touching the locket; she was still in company.

Yvonne believed her sister to be incorrect. Certainly, she required good fortune. Not in business but, rather, in another matter entirely. She could hardly say the word; it was both a condemnation and a confirmation, and she eschewed from either. Peering over her shoulder, she requested that her guest be brought to the study. The aversion that she tended to experience, upon hearing his name, was absent. In truth, she relished the distraction- this was simply one way to occupy her mind with a subject that was not her neighbour. It was for this reason that he was welcomed into the manor. Kenneth Dunce should have savoured this greeting; he did not realise that it would not occur a second time.

Upon arriving in the study, it was evident that the manufacturer did not appreciate the warm welcome- he hardly registered that it had occurred- but stared bitterly at her. There was no attempt at a bow nor any other means of decorum. Rather, his first words were-

“You did not say that you were leaving for Oxford.”

Amused, Yvonne sat on the edge of her desk, her arms folding.

“I did not realise that you were to be informed of my comings and goings,” she remarked with a smirk. “Are you conspiring with my mother, Mister Dunce? I cannot see any other reason for it to be any of your business.”

He became impassioned. “I wrote to you before you left, to which you were clearly disinclined to answer. My brother and I would have preferred to have received your response before you travelled outside of the county.”

“I did not realise that your trade rested so precariously upon my immediate answer. If so, I would have taken the precautions necessary to tell you that we still do not have a deal. It is of no consequence to me whether you receive my answer then or now, for it remains the same, and I did mention, within our last meeting, that this would be the case if you continually refuse to meet my demands.”

“Our offer was much more reasonably priced,” he contended.

She held out her arms to gesture openly at him, her expression indifferent. “For you.”

He was astonished at this motion. “For- for all parties.”

“I find that difficult to believe, Mister Dunce,” she admitted, her brow furrowing, “as I calculated my price thoroughly and fairly. I have offered you a price that is expected for the deal that we are making, and your insistence upon a lower cost merely serves to offend me. You mean to cheat me out of my money.”

“That is not the case, ma’am,” he disputed, his voice rising in protest. “The price was far too high for the deal!” Composing himself, he attempted another route in which to reason with her, though his patronising tone undermined the effort. “As you are new to the industry, it may be understandable that you believed the deal to be fair, but I can assure you...”

“I was not the sole person involved in writing the deal, Mister Dunce, so I suggest you tread carefully,” she warned him. “I have had three other persons review my deal and deem it satisfactory and quite reasonable for what I am asking. Surely, we have not all made a grave mistake? Perhaps you wish to tell these men yourself, especially as they have had years of experience in the lace industry, in business, and in law. They must know immediately that you deem their services and calculations to be unfit for your company, and that they have made a grievous error.”

Abashed, he muttered: “That will not be necessary.”

Yvonne could not offer any other solution than the one she had already given, for there was no other price for the materials that she was trading. “We have already discussed the difference in price, how and why it has been calculated, and I have outlined that I shall not be dealing in calico. That is a waste of my time, so you may choose which quantity you prefer, or you may decide that you shall not alternate from calico to muslin and therefore, there is no deal. Either way, my offer shall not alter. I wish to deal in products of the highest quality, even if muslin is hard to come by nowadays (100), and I shall not convert to any other material. It is worth the higher cost. So, you see, those are the sole options I have. If that is not suitable, I am sorry to say, Mister Dunce, we shall not make for great associates in business. There is hardly anything we need from one another.

“If you are uncertain of your options, you may take the time to discuss it with Martin. You can inform me in a week’s time of your decision, so we may progress past this exasperating stage to one of more interesting developments. Naturally, it would have been beneficial to have trading associates that are local and known to me, but I have no qualms in sourcing them elsewhere if you cannot adhere to the rules of fairness and equanimity.”

Kenneth scowled. “My brother is not a man to be played with, Miss Davers. He shall be very unhappy to hear that you have refused his deal. I cannot speak at what lengths he will go to in order to ensure that it occurs.”

She raised a brow. “Is that a threat?” Yvonne paused to laugh, for she was genuinely amused. “If so, it is a rather weak one. If your brother had half the nerve you speak of, he would come and speak to me face-to-face, but as it is, I am stuck with you.”

“That was not a threat,” he hurried to say. “I was merely suggesting...”

“Good,” she interrupted. Standing, she slapped him heartily between the shoulder blades, a motion that caused him to yelp. “I knew you would not be so impudent as to do such a thing. As for your letters, I will not accept any lower offers. If I receive one, I shall throw it in the fire with the other request you sent me.”

He grimaced, though he did not respond further. Placing his hat upon his head, he wished her a good day, marching out of the room and following the footman out of the manor. Despite the nature of the discussion, Yvonne was light-hearted, pleased to have returned to a subject that she knew well, one that never failed to provide a suitable and solid answer. She closed the door behind her visitor, revelling in the quiet that followed, and sat at her desk. There was a pile of papers that awaited her but this was not a sight that perturbed her; rather, she was delighted. Placing her spectacles on the bridge of her nose, she took heartily to the task and did not remove her attention till the bell rang for supper.

Chapter Notations

97. Disquisitiones Arithmeticae by Carl Friedrich Gauss was published in 1801 as a textbook for number theory.

98. The Grand Tour was a 17th to 19th Century custom by upper-class men, as well as gentlemen of rank, where they would travel across the continent once they were of age (during this time, twenty-one years of age would have been considered appropriate). This could last between several months to several years, and was usually undertaken with a chaperone and a knowledgeable guide/tutor. This was not solely an English custom but a European one.

99. Droitwich Spa became known as a spa town in its own right when it opened its brine baths. Unlike the other towns, who encouraged visitors to drink the water for medicinal benefits, the baths in Droitwich were for swimming in, which brought muscular relaxation and relief, due to the high levels of salt in the water. Besides Bath, the spa water was considered the warmest in the UK. These baths have since closed.

100. Whilst the East India Company was stationed and operating in the Indian subcontinent, they were unable to compete with the muslin industry that already existed there. They attempted to supress their competitors through legislation and, as a result, the Indian-owned muslin industry began a period of decline, which also caused the production and quality to decline as the years passed. This legislation continued throughout the rule of the Company and the British Crown.

Chapter Text

Upon hearing a muffled assent, Penny opened the door, closing it resolutely behind her. The small, cell-like room was brightly lit since the last time she had entered, this lightness accounted for by the drawn-back curtains, the sharp, autumnal sunlight that streamed through the glass pane. Paulette was staring out of the window when the girl entered, but she peered over her shoulder when hearing the closing of the door.

Her tan complexion still held the remnants of paleness, the last physical indication of her illness, though the mental effects were certainly more enduring. Penny had assumed the imperious expression that was often viewed upon the maid’s features would start to lessen as the weeks passed, now that she was no longer burdened with a secret, but, to the contrary, Paulette had become contemptuous to an even further degree. This demeanour was the one that greeted her as she stared across, though the girl was hopeful that she could assist her, nevertheless.

“Bonjour, Paulette.” She bowed her head in greeting. “J’espère que tu vas bien (101)?”

Paulette signified her improving English by responding- “Yes, Mademoiselle; I am well.”

There was no indication that she wished to speak further, but there was a weight that had settled upon Penny’s chest, one that could also be felt in her mind, and she wished to relieve it where possible.

“Je sais que vous avez voyagé avec Yvonne à Oxford. Le voyage vous a-t-il bouleversé ? Aurez-vous besoin de repos (102)?”

Paulette stared down at her with a sour curl of her lip.

“No, Mademoiselle.” She proceeded in her native language. “J'ai dit que je vais bien et je le pense sincèrement. Je ne peux plus me permettre de me reposer. Mademoiselle Davers est impatiente que je reprenne mes fonctions et je ne refuserai pas (103).”

Wringing her hands together, Penny recognised that she was broaching upon a sensitive subject, but she could not prevent herself from contending, her imitation of the French accent barely lessening, even in her hurry to speak.

“Si tu t'inquiètes de savoir si tu peux rester ici, je peux t'engager comme bonne et Yvonne peut demander à Margaret de l'aider. Du moins, jusqu'à ce que tu ailles mieux. Vous n'aurez pas à expliquer pourquoi; je m'occuperai de ma soeur.” When she was met with a dispassionate silence, she decided to add- “Je suis prêt à le faire; Je n'ai pas autant besoin d'une bonne qu'elle. Vous pouvez prendre du repos périodique. Je ne veux pas vous précipiter pour retourner au travail; Le docteur Kensley a demandé que vous restiez au lit autant que possible. On peut vous accorder quelques semaines de plus, si c'est ce dont vous avez besoin (104).”

Despite the politeness of her words, Paulette spoke irritably, disdainfully. “Veuillez respecter mes souhaits, Mademoiselle (105).”

It was evident that they were not to discuss the incident that had occurred four weeks prior, nor was Paulette to deviate from the initial position that she had been granted. There was a sentiment in her gaze that revealed it would have been an offence to her to serve the youngest Miss Davers, despite her assistance, for the eldest not only heralded more authority but was widely known and respected, a stark comparison to the youngest, who was hardly out to society. This pretension was not wholly unnoticed by Penny, who felt the insult deeply. Despite the eldest’s commanding nature, Paulette had formed a preference for serving the gentlewoman, and she would not be viewed attending to anyone else; it would be seen as a slight. To serve a younger gentlewoman, though respectable, was a demotion, nonetheless, and she refused to partake in such a scheme, even for her own health.

Although she had recognised this apathy, Penny stared amiably across at the maid, her voice revealing her earnestness. “Et vous me ferez savoir si vous avez besoin de quoi que ce soit ? Aucune dépense ne sera épargnée, Paulette. Je ne veux pas que tu sentes que tu n'es pas la bienvenue ici (106).”

Paulette stared out of the window. “J'apprécie votre gentillesse, Mademoiselle Davers, mais je ne peux rien demander de plus (107).”

Not wishing to distress her, Penny decided to alter the discussion to one of a lighter note. She could sense that she had offended the young woman, though she was unsure how, as she had considered the offer in great depth and thought it to be a just one, as well as kind. The reaction to the proposal had struck her, noting that, perhaps, she had been incorrect to offer her generosity. Yet, determined to be of assistance, she had already discerned how she could be of use in another way, if she were not to accept the new position.

She stated, encouragingly: “Votre anglais avance bien, Paulette. Je vois que vous avez appris quelques mots de Mme Prescott. Si vous avez besoin de cours formels, je serais heureux de vous aider. Apprendre l'anglais peut vous permettre de subvenir à vos besoins, surtout si vous sentez que vous ne voulez pas rester avec nous à l'avenir (108).”

There was no other response than a brief curtsey. Curtly, she said: “Thank you, Mademoiselle.”

Penny remained where she stood, the reticence enveloping her in a deep sense of unease. After the experience that they had shared together, the thought that the maid was alone in a foreign country had troubled her, particularly when she was placed in such a precarious position. Surely, there was every need for a friend, certain that the offer would be readily accepted. She now discovered that this was not the case. Staring ahead, she traced the sharp cheekbones, the elongated neck, the blonde hair, and the indifferent expression upon the maid’s face, and almost believed she was looking at Yvonne. They were more alike than either were capable of realising.

Her cheeks flushed at the thought, which merely served to grieve her, though this sentiment did not provoke any harsh feeling towards the woman standing before her; rather, she felt harshly towards herself. Curtseying, she uttered, lowly-

“Then I shall leave you be. Good day, Paulette.”

Paulette bowed her head in recognition, though she did not respond further. Hurriedly, Penny departed, continuing this brisk pace through the manor until she reached her bedroom. Thereupon, she flung herself onto the bed, staring dejectedly upwards at the ceiling. It was unfathomable to her why others often rejected her attempts at friendship, particularly when she had not wronged them in any way. The consequence was that she had come to question, each time, if it was her mistake, for the common denominator was always her, though she could not discern the precise blunder that she had made; surely, being kind could never be wrong. She stared distractedly at the canopy above, fervently searching for the answer.

Instead, she was reminded of her various attempts, throughout the years, to form a close bond with her sister and mother, a sudden deluge of anguish arising within her. She endeavoured to prevent it but wept bitterly, the realisation that she had resorted to tears causing her to weep further. Penny preferred not to cry; she rarely did, but she could not prevent it when she was profoundly hurt, or when she was at the height of indignation. At present, she was the former, but she could sense the latter dwelling further below, a force so palpable that she could not dismiss it. Neither lessened and so, she continued to wail, knowing she would not finish until her energy was spent. Undoubtedly, she would be there awhile.

Chapter Notations

101. Translation: Good morning, Paulette. I hope you are well?

102. Translation: I know that you travelled with Yvonne to Oxford. Did the journey upset you? Will you need some rest?

103. Translation: I said I am well and I mean it, truly. I cannot afford to take any more rest. Miss Davers is impatient for me to return to my duties and I shall not refuse.

104. Translation: If you are concerned about whether you are able to remain here, I can hire you as my maid and Yvonne can have Margaret assist her. At least, until you are better. You will not have to explain why; I shall handle my sister.// I am willing to do that; I do not need a maid as much as she does. You may take periodic rest. I do not want to rush you into returning to work; Doctor Kensley requested that you have as much bed rest as possible. You may be granted a few more weeks, if that is what you need.

105. Translation: Please respect my wishes, Miss.

106. Translation: And you shall let me know if you require anything? No expense will be spared, Paulette. I do not want you to feel that you are unwelcome here.

107. I appreciate your kindness, Miss Davers, but I cannot ask for anything more.

108. Translation: Your English is coming along nicely, Paulette. I see you have learnt a couple of words from Madame Prescott. If you need formal lessons, I would be happy to help. Learning English may enable you to support yourself, especially if you feel that you do not want to remain with us in the future.

Chapter Text

“I am passing through town and may purchase some items whilst I am there. Is there anything that you are in need of?”

Penny stared across to the other side of the carriage, where her sister was staring ardently out of the window, arms crossed. She did not appear to be looking at anything in particular, though it took her a moment to respond.

“Not particularly, no,” she mused. “I think I may need some new stockings, but it is not urgent.”

“I can acquire some,” Penny insisted. “It need not matter. I might as well be of use. Is there anything else that you require?”

“I need to send for a new journal to be bound, hopefully for the beginning of next year so I may take it with me whilst I am travelling. I may purchase some new boots and a spyglass too, but I have yet to decide.”

Penny was silent for a moment, although she could not prevent herself from broaching the subject. “Are you travelling with Bonnie?”

“Yes, we were planning to travel together,” was the nonchalant answer.

The customary warmth that often accompanied any mention of their neighbour was absent; Yvonne did not appear enthused by the idea, despite being the one to invite Miss Donoghue. Neither the revelation of their travelling nor her sister’s indifference comforted Penny, who continued to sit in arduous silence. Her disappointment in remaining at the Park was her burden alone to bear and this overwhelming sentiment wrestled exhaustingly with the happiness she felt for Yvonne, knowing how desperately her sister had wished for a companion. Hereafter, her grace overcame all and she attempted a smile in the eldest’s direction.

“I am pleased for you, Yvonne,” she uttered, gently. “Sincerely. You two have formed a close bond with each other, and it is a connection that you have desperately needed. I am pleased that you have been gifted with such a friendship. They are not easy to come by.”

“No, they are not,” Yvonne proclaimed, adding, as an afterthought- “Thank you, Penny; I appreciate your approval in the matter.” It appeared as if she had concluded all she had to say, but she glanced across at the young woman before her, noting her discomposure. Conscious that it was a sensitive subject, she wished to lessen her disquiet in any way, although she was unsure as to whether she could. “You have also found a friend in Miss Donoghue. I have seen you two together and I am pleased that you have found someone who you can talk to. I know it has not been easy for you to find friends in this town, but I think your luck is turning. You also have your friends, who you are meeting...”

Pausing, she realised that she did not know who Penny was supposed to be meeting. She waved her hand to gesture that Penny explain herself.

“Erm... Miss Leong and Miss Palmer.”

“Oh, them.” Yvonne hesitated in her aversion, though she recognised that it was not the appropriate time to discuss the friendships her sister had cultivated. She could not prevent herself, however, from emitting a jibe at their expense. “I think we Davers could do a little better than the cousins of the Mounts, but no matter. Miss Palmer- she is the only daughter of the Palmers at Elstow? The ball was the first time I have spoken to them in quite some time. It must be six years now. She was only a child when I saw her last. She has matured quite admirably; Miss Palmer was remarkably polite.”

One mark of approval was better than none and Penny cheered. “Yes, well, they are whom I am meeting. The Mounts are not much interested in speaking to me, not Henrietta anyway.” With a degree of animosity, she stated- “She has always been a prig! I do not care for her one ounce! Poor Euphemia; I hardly know how she can cope with such a sister, but Miss Leong has been good to me. She did ask Euphemia to join us, but her poor arm was twisted by Henrietta, who says they shall make their usual rounds instead.”

With an equal amount of disdain, Yvonne crossed her arms tighter. “Bonnie is among those rounds, I am sure.”

“Bonnie does not much like Henrietta, though she says she is a lark,” Penny chatted, good-humouredly. “She laughs at her often, I believe. I think she has acquainted herself with the Misses Mounts solely for friendship. Once she has become better known within the community, I hardly think she shall need them. As it is, they know a lot of people in the county, who will make for good connections. I do not blame Bonnie for speaking to them. If only Henrietta would be so kind as to share her friends.”

“I suppose if you like that sort of company,” Yvonne remarked. “Bonnie does not have to be acquainted with anybody, if she does not wish to be.”

Penny glowered, her answer provided in a sharp retort. “Some people cannot afford the luxury of choosing their friends, Yvonne. They must be satisfied with what they have.”

Yvonne tutted lightly, her gaze directed out of the window. “That is no life for me.”

“Yes, you have made that quite clear!”

Staring down into her lap, Penny felt her hands tremble, tears welling as they had the day before. Ordinarily, she would have been unaffected, but the wound was fresh and it could not bear another injury, merely causing her woundedness to broaden further. She frenziedly wiped the tears that threatened to fall, her head remaining lowered so that her sister could not detect them. Nevertheless, Yvonne knew when she was hurt, as she had viewed her in the same condition numerous times before, although it was usually their mother that had caused such an effect, not her. The sullen gaze, the trembling lip, and the lowered head was all the indication she needed to know that she had caused her distress.

She stared out of the window, equally sullen, though she sensed that she was likewise irritated. This emotion was not directed at the girl before her, but at herself. Yvonne had maintained an impeccable sense of mastery in the last several years, particularly when she was abroad; yet, this sentiment could not be extended to her home, for every time she returned, the illusion was swept away entirely, as if it were a rock settled precariously on the edge of a cliff, one that had crumbled beneath her, causing her to tumble down the steep bank into the shifting ocean that lay below, its waves disorienting her senses and carrying her far from the security that she thought she had discovered.

She recognised the same turmoil within Penny and she berated herself. Despite knowing how deeply her sister suffered, she had adopted the barbarous veneer of their mother, rather than displaying the kindness she knew she needed. The thought was shameful to her. Inhaling deeply, she loosened her arms, her gaze softening as she glanced across at her sister, the remorse she felt visible in her eyes.

“If you wish to invite Miss Palmer and Miss Leong to tea, you may.” Observing that Penny peered upward, astonished at this offer, she persisted. “I should like to see them as regular visitors, if that is what you wish.” Despite her offer, she thought it necessary to explicitly outline who was welcome in her home. Even when the instructions were clear, Penny did not adhere to them. “Miss Euphemia may be counted among them, but if I see Henrietta more than once, I shall have to refuse them entry.”

Penny sniffed, due to the mucus that she had collected whilst weeping, but she did so haughtily, which also served its purpose in expressing her feelings on the matter. “You would assume then that she is invited, which is the wrong assumption to make. I would rather sit at home alone.”

Amused, Yvonne repressed the smile that had begun to arise, not wishing to encourage the girl any further. For all of their disagreements, they were remarkably similar, and she watched her sister with an air of merriment, whilst the young woman dabbed conceitedly at her face, forcefully emptying her nose into the cloth a moment later. She did not display her customary vivacity but remained silent, though the easing of her tears was a comfort to Yvonne, and they continued the journey in contemplative reticence, both pondering on where they were headed once the carriage came to a halt, though neither shared their thoughts with the other. They did not believe that their companion would care for it. Thus, no sentiment was expressed between them, they continuing their journey in silence.

Yvonne climbed out of the carriage not far from the path that led into town. There was a nearby route that directed her towards the unoccupied factory and she planned to complete the remainder of the journey on foot. Penny insisted that they escort her there before circling back to the path, but Yvonne did not want to inconvenience her, contending that she would take pleasure in the short walk. The youngest conceded, reluctantly, though she did not appear content with the outcome.

Before the carriage departed, Yvonne inquired into whether Penny was well, whether she would be content on her own. Her sister arched her gaze in response, the hazel hue maintaining a tinge of red where she had cried, and stated that she was perfectly capable of venturing into town with her friends. The remark was accepted and Yvonne watched the carriage until it had disappeared from view, as though her attentive eye could prevent the vehicle and its occupant from coming to harm. Once alone, she turned on her heel and followed the path towards the factory, her spirits rising when the building came into view.

The textile mill was a three-storied building, each floor heralding rows of symmetrical casement windows. Both Ingham and Draper awaited her at the black-painted door, the one that had been built squarely in the centre, they both straightening their posture and falling silent upon her arrival. They bowed their heads when she was within speaking distance, promptly addressing her out of courtesy. She returned the gesture to them both. There was little time wasted in reverting to the subject of business, for Ingham informed her immediately that they had discovered a foreman who was willing to work at the factory.

“That is promising,” she approved. “His credentials are in order, I assume?”

“Naturally ma’am,” Draper nodded. “He worked for another textile mill in Lancashire but had to relocate after it was closed. The majority migrated to York and Liverpool, so he thought it worth travelling further down, closer to London. They say there is always space in London...” He muttered, darkly- “Though that is all that is promised.” His voice returned to its pragmatic tone, though his features had not entirely lightened. “We sent a request for a letter of recommendation from his last employer, and the letter itself was forthcoming in praise. It appears that many of the workers were replaced with machines, and the owner decided to simply rebuild his primary mill to a larger size, so that he does not have to travel between the two. The smaller one was closed, as a result. That is the sole reason Mister Florek is unemployed, you see. We cannot determine any reason to refuse him, if that is the case. By-the-bye, he is more than competent.”

“Then I shall meet him myself. If he is as you say, we can formalise an agreement with him.”

Having gained her approval on the matter, Ingham questioned if she wished to view the inside of the factory, as it had been emptied of its contents and was ready to be furnished with the equipment needed. She assented, as it was her sole reason for visiting, delighted to observe the changes that had occurred since she had last inspected it.

Allowing her to enter first, she stepped through into the empty space, no decoration remaining but the limestone walls and swept floor. Ingham invited her to the foreman’s office at the far end of the room, which could be reached by a small set of stone steps. Thereafter, he presented her with the drawn layout of the mill for each floor, the papers already arranged neatly upon the desk. He pointed to each area, the markings that had been etched in pen.

“This will be for spinning, ma’am, and this, here, is the mill yard. Here will be the bobbin room, which will be for the women who can finish the designs to the standard expected (109). As you can see, the foreman will be able to watch your employees from the office.” He nodded towards the large bay windows that stretched across the wall beside them, the one that connected to the main centre of the mill. “That means he can see who comes and goes throughout the day. The window on this other side looks out over the path.”

She peered through the glass, pleased to discern that, as stated, the outside path could be viewed ahead.

“How many workers will it hold?” she questioned, returning her attention to the two men.

“I think you could stretch to three hundred, ma’am,” Draper informed her. “That could easily be done in a building of this size. It would also bring a rise in employment here in Bedford; I am sure you would have no difficulties in finding people to work for you. With the turmoil that has arisen recently (110), people are desperate to be hired.”

With a smile, she stated: “Then we ought to have this place furnished, as quickly as possible. We would not want to keep anyone waiting.”

They bowed their heads in unison, uttering- “Yes, ma’am.”

A thought struck her as she returned her gaze to the greenery outside. “And what of the workers? Some do not originate from Bedford or they do not live close to the factory. We must think seriously upon creating a small area in which housing will be implemented, else the workers shall not live close enough to work here (111).”

“You would like to have some cottages built, ma’am?” Ingham struggled to conceive the cost of such an operation.

“Not some, Ingham,” she frowned, questioning his mathematical ability. “Draper has said, has he not, that this factory can house three hundred workers?”

Draper swiftly clarified and interjected with a- “Yes, ma’am.”

“Then we would require a little more than some cottages. We would need a village, one that would be pleasing enough to encourage workers to live and work here.”

“That would be quite the expense,” Ingham informed her, worriedly. “And it would prolong the opening of your factory.”

Yvonne stared across at him, aloof. “There will be no factory if the workers are unable to travel.”

Ingham bowed his head in apology, accepting her reasoning, despite his continuing concern for the cost of this new enterprise. “Certainly. I can arrange for a proposal to be drafted, unless you would prefer to design them yourself, ma’am?”

Musing upon the subject, she decided she would, stating so to the men before her. It was not a task that she would customarily undergo, but the thought of constructing her own village was rousing and she wished to attempt such a feat. Having viewed the factory, her spirits had lifted; all was arranged and precisely as she had hoped. Surely, she was capable of furthering her ambitions to the construction of a village. It seemed improbable that she should fail now.

Yves Zachary had been chosen as the solicitor to the Davers family solely on the premise that he had the same name as Yvonne, or, rather, the equivalent of, and she believed that a man who heralded the same name as her was a man to be trusted. He was small, thin, and sprightly, his hair having greyed completely, though his ostentatious demeanour never lessened, despite his age. This display of pretension, as he stared up at her, she allowed, since his counsel had never failed her and his reputation, among all clients, remained unblemished, despite the years he had served in court.

“Was it well-received?” he questioned.

“Not at all,” she reported. “On the contrary, he refused.”

Zachary pursed his lips, irate that his offer had been considered unworthy. He did not wish to inquire too deeply, though he sensed it was not a personal affront to him but, rather, to her. If the Dunces were to be difficult, he wished to know the precise nature of these deals, including her personal ambition when it came to the contract.

He peered across at the upright figure of Miss Davers, the way she sat steadfast in the chair, her long arm stretching outward whilst her hand rested atop the slim black cane. It occurred to him that she would not appreciate his line of questioning, but he would rather inquire than proceed with an insufficient understanding of the situation.

“And what is your aim when it comes to the Dunces?”

Yvonne appeared perplexed, as though the answer was apparent.

“Why, to simply have them pay fairly for the deals that they are making! They protest against my unfairness, and yet, I can hardly conduct myself any other way, not unless I was to be paid less for no other reason than the fact they wish to undermine me. There is no trick here.”

“Naturally, Miss Davers; I would never suggest that was the case. I merely wish to inquire as to whether you had any further reason to pursue this price?”

“Need there be any other reason?” she questioned, her brow furrowing. “Other than the fact it is the fair price for the materials I am selling?”

“I suppose not,” he mused.

“If they continue to undermine me, there will be no deal,” she stipulated. “It shall not trouble me either way. Perhaps I am a little difficult in that, if they do not agree to the price, I shall refuse to renew our contract when it comes to the farms and all that they source there, but I do not wish to be associated with such knavery. They either submit or allow themselves to be defeated. It is no different from how they wish to treat me. Besides, I shall not be intimidated nor forced to overlook the profits they have made off of the back of extortion, although they think I cannot prove it. I shall not let them know I have the upper-hand in this circumstance. I know they have used my plants for other purposes than they stipulated. Certainly, it is a violation of contract but I am willing to forgo any reparation, so long as they pay me fairly when it comes to my lace. Despite this, they will do all they can to discredit me.”

“I urge you to be careful, Miss Davers,” the solicitor warned. “You do not have to submit but Martin Dunce has a reputation as an opportunist and an intimidator. The other, well, he hardly has the wit for business but he can certainly be disagreeable when provoked. It is unsurprising that they are trying to lower the price, and that they have been dishonest merely to save a little money. Undoubtedly, they will do all they can to undermine you here too.

“There is no reason that you should be speaking to Kenneth. They are both wasting your time by sending him and he will merely repeat all that he has said before. You must speak directly to Martin; he is the organ-grinder, is he not? He has a monopoly over the industry here. There are not many who could equal or best him, but you are one of those people, Miss Davers, and he knows it. This is the exact reason he has refused to meet your demands. However, I believe you may take the opportunity to remind him precisely who you are and why you are his most formidable competitor. He shall soon cower and reveal his hand. Then, we may speak again regarding the terms in which we can proceed, legally-speaking.”

Yvonne could not prevent the smirk that arose, her fingers curling gently over the handle of her cane. “Excellent. That is what I wish to hear, Mister Zachary. You certainly know how to flatter a woman.”

Zachary returned the smile with a vanity of his own, his monocle gleaming sharply from the candlelight upon his desk. “Thank you, Miss Davers. I try.”

Chapter Notations

109. At this point in time, lace was known as a cottage industry, as the material was sent to the cottages of the workers so that they could produce the lace at home, which was a cheaper cost than owning a textile mill. However, with the introduction of machines, this industry declined and was, instead, primarily produced in a factory. Despite this, the leavers machine was incapable of producing some of the intricate designs added into the lace, which meant that half of the work had to be completed by hand. It wasn’t until the year 1841 that machines were capable of producing this pattern.

110. For context, refer to the endnotes of Chapter 15 and 28 regarding the Poor Law and the Swing Riots.

111. Such villages came to be known as a ‘model village’. Characteristically, they were a self-contained community built by landowners to house their workers. Some landowners during the Georgian Era provided poor housing, a complaint that was raised during the Swing Riots, but there were also landowners who provided high-quality accommodation with a small range of amenities.

Chapter Text

In the faint flickering of candlelight, the water glistened, its dark depths in the cast-iron tub swirling the light into a gentle halo that rested serenely atop the water, lapping quietly and softly with the waves that travelled across the surface. This warm glow settled upon the young woman sitting in the bath, though it offered her no warmth, the mass of dark, copper hair that tumbled down her back reflecting burgundy in the dusky light. The ringlets had formed themselves into a long entanglement of sodden hair but she did not appear to notice. Her knees had been brought to her chest, her neck arched, so that her head could rest pensively atop them. She stared solemnly ahead, her distraction hindered by the calling of her name.

At the sound, she sat upward, viewing a flash of china, and she arched her head backward to allow the warm water to pour carefully and smoothly down her back, her forehead and hair catching the stream first. She let it pour through the strands, listening to the trickle of water as it submerged with the small pool that surrounded her.

Penny smiled, her fingers brushing along her scalp, flattening her hair as well as she could, before wrapping her arms back around her knees. She stared affectionately up at the woman before her, who had placed down the pitcher and was consequently drying her hands on her apron.

“You are too kind to me,” she told her.

Margaret smiled, though it was a motion of disbelief, she continuing to stare down at her hands that were enfolded in the cloth. “I must remind you, once again, Miss Davers, that I am simply following orders.”

“But you always do it so well.” She peered up at the maid, noticing how rigidly she stood to the side. “I did ask for you to sit. If you do not, I shall have to order you. And do not think your disobedience has passed unnoticed! I asked for you to call me Penny, did I not?”

The maid was hesitant, despite the warnings of her employer. “Do you not want time alone? You have been socialising all day with your friends and with... with Mister Deering.”

Margaret’s smile faltered. Anxious that this would be perceived, she hastened to sit upon the stool, staring down at her lap. Penny reached across and took hold of her hand, unconcerned for the water she discarded over Margaret and her apron.

“You will love Gregory; I know you shall!” she beamed. “I love him and I love you, so it is natural then for you two to love each other.”

“You love him?” Margaret exclaimed. “Why, Miss Davers, it is too early to decide on such matters...”

Penny giggled. “I love everyone, whole-heartedly, all those who are dear to me. I am not speaking of the sort of love that leads into marriage or any other type of passion.” She paused, staring into the darkness with a soft smile before adding- “Although, I think I could love him that way. One day.” She glanced askance at her companion, discerning her sullen expression, giggling once more and tugging at her hand. “But I love you both equally. If I love him more then that simply means I shall love you more too.”

“That is not how love is supposed to work.”

“It is how I love, so it must be.”

Penny lowered onto her back, resting her head against the tub. The water lapped gently against her chest, both of her arms dangling idly over each side of the tub. With the hand in which she held Margaret, she ardently pressed her fingers, the gesture encouraging the maid to look upward.

Watching her, the tenderness in her gaze never once lessening, Penny uttered- “My dearest Maisie, Maisie Mine, what must I do to make you happy?”

“I wish you would bathe and behave yourself,” was the irritable response.

Penny snickered once more. “I am! I always do what you ask.”

Margaret stared at her, as if to contend, but she lowered her gaze to stare at the side of the tub.

“What else did you speak about today? With the girls and your soldier?”

Her attempt to alter the discussion did not pass unnoticed, but Penny had endured a bout of fervent contemplation since her jaunt to town and she felt she must express it. She knew her family did not care to hear her thoughts on the matter- they would ardently refute them- but she trusted that Margaret would listen, regardless of whether she agreed, and that was an outcome more adequate to her.

“Half of the regiment have travelled further south towards Kent,” Penny informed her, her good-humour receding. “That is why they were here- to prepare for any disturbances. They had assumed there might be some sort of struggle but they did not expect it so soon and not with such force. If they require support then the rest will have to advance too. That means Gregory shall have to leave.” Her countenance revealed her dismay, though this was not her greatest concern, for she continued. “I told Gregory I do not agree with his actions; he should not prevent men from expressing their dissatisfaction when their cause is just. He told me that he agrees with me but he has not the means to leave the army, to retire, and he must leave when called to do so or he may be taken for a deserter or a trouble-maker.”

Penny stared into the water, her knees that emerged from within, and she inhaled with a trembling breath, tears simultaneously arising.

“Do you not think it cruel?” she uttered. “To rid one of all means of security, stability; to deny them a way of feeding themselves and their family, to leave them without a home or without any means in which to work, and then to punish them for it? I feel murderous thinking upon it. How desperate they must feel to have been abandoned! Surely, the thrashing of machines is the kindest they could be in such circumstances.”

Margaret was alarmed by her speech. She leant forward, her voice lowering into a hastened whisper. “You do not mean that, Miss Davers!”

“My name is Penny,” she remarked, her gaze flickering indignantly to the young woman beside her. “Penelope Davers is my given name; to my recollection, it has not been shortened to the latter.” Obstinately, she continued with: “And yes, I do. I believe it very much.” A thought struck her and she glanced across at the other, her tone disbelieving. “Indeed, you do not believe they deserve it?”

Watching her, Margaret questioned whether it was pertinent to be honest or whether she should refrain from any personal remark. She favoured working for the youngest Miss Davers but she was not fond of the discussions that she was forced to endure, conscious that it was an offence that would result in her dismissal. This blemish to her reputation would prevent her from any respectable prospects in regards to her employment and she would be forced to join the masses who were compelled to industrial work. Margaret was not so foolish as to openly express her opinion, not to the degree that the gentlewoman was at liberty to do.

“Nobody deserves to suffer, Mi... Penny.”

Penny leant further into the tub, staring pensively ahead.

“No, they do not. I would give anything to be of help. I would march there now and join them, if it were possible.”

Margaret exclaimed- “Oh, you cannot mean it! You mustn’t!”

“Why?” Penny demanded, staring bewilderedly up at her. “It is my duty.”

“Your duty is to the Davers name, to your family.”

Penny scoffed. “Those pampered ninnies! What do they know of duty? My mother never wanted to marry into this family and Yvonne... she speaks so ardently of duty and yet, she is rarely ever home. It is a word that is convenient only when they wish it to be. My duty is to the wellbeing of others, is it not? As a fellow human, should I not assist them? As a Christian, should I forsake all my brothers and sisters?”

“I think that God may be forgi...”

Penny sat upright, the water splashing frantically around her. With her fingers gripped over the edge of the tub, she recited, fiercely- “If anyone has material possessions and sees a brother or sister in need, but has no pity on them, how can the love of God be in that person? John, chapter three, verse seventeen.”

Margaret was silent as she considered the passage but Penny mistook it for uncertainty, and continued.

“Carry each other’s burdens and in this way, you will fulfil the law of Christ. Galatians... (112)”

“Yes, I agree,” Margaret uttered, flustered at the recitations offered so readily to her.

Penny’s vehement expression softened and the anguish within her revealed itself, her shoulders drooping. Faintly, she uttered-

“Maisie, can you not understand how vital it is that I bring good into this world? That I conduct my legacy how I believe it necessary and not by the standards of others? I am not my mother or sister, nor do I wish to be. Their destinies are so far from my own that I often wonder, once I am free, if we shall ever cross paths again. Sometimes, I think not.” She paused, for the thought of being separated from her sister, at the least, was distressing to her, but she doubted that they should ever agree, that Yvonne was capable of compromise, and so, it was impossible for them to remain in each other’s lives. They would be drawn from one another, condemned to live separately, so dissimilar were they. “I must do what is right by myself and by others. I cannot do what is right for my family because they can never be pleased. So, you see, I must go where I am called, where I know my destiny awaits me.”

“How could you bear to be so far from home?” the maid questioned, apprehensively.

“My home is where my heart is and it is no longer here. I must follow where it leads and it leads me south.” A thought brightened her features and she remarked with a smile- “Perhaps, then, I shall see Gregory! We shall not be separated.”

Margaret’s expression darkened. “Yes, well, I suppose you shall have to wait and see...”

Penny reached out and took hold of her hand once more. “Maisie, come with me.”

The soft encouragement in her voice caused the woman to glance upward, her eyes widening.

“You do not mean it. You are always saying all sorts of things that you do not mean; you do not realise how cruel it can be.”

Penny shook her head. “No, I mean it! I can orate till sundown; I can rally the people! I could carry a banner across town if I must, but I hardly know how I can achieve it, if you are not by my side. Besides, I must go whole-heartedly, and I do not think my heart would be whole if I were to leave without you. If possible, I would bring all the people I love with me but I know that not everyone will understand. But you do, Maisie?”

“I do not understand your impulse; I must be truthful on that account.” Margaret stared concernedly across at her, her fingers tightening on the small hand within her own. “But I think I am coming to understand you well and I know you shall not relent. So, I think I shall follow you, as I promised to care for you, and care for you I will. Who will minister to you as I do?”

Disregarding the question, Penny exclaimed, excitedly- “And I shall care for you!”

Margaret laughed, though not unkindly. “How shall you care for me? I complete all of your tasks and ensure that you are never late...”

Penny drew the maid’s hand to the edge of the tub, her head lowering to rest affectionately atop it.

“I will love you. It is not a service that provides tangible results but it is one that will ensure you always have a friend in this world, one that will not allow you to pass through life discounted or forgotten. You will know then that there is someone who always loves you, who holds you in their heart as I do.”

“You tease me,” Margaret frowned, despite the reddening of her cheeks.

“No!”

“Yes, Penny; you are wanton. One day, trouble shall come to you if you continue to speak with such abandon.”

The maid stood, gesturing for the girl to do the same. Penny did, though her gaze was fierce.

“My words may be fanciful but that does not make them untrue,” she declared, staring indignantly at Margaret as she wrapped the towel around her. “Come with me and I will prove it to you.”

“We are not travelling to Kent,” Margaret replied, gently but firmly.

“Then what shall we do? Wait and be idle?”

Penny could not understand her reasoning, her brow furrowing as she stepped from the bath. Beside her, Margaret calmly rubbed the young woman’s hair within a towel. Despite her calm demeanour, the sentiment was not reciprocated internally and she used the motion to compose herself, inhaling deeply.

“It is harder than you think to travel, particularly when you wish to do so unnoticed. How shall you finance yourself? Where will you stay during the cold winter nights? There is more to consider than simply slipping away in the dark of night to consort with rebels. You are not prepared for what that entails.”

“Then I shall prepare myself,” Penny uttered, petulantly.

She stared downward, broodingly, her gaze outlining where the towel protruded- from her breasts to her stomach, the latter hanging further outward than the rest of her body and she stared at it, the view of her own physicality granting her some sense of comfort. Penny often enveloped herself in the realm of the intellect and would, resultantly, neglect to remember that she was a physical being, but she felt her bare feet against the ground, the towel against her skin, and she was mollified. The trust she had developed in her acumen was unmoved by the discussion. She believed that she would travel south; it was unthinkable that she should remain at the Park, yet she knew, in this moment, that nature was slow and enduring- she saw it reflected in her own body, for it was nature itself, and she decided to wait. The impulse in her did not lessen, the impulse to flee, but she felt she could remain with it a moment longer. It was not yet unbearable.

Removing the towel and clambering into her nightgown, she sat obediently upon the stool, awaiting Margaret to fashion her hair. The maid folded the towels before she approached the vanity, plucking the curlers from atop the wood. Whilst she twisted her hair into the cloth, Penny stared at her through the mirror, tracing the concentration on her features.

“What should I do in the meantime?” she questioned, gingerly. “I refuse to be still. I must occupy myself, else I shall become dissatisfied.”

Margaret sighed lightly. “I know.”

She was silent for a moment. Thereafter, her gaze raised from the damp hair to the mirror, staring uncertainly at the young woman before her. After a second of consideration, she lowered her attention to the task at hand, her cheeks pinkening in her indecision, her pale fingers nimbly and skilfully arranging the curlers into the mass of hair before her. She did not speak for several minutes but, unexpectedly, Penny did not press her, waiting in silence for her to say what she must.

It came in the form of a heavy exhale, before: “There is an acquaintance of mine- I have known her only a short while- that, well, she... For some time, she was employed at Colworth House but she is now searching for employment elsewhere.”

Penny’s eyes widened and she blurted out- “Why, that is Bonnie’s house! Does she know she is without employment?”

Margaret did not remove her gaze from the dark curls. “Yes, Miss Davers. Miss Donoghue is aware of her circumstance, as she is the one who dismissed her...”

“Whatever for?”

“That is not for me to say. By that, I mean she will not tell me and even if she had, that is between herself and her employer. Anyhow, Gifty has now been reduced to a position that she cannot readily remove herself from. Her experience has- I do not like to say the word but I suppose, yes, it is correct- it has radicalised her. She has been attending meetings since. Meetings where dissatisfied workers or the unemployed can gather to discuss politics, as well as to voice their dissatisfaction in general.” Margaret raised her voice, an attempt at excusing all that she had previously said. “I do not entirely agree with it. All of those people raising their voices and bustling around, it is not for me, but...” She hesitated, realising her mounting hysteria. Her voice lowered, seeking to become as courteous as possible. It was crucial that she express her opinion as well as she could without offending the youngest Miss Davers. “It cannot be contended that we are in times of turmoil and strife, and I do not believe anyone should be abandoned to struggle, as so many have.”

Penny glowered at the vanity before her, though she was not offended, merely bewildered.

“Bonnie...” she uttered, her gaze rising to watch Margaret through the mirror. “I must speak to Bonnie; she would not harm anyone, I know it. If she was aware of how terrible a position your friend is in, she would...”

“Miss Davers, please!” Margaret flushed, contrite to have raised her voice. Her shoulders drooped in her disheartenment. “Penny... I must insist that you refrain from mentioning the subject to Miss Donoghue. Besides, Gifty has no intention of working at the House. She has sworn against it. I have mentioned her solely in the understanding that you may wish to attend these meetings, a more fitting substitute for the aid you wish to give, but one that is not advisable for a woman of your stature.” Murmuring, she finished tying the last curler with: “I cannot believe that a woman of the aristocracy could ever wish to be involved with such matters.”

“As a woman of stature, that is precisely where I should be,” Penny contended.

Despite her contradiction, she was not irritated but had simply stated what she believed to be an inevitable truth. Contemplating upon the proposal, she concluded that it was the most appropriate course of action, informing the maid that she wished to attend. Margaret stared down at her in response, her lips drawing into a thin line.

“You wish for me to attend with you.”

It was not a question, for she knew the answer. Penny smiled up at her.

“I wish that you were with me all the time, so you must atone by attending this meeting alongside me. Would it not be nice to see your friend too?”

“I will see her, regardless,” Margaret disputed.

Penny stood, flinging her arms around her and embracing her tightly.

“Oh, Maisie, you are always so good to me. I could not express my gratitude in its entirety, for it is too great!”

She stood on her toes to kiss her briefly on each side of the cheek, though she clumsily applied it to each corner of her mouth instead. Margaret’s humility was overcome by her dread and she whispered, insistently-

“Please, do not speak a word of this to the eldest Miss Davers or to Miss Donoghue. I cannot begin to explain how terrible the consequences would be for us both.”

Penny snorted before emitting a sharp laugh.

“Oh, Maisie; I would not dream of telling either, particularly Yvonne. I do not wish to be in my grave before I am old! That is precisely where I shall be if I were to tell her of my intentions.”

Clambering into bed, she hauled the blankets over herself. “And mother, well, she does not have a weak heart now but she surely will after she discovers what I am planning. She teases so readily about her dying from disappointment that she shall soon discover that, perhaps, she was right all along. That is precisely what will kill her in the end.”

“Penny!” Margaret emitted in her surprise.

Penny stared across at her, unconcerned. “She is allowed to tease but I am not? Ah, another hypocrisy!”

She stared bad-temperedly up at the bed’s canopy, her arms crossed over the blanket, but her maid sensed she was jesting and did not respond. Retrieving the folded towels, she draped them over her arm, informing the gentlewoman that the tub would be emptied in the morning, before traversing to the door. Halting, she peered across at Penny, her gaze sombre, despite its affection.

“Goodnight, Penny.”

Penny called, cheerfully- “Goodnight, Maisie Mine. May your dreams be as sweet as you!”

Margaret pursed her lips, her brows rising, this expression remaining on her face as she closed the door behind her and ambled down the corridor. This response did not perturb Penny, who was accustomed to it, and she threw her hands outward until they thumped against the blanket, her arms splayed out either side of her. She sighed aloud, a wide smile upon her lips as she continued to stare upward. Her mind was not yet prepared to rest. The thought of Gifty and her clandestine meetings were likely to pervade each waking moment until slumber would be so gracious as to seize her.

She was not weary thus far, discerning that she would not be for some time, as it always took longer for her mind to settle than her body. Wherefore, she allowed it to play, like a drummer rolling the drum until their arms grew tired, watching the threads of her life and of those around her try to knot themselves together, finding that they did not fit, and trying once more with another thread, this weaving network perplexing to her; yet, she knew they would soon form a cohesive pattern, that all would reveal itself in time. There was some element of life that puzzled her, though she was unsure what the element truly was, but she knew the answer resided beyond the confines of Haynes Park. She saw another thread possible in the meetings that were held in secret and she felt, by pursuing this opportunity, this enigma may become clearer to her. Everything was not as disparate as it seemed; it was all intertwined. Penny merely had to discover how.

Chapter Notations

112. Galatians 6:2.

Chapter Text

6th September 1830

My dear Augusta,

I hope that all has been well since we last spoke. It was generous of you to impart such a lavish gift on my mother. Surely, she shall wear it often. In truth, she already has- on her birthday! You know how she adores large jewels, which, I am certain, is the reason for so thoughtful a gift. Her note of appreciation can be found at the end of this letter. Do not fear over her hand! You may notice that it is unsteady in comparison to her usual writing. Her grip is not what it used to be. Ordinarily, she has the maid write for her but she insisted she must write to you herself. Even now, she is delighted with you. She asks when you will come to see her again. I cannot tell if she has forgotten how long it has been since she saw you last, or if she is being deliberately obstinate. Either way, she calls to you and, if you were inclined to visit her, you are always welcome here at the Park.

Nonetheless, this is not my reason for writing- the primary reason being that my new groom has indicated that he is unwilling to travel abroad. I mentioned to him my intentions of journeying across the Continent next year and perhaps further to Asia, and he admitted that he was not a great traveller and would not be a good companion in such an undertaking. So, here I am, forced once more to hire a groom. This is what comes from allowing Penny to choose the servants; she cannot be trusted! Thus, I beseech you to aid me and to inquire as to any grooms you know that will be worth hiring, or any that have little experience, but enough with horses, that would be content to travel long distances. I know how often you involve yourself in such matters; nobody would be more suitable in advising me. Any information you could give, I would happily receive, and if you send a man yourself, I shall trust he has everything I require.

Give my love to your family. I have not forgotten the sum Eliza owes me! And you must write to Florence; she would be grateful to hear from you.

With the sincerest affection,
Yvonne

“Sweet Augusta, the necklace was gratefully received by me on the morn of my birthday. How elated I was to unwrap it and to wear it all day. The compliments are too many to list, but you can imagine, I am sure! You must come and see me before my next, as I am certain there are not many left before my spirit no longer exists on this dreadful plane we call Earth. What a reunion it shall be! I will ensure you are spoilt beyond measure. You always were my favourite among Yvonne’s friends, as I am certain you know. Do not hesitate to come, even if she is not at home. We would certainly enjoy ourselves, regardless of whether she is. Give my well wishes to the family and to your husband. I hear he has been promoted in rank, with the approval of our gracious King. How proud you must be! You must tell me all about the parties you have attended. You both have my warmest regards.

Lady W. Davers.”

18th September 1830

My most cherished Yvonne,

How wonderful it was to receive this letter from both yourself and your mother! There is no greater compliment to my gift than knowing it was well-received. I thought it precisely the present for her when I was in York earlier this year and I have kept it ever since. In hearing my judgement to be correct, I cannot be any more grateful in knowing how pleased she was. Please relay this sentiment to her, as well as my sincerest gratitude in her invitation. I would be honoured to spend some weeks with her at the Park and, on hearing of her health, would be pleased to do so within the year, God granting that my arrangements shall not founder. As to the rest of her letter, I would heartily wish to speak with her in person than to relay my message in so restricting a method. Be sure that we will speak then on the matters she mentioned! I shall wait till you are abroad, if you wish, as I do not desire to leave you uncomfortable in your own home. It shall grant me time too in meeting Penny! How long it has been since I have seen her! I suppose she is not little now; she is a grown woman. You must be proud of her. I am sure a slight mistake with the groom is hardly a mistake at all; she will learn in time. She is a Davers, after all- her intellect is never in question.

In regards to your predicament, I do not know any who would fit this description, but I shall endeavour to assist you as well as I can. How discouraging to think that I will not live up to my reputation otherwise! It appears that you are to travel again; I knew it would not be long before you returned to the Continent. I cannot begin to express how pleased I am for you, that you are able to return to that which you adore. The thrill of an expedition has always been your truest and greatest love, one which nobody has ever been able to compete with! Yet, if you are happy, I am. I sincerely hope you discover what you are searching for, in whatever form that may be- it is truly my greatest wish! If you are to travel with your neighbour, as you last expressed to me, I hope she is the companion most suited to you, that you find yourselves complimentary to one another in every way. From all you have told me, Miss Donoghue is a wonderful young woman and, if she is to travel with you next year, it is a shame that I should miss becoming acquainted with her, but go she must. May you both be happy in your endeavours!

As to Eliza, she is becoming increasingly difficult to meet and, whenever I see her in person, she is flitty. Certainly, she knows what shall happen if we talk, for she, too, owes me a small amount. I do not know what to do with her! If she has not repaid you by the time I visit, I shall pay you, and then what is left shall be between myself and my cousin. She cannot continue! Although, I did inform you of this beforehand- it was your own fault for gambling with her anyhow. You should have known better!

I shall not be writing to Florence but I thank you for your continued kindness and encouragement in the matter. Florence does not wish to hear from me; she hardly has since my marriage. You are aware of the attempts I have made and all that she does with them. I do not wish for my paper to become mere kindling, so I request that you leave it be. May she one day forgive me, but she has not yet. Please do not ask her in person, for you know what she shall say. Even so, give her my well-wishes, though she shall not want them nor does she need them. She is forever in my heart and in my thoughts, dear friend that she is.

I extend my love to your family and to you, especially. May God continue to bless you, my dearest Yvonne.

Your humble servant,
Augusta

Such words, such sentiment, would customarily illicit a sensation of warmth within Yvonne. Despite her better judgement, she had always clung desperately to any remnants of affection that could be gathered from her letters, but she perceived that a new feeling had emerged in the wake of this missive. It had settled torturously upon her chest, its grasp unceasing. Her first instinct was to call it guilt, for she sensed that this was its truest form, but she could not discern where it had originated from. Hurt, she was accustomed to- the concept of grief- but she had never experienced shame for her feelings towards Augusta, not even in her time in Paris, where she had courted Josephine.

Questioning the origin of this feeling, she immediately thought of Bonnie, though she was not sure why. The letter in her hands caused her to feel she had behaved terribly but to who, she was unsure. To decide upon who she believed she was deceiving, whether it be Augusta or Bonnie, was beyond her comprehension and she resolved to think no further on it.

As to her exact sentiment on Augusta visiting her familial home, she could not say. Yvonne did not believe it would be any less painless if she were to be present, particularly if her oldest friend was to make the acquaintance of Miss Donoghue. Withal, she would not prevent her, friends as they were, and her visit was not solely for Yvonne’s benefit but for the family’s. This thought, in itself, resolved her to the event, though not quite as happily as she had hoped. She knew she must desert her grievances eventually, to bring herself liberty in every sense of the word; it was not beneficial to her to remain confined by her pain, yet she perceived it would remain with her a while longer, despite her best efforts.

Her gaze lingered on the letter, the passage which promised to speak with her mother, any acknowledgement of her husband erased, as if it were as simple as omitting his name from paper. It had been considered kind, upon her marriage, for them to avoid discussing the event, particularly if they were to remain friends, but Yvonne had not found it kind, not in the end. The refusal to speak of the person who had driven them apart, who continued to share his life with the woman she had hoped to share hers with, was undeniably cruel. She stared down at the passage where his name was not etched but unmistakably referenced, and she cursed it, as she had so often done before. If they wished to speak of him, so be it, but she would have no part in it.

Placing the letter to one side, she pondered on the obstacles that had occurred whilst searching for a groom, this being the central reason for her letter. Yvonne did not perceive it to be the mistake of anyone, but this hindrance perturbed her. She could not allow any less than the complete fulfilment of her neighbour’s wishes, and the apprehension she had felt on discovering the groom unwilling was rising to a further degree. The idea that she had somehow disappointed Bonnie in their friendship- not solely through their disagreement but through her heightened regard- was magnified when she heeded that she could not accomplish so simple a task as to plan their excursion abroad. Her quarrel with Penny, as well as Bonnie, and the disorientation that she felt following the letter tormented her. Excluding her business affairs, she conceded that she was incapable of pleasing anyone and that the answers to her afflictions were purposefully avoiding her in order to prolong her misery. Yvonne truly perceived, in that moment, that she suffered and nothing would quite amend it like spending the rest of the day focusing on her design for the village. Surely, all would right itself if she laboured her mind till it was too weary to ponder any further than the construction of her worker’s cottages.

Chapter Text

Upon her customary visit, Yvonne discovered Bonnie in a pleasant mood. She appeared to believe that all was humorous to her and she laughed genially at Yvonne’s responses, although this was not the effect her neighbour had intended. On questioning her good-humour, Bonnie hesitated, seemingly uncertain of whether she should explain herself; yet, she later peered across at Yvonne with an impish smile. The source of this amusement she believed must be shared and she leant forward, her voice lowering conspiratorially.

“I do believe that a man has implied interest in me.” She sought her companion’s countenance for the same merriment she felt, though Yvonne’s features did not indicate any emotion. Discontented, she continued, hoping to illicit a response. “I have seen him merely four times- once at the dance, once at the gathering, and twice at the Mounts.” There was further silence from her companion. “It is Mister Leong. You know him, naturally. The same fellow you called silly!”

At this conclusion, she laughed. The way her gaze fixed upon her companion revealed that she expected her to follow suit, though she did not. Yvonne stared at her, her own expression unmoving.

“He is silly,” was the brief response.

This answer was encouragement enough and Bonnie continued, reaching the pinnacle of what she had wished to share.

“Well, he has written me some poetry.”

The edge of Yvonne’s mouth twitched.

“May I read it?”

She hardly believed it would be anything remarkable. He did not seem the type of man who could inspire any great sentiment in his writing, yet she sought to view the words that he had expressed to Miss Donoghue, determined to uncover his intentions. Despite her amusement, Bonnie did not believe it suitable.

“You may not,” she stated simply, though this was not formed from any sort of fidelity on her part. “You may laugh and I do not wish to cause him offence. It is not his greatest work, I must admit, but effort in itself is not to be laughed at. I did amuse myself on the poetry at first.” Here, she snickered, despite herself. “Mister Leong may be accomplished in many areas but a natural poet, he is not, but I thought later how shameful I had been, as the poems were unobtrusive and were supposed to be kind, so it would be a disservice to be spiteful in return. If I had written someone a poem, I would hate to think they laughed at them as I had. Though, naturally, mine would have been of greater quality...”

She trailed off, her mind conceiving the exceptional sonnets that she was yet to compose. Yvonne scoffed.

“You care for his feelings?” she uttered in disbelief.

“Not particularly,” Bonnie admitted. ‘But I do not intend to be discourteous. At least, I try not to be. Surely, I was astonished by his boldness and I could not understand why he had approached me, but I suppose one should not laugh when another has been courageous.” Contemplative, she continued. “If he was given some instruction, his poetry would be rather good. Well... it would be adequate.”

Arching her gaze, Yvonne remarked- “It is not difficult to write a poem. I could write one if I wanted.”

“Then send me one, by all means,” Bonnie returned, irritably. “Certainly, I would cherish it! Besides, I was simply informing you of what had happened, as you had asked. There is no need for you to be so heated. It is not as if he has made any sort of offer to me.” She lowered her gaze, her fingers fumbling amidst the fabric of her skirt. The following confession she did not appear to find amusing but, rather, an inconvenience to her. “It did come to my attention that it was a possibility. He has singled me out as an object of his affections. Henrietta hinted it.”

“Oh, she did, did she?” Yvonne raised a brow, her dislike for the girl ascending to further heights. “Well, if that is the case, a marriage proposal cannot be far behind. Do you plan to accept him?”

Bonnie returned her attention upward, her expression grave, the tone of her voice revealing her timidity in the matter. “I do not believe it to be quite that serious yet.”

“And what shall you say when it is? Yes?”

She did not mean to be commanding, but her concern had contorted into a force that she could not quite govern. Beside her, Bonnie stared at her, all merriment completely vanished, both inside and out, this revealed even further in her exasperated tone.

“I have already told you that I have no intention of marrying a man and I certainly have no interest in Mister Leong. He could never be the object of my affections. By all means, he appears to be a sweet man, but he interests me only so far as the fact he is good company, although anybody has the ability to appear that way when you have spent all day with Henrietta. I have not much to say about him other than we have had two good conversations in the whole time I have known him. It would seem that there is nothing else to possibly recommend him.”

“But you danced with him? At the ball? He attempted to dance with you twice (113).”

“Well, yes. Because he asked. I did not go to a ball not to dance, Yvonne.” She paused to laugh, apprehensively, the reminder of their disagreement unwelcome. “But as I have stated, I do not have any affection for him nor do I plan to accept his proposal, if ever it should come. I was simply telling you that he wrote me a collection of poems.”

Yvonne inspected her features. Despite the affirmation she had been given, she concluded that there was a hidden sentiment of Bonnie’s that was not being shared. Leaning backward against the chair, she sighed.

“You like them.”

She had resigned herself to the inevitability of Bonnie’s marriage, despite the lady’s insistence that it was unlikely to occur. Her insistence notwithstanding, she was terrible at writing verses of any kind and this knowledge furthered her despair, for she did not believe that she could write any better than Mr Leong. Yvonne did not have the style nor whimsicality of her sister, which, in this instance, would have benefitted her greatly.

“I think they are well-structured and quite lovely to read, if you discount the errors, but they do not stir any great emotion in me,” Bonnie persisted.

“Then why do you not want me to read them?”

Yvonne wished to avoid sounding accusatory, though she was unsure whether she had been successful.

“Because I do not want to air his private sentiments; that would be insensitive! But if you are so determined, they are over there on the desk.” She flung her arm outward, gesturing towards the table. “You may read them at your leisure. I did not realise it would cause such a fuss, else I would never have mentioned it! I thought you would have found it amusing, as I had.”

Crossly, she folded her arms and turned in her seat, so that she was facing the opposite direction. Forsaken to stare at her back, Yvonne glowered at it, though it was not the woman herself who had angered her, but the consideration she had inadvertently drew. She abruptly stood to circle the room, not wishing to continue staring at her back, but she returned to her seat without taking the letters.

Cantankerously, she remarked- “I hardly want to read them now.”

With her back still turned, Bonnie replied: “It is of no consequence, either way, what you do. You may make up your mind, as I am also at liberty to do.”

There was a moment of silence before Yvonne stood. With an impervious tone, she stated-

“I do not want to intrude any longer if I have caused you offence. If you want to speak with me, you may send for me and I shall come. Until then...”

The risk of her withdrawal induced Bonnie to turn her head, though her gaze remained lowered.

“I wanted to tell you that I had purchased a journal, similar to yours.” She raised her gaze to the woman behind her, her gaze questioning. “I thought we could own ones that matched. You have inspired me to write about all that happens in my life. If you are leaving, I shall present it to you another time.”

This show of emotion, she had not intended and her voice had become irritable by the end of her speech. When there was no immediate response, she returned her attention to the flowers against the opposite wall, as if she were more interested in them.

Yvonne believed it appropriate that she leave; she had caused too much injury for them to start anew and she did not wish to upset her further. Nevertheless, she was hesitant to depart when they had disagreed with one another, recalling the effects of the dance, although the additional thought that Bonnie had started her own journal, merely to form a connection between them, struck her. She stared anxiously and waveringly at her neighbour’s back, inhaling deeply a moment later.

“You can show me now,” she uttered, softly. “I would like to see it.”

Bonnie peered over her shoulder, carefully scrutinising her appearance, her arms unfolding once she had finished. She noted the pitiful way in which her guest stood, deciding to receive the unspoken apology with dignity. Standing, she brushed past her.

“Follow me.”

Yvonne followed her upstairs, to the room beside her bed chamber. Amongst the easels and shelves of leather-bound books, those filled with sketches and paintings, was a desk. It was there that Bonnie unlocked the top drawer, the end of her silver key sculpted as a heart. From within, she removed the large journal, thick and bounded in leather- its design an almost identical fashion to her neighbour’s. Yvonne did not realise that she had reached out to touch it until her hand was resting upon it, she staring incredulously at Bonnie.

“How did you know?” she questioned.

“You mentioned previously that you had yours bound at Lewis and Hering, so I thought I should purchase mine there too. They know how you have yours adorned, for you have had many, so I requested to have mine embellished in the same manner.”

Unwittingly, Yvonne smiled at her, astonished that she had undergone such lengths in order for them to own the same item. She could not disguise the warmth within her and the softening of her countenance caused Bonnie to smile in return. The young woman stared down at the journal, the hand upon it, and she reached out to rest her own atop it, simultaneously leaning backward to rest against her, as her companion had positioned herself close behind. Weaving her fingers between Yvonne’s, she uttered-

“I cannot stand it when you are angry with me.”

“I am not angry with you, Bonnie,” was the ardent response.

“Then why are you so cross?” she demanded, petulantly.

Yvonne was silent for a minute, deliberating her answer.

I do not think he deserves you,” she answered, honestly. “But, if you were to fall in love with him, I cannot object to your happiness.”

“I have said that I do not care for him in that way. I do not know him,” she insisted, peering across at her. “Even if we were well-acquainted, he would not be of any interest to me. I know that to be true."

Yvonne smiled, dejectedly. “We can never speak for our future selves.”

“I am speaking for myself now.”

In response, Yvonne glanced down at their entwined hands, her own clutching Bonnie’s a little tighter. Whilst she did, she could sense the faint scent of lavender dabbed upon her companion’s neck, their position to one another causing her to be closer than they were ordinarily. The aroma emanating from her, the discernment of her weight against her, enticed Yvonne, inducing her to consider leaning down and pressing her lips along her neck and shoulders, to touch the skin so readily available to her. Her head lowered, as if to do so, but she comprehended her action before it was accomplished, perceiving how calamitous it would be to enact such an impulse, and she stepped back, her hand slipping from Bonnie’s grasp. Her other hand pressed against the curve of her back to compensate for the support she had previously given. The motion grieved her companion, who presumed it a rejection of all she had said.

Whirling around, she exclaimed: “You do not trust me? Is my word not good enough?”

Tears welled in her eyes. Yet, despite the scene, Yvonne was calm. Presumably, the conviction she felt aided her composure, for she gently but firmly stated-

“I do trust you, Bonnie. I trust that you mean what you say, but I have seen enough women, of all ages, say that they shall not succumb to marriage and it has always happened.”

Bonnie raised her arms to gesture towards her, her bottom lip trembling, in spite of her vexation.

“And yet, here you stand!”

“I am not in the majority,” she contended.

“But I am?” Bonnie cried.

“I do not know,” she admitted. “Only time will tell. It is not that I believe you to be disingenuous, as I know you mean what you say at this moment in time, but you are still young. Everything changes, the older you become.”

Bonnie shook her head. “No, some things never change. I know that my feelings on the matter will be one of them, as much as you believe in your own convictions.”

Despite their quarrel, the defiant expression upon Bonnie’s face caused Yvonne to smile, a soft laugh emitting from within. Her obstinance merely softened Yvonne towards her. In any other circumstance, she would have relished in the firmness of Bonnie’s conviction.

“You are obstinate,” she said, light-heartedly.

Bonnie’s countenance was fixed in its provocation, but she was inwardly placated by the turn in Yvonne’s mood.

“And so are you,” she thought to accuse, wishing to say all she must before the conversation ended. “Neither of us shall admit defeat, it seems.”

Desirous to remain on good terms with Miss Donoghue, Yvonne decided to complete the discussion. “I will admit defeat, if we never speak of this subject again.”

“Good!” Bonnie proclaimed. “I do not wish to speak of it anymore. Why does everyone speak of marriage and nothing else? I hear of it enough from Miss Ainsley; I do not need you to bother me too, Yvonne.”

Yvonne smiled once more, although a deep sense of disquietude had settled itself within her at the revelation of Mr Leong’s affection. “Then I shall not. I would rather hear of you and you only.”

Bonnie stared doubtfully across at her. Within, however, she was appeased, as she always tended to be when she was complimented, and she relented to it. She suggested that they treat themselves to tea and pastries after such an ordeal, returning the journal to the drawer and locking it. Watching her, Yvonne questioned her as to the type of entries she would like to note, heeding the numerous occupations that Bonnie wished to transmit, the lady chatting contentedly as they returned downstairs. Yvonne observed her smile, the way her hands moved with her speech, the way Bonnie remained near her, even after their disagreement. She observed it all and knew she would relent to Miss Donoghue, no matter how she tried to conduct herself. It was inevitable that she would follow the path which caused Bonnie the most happiness, for she could not bear to see her any other way, even if she was not to receive that happiness in return.

Chapter Notations

113. To dance with a lady twice was to indicate intentions of courting her in a public space.

Chapter Text

Peering through the crevice, Penny held her breath. She dared not make her presence known, for fear that she would be discovered and her fortunes dashed. Through the opening, she watched the occupant of the room, the state of focus that they were in, and decided that all was well. This conclusion encouraged her to open the door further, as silently as possible, stepping quietly into the room and closing the door behind her. She stood against the wood, her hands pressed against it as she watched the figure before her, hunched over the table.

At the vanity, Yvonne continued to write, her pen scratching across the page. Without raising her head, she uttered-

“How may I assist you today, my little star?”

Penny did not hesitate in telling her, knowing that she had been discovered.

“I have been thinking that I would like a dog,” she spoke out, in her attempt to sound nonchalant.

Yvonne continued to stare down at the paper, her tone revealing her disbelief.

“A dog?”

“Yes, a dog.”

“And why would you want a dog?”

Penny thought the answer obvious.

“I should like a pet,” she stated, simply.

Yvonne turned around, her elbow resting atop the back of the chair, though she did not gaze at her sister but to the cage against the opposite wall.

“Did you hear that, Samuel?” she called. “She wishes to replace you.”

The cockatiel turned his head towards the girl, which caused her to shake her own, hurried in her wish to protest.

“No, that is untrue!” she declared. “Doctor Johnson is yours. Claudio was mine but... he is gone!” She paused, as tears had arisen and she was attempting desperately to repress them. Gravely, she wiped the tears she shed, her hands clasping theatrically together, as she lowered her head in an air of self-pity and, seemingly, defeat. “I would have liked a dog, that is all.”

Yvonne sighed in her exasperation, peering once more at the bird. “She is using guilt against me, Samuel.”

Penny raised her head, her eyes glistening with hope and unshed tears.

“Is it working?”

Yvonne stared pointedly across at her, her tone commanding. “I refuse to have any old mutt in this house, do you understand? I will search for a respectable breeder...”

Penny bounced on her toes, her voice rising in her excitement. “You will?!”

“Yes, and once I am satisfied, then I shall consider purchasing a dog.”

Springing swiftly from one foot to the other, Penny cheered in her delight, later hurrying across the room to seize her sister’s head and press it against her.

“Thank you; thank you; thank you!”

With her head jolted in all directions, Yvonne’s muffled demand insisted that she be released, to which Penny obliged, with no indication of an apology. She kissed the eldest upon the forehead, which merely caused a raised brow in response, and promised that she would prove that she was worthy of another pet.

“What is your impression of a deerhound?” Yvonne questioned.

“Oh no; they must be domestic.”

“If we are to have a dog, they must be suitable for the outdoors,” came the protest.

“It is a dog,” Penny remarked. “Not a worker for your farms. They shall sit with me all day in the house or in the garden; it would be no good for them to be outside all the time. I would want them with me.”

“Yes, you are correct on one fact- it is a dog, not a baby. You should not treat it as such.”

Penny chortled and kissed her again, expressing her gratitude for the consideration. It was apparent that she did not heed her sister, which was recognised by the woman herself, and Yvonne turned back to the vanity, her mouth forming into a thin line as she emitted an inconvenienced hum.

Having achieved her wish, Penny abandoned her to her writing and returned downstairs, her contemplations surrounded entirely on the latter half of her day. She had arranged to leave the Park and take an extended walk through the nearby woods- one that was untraversed by most, allowing her to remain undisturbed on her journey. This enterprise thrilled her and she whiled away the morning in a more jubilant mood than she was accustomed to. Despite this merriment, she did not inform anyone of the source of her joy, as she did not wish to be prevented from leaving and nobody thought to question her; resultantly, she did not offer an explanation. It was unnecessary, to her mind.

Gregory watched the birds flutter from one branch to another. One or two would land on the ground infrequently to hop along the crisp fallen leaves, searching for worms and insects below. With each twitter, each song that emitted from the birds surrounding him, he returned in a whistle, a tune that joined the chorus above. He chuckled, staring upward in wonder.

All of a sudden, he felt someone seize him and he was surrounded by darkness, two hands having clasped him around the eyes. He yelped, reaching upward to grasp the hands that had captured him, simply to realise that they were small and soft. From close behind, there came a yell-

“Penny for your thoughts?”

There was a bout of giggling and he was released. Gregory perceived that the arms from behind had wrapped themselves tightly around him, someone resting their head atop his. He could not fail to recognise her voice, her small hands, the copper ringlets that tickled his face.

“There is always a Penny in my thoughts,” he told her.

This sentiment amused her and she raised her head to beam down at him. He stared up at her in return, he believing that he was seeing a sight that only nature itself could rival in its beauty. From the wide smile, the gapped teeth, the assortment of freckles, and the radiant hazel of her iris, Gregory could have happily observed her for the rest of his days. He gently held onto one of the hands that clutched him, beholden even to touch her.

“Did you miss me?” she questioned, staring down at him with a combined air of astonishment and pleasure in his affection.

“Every moment we are not together.”

Overcome, she held him tighter, her face nestling against his shoulder, releasing him a moment later and lowering swiftly onto the ground beside him. Gregory wished she would have sat upon his jacket to refrain from dirtying her dress. He was awed by the wealth that adorned her, as well as her casual disregard for it; she did not heed the grass and dirt that she sat upon, but beamed across at him, taking his hand within hers.

“I have waited all week to see you,” she uttered. “I read the letter you sent me every day so I should not forget all that you had said to me.”

“And I carry yours with me.” He reached into his pocket to reveal the folded paper. “That way, I may view your delicate hand whenever I wish.” With his free hand, he seized the guitar beside him, placing it onto his lap. “And I brought the guitar too, so that we could start immediately on the lessons you requested.”

These lessons had been forgotten by Penny, who had merely used them as an excuse to meet with him, and she stared down at the instrument in astonishment. It had not occurred to her that she would have to play. Complacently, she returned her gaze upward, an evocative smile upon her lips. It was a technique that she had learnt from observing her neighbour and discerning that it had always worked, particularly on her sister, she trusted that it would with Gregory.

“Surely, you are the most skilled teacher I have ever had the fortune to be tutored by. The handsomest too, I am certain.” Viewing the humility upon his features, his gaze hopeful, she tilted her head, her hands clasping together as she requested- “Play for me?”

He hesitated, but he could not resist her petition and released her hand, solely so he could hold the guitar. Penny remained seated beside him, serenely watching him as he offered the few compositions that he had recently produced. She believed each piece to be truly heavenly and clapped delightedly at the completion of each. Such a reaction, he was unused to, causing him to become flustered at every ovation.

After performing the pieces, he offered the instrument to her, which startled Penny. She had hoped to evade the occupation that came with learning an instrument, for she recalled the previous lessons that she had endured under her mother’s insistence, and she was resistant to withstanding a similar fate. Nevertheless, she trusted that Gregory would not press her as her teachers previously had and so, she accepted the guitar, holding it the way she had been shown and the way she had observed it being handled.

“Place your finger there,” he instructed. When she did so, he continued. “And the middle on there; that’s correct. Then you can put your other finger here. You see? That position is simple for those who are unused to the guitar. Then you strum. That is correct- ah yes, you needn’t strum so hard! Gentle, for now.”

She followed his instructions, producing a chord, though she continued to strum intensely and he soon ceased in asking her not to. It appeared she was vigorous in all of her endeavours; she was not one to be restrained in her actions, even in so simple a task as stroking the strings.

Soon, she was able to produce a pattern of chords, this accomplishment delighting her. Penny bounced in her delight, even as she was seated, hollering a song to accompany the music. At the noise, Gregory winced, though he was amused and soon took to laughing. This response did not discourage her but caused her to laugh also, she continuing to sing with the slow, broken chords that she formed. In truth, her voice was remarkable, with its low, mellow timbre, but its accompaniment did not compliment her efforts, and the two continued in mutual discord. Fortunately for Gregory, the song was soon completed and she placed the instrument upon the ground, staring expectantly across at her companion.

“We have been working so laboriously on learning to play,” she determined, gazing around the wood for further inspiration. “I think we should play some games to enliven us.”

Gregory did not think to correct her, as they had hardly spent but some minutes on learning the chords, but he did as she wished, pleased to simply remain beside her.

“What do you suggest?”

Sitting so that her legs were folded underneath her, she cheerfully proclaimed- “We should dance!”

“A dance? I see... You were overcome by my brilliant technique, so you wish for another?”

She laughed, reaching out to grasp him. “Precisely!”

“Then we must dance.”

This assent was undermined by her hauling him to his feet before he had consented. He did not appear to mind but laughed in his surprise. Their hands clung onto each other as they danced wildly across the enclosure, the sole accompaniment being the whistling of the birds above, though they hardly perceived anything aside from their own breathless laughter and their occasional compliment to each other, as they frolicked atop the grass. As the dance came to its completion, they spun in a circle, both becoming light-headed from the swift movement, and they released one another, Gregory landing backwards with a loud exclamation. Penny remained upright, though she stumbled slightly, and she stooped in her wheezing hilarity, her hands pressed against her thighs, so that she did not completely lean over and collapse.

He stared up at her, lifting himself onto his elbows. “You are not laughing at my expense?”

She stood upright, continuing to giggle, and she shook her head. “I could never laugh at your misfortune.”

He kicked at the pile of leaves beside him, which fluttered feebly in her direction. This threat, she accepted, and she propelled her foot into the nearest clump, the leaves swooping into the air and landing upon him. Gregory cried out as the leaves settled atop him, as some were still damp from the early morning rain. Scrambling to his feet, he captured a large amount in his hands and flung them in her direction. She squealed, though it was not in surprise but delight, and she was compelled into another bout of laughter. They scurried with the most undignified manner to kick and throw the leaves around them, mainly at each other, though occasionally into the air and across the ground.

This brief bustle resulted in Gregory attempting to capture her, which merely caused her to laugh more. She dashed behind the trees and across the enclosure until he was able to seize her. Upon doing so, she cried out, as if she had been taken hostage by some deadly fiend, and lowered to her knees in an imitation of fainting, her hand rising to her forehead. As he had grasped her, he fell too, incapable of keeping them both upright. He rolled to the side to avoid harming her, they both lying on their backs once the moment had ended. Fearful that she was hurt, Gregory glanced across at her convulsing chest, but she was simply giggling deliriously. She returned the gaze, her features resting into a contented smile.

Rotating onto her side, he followed suite, unconscious of mirroring her. Penny smiled at the motion, her free hand reaching up to press against his chest. Her gaze flickered across each part of his countenance, searching for some unknown answer in the way that he stared, but she appeared to have discovered it, for she leant forward and pressed her lips against his. He was astonished, though he did not prevent her.

Following the brief contact, she leant back, observing his response, but he merely stared at her in bewilderment.

“My!” he uttered.

Penny’s smile widened. Teasingly, she told him- “Not only are you the handsomest teacher; you have the sweetest kiss of them all.”

“Oh, you have kissed all of your teachers, have you?” he smirked.

“None, but it is not difficult to guess. The others were ancient and remarkably tedious...”

“That is not much of a competition,” he laughed.

She merely continued to smile in response, her hand moving upward to cup his cheek. Unwaveringly, she kissed him once more. He responded by returning the gesture, his hand resting gently on her waist. There was no further thought to their guitar lesson; in truth, it was forgotten. They were too occupied with one another to think of anything else.

Chapter Text

30th September 1830

Irregular that I should fill the pages of this journal with the thoughts of one woman. Not I, but Miss Davers. She haunts me, day and night, for I dream of her even when I am not sleeping. You see, this is not a journal of my life, not in its entirety, but rather a series of letters, written with ardent devotion and affection for the woman who lingers most prominently in my heart. This dedication must be expressed here, in the very first page, so that there is no misunderstanding of the journal’s purpose and its subsequent content. It is to be filled with my hopes, dreams, thoughts, and sentiments, and I believe Miss Davers has come to occupy them all. She is not the hero of the story; she is the ink with which I write, the paper below that it stains, the leather which binds it together, and the muse- the dreaded Muse of which all artists come to hope and dream of; yet, when they seize it, it haunts them, permeating each area of their life and mind until there is nothing but their Muse. She is everything. In having entered my life, she is no longer inseparable from my own. I could not bear for any other outcome.

Whenever I believe our happiness to be secured, one in which we are both mutually satisfied, it appears to dissolve before me and we are strangers yet again. I am tricked into thinking I know her, understand her. This belief, she appears to know, for she suddenly alters before my very eyes and I no longer recognise her, as if she were some sort of changeling that cannot bear to be known. She was uncommonly cross when I informed her of the poems; how quickly she became the person at the ball. I could not understand it. This woman, I do not know. She is nothing like the Yvonne I have become acquainted with. I know she does not wish to speak upon marriage; that much is apparent, but I cannot bring myself to inquire into the reason why for fear of another disagreement. What I would do for her to believe me! How she suspects I could ever love a man- Mr Leong above all- is too much to bear. If she knew how I felt whenever I have tried to familiarise myself with one... How boorish they are! I have never been able to understand my fellow woman’s attraction to them. They are quite another species altogether in my eyes. And how ill I feel upon thinking of marriage, the notion that a man may ever gain access to my life, my time, my home in such an interfering way, and that we should ever have intimate relations! My stomach convulses horridly when thinking upon it. Surely, no man shall ever encroach upon my home. I could not allow it. What he should want there, I do not know!

Despite her temper, you must know, dear journal, that I have now received a collection of poems from Yvonne. She passed them to me during her last visit, before she departed, and would not meet my eye. Her ears and face had turned crimson; how charming she looked in her discomfort! She told me that they were not finely structured, that I should hardly pay them any attention at all, but I told her I already treasure them- for that is the truth! I have since read them. They have not the structure, as she noted, and they were a little ungainly in places, but my, how my heart was aglow! One must not laugh at my conduct but I cannot describe how overjoyed I was with her attempt at sentimentality and how feelingly she tried to express all that was dear to me- she knows my heart well. She wrote of flowers and springtime, rivers and lakes; she even wrote a small poem inspired by the painting of my homeland, and there was a lovely little poem of a beautiful lady who walks out among the garden flowers. Certainly, it was me! How overcome I was in that moment that I kissed the page, the very words written in her hand, and I folded them neatly to rest in my drawer alongside the journal. Even as I recall them, my hand trembles.

What a contrast to the inelegant verses of Mr Leong, the poor imitation of sentiment he attempted to mimic on paper, words that barely touched my mind, let alone my heart. Poor fellow! He does not deserve my contempt, but that does not mean he deserves my heart, and he shall not have it. Besides, I could not offer it to any other, even if I tried, for I have already given it away, though it does not appear to have been accepted. It shall remain there for the taking, if ever she should want it, but it is not for anyone else. I do not belong to any other love than hers.

I wished for her to know how greatly they had touched me and I, quite instantly, wrote her a letter of gratitude, although I attached some suggestions of improvement for her writing. I could not prevent myself; I think she has much promise. Surely, she should know it. If she were to let me instruct her, I believe she could surpass all expectations in composing verses. Once it was completed, I kissed the blank space beside my signature, a motion that reiterated the fondness I had expressed in my letter, though she may never know it, and I covered it lightly with perfume. It is a habit I had developed during my adolescence, novel as it seemed, but I thought how evocative it should be now. Upon perceiving it, she will think solely of me. I have thought only of her.

So lowly I have felt these past weeks that she has been my guiding light through it all, though our friendship is not as it used to be. There are times when I have felt close to her, closer than we have ever dared to be, and yet, there are times where she could not be further from me, not in physical distance but in sentiment.

I have taken to reading her sermons, those transcripts she produces for church. I promised to read them and I have. Nothing would induce me to alter my beliefs, but I sorely regret not listening to them in person. Occasionally, she visits me on a Sunday evening and she recites them to both Miss Ainsley and I. How delightful Miss Ainsley finds them. How insightful and stimulating they are to me; I have hardly debated so vigorously in all my life. At times, we discuss her sermons at such length that Miss Ainsley can hardly bear it and she has been compelled to lie down with a cold compress.

Yvonne values my opinion so greatly that she has noted my observations and has returned with subsequent sermons, some of which contain the improvements or insights I have recommended to her. The appreciation I have felt on such occasions, I could not describe. There have been some circumstances where Penny has joined us and we talk as late as possible, until they are induced to return to the Park for the health of their mother. All of these visits have lightened my spirits, whiled away the hours in subjects most engaging to me, and induced my mind to preserve its discriminative powers. I have not had the chance to openly discuss my faith outside of the Catholic congregation, nor my relatives who share my Hindu upbringing; it is not a subject that is accepted nor encouraged in English society, but I feel I have been both accepted and encouraged by the two Miss Davers. I feel safe in their company.

This, Mass, and Yvonne’s weekly visits have been the moments I most anticipate. When I am without them, I become so low that I fear I am returning to my previous melancholy, not the short-lasting sorrow that infrequently passes through me, but the dolour that remains with me for weeks or months at a time. That hellion which is so arduous to remove, that which resides deep within me, has haunted me these past several years. It is always there. There are moments when it abides its time, and there are moments when it overpowers me entirely, so that I am at the mercy of its every whim. I thought that living here would alter this feeling, would banish it to the depths from whence it came, once and for all, but it has returned and I now fear nothing shall temper it. Perhaps they were correct- my family, my old school friends, Miss Ainsley, the doctors... Perhaps I am truly unwell. In admitting so, I must concede that I have a sickness that requires the taxing treatment so frequently assigned to me, but I refuse to submit. Never could I allow them to torture me so.

There are times when this suffering troubles me less, though it has not entirely abandoned me. When I sit at my easel, or care for my plants, or practice my instruments, there are times when I believe I have almost reached happiness. The moments I sit with the Misses Davers, particularly the eldest, or I sit at my altar, or within the house of God, that I think, perhaps, I have reached that beatitude. Nevertheless, it returns and I realise I have not progressed at all. I am at sea and each time I clamber to the surface to inhale the sweet air above, to sense freedom, I am dragged backwards by the current, into the depths below, with little chance of escaping. Then, it is with the most dreadful realisation that I comprehend I am drowning. And I may never be free again.

I cannot bear some aspects of society here. Henrietta says she does not think me ready to meet her close friends, those that she has in London. She has forced me to remain within the company of herself, her sister, and her cousins. There are days when I see other women at church or at the library and I contemplate whether I should approach them, but that is not the genteel behaviour expected of me, though I desperately wish to speak with them. They appear happier than the people I know, more learned too. I have dined with the Spencers, picnicked with the Haringtons, and I have been invited to a handful of garden parties and evenings at the McLarens. As the Misses Davers stated, I have appreciated their company. I have tried to affiliate myself with them more often; yet, it is difficult to detach myself from Henrietta who appears to find my company more value than I find hers.

Having been acquainted with her for some time, I am starting to believe she wishes to keep me to herself and not share my company. She has no want to take me to London. Or, perhaps, I am an embarrassment to the society there. She cares so greatly about her reputation that an orphan and a spinster, who has both Irish and Indian heritage is no friend to boast of in London, particularly one who is melancholic. They shall believe her absurd for having affiliated with me in the first place. I recognise, the older I become, the more imprudent it is to be acquainted with me. It is my inheritance, in fortune and name only, that prevents me from sinking into complete oblivion. When I am with the other families, with the Davers particularly, I do not feel I am judged in the same manner, but I cannot help contemplating the smear I could cause their reputations, simply by existing as I am. Undoubtedly, I am a queer one but they say the same of Yvonne. If they are correct, we ought to be queer together. There appears to be no other hope for us.

I hardly know what is the cause of my despair and thus, how to rectify it. I follow the instructions of Dr Chifamba and employ my daily exercise, of both body and mind, and ensure I have ample time in the day for both. Hardly could I forget it, for Miss Ainsley reminds me twice a day- every morning and evening. I am also forced to endure communing with others at least twice a week, not including Church, and Miss Ainsley ensures I persevere on this account. She is less eager to encourage a large gathering or dance due to my upset at the last. Although she is aware of my and Yvonne’s disagreement, she continues to believe the excitement is more than I can bear. London, by all means, is out of the question. There is too much to arouse the senses, she says. What would be adequate, in the meantime, is a selection of parlour games, small dances, afternoon teas, and picnics. Dear journal, I think I shall die of tedium before I am to recover from melancholy.

Last week, I was not allowed to shoot arrows at the McLarens, for she thought I was too weak in nerves but also that I may shoot her- on purpose or by accident, she did not say. She was all aquiver! Despite my vexation, I laughed, for the image of my shooting her was comical; to my mind, at least. Nevertheless, when she was distracted by cricket, Mrs McLaren allowed me to shoot three arrows at the target and I hit it most excellently on each occasion. I thought myself a natural archer and should own my own bow and arrow. That might cheer me and cause Miss Ainsley, simultaneously, to have a dreadful fit. Surely then, my delight will increase twofold.

This is all the excitement that has awaited me recently. There is hardly anything else to boast of, nor would I consider that a subject worth boasting of if I were to share this account with others. Eagerly I await Yvonne, though I cannot decide what mood she shall discover me in. I suppose, in this way, we are well-matched, for I hardly know how peevish she shall be. She was so attentive and kind after the ball, as she had been before, that I thought it was a singular incident that we should disagree with one another, that we should upset one another, but it has happened once more. It appears the subject of Mr Leong offends her. The reason, I do not know, but I shall endeavour to never mention him again. He has no place in my life, currently or in the future, and he shall not remove Yvonne from it merely on a misunderstanding. The insult he has caused her is known solely to them; I shall no longer interfere, whatever it may be.

Since our first disagreement, I thought she would not return and I have carried her kerchief with me since, even after we had reconciled. It rests under my pillow. When I awake and before I sleep, I seize it and feel it under the pillow. Oftentimes, I will remove it and hold it within my grasp where I can see her name. I daren’t use it for its intended purpose for fear of ruining it, but I have it with me always, particularly when I lay in bed. I wonder if she ever feels as attached to her necklace as I do to this kerchief, but I think not. She never tells me she wears it. A piece of me to have always, if she were to want it. What I would do for a piece of her hair to wrap in the handkerchief! I would not dare to ask her. How ridiculous she would believe me to be! No, I shall conduct myself as I always do and lie with the gift tonight. It may appear pitiful to others but it soothes me; I could not sleep without it.

As this entry began, so it will be completed, and I finish with the final thought being of her. Fare thee well, journal. I shall return tomorrow with news of my new painting and my embroidery of the flowers outside of the left drawing room window. You shall know all then. God Bless.

Chapter Text

“There will be the village here. I have to speak to Ernest Spencer about the land and how much it will cost to own it, as well as to build upon it, since it is not all ours, but partly his. He may even wish to invest if he would want to keep the land, which alleviates the financial strain that building this village will cost. I hope he agrees to it, for I think the houses would align perfectly here. If he were to refuse, we would have to demolish the mill and rebuild it elsewhere to fit more evenly with the village on our land, which would cost us more than I wish to pay. So, it is in our interests that he agrees and that we pander to the conditions he outlines.

“In the centre, here, it would be beneficial to have the grocers, the butchers, and other necessary amenities, including a park. It would not be troublesome for the milk cart and other businessmen to travel this route, so there would not be a limit of supply.

“As to the mill, there is no difficulty on procuring the machines; they are simply awaiting the village. There are hardly any considerations left, as they have all been overseen and addressed. Is there any concern that comes to mind when you view the outline or do you believe it to be thoroughly examined and recorded?”

Yvonne watched Lady Davers as she unwillingly lowered her gaze to the sheets before her. The baroness had been seated in the upstairs parlour where the nurse had been reciting her passages from ‘Lives of the Most Eminent English Poets’ (114). This task was undertaken on the pretence that she may interject with her own opinions, which she believed to be a more accurate assessment than any Doctor Johnson was capable of providing. The disruption to this enterprise, she did not take lightly, whilst the nurse, to the contrary, gladly took her leave.

Lady Davers had protested as well as she could, but she could not depart without assistance and was forced to watch the sheets of paper as they were unrolled before her, enduring the prolonged speech that followed. Despite her insistence that she was indifferent, she had silently listened, for she held an interest in the matters of finance and she wished to resist any alterations to their situation on the chance of their losing their fortune. The baroness was not unaware of her daughter’s intelligence, nor of her aptitude to business, but she did not welcome innovation when she believed it to be unnecessary. It was surely an opportunity for their money to be lost. This, she repeated to her eldest, though it remained unheeded, as all her protests had been.

“Yes, there is an initial expense,” Yvonne contended, “but it is an expense we can afford, and one that will return the profit once we have completed the infrastructure necessary for such an endeavour. There is nothing here to suggest that we shall lose money.”

“And what of that little cottage, and of improving the grounds? Penny informed me that she has produced an illustration for the greenhouse you wish to implement...”

“Oh, she did, did she?”

“Yes, and I do not like how you spoil the girl, Yvonne. She has flowers in the gardens; I do not know why she should have a greenhouse too.”

Yvonne had not agreed to this proposal- she also believed it to be an extravagant expense- but she did not wish to be dictated to by her mother. “Well, they are the fashion and are we not a family of fashion?”

Lady Davers tutted. “To be fashionable is to waste money. I have seen families ruined by the loan of dresses, jewels, carriages, and houses. We shall not be one of them. You must choose which venture you are dedicated to, or you must accept that you are wasting money faster than we can earn it. We do not have the profit to compete with such demands, and I oppose the need for a loan. Surely, you will require one for the new mill and village. We will not have one for the estate too!” Afterward, she muttered, irritably: “Besides, I do not want any more swans; we have enough as it is... I cannot abide them.”

“There is no arrangement, as of yet, for us to own any more swans,” Yvonne frowned.

“Good! I do not want any.”

“And the cost of improving the grounds and garden, as well as the cottage, will be extracted during the period of time we are waiting upon permission for the land and building; it will not be too much of an expense.”

“It is an expense, Yvonne! A gratuitous one. Spare the money and invest it more prudently in the future.”

Yvonne was silent for a moment.

“I am investing it into the future- the future of this estate. If we were to invest in gradual improvements to the grounds, there would be no financial strain,” she disputed. “It would not cost the whole sum, not if we were to pay gradually. There would continue to be surplus for our everyday leisure and for the business.”

Lady Davers stared up at her, her gaze steadfast. “It will be ruinous, Yvonne.”

Her censorious gaze vexed her daughter, who gestured towards the papers.

“You have not even read the accounts I provided you with!”

“I do not need to,” she remarked, indifferently. “I know I am correct.”

The baroness returned her attention to the book beside her, which she pulled onto her lap, a clear indication that the discussion had ended. She grasped the bell, which was situated on the table nearby, and rung it, its shrill tone bidding the nurse to return, who did so with an apologetic grimace in the direction of Yvonne. The woman in question did not notice the gesture but stared fixedly at her mother. Collecting the papers, she rolled and stored them, leaving them atop the table.

“I shall leave them with you for your perusal.” Perceiving the beginnings of a protest, she hurried to say- “I will return for them at the end of the week; in the meantime, you have the opportunity to familiarise yourself with the accounts. We will discuss the matter then.”

Lady Davers humphed, though she did not look at her but indicated to the nurse to start reading. Accustomed to this style of address, the nurse recited the passage before her, hardly daring to glance upward at the visitor who had remained in the room. Yvonne barely noted her sympathy but departed, closing the door resolutely behind her.

The outcome of the discussion, she was not content with. She wished to provide her mother with an opportunity to view the accounts, insistent as the baroness was to present judgement on all that passed. Nevertheless, Yvonne could not wait for permission, for she doubted it should ever come, and she wished to continue with her proposal. There was already a deferment in constructing the village that she hardly wished for another delay.

Downstairs, she roamed mindlessly, searching for one being in particular. She heard a faint refrain of the flute and she headed towards the music room, discovering Penny within. Her sister did not halt upon perceiving her but continued the piece, staring determinedly at the page whilst the eldest seated herself on the chair opposite. Upon its conclusion, her hands fell to her lap, the flute in her grasp, and she peered across at the woman before her.

“How dismal you look!” Discerning the outcome of the meeting, she produced a consolatory smile. “I believe a walk shall enliven your spirits.”

Yvonne stared out of the window, dully. “I suppose.”

Penny stood. “Wonderful; I need some air. I have hardly been outside these past few days.”

She dutifully placed the flute in its resting place, abandoning the sheet music upon the stand, and grasped her sister’s arm, hauling her upward. Although there was no indication of interest, the girl relayed her morning. It was no different from any other but Penny communicated it with such zeal that one may have thought it unprecedented. Familiar with her ways, Yvonne acknowledged her speech at the appropriate intervals, which satisfied her sister, and they stepped into the gardens, Penny’s hands resting on the crook of Yvonne’s elbow.

“And that is all that has kept me occupied this morning,” she chattered. “Hardly anything, I know...”

“You can hardly have much to employ your time,” Yvonne responded, “for I believe you have had the chance to draw a proposal for the new greenhouse we are supposedly having.”

Penny tittered, good-humouredly. “You are not the only one who can design a building, Yvonne. It was not difficult, by any means. I merely drew upon my ingenuity, and voilá, there, upon the page, was an edifice most visionary!”

“Hm, I shall be sure to examine whether that is the case.”

“You may, for you will find no faults with it; in composition, it is impeccable.” She was struck with a thought, exclaiming loudly in her delight. “How about a peacock or two?”

Yvonne emitted a short, sharp laugh. “Why would we need one when we have you?”

“I think you have mistaken me for yourself,” was the swift response. “Besides, if we are to renovate, should we not have the most exquisite grounds in all of Bedfordshire? Otherwise, what was all the effort for?”

The eldest chuckled, this reasoning not seeming to perturb her. “I shall not hasten my improvement of the grounds on anyone’s account; surely, there is no competition, whether we alter the grounds or not. Who would surpass us? The Greys (115)?”

She emitted another conceited laugh at the thought. Penny decided she was correct, since she was the architect of the arboretum and her assurance in its design was impregnable. With the conversation complete, her mind had turned to another subject that was of equal interest to her.

“You have not informed me still of all that happened in Oxford,” she noted. “You were rather vague. I hardly want to inquire when I have seen Bonnie, for fear of distressing her.”

“It was not distressing news; you know that.”

“Well, yes, but that does not mean she will be unaffected by my questioning.”

“And yet, you question me instead. Do you not fear for my distress?”

“Do not be absurd!” Penny tutted. “How dramatic you are! Tell me all that passed; not merely the positive news she has received, but where you went, what you visited whilst you were there.”

As they meandered across the garden, Yvonne disclosed the entirety of their journey, omitting the details that she wished to retain to herself, speaking solely of the quality of their driving across the countryside, the rooms in which they stayed, the places they visited, and their dinner with the Chifambas, the latter of which delighted Penny immensely.

“When shall I meet them again?” she demanded. The thought of having missed them was grievous to her.

“Soon,” was the evasive response.

This trick, the girl was accustomed to and she settled into sullen silence. Yvonne did not appear to notice, as the recollection of her journey had caused her to become preoccupied with a sudden thought.

“It is strange,” she uttered, “but on our travelling back and forth, I noticed Paulette was recovered. She seems to have overcome her travel sickness, at least.” She was silent for a moment. In the reticence, she was astonished to discover that Penny did not offer an assessment of her own, as she was so fond of doing, urging Yvonne to continue in her rumination. “I can hardly think of what affliction she had that would cause her to be ill in that way. It is all very strange, do you not think?”

Her brow furrowed as she contemplated it further, though Penny remained silent.

“I cannot think of any illness, from France or from here, that has the symptoms she had. Sickness, fatigue; often, she would massage her stomach when she thought I was not looking, and she would complain of spasms. Mrs Prescott said she was bloated...” Yvonne halted, her eyes widening, the following emitted in a whisper, for she could hardly talk any louder in her astonishment. “She was pregnant...”

Penny remained beside her, staring anxiously upward. “And what, pray, brought you to that conclusion?”

Yvonne merely exclaimed louder, which induced Penny to peer around them in the hope that there was nobody nearby.

“She was pregnant. That, that, that wretch!” Yvonne glanced around her, excitedly, in her attempt to conceive the situation that had been presented to her. “And Mrs Prescott knew! And she did not inform me...” Scoffing, she smiled in her incredulity, her arm falling to her side, causing Penny’s to fall with it. Yvonne’s tone revealed her scorn, her hand reaching up to brush through the strands of hair that had fallen across her forehead. “Oh, how fine this all is. How reprehensible!”

Clasping her hands together, Penny was swift in her response.

“We do not know the circumstances in which it happened,” she stated, desperately. “We cannot presume to judge her.”

“I do not care how it happened,” asserted Yvonne. “I care that my own housekeeper kept this from me... I am assuming she is no longer with child. She seems to have recovered from her sickness. What was to happen if she had given birth? Would I have not noticed?” She recognised the rise in her voice and she composed herself, though her disbelief remained evident. “Inconceivable that Mrs Prescott should deliberately exclude me.”

Meekly, Penny pronounced- “Well, it appears to be over, so I would not worry any further on it.”

Yvonne stared down at her, causing Penny to wince. She knew what was to happen but it would be easier for her if she were to remain where she was; there would be less consequences.

“You hardly seem surprised at the news,” the eldest stated, inhospitably.

“I, well, no... You see...”

“Penny!” The name was emitted as both a sigh and an exclamation. “I expected better from you.”

‘I did not know either!” Penny shouted, disregarding the open space in which they stood. She could not bear to be condescended to nor to be accused of wrongdoing. “It was only by chance that I discovered it. Mrs Prescott only revealed it to me because I threatened to tell you; I noticed Paulette was unwell, and she clearly thought I was less likely to discharge her.” Thereafter, she estimated that she should be honest, and admitted: “I was the one who called for Doctor Kensley; I feared for her health. For her life. She needed treatment.”

“And I would have refused it?”

“No... She was frightened, Yvonne, and I did not know what to do. I did want to ask you but you seem so averse to her.”

“Because she is always inattentive to her work,” Yvonne declared, her voice reverberating in the cool, still air. “And she was becoming frequently ill with no sign of recovery. If I had known she was pregnant, that would have changed matters. I could prepare for that; I cannot prepare for an apathetic and ill maid.”

Penny almost whimpered in her upset. “She has no-one. A dismissal would have been damaging to her future prospects.” As her fingers fumbled against each other, she stared fearfully up at her sister. “I did not want to be the one who made that judgement.”

Yvonne reached out, her own large hand settling comfortingly upon the fidgeting hands of her sister. “You do not have to. That is what I am for.”

She stared apprehensively up at her. “Will you dismiss her?”

Yvonne brought Penny’s hands to the crook of her elbow, continuing their walk. Now that the reason for Paulette’s illness was discovered, she was temperate, though not entirely forgiving.

“No,” she decided. “But I shall speak to her on the matter. Once is a mistake but I will not have it happen again. Not out of wedlock.”

With the assurance that there was to be no dismissal, Penny acquiesced, walking quietly alongside her. She wished desperately that the matter would resolve itself. It was harmful, she believed, for the incident to be discussed any further, primarily for the discomfort it would bring to the maid. Yet, she knew Yvonne had the right to question her condition, being her employer, and she trusted her sister would be merciful. The woman was austere; that did not make her cruel. Undoubtedly, she trusted the episode had come to its end and it need not be mentioned again. Penny was simply relieved she no longer had to conceal the secret from Yvonne; she was not inclined to be secretive. Not if she could help it.

“Avez-vous besoin d'autre chose, Mademoiselle (116)?”

In response, Yvonne stared at Paulette through the mirror, the unsuspecting countenance that adopted her features. For the first time, she truly inspected her- the tall thin frame, the pretentious expression upon her countenance, the wisps of yellow hair, and the youthfulness of her features, as she was but a young woman, a few years past her adolescence. In her gaze was a naivety, borne from an inexperience of the world and of life, but there was a poignancy that had developed after her illness that revealed she had learnt one of its many consequences, if not them all.

In any case, Yvonne was not averse to the maid’s haughtiness; it reminded her of herself. She was almost fond of the way they were alike, as they were able to understand each other, and she heeded that she ought to be forbearing towards the young woman, if only in this instance, since she was certainly no fool, despite her mistake.

“Come here, Paulette.”

This request was visibly unexpected, for the maid had completed her duties and had not anticipated that she would be needed, despite the question. Hesitantly, she crossed the room, halting behind her mistress.

“Oui, Mademoiselle?”

Yvonne turned in her chair to stare directly at her. Reserved, she said- “Tu vas bien maintenant, j'entends (117).”

With her illness long past, Paulette was startled by the subject, yet she nodded sincerely. “Oui, je vais très bien. Merci de vous renseigner (118).”

“Hm, je suis heureux de l'entendre, compte tenu de votre malaise.” Resting her chin upon her curled hand, she observed her maid with a curiosity she had not before. This scrutinization, Paulette was aware of and she visibly reddened. Noting the reaction, Yvonne continued. “Mais vous n'êtes pas bien dans votre tête. Vous êtes déprimé depuis (119).”

Paulette was silent for a moment, her gaze lowering to the carpet.

“Il m'est venu à l'esprit, pendant ce temps, que je n'étais pas aussi imperméable à la maladie ou à la perte que je l'avais pensé auparavant (120),” she admitted, softly.

Yvonne halted. She did not wish to inquire so far as to distress her, for that was not her intention, but she hoped that the query would lead to a confession. Having employed the young woman, she believed she ought to know the truth of the matter.

“Quand vous parlez de perte, à quoi faites-vous référence précisément (121)?”

“Si je ne perdais pas la vie, je perdrais ma santé ou, pire, ma position, alors je perdrais toute sécurité que j'ai dans cette vie. Tout ça d'une maladie que je n'ai pas pu prévenir (122).”

Despite the ambiguity with which she outlined the situation, the affect upon her was striking and she desperately attempted to repress the tears that had arisen. Yvonne viewed the emotion upon her countenance but could not restrain herself from mentioning the affair that she had so ardently wished to pursue.

“Mais cela n'est pas vrai,” she contended, a statement which caused Paulette to look up in her bewilderment. “Une maladie contractée, par tous les moyens, n'est la faute de personne. Une grossesse, en revanche, nécessite deux coupables. Être un participant involontaire est une chose, mais s'engager volontairement en est une autre, et vous laisse dans une position où cela aurait pu être empêché en premier lieu (123).”

Aghast, Paulette stood with her mouth agape, returning to her senses a moment later.

“Mademoiselle, ce n'est pas (124)...” she hurried to say.

“Ne sois pas malhonnête, Paulette,” she demanded, “Cela ne fera qu'empirer les choses (125).”

Paulette was silent once more, her bottom lip trembling. Pitiful, she wailed- “Mademoiselle...”

Commiserative, despite herself, Yvonne wished to ease her distress in any way possible.

“Je suis désolé d'apprendre votre perte, sur les deux comptes,” she declared, sincerely. “Je sais que vous étiez fiancé... Parfois, nous ne pouvons pas empêcher le sort qui nous est réservé.” Here, she became impassioned and barked- “Mais, tout de même, il ne fallait pas être si insensé! Vous êtes plus intelligent que cela (126).”

In spite of her veneration for the eldest Miss Davers, Paulette was equally fervent, following the censure she was given, and she retorted:

“N'avez-vous pas éprouvé vos propres faiblesses en matière d'amour, Mademoiselle Davers? N'est-il pas dans la nature humaine de se tromper face à ceux que nous chérissons le plus? Certes, je ne peux pas être réprimandé pour un trait qui est inhérent à chacun de nous et qui, en soi, est une qualité à admirer.” Ignorant to her mistress’ amazement, she continued with her hands clasped imploringly together, her appeal disrupted by her frequent bouts of weeping. “J'ai appris ma leçon, vraiment; Je peux à peine supporter de regarder un homme, pas après tout ce qui s'est passé. Il n'y aura aucune inquiétude à ce sujet, car c'est la pensée la plus éloignée de mon esprit. J'irai bien, Mademoiselle Davers, s'il vous plaît. Permettez-moi de rester (127)!”

Disturbed by this show of emotion, Yvonne hastened to complete the discussion. She did not wish to ponder on the foibles of love; she knew it all too well, though the maid should hardly know it.

“Yes, well... good.” She frowned up in her hesitancy. “Je ne vous renverrai pas; s'il vous plaît, ne vous inquiétez pas à ce sujet. Il n'y a pas besoin d'être si... affecté.” The word she had thought of was ‘French’, but she decided against it. Certainly, the girl had received enough criticism. “Cependant, vous devez savoir que je ne peux pas ignorer cela une seconde fois. Je ne laisserai pas la honte tomber sur cette maison.” She raised her finger to point firmly at her. “A l'avenir, vous devrez être plus prudent quant à vos affections; comprenez vous (128)?”

Yvonne stood, striding towards the bed. Whilst she did, she continued in her speech. “Je suis content d'entendre, au moins, que vous n'êtes pas si pris avec les hommes. Ils ne méritent guère votre considération et, si vous restiez quelque temps ici, vous serez tout à fait indépendant et cela vous placera certainement en bonne place pour l'avenir (129).”

Paulette walked across the room, parallel to her, standing at the foot of her bed.

“Thank you, Mademoiselle. Thank you; je comprend!” she sniffled.

“Excellent. Ne parlons plus jamais de cela (130).” Glancing across at the weeping maid, she plucked a fresh handkerchief from the drawer, passing it to her. She stared across in perplexment, uncertain of how to console her. Gracelessly, she emitted- “Come, there is no need for that.”

Paulette responded by the gradual soothing of her tears. Appreciative to view her mollification, Yvonne waited patiently for it to subside altogether, offering to walk her to the door once she was prepared to leave. As she did so, she patted her heavily on the shoulder. Their mutual discomfort sobered Paulette and she feebly curtseyed.

“Merci.”

Yvonne frowned down at her in her continuing bewilderment. “Yes, well... Good night.”

“Good night, Mademoiselle.”

“Souhaitez-vous vous reposer demain (131)?” she questioned.

“Non,” was the honest response.

Yvonne nodded. “All right; then I shall see you in the morning.”

Paulette stared dismally up at her as she repeated the platitude, gesturing that she wished to return the handkerchief. Her mistress refused, as it had been used, and insisted she keep it. By the bye, she thought it would be useful on her journey downstairs. Expressing her gratitude once more, the maid departed, abandoning Yvonne to the silence that followed. The conversation had affected her more deeply than expected and she clambered into bed with a heavy sigh.

“Poor girl,” she uttered.

She could not imagine the torment she had undergone, nor the degradation and misfortune that often followed women when it came to the subject of love and marriage, particularly when involving a man. Yvonne believed she had been fortunate to avoid it altogether; she hardly knew how she would have fared, otherwise. It appeared to her to be nothing but misery.

Chapter Notations

114. Lives of the Most Eminent English Poets (1779-1781) was a composition of work by Samuel Johnson, which comprised of short biographies and critical appraisals of fifty-two well-known poets who had lived during the eighteenth century.

115. In fact, when Thomas, Earl de Grey, inherited the house in 1833 from Jemima, Marchioness Grey, he demolished the old Wrest House in Bedfordshire. Resultantly, he rebuilt the house itself and reconstructed the gardens into what is known today as Wrest Park. These gardens form one of the most complete formal landscapes in the country, depicting fashions from the early 18th Century through to the mid 19th Century.

116. Translation: Do you require anything else, Miss?

117. Translation: You are well now, I hear.

118. Translation: Yes, I am very well. Thank you for inquiring.

119. Translation: I am pleased to hear so, considering how unwell you have been.// But you are not well in mind. You have been despondent since.

120. Translation: It occurred to me, during that time, that I was not as impervious to illness or to loss as I had previously thought.

121. Translation: When you speak of loss, what precisely do you refer to?

122. Translation: If I were not to lose my life, I would lose my health or, worse, my position, then I would lose all security I have in this life. All from an illness that I could not prevent.

123. Translation: But that is untrue.//A contracted illness, by all means, is nobody's fault. A pregnancy, on the other hand, requires two guilty parties. To be an unwilling participant is one matter, but to willingly engage is another, and leaves you in a position where it could have been prevented in the first place.

124. Translation: Miss, it is not...

125. Translation: Do not be dishonest, Paulette;// it will only make matters worse.

126. Translation: I am sorry to hear of your loss, on both accounts.// I am aware that you were engaged to be married... At times, we cannot help the fate that is dealt to us.// But, all the same, you should not have been so senseless! You are smarter than that.

127. Translation: Have you not experienced your own foibles when it comes to love, Miss Davers? Is it not in human nature to err when confronted with those who we treasure most? Surely, I cannot be reprimanded for a trait that is inherent within us all and which, in itself, is a quality to be admired.// I have learnt my lesson, truly; I can hardly bear to look at a man, not after all that has passed. There shall be no concern on that account, for it is the furthest thought on my mind. I shall be good, Miss Davers, please. Allow me to stay.

128. Translation: I will not dismiss you; please, do not worry yourself on that account. There is no need to be so... affected.// However, you must know I cannot overlook this a second time. I will not have shame brought upon this household.// In the future, you must be more prudent as to your affections; do you understand?

129. Translation: I am pleased to hear, at least, that you are not so taken with men. They hardly deserve your consideration and, if you were to remain here for some time, you will be quite independent and that will certainly place you in good stead for the future.

130.Translation: Let us never speak of this again.

131. Translation: Would you like to rest tomorrow?

Chapter Text

The slow twang of the sitar was captivating and exquisite to the ear, its vibrations perceived from the hallway, though its notes became more distinct as Yvonne entered the room. Cushions were accumulated on the drawing room floor and upon them, Bonnie, though she was in her nightgown, her hair tied into a loose plait. She plucked composedly and deftly at the strings, her pensive expression made picturesque among the mist that surrounded her. The drawing room was heavily infused with the sweet scent of sandalwood, a small brass pot not far from the cushions, a constant exhalation of smoke emitting from the openings within its lid. It was apparent she was despondent, though the slowness in which she delivered her performance was only to its merit, and it sounded no less divine in its execution.

Her disinterest in the townspeople, in her occupations at home, had caused her to return to a state of lethargy. Accordingly, her irritation had increased and Miss Ainsley had departed that morning visibly displeased with her. Part of her was remorseful, for she desperately wished to improve, but she could not entirely shed the state that she had fallen into. Thus, she had spent the day upon the floor, reading, playing instruments, and merely resting there. Noting the arrival of Yvonne, her recital slowed until it had halted altogether.

Her guest was startled to perceive she had finished, having been charmed by the sight of her.

“Please, do not finish on my account.”

“You came to converse, not to listen to a recital.”

Bonnie motioned for her to sit, which she did, striding over to the cushions and settling inelegantly upon one, her legs crossed. The ungainly pose caused the etchings of amusement to arise within Bonnie and she smiled across at her. Gratified to view her in such a state, Yvonne returned the gesture.

“How have you been?” she inquired. “Have you called on anyone since I saw you last?”

Bonnie placed the sitar beside her, sighing lightly. “No, I have not been anywhere. I was supposed to visit the Haringtons yesterday but I was so fatigued, Miss Ainsley could not raise me from my bed and she ceased in her attempts soon after.” After a moment of silence, she added- “But I have been better. I have been calling on people often and following my daily exercises.”

Her soft voice was even quieter in her languor, and she did not attempt to appear cheerful. The account of her socialising seemed hardly of any interest to her than an inconvenience and Yvonne was perturbed to view her in this low state after the anticipation she had gained in Oxford.

“Have you been painting?” she asked.

“No.”

“Sketching?”

“No.”

“I can see you have been practicing your instruments.”

“I am finished now.”

They sat together in reticence. Yvonne stared concernedly at her, though Bonnie was watching the smoke arise from the incense burner. If she had appeared satisfied to simply sit and watch it, Yvonne would have allowed her to do so, but she hardly looked as if she were stimulated by the pot; she was merely acting upon the impulse to stare blankly at the object before her.

“Shall we call for tea? I know how you like to have cake at this time.”

“If you would like.”

Yvonne scrambled to her feet, the unaccustomed setting of cushions and blankets causing her to fumble, though she retained her dignity. Once she had stood, she held out her hand towards Bonnie, who had watched her movements with mild curiosity. The lady did not want to move, but she accepted the gesture and they walked together to the sofa, where they called for tea. Bonnie did not release her but tried to use her other hand to pull her shawl tighter, as it was draped loosely across her shoulders. Perceiving this attempt, Yvonne drew it around her, folding it neatly across her front.

“Thank you,” Bonnie muttered.

“You are most welcome.”

Tea was brought to the room and, as Yvonne sipped her drink thoughtfully, she watched the way Bonnie’s fingers played with the hem of her shawl, the tassels that hung from it.

“I am astonished to hear you have not sketched anything recently,” she spoke out, placing down her cup. “You have always been inspired by the nature around you.”

“I do not feel inspired,” Bonnie admitted.

Yvonne considered this declaration. “There has been a great amount of talk recently- at the Park, that is- surrounding our modification of the gardens. We are thinking of having a new cottage on the grounds; Penny has requested a greenhouse. Perhaps you may come and paint in the gardens. You may come whenever you wish it; you would not be barred, no matter the time or day. I would like to see you there.”

“I hardly feel the urge to paint presently, but it is worth considering.” Bonnie peered upward, noting the disappointment upon her features. Smiling kindly, she uttered- “Thank you, Yvonne. It was a kind offer. When I am better...”

Her neighbour could not conceive when the event would be, but she nodded in agreement, nevertheless.

“Yes, of course.”

Restless, for she hardly knew how to continue the discussion, she stood. Circling the room, she observed a folder of work that had been placed upon the table and she perused it, startled to discover there were several pieces within that heralded various depictions of her. There were paintings she recognised, since she had modelled for them, but there were some she had not. She regarded the portrait in the garden temple with much delight, for it was painted the day after Bonnie’s return and was her first sitting with the lady. Fascinated by those she had not viewed before, whilst simultaneously satisfied with those she had, she continued through the folder. She thought the depictions representative of herself, even those that were seemingly drawn from memory, and she called across to Bonnie to inform her so. Recognising the object that Yvonne was holding, Bonnie sprung to her feet.

“You do not need to look there,” she fretted, hastening across the room. “I do not have much to look at.”

The young woman attempted to remove the folder from Yvonne’s grasp, though her neighbour continued to hold a painting of herself, where she was depicted sitting upon the sofa in the drawing room, staring contentedly out of the window. Embittered by this obstruction, Bonnie tried once more to seize the paper. Noting this attempt, Yvonne returned it to her with a smile.

“You have a fine skill, Bonnie,” she assured her. “I am sorry to hear that you are uninspired. Perhaps I could sit for you again? You have asked me before and I have had to decline on a couple of occasions, but I would be more than willing to do so now. You may have me as you please.”

Bonnie did not believe she could. What’s more, she suspected that the offer was insincere; Miss Davers merely wished to rouse her from her melancholy. The attempt, in itself, was kind but Bonnie believed the woman wished to alter her, as so many had previously tried to, and she did not wish to be corrected in any way. Nonetheless, she softened at the effort, for she appreciated any exertion on her part to cheer her. Bonnie could not refuse Yvonne, nor did she want to disappoint her.

Staring across, she clutched the paintings to her chest, as if she wished they were the woman herself, contemplating the offer and determining, moments later, that it may be beneficial to her. Bonnie desperately wished to be inspired; if it was not to be Miss Davers, she could not imagine what else would rouse her from her current state. She always savoured sketching Yvonne, even when she was not nearby. Bonnie did not need her to be present; she knew her face by memory.

“I suppose I could try to sketch you,” she decided. “The weather is fine enough to have the perfect lighting.”

“We can sit in the garden,” Yvonne suggested, delightedly. Upon viewing her hesitation, she continued. “Or we could sit here, where it is perfect still. Besides, I have yet to finish my tea.” She paused. “Shall I collect your brushes and paint for you?”

“You do not have to...”

“It is no bother!”

Yvonne dashed from the room before there was another protest. Yet, despite her objection, Bonnie was pleased. She did not have the spirit to fetch them herself, and she always generated great enjoyment in the service of others, as she preferred, at times, to be idle.

Arranging the canvas and her easel, she waited patiently for her companion, contemplating the painting that would inspire her the most. By the time her neighbour returned, she had decided upon what roused her from the options she had conceived. She smiled at Yvonne, upon her entrance, observing her as she carried the utensils across the room.

“I know what I must do,” she revealed, staring animatedly up at her.

“Oh, yes? What has come to mind?”

Accepting the brushes and paints, she said: “I would like to offer a painting to you as a present. One of yourself, that is. I shall do my utmost to ensure it is the best portrait I have ever produced. Then, you will be honoured to have it displayed in your home.”

“I do not need a portrait of myself,” Yvonne contended. “Surely, I know how I look. I do not need to stare at myself any more than necessary.” Withal, she did not wish to reject her completely and offered a solution. “You may keep the painting as testament to your skill and hard work. I could not separate a collection.”

“It is not part of a collection. It is for you; you must keep it.” The ardour that had risen within her started to dwindle, her previous inertia returning. “I wanted to present you with a gift of some kind.”

Yvonne did not wish to discourage her and sat in the chair opposite, pulling it closer to her. She regarded her sullen countenance, her consternation, and she decided upon an alternative. Reaching out, she gently encased her hand within her own.

“If you wish to truly gift me with a painting, I have a request, but I shall not insist upon it. There is only one painting I would want from you.”

Bonnie raised her head, heartened by this request. Thrilled, she urged- “Name it and I shall complete it for you!”

“I would like a painting of you,” Yvonne professed.

This request startled her companion, who sat in silence for some moments. She had not expected a petition of this nature.

“It is unnecessary,” she contested. “I would much rather paint you.”

“Well, if I want a painting, I would want one of you,” returned Yvonne. “What would I want with a painting of myself? I see myself every day; I do not see you as often. So, I have a greater need, you see, to view your face than my own.” Observing the small smile that appeared, Yvonne returned the gesture. “If you do not wish to paint yourself, I shall have a small sketch, whichever you prefer.”

“And you are decided?” Bonnie questioned. “That is what you prefer?”

“Naturally. If I were to be candid, I would much rather... well, I would much rather stare at you all day.”

Bonnie pinkened. “Then I can only hope that I do justice to your request.”

In her desire to raise her spirits, Yvonne indulged in her compliments further than she would customarily, though she did not realise the impulse.

“I have no doubt you will,” she declared, stoutly. “You have the beauty for art and I know you shall paint a remarkable likeness that will give way to a masterpiece. I could not hope to have the features for art.”

Bonnie stared warmly at her.

“I think you have the perfect features for art,” she stated, simply. “You are art to me.”

During this speech, Yvonne had reached for her tea and, upon hearing the latter words, sipped it sharply, where she began to cough desperately. She hoped it would ease, but she reddened and choked not merely in digestion but in humiliation.

“Yes, well, I cannot argue with an artist nor her keen eye for detail,” she hemmed, hastily placing down the cup. “But I can contend that you are far more pleasing to look at than I can ever hope for. Anybody can attest to that.”

Bonnie grimaced. “I suppose it would depend on who is inquiring, for I would not agree.”

Yvonne’s crimson features did not lessen, but merely darkened further.

“Let me fetch the mirror and you may start,” she asserted, loudly, springing from the chair. “I do not want to sit around and be useless.”

She hurried from the room to inquire after a mirror, one that was smaller than the glass hanging from the walls downstairs. Watching her leave, Bonnie perceived a rise in her spirits. She felt she was of use, that she had a purpose to attend to. It was vital, to her, that she complete the piece to the best of her ability; it would be her greatest work yet, for it was not of her Muse but for her. Surely, she had the chance to inspire her as she, in turn, had been inspired. Bonnie wished to do all in her power to present Yvonne with what she wanted. She could not dissatisfy her now.

Chapter Text

“There. There, man! That’s right.”

Yvonne gestured vaguely in the direction of the floor. Harassed, the footman leant forward to delicately place the dog on the rug.

“Here, ma’am?” he questioned.

“Yes, I think so.”

Relieved, Mr Milton stood to depart, but he was called back by Yvonne.

“You are not leaving?” she frowned. “No, you must stay with the dog until I return. I cannot have it running around or destroying the furniture.”

He glanced down at the animal, which had seated itself upon the floor, watching them both, curiously. It occurred to him to inform her that this was unlikely, though he knew she would not heed him. Reluctantly, he said-

“Certainly ma’am.”

Satisfied, she headed upstairs, pleased to discern that the dog had behaved splendidly since entering the manor. That was to her intention. She had purchased a border collie for their disciplined nature. It was a well-behaved pet, ordinarily, and, if Penny were to tire of her, she could be used for the farms. Accordingly, Yvonne did not perceive this gift as a waste of money but, rather, an advantage, though she could not bear to see an animal sitting so freely in her home or anywhere else civilised, hence it being led to the library, rather than any of the formal rooms within the home. Despite her aversion, it would be to her benefit to allow it inside, for Penny would find a way to sneak it into the house anyhow.

Knocking on the door, she perceived a faint assent and she entered her sister’s room. The girl was sat upon the windowsill, arranging flowers into a vase and singing lightly. She peered up at the eldest’s entrance, charmed to see her.

“And what brings you here on this fine day, mon plus doux (132)?” she inquired, cheerfully.

“You must come downstairs,” was the answer. “It is urgent.”

Penny sprung to her feet, the flowers forgotten.

“It is?” she exclaimed. Upon deliberation, she decided- “It is not calamitous, else you would be exceedingly restive...” She gasped loudly, her features revealing the thrill she was experiencing. “Do I have a present?” Penny clasped her hands together, demanding, eagerly- “Oh, what is it, Yvonne?”

“I shall not tell you if you do not calm yourself.”

Penny darted towards her, grasping her arm and tugging her from the room. Guiding her through the hallway, she stared delightedly up at her.

“I shall not speak, if that is what you wish, but only if you promise that it is exciting.”

Yvonne glanced down at her with a raised brow.

“You may find it exciting,” she remarked, “but I certainly shall not.”

Penny squealed, though she said nothing. She believed the situation would not reveal itself now if she spoke. It was not until they had reached the ground floor, directed towards the library, that she disregarded this vow of silence and blurted:

“A new book?”

“Nothing of the sort.”

Penny was discouraged. “Oh...”

Yvonne halted at the door, holding her hand up to gesture that she wait. Unfolding her arm from Penny’s, she instructed the girl to close her eyes. Penny merely bounced in her excitement, holding her hands over her eyes whilst she frantically giggled. Opening the door, Yvonne arched her gaze, reaching to the small of Penny’s back to lead her into the room. She urged her forward until she was pleased with where she stood, bidding her to halt. Penny did.

“I cannot bear the suspense, Yvonne,” she declared.

“You only have a second to wait! Be patient, Penny.”

As she spoke, Yvonne peered across at the collie, who was staring intently at the young woman beside her. Yvonne knew it was directly in sight of her sister, that she could not possibly fail to view the dog, and so, she nodded her gratitude towards the footman. Pleased to return to his duties, he nodded in response, departing and closing the door quietly behind him.

“All right; now you can see,” Yvonne instructed.

Penny lowered her arms, instantly crying out in her rapture. “A puppy?!”

She hurried towards it, falling to her knees and skidding across the floor to grasp the dog, so that she could cradle it within her arms. The collie accepted her affection and was staring happily up at her as she scrambled to her feet, she spinning around in her delight, the dog pressed to her chest.

“I love her; I love her! Thank you, Yvonne!” She halted in her capering. “Is it a she?”

“Yes.” Yvonne crossed her arms. “This dog, in particular, is a she. We have lasted this long without a male in the house...”

“What should I call her?” Penny held the puppy at arms’ length, scrutinising her appearance. The puppy continued to stare at her in return, its mouth open in its ecstasy. Overcome by the sight, Penny returned her to her chest where she pressed her close, kissing her forehead. “I cannot think. There are so many possibilities.”

“Perhaps you may put her down whilst deciding, else she shall be choked to death and I shall have wasted my money.”

Penny followed the orders, reverentially placing her onto the rug, patting and scratching her. The dog sniffed her hand as it came close, licking it gently a moment later.

“She loves me!” Penny squealed. Whilst she bounced in her excitement, the puppy imitated her movement, bounding up and down in front of her. Animated, it bounced onto her lap as she knelt beside it. Penny wrapped her arms around her, embracing her tightly. “We are the best of friends already!”

“How lucky!” Yvonne uttered. “I am certain that you shall find her endlessly entertaining. Although, you ought to be firm with her. I was told that she is trained, for the home and the farm. I will not have any bounding around in my home, thank you!”

“She is happy, Yvonne,” Penny frowned. She peered down at the dog, smiling and exclaiming in a high-pitched voice- “You are happy, aren’t you? Yes, yes, you are. You! Yes, you. Good girl.”

Irritably, Yvonne humphed. “You ought to not speak to her like she is an imbecile either. Dogs are not the smartest of creatures; we do not need one that is half-witted.”

Penny tutted, gesturing for the puppy to return to her lap, to which it did.

“You are unkind, Yvonne. She is wonderful as she is.” Starting, she proclaimed- “I shall call her Diana!”

“Diana?” Yvonne exclaimed. “For a dog? Are you certain?”

“She looks like a Diana.”

Yvonne stared questioningly at the puppy. “She does?”

“Yes! Besides, is she not a little goddess of the countryside? And of hunters- or rather, of gathering sheep? Yes, she is a perfect Diana. Come along, little one. I must show you your new room.”

Yvonne stepped to the side, so that she was between Penny and the path to the door. “She will stay downstairs with the servants.”

Penny chuckled, believing this request to be absurd, and walked around her with the dog in her arms.

“You cannot have a family pet and have her sleep with the servants,” she remarked. “She stays with me.”

With the animal remaining in her grasp, she departed, the complacent smile on her lips revealing her feelings on the matter. This smile merely became wider, the closer she came to the entrance, until she abandoned the room altogether, smirking at her sister as she closed the door behind her. Yvonne glowered at the wood, though she said nothing. She supposed it was her own fault for bestowing the dog in the first place. No good would come of it, she believed; she was too soft with the girl. Yet, Penny was satisfied and that thought within itself eased her. Although she would not admit it aloud, Yvonne would have done anything to make her happy.

Chapter Notations

132. Translation: My sweetest.

Chapter Text

Led into the drawing room, Bonnie seated herself upon the chesterfield. It was opposite the one in which she had sat during her first two visits to the Park, and she stared at it fondly as she waited. The recollection of her meeting the eldest Miss Davers, in particular, was of chief importance to her, solely in the pleasure it produced, and this memory occupied her mind for some minutes. Yet, the time gradually passed and she glanced at the clock upon the mantelpiece, astounded to discover the extent of her abstraction, though she was concerned to perceive that she was still alone. She had not yet been joined by the lady of the house. Bonnie questioned why she had not come, whether the reason for Miss Davers’ absence was herself, when the door opened and Yvonne entered, hurriedly. She was breathless, a pinkish hue having arisen in her cheeks, and the first words she uttered were an apology.

“I was reading upstairs when you came,” she explained. “Doctor Johnson refused to return to his cage. There was an awful struggle.”

Bonnie’s disquiet subsided at her arrival, replaced entirely with delight upon viewing her.

“I have yet to be acquainted with the elusive Doctor Johnson,” she noted. “I am interested to meet him.”

Yvonne exhaled lightly. “He has been nothing but a pest since Penny cared for him. Now, they are both wilful.”

“All the same, I should like to see him,” she insisted.

Reluctant, Yvonne questioned whether she should call for him, not wishing to deny her, and she soon obtained servants to fetch the bird. Having satisfied the request, she seated herself beside the visitor, who had resolved to speak instantly on a subject that she had travelled to the Park to discuss.

“I am continuing with your painting,” she informed her. “I know it has taken me a while, but I would like to do justice to the employment that I have been given.”

Yvonne did not believe she needed to explain herself, assuring her- “I have every faith you will do so. Art cannot be hurried.”

Bonnie peered down at the book within her lap, opening it and removing a page that had been illustrated upon. “You outlined that you would prefer a sketch or a painting, so I have attempted both. I did not want it to be ruined so I have brought it with me.”

Hesitantly, she passed it to her, carefully inspecting her features for any indication that the illustration had formed an impression on her. Yvonne merely stared down at the piece, having produced her monocle to view it, no word uttered in her perusal. The picture was a likeness of Bonnie whilst she was seated upon a chair, her hands folded neatly in her lap. Each tender feeling that it induced was not conveyed in the recipient’s features but in the softness of her words, as she continued to observe the drawing.

“You did not have to exert yourself on my account; merely one or the other would have been satisfactory. I do not wish to tire you.” There was a palpitation in her chest that she mistook for an affliction, but she soon perceived that she was deeply affected by the picture. Removing her lingering gaze from the depiction, she looked at the woman herself. “But this is wonderful, Bonnie. You have captured yourself splendidly; if this is what you can achieve in a sketch, I cannot wait to see the painting.”

Her gaze was filled with such endearment that Bonnie glanced down, equally overcome, the sensation causing her to fidget in her seat. Nonetheless, her countenance revealed that she was pleased.

“We shall see,” she muttered, returning her gaze coyly upward.

“I have every confidence in you.” Yvonne placed the paper carefully on the table beside her. “When I return upstairs, I shall add it to my journal where it will be kept safe.”

This declaration pleased Bonnie greatly, her countenance revealing how agreeable she believed this outcome to be. It was all she had hoped for, and her complacency could not have reached further heights. Yet, before she could respond, the cage of Dr Johnson was carried into the room. At the sight of him, Bonnie exclaimed:

“Oh, he is lovely!”

She went to the cage, peering through the bars to view him, reservedly. Johnson merely whistled at her, his head tilting to the side to study her, uncertainly, though she was smiling down at him. Hereafter, Yvonne approached them, having paused to express her gratitude to the servants, the sight of her advance soothing the cockatiel. Turning to her, Bonnie grasped her arm, staring pleadingly askance.

“May I touch him?” she questioned. “Can you let him out?”

Yvonne stared dubiously at the bird. He had been unmanageable that morning, though she wished to comply with the lady’s request, and she knew that Johnson himself would want to be spoiled. He preferred to be doted upon. She raised her brow at him but he was unperturbed by this threat, so she uncertainly opened the cage, gesturing for him to withdraw. Obediently, he hopped onto her hand, where he was passed to Bonnie. This intention, however, he did not appreciate.

“Come along,” Yvonne urged. “She wants to see you.”

He hesitated, though he was induced by the promise of a treat.

Once his little feet had leapt onto her, curling around her fingers, Bonnie laughed in delight, raising her other hand to gently stroke him, delighted by the smoothness of his feathers.

“He is so soft,” she uttered in admiration.

Dr Johnson was not adverse to flattery and he allowed himself to be petted with great amusement.

“Samuel, say hello,” Yvonne instructed. When there was no response, he staring up at her, she repeated the statement with a wave of her hand. “Hello!”

“Hello!” he responded.

Bonnie exclaimed in surprise.

“Hello, Bonnie,” Yvonne continued.

“Hello, hello,” came the squawk.

In her delight, Bonnie laughed and repeated the platitude. Doctor Johnson whistled at her, which merely increased her thrill. From behind, the door was heard opening, a loud exclamation following in its wake.

“Doctor Johnson!” Penny shouted. “You have been brought to us.”

He arched his back at her voice, flapping his wings in her direction. This movement startled Bonnie, though she did not move, anxious that she may cause him to fall or that she may frighten him. Her consideration was undermined by a rush of movement from nearby and a sudden bark, which caused Bonnie to cry out, as she felt an unknown object collide into her legs. This was followed by another bout of barking, a sound that induced her to step back in alarm, for she did not know of a dog upon the grounds and she had not expected to be greeted by one. Disturbed by the commotion, Johnson flew from her hand.

“Is there a mutt on my dress?” Bonnie demanded.

Horrified at the prospect, she leant forward to save her satin from the claws of a wild, brutish fiend but was astonished to discover it was merely a puppy, one that had moved around her, fascinated as it was on the bird, rather than her.

“Penny!” hollered Yvonne. “What is the meaning of this?” When there was a flurry of confusion, her sister having tried to seize the dog, Yvonne turned to Bonnie, repentant. She was disgraced to have startled her companion and to have agitated Johnson. Contrite, she told her- “That is Penny’s new dog. I was told she is trained but I suppose if anyone can undermine that training, it is Penny.”

Kneeling on the floor, the girl had grasped the silk collar around Diana’s neck and was attempting to tug her backward, urging her to comply. She peered up at Bonnie, remorseful for having bothered her, though indifferent to the disarray she had caused.

“She will not harm you,” she insisted. “She is excitable. Diana has not yet had the chance of meeting our dear Doctor Johnson.”

Glancing down at the dog, Yvonne observed her wholly for the first time that day. Her eyes widened and she stepped forward, pointing directly at her.

“Penny! What have you done?”

The girl did not appear to understand her, but peered perplexedly down at the collie. Diana had snippets of pink ribbons tied around her ankles, the collar equally pink, and dangling from the centre was a miniscule diamond, which hung in a heart-shaped pendulum, the gem itself shaded rose. Where these had been acquired from, Yvonne could not fathom, but she thought them preposterous.

“I purchased the collar when you said I could have a dog,” came the sincere response. “In the morning, when Margaret fashions my hair, Diana also wants ribbons, so I let her have some.” Penny laughed in her delight, clapping her hands together. “Yvonne, you must see this!” Standing, she turned in a circle, her arms held outward. The dog watched her before imitating the movement, sprinting consistently in a circular motion. At the sight, Penny ceased the movement, as she was laughing too heartily to continue. “She spins! I was dancing and she copied me. I call her Spinny now too; she responds to it as if it were her own name.”

Yvonne crossed her arms, groaning. “Only I could purchase a half-witted dog.”

Insulted, Penny held Diana closely to her, covering her ears.

“You cannot say such a thing!” she protested. “She will be upset.”

“As if she understands...” Yvonne scoffed. Gesturing to the decoration, she added: “And all of this must be removed. It is distasteful, to say the least.”

“She can detect your animosity, Yvonne,” was the peeved response.

Discerning that there was to be a disagreement, Bonnie intervened. “I agree that the collar is not the most tasteful I have seen. It would be agreeable to own a simple collar. And the dog must be trained; she cannot keep behaving this way.” Observing the disregard with which the girl heeded her judgement and thinking upon her lovely silk skirts, she reiterated, firmly- “She must be disciplined.”

Penny did not appreciate that nobody in the room aided her, particularly when she believed that she was correct.

“The collar is merely a matter of opinion,” she retorted. “As she is my dog, she shall wear what she pleases.” Peering up at her sister, she smirked. “Besides, Yvonne does not like ribbons because it reminds her of the ones she had to wear when we were younger. Mother liked her to wear white ribbons and she had to wear them to Church and to every party until father passed. It is unkind of her to unleash her frustration upon a faultless dog because of it.”

Bonnie snickered, covering her mouth to smother her laughter.

“You used to wear ribbons?” she blurted. “How long was your hair?”

Yvonne was staring heatedly at her sister, her mouth pursing thinly. Ill-humouredly, she asserted: “No, I do not like ribbons.” Her attention turned directly to Penny. “I will have none of that, thank you!”

Penny was too emboldened to heed her, grinning up at Bonnie. “There is a portrait in mother’s morning room, if you wish to view it.”

This revelation amused Bonnie further, though she dared not laugh, for she could observe the glower upon Yvonne’s features settling deeper into her countenance. Indignant, Yvonne attempted to command the situation.

“Remove her, Penny, and remove those ribbons. I shall not ask twice.”

Penny arched her gaze as she stood. “You do not have to be so domineering, Yvonne. You bought her for me.”

She called to the puppy, encouraging her to depart. In response, Diana dashed towards Yvonne, as a form of good-bye, her little black and white legs bouncing beneath her, halting at the woman’s feet to wait patiently for a caress. Yvonne merely waved her away, the motion causing Dr Johnson to screech from the curtain railings. His indignance returned Diana’s attention to him and she dashed across the room. Hereupon, Johnson flew to the opposite side, so that he could avoid her, the collie altering her direction mid-course, scrambling and sliding into the nearest armchair in the midst of her attempt.

“Penny!” reprimanded Yvonne. “Get that blasted dog out of here. She is upsetting Doctor Johnson.” Observing her sister as she took the puppy into her arms, she sighed heavily. “Only you could turn a docile animal into an excitable one.”

“All she wants is to love you,” Penny contended.

“Well, she can love me composedly. Take her out.”

Penny glanced imploringly at Bonnie in the hope of convincing her, but their neighbour was hesitant. She could not abide the bounding of the dog nor the noise that followed, and so, she remained silent. Discouraged, Penny approached her anyhow, indicating that she may pet Diana. Bonnie hesitated, though she reached out and quickly patted her on the head, to which the dog responded with a smile. This reception endeared the puppy to her and Bonnie smiled too. Howbeit, she did not suggest that it remain.

Strolling past, Penny considered approaching her sister, but the provocation upon her features was a clear indication of how this application would be received. She passed her by, disheartened by this refusal, and called her farewell from over her shoulder, despondently withdrawing from the room. Bonnie responded with her own emittance, but there was no response from the eldest Miss Davers. As the door closed, Bonnie stepped closer to her, her fingers curling around Yvonne’s arm.

“That dog is rather unruly,” she noted. “She is trained, you say?”

Yvonne turned her attention to her guest, having been watching the door. “So they told me, yet Penny has a way with animals. I would not be surprised if she has somehow undone the discipline that the dog has learnt. I must supervise their time together to ensure Diana does not become too reckless.”

“I think that would be best,” Bonnie encouraged. “But do not be too severe. She is young still, although I do not admire the way she bounded around...”

“Precisely! She is a lady and she must act like one!”

“I was speaking of the dog, Yvonne.”

This blunder did not appear to perturb her. “Oh, yes... Diana.”

Bonnie huffed in laughter.

“Penny must have control over her. Dogs can be filthy; you do not want them all over the furniture.”

Yvonne placed her hand over Bonnie’s.

“You do not have to worry about your dresses or where you sit; you shall always have the finest of everything.” Observing the vanity with which this was received, she urged her towards the sofa, where they had previously sat. “Come, we can sit and enjoy the quiet now it is the two of us. Doctor Johnson will return to you, since the commotion has ended.”

At the sound of his name, the cockatiel descended to the back of the chair, so that he was settled beside them. His composure eased Yvonne, who had been concerned for his nerves whilst the dog was present; yet, now she was gone, she discovered that her own nerves were not entirely settled. She noted the portrait beside her and glanced down at it, her irritation lessening upon viewing the sketch.

Her hand almost rose to her neck, to trace the chain beneath it, though she refrained from doing so. Yvonne did not wish to draw attention to it, even with its giver nearby. To admit her dependence upon it would have shamed her and the thought that she been gifted with another courteous donation was staggering. Yvonne could not detail how gratified she was for the woman beside her. Her appreciation was immeasurable.

Chapter Text

9th October 1830

Yesterday was taken almost entirely by business matters. Ernest Spencer has vowed that he shall return with his decision in the next week or two, for it is a serious matter to contemplate. I should not like to rush him, to cause him impatience or irritation, else the business shall be ruined. I must wait for him to approach me when he is prepared to. It is not a circumstance that I appreciate but it is one I must endure, if I am to have any chance of buying the land, or to have him agree to build upon it.

I wrote to Ingham to offer a position to Mr Florek in the meantime, so he should not be unemployed. I think he shall take the offer. He would rather manage some of the farms than relocate to London, I believe. The countryside has more to offer in its natural pleasures, and it is inexpensive, by all accounts, compared to the towns. He should live quite comfortably here; on the contrary, he should be fortunate to own an apartment and live independently if he were to find employment in London. Besides, my offer was very generous; I do not believe it shall be rejected, particularly with the current state of affairs. What’s more, I am pleased to hire him. Mr Florek is a reliable, industrious, and principled fellow; it would be a mistake to neglect him in the wait for the factory. I shall be pleased to have him work for me, and to be associated with our family name.

As for my mother, I approached her once more to discuss the accounts but she could not agree with the investments into the grounds or the business, despite my meticulous calculations, and I warned her I shall invest anyhow. She has not spoken to me since, but it has provided me with a few days of quiet, so I cannot lament when I have been gifted with such peace of mind. Surely, she shall return to criticise me but I will have started one venture or another by the time she relents, so she may say what she pleases; it will not obstruct my plans either way.

I also received a brief letter from Daisy Sutton who has settled nicely at her new school. These were kinder words than she gave me on her departure. I had called for a coach to transport her to her new school and promised her, before she leaves, that I shall present her with something that will deliver her quite nicely into her future and into the hallowed halls of education. This, she must have believed to be more sweets or some other extravagance equal to the coach, since she appeared very pleased to see me when I arrived in town. I had come to call upon her before she left, to wish her luck and to provide her with an exceedingly fine copy of The Dictionary (132). She did not look pleased with it and hardly wished me farewell, though Mrs Sutton was thoroughly gratified with my generosity. Yet, the girl must have used my gift, for I see her writing has improved, and she was more gracious in her letter than when I saw her last. Despite her effrontery, I do not think ill of her. She is merely a girl; she does not realise yet how much it has cost for me to finance her education. One day, she shall put it to good use, I am sure, but children hardly think of these matters. They do not appreciate forethought but think it a great burden to be schooled. Nevertheless, this improvement in writing is credit to the education she is receiving, and I think I shall view a great transformation in her when she returns.

This afternoon, we received an invitation from a distant cousin, as he is to be married. My pardon is already prepared for my mother, since she is no state to travel to town, let alone outside of the county, and Penny shall remain with her, resultantly. It is to me, then, to attend, undelighted as I am at the prospect. Penny was devastated that she should not attend. She rarely frequents a wedding and she finds them exciting affairs. If I could, I would send her in my stead and then we would both be pleased.

Worse than the thought of a wedding, it initiated a conversation that was equally unexpected and undesired. Penny inquired into Josephine’s, stating she knew of its existence and that I had not attended. She wished to know why, for there was every opportunity, and that my friends, surely, would have missed my presence. I merely informed her that I could not on account of mother’s health, but that it was terrible timing too in regards to the business. It was too much bother, even for London. Penny did not appear to believe me but she did not inquire further.

Certainly, despite my concealment of the matter, she has formed a judgement of her own. I forget, at times, how old she is becoming. Penny is no fool, though she may act one. She can surmise the details without my ever telling her, for all the implications are there. Although, I must allow her credit, as she has never reprimanded me nor eschewed me for the estimations she has conjured of my nature. In fact, she seems to encourage them, which may be worse. Not for myself, but for her and her own reputation. It is vital that she is not encouraged nor is she involved in my affairs in any way- one of us must escape unscathed. Once roused, Penny will not cease in her endeavours. She will one day go too far altogether and I will not be able to prevent her nor the consequences that will undoubtedly follow. Thus, she must be shielded from the very person who wishes the most to protect her- me.

She departed without a word and I could observe she was despondent about the whole affair. Albeit, I was grateful that she did not force the matter but abandoned me to my own thoughts. I am barely affected now by the remembrance of Josephine. The betrayal was merely reflective of another and it was that which hurt me most, and the woman herself was not so deeply engrained in my heart that I should forever grieve the loss of her. It was rather the loss of someone else that spurred me to despair, but I have returned from it with time and with grace, though it be little.

If one was to inform me that, months later, I should become ensnared by another, I would not have believed it. I trusted that Josephine occupied each and every thought, that she would continue to, but I also trusted that there was nobody else who could rouse my interest, who could stir those dormant sentiments within me. They have barely come in use these past several years, not since Augusta, not truly, and though Josephine stirred some emotion in me, it was not the adoration I felt then and it is not the adoration I feel now. It is as though the light has finally shone within me, those slumbering emotions enlivened, belatedly woken from their hibernation with a breath of fresh air, and they have dusted themselves from their dormancy, their idleness, to look out yonder, merely to realise that spring has come at last.

And it has come. I view the sketch of Miss Donoghue every time I open my journal- a white carnation pressed beside it. We walked across the gardens during her last visit, and she found some carnations that she admired near the pond. I told her she may take some but she took only one, as she did not wish to ruin the display, but then she took another afterward, handing one to me, so that we may have a carnation each. Before the flower wilted, I had it pressed and dried, so that I may preserve it always. It is a reminder of her, though the reality is that I think of her always. You cannot fathom, dear journal, how dear she is to me and how dreaded I believe that knowledge to be.

I went to visit her yesterday evening. Having thought of her, I could not prevent myself from viewing her with my own eyes and there she was, as she always now is. She was in her nightgown and robe; she had been roused from bed and had traversed downstairs with a smile to greet me. I stood when she entered but she merely took my hand and entreated me to sit. She placed her head upon my shoulder, sighing lightly, though she sounded happier than usual. We sat in silence for some time, since she was content where she was. Our hands remained entwined and I tried to sooth her by stroking her hand with my thumb, my other hand resting gently atop them both. This attendance must have soothed her, for she assured me she was quite satisfied when I inquired. She was smiling, genuinely, which is not always assured, so I supposed she must have been truthful.

I suggested that we amuse ourselves with some games, perhaps those a little different from what we usually occupy our time with. It would reinvigorate our spirits after following the same tedious routine in our daily lives. This suggestion did brighten her countenance and lighten her spirits. Even the arrival of Miss Ainsley did not dampen them.

Bonnie fetched a board of hers that was soon arranged on the table, and which I had never seen before. The board was simply cloth that she unfolded into the shape of a cross, the squares a multitude of colours and dots. She informed me that the cross, the small, strange, wooden pawns- that looked like the green and black olives I have observed in my travels to Greece- and these cowry shells, they were all part of the game and that it is named chaupar (133). She also informed me that it is a game that is rumoured in legends to have been played by generations of kings, as well as by deities during their time on Earth. Fascinated by this game, I consented to play. All three of us played and Bonnie defeated us both. It was my first time, naturally, so I accepted her victory with good grace. Miss Ainsley hardly seemed occupied with winning or losing, since she was used, on all accounts, to being defeated by Bonnie, so she took the loss rather cheerfully.

We then played a game called antakshari (134), which Bonnie told me was very similar to the word games we play here. As it was usually sung in Sanskrit, she assured me we may use English songs. She sang a verse of a song we both knew and when that ended, another verse must be picked but it must begin with the same letter of the ending of the verse. It was a little difficult at first to fall into the correct rhythm and she gained more points than I did, with Miss Ainsley not far behind. Once I started to understand it better and gain points of my own, Bonnie ended the game, which I thought quite devious of her, though she insisted it was not so that she was the clear winner; she was simply tired of it. I did not believe her and told her so, but she merely laughed. Undoubtedly, she is a slippery one.

We finished with a game of chess, whilst Miss Ainsley continued reading her book. It was a quick round, since Bonnie always wins and I know not how, since I am usually the victor of all games. I do not take well to losing, I must admit, but I cannot be upset with her. She thrashed me once more but, when I complained of it, she simply told me I must do better, if I wanted to win. Yes, she is very slippery. You would not believe it, for she is so fair of countenance, so irreproachable in her manner, that you would not suspect her. Yet, I am starting to believe, as shrewd as she is, Bonnie cannot abide losing either and she would take it very badly indeed if she were defeated. Certainly, I cannot upset her, so she must always win. Perhaps it is this that resides so deeply in my conscious that I always allow her to! I believe it must be, for I am not one to lose. Besides, there is a trick to her chess-playing and I shall discover it one day. She cannot hide it forever.

Thereon, she adjourned to the pianoforte, where she performed two pieces by Mozart. She sang a little too, which reduced Miss Ainsley to tears, and finished with Romanze. I recognised it instantly and was delighted to watch her as she played. Before, there had been a party to receive her performance but it was I alone- discounting the blubbering Miss Ainsley- who now received the recital, this distinction not entirely unrecognised by me. When she completed the piece, she looked at me so warmly that I could not prevent myself from returning the sentiment, wholeheartedly. This tenderness that passed so easily between us- so naturally- induced me into a sense of deep gratitude. Despite all I have said, to be her greatest friend here in Bedfordshire, to be her confidante, is a privilege that I do not take lightly. This feeling, on her part and mine, remained unnoticed by Miss Ainsley, as she had exhausted herself of weeping and was vigorously dabbing her face with the kerchief. I also believe she thinks nothing of our friendship; it is not unnatural in her eyes compared to others in town, and for that, I am grateful too. I could not bear to be separated from Bonnie.

Hereafter, she produced the violin and called me to a duet. I played the pianoforte whilst she stood beside me, the genteel voice of the violin combining wonderfully with its cousin. This duet moved Miss Ainsley to shed another tear or two, where she declared, once it was complete, that she could not have dreamed of the gift she had received in viewing this performance; it was an honour to have watched us both together. I felt quite esteemed myself in hearing her say so, though Bonnie was amused by this sentiment and did not attempt to hide it. By Miss Ainsley’s insistence, we started another duet where Bonnie chose upon singing.

I was anxious to accompany her. With the violin, it need not matter for its tune dominated the piece and would continue well without my input, but with her voice, I must perform exceptionally, else I would make a fool of us both. I have not her natural talent, though she assured me she would choose a simple piece.

It will not come as a surprise, journal, that she has the most beautiful voice I have ever heard. I hardly know if I have mentioned it here in these pages, but it is the simplest fact in the world, for anyone is sure to know upon meeting her. She needn’t speak more than a few words for them to realise her voice is the sweetest you will hear in this lifetime. Beside me, it was the softest whisper of the wind, the gentlest lapping of the stream as it trickles from the mountaintop, a dew drop that falls delicately from the petal of a flower. It is the siren’s voice that you hear in the mist and, with all faculties of reason lost, the very sound you follow into the dark, trusting that it will lead you to pure beauty, to exquisiteness. And so, it will come as no surprise to you, journal, that I drowned in this melody until I lost my senses altogether, for I was too bewitched by her beauty to notice the danger before me.

At this death- the death of my own liberty and reason- she laughed. She placed her hand upon my shoulder when she had finished, thanking me, and then asked me a question that she had never asked before- she entreated me to stay the night.

It was late and there was no use in my returning. It was too late an hour to disturb the servants; it was unthinkable to travel on my own, and the two could not accompany me, for it was too long a journey to travel to the Park and back. I protested, as I could not remove all of the images that appeared to me upon thinking of staying at the House, but I knew it was senseless to object. It was inevitable that I would sleep the night at C.H.

Miss Ainsley retired to bed; Bonnie had urged her to, stating that she would care for me and ensure I was settled. To the contrary, I was awfully unsettled upon hearing her say so. She led me to the room two doors from hers and fetched me a nightgown. I rarely wear anything so feminine, but I did not protest as it was all they had and with Miss Ainsley being shorter than us both, I would not fit into her clothes, nor would I particularly desire to.

Bonnie requested I come to her room when I was dressed and I did not protest, despite my fatigue. When I came, she beckoned me onto the bed, she resting on one side, and told me- “I have waited all night to secure you for myself and now, I have my wish.” It was unkind of her to say so; she hardly knew the effect it had upon me and I remained very modestly on the side of the bed. She petitioned me to come closer and once I was seated in the centre, she sat up and said she wished to tell me a story. As I had been kind enough to read to her whilst she was ill, she wanted to return the kindness. Naturally, I protested, for I thought solely of her health when reading to her, but she said she wished to recite the tale of the Rāmāyana (135), since I could not understand it in Sanskrit. I did not protest then, for I was truly interested and I was appreciative of the consideration on her part.

Before she started, I noticed she did not acquire any of the volumes at her bedside. I asked why she did not read from the book and she laughed. Tales are not for writing down but for passing on to another, she told me, and this is how she wished to pass it on to me- through spoken word, the same way it had been transmitted to her. She said the Europeans relied a little too much on recording tales and not enough on actually listening to them nor understanding them. I supposed that was a fair accusation, so did not inquire further. Besides, I admire the oral tradition. How inspiring to recite the very words of our ancestors, to know that we hold the exact same story within us, and that we, too, can make it our own, inspiring the following generation to do the same. It is simply marvellous, I think.

As for the narration, she had me quite enthralled, I must say! So riveted was I by the story! At one point, I seized the pillow, I could not believe it, though she became weary as she continued. It was late and she began to yawn intermittently. Her last words were, if I recall correctly-

“Though each human trace is erased from the universe and the Earth, though each corpse be million years under, Mother Earth will always bear an impress of every foot that trod anxiously and ecstatically, through good and evil, upon her- upon her- till Kala consumes all again.” She spoke of the Ganga, of it being a necklace, its stream kissing all it touches, nourishing the parched throat. I was still preoccupied with the previous thought that I do not recall it all, though the imagery was beautiful. And then she said- “Here in life is death is life and death and life again (136).”

She barely spoke further before she yawned once more and I resolved that we should finish, so that we may both sleep. Bonnie protested meekly but she soon submitted. We had hardly broached most of the story, though I promised her she could continue another time. She practically lunged at me, seizing me around the shoulders and causing me to fall backward into the pillows. This amused her, though not me, and I insisted she sleep. She laughed, her arms still around me, her head against my shoulder and she asked me to stay. There was propriety in it but I denied her, for the thought made me uneasy. Rumours of my own conduct, I could ignore, but I could not subject her to the same. I told her I shall return to the room she provided me, to which she groaned, but she was already half-asleep, so her attempts to grip me were rather feeble.

I climbed out and tended to her as well as I could, ensuring she was warm and comfortable. Once I was finished, she reached out and took hold of my wrist, murmuring good night. I could not resist, despite my better judgement- perhaps it was the talk of romance, of luxuriousness, of the true nature of all things, or the evening I had spent listening to her and her only, but I leant over, taking her hand within my own, and I kissed it quite firmly. It is the first time my lips have touched any part of her and it is my shame to admit I lingered. Her skin was exceedingly soft and scented faintly with lavender. For the slightest moment, I thought I might not cease and kiss every inch of her skin, but she smiled so devotedly up at me that I did not have the heart to ruin her, though it was the ruin of me to release her.

She pressed my hand before I did, and I blew out the candles, muttering good night, though she was instantly asleep, curled restfully in her bed. I glanced yearningly in her direction as I left, for I am human, after all. It is this inherent, mortal weakness that induces us to love so ardently and unrequitedly against our better judgement, but it appears that not even Gods are above such failings, as I have now learnt from Bonnie’s tale. Perhaps then, it is divine nature to love and love deeply, despite everything.

It is this thought that rested with me as I lay in bed, thinking upon the night, upon my dearest and upon the tale she had told me, upon the divine that surrounds us all, though we know it not. Not truly. Nature, the animals themselves, including our own fragile species, a gift from God; the replenishment and cleansing that comes from the Ganga, from the earth itself, and the idea of renewal, impermanence, the cycles of nature, and even our relations to each other, I thought upon it all and I thought of Bonnie. I could not cease in my thinking, one way or another.

How funny to think we all hold some semblance of the divine within us, from the mould of earth we are created from, the water we drink, the ground we walk upon, the air we breathe, all of it an extension of the Gods, and when we choose to simply live and to live among others, who reflect their own version of divinity, we choose to live among the very cosmos themselves. We are constantly evolving in a cycle of regeneration- now, I am human; in death, the earth, the particles that were once me forming into an animal, a tree, or a blade of grass. Once, I may have been a star itself, out in the galaxy beyond, and my dearest would have been one too, the brightest in all the universe. And when we uphold the morals, the responsibility, that we have to one another, we uphold our service to the earth itself and to our Creator, whether there be one or more beyond this tangible veil. They rest in an infinity that we cannot begin to comprehend. And yet, among this infinity of time and space, my path crossed with Bonnie’s and she was right there beside me. And dear Lord, in that very moment, I loved her.

Today, we are alive; another, we will be dust, and in years to come- far beyond a time I can conceive- our physical selves may be traversing the universe together once more, perhaps unaware that we once knew each other, but together, nonetheless, whilst our eternal souls are united in Paradise. How astounding and comforting it is to think that may be so. That in this lifetime and the next, some part of us may always be together. In that moment, dear journal, I believed my love for her was infinite. I knew it was. And it was this precise thought that guided me to sleep at last.

Today, I thought further upon her, how she had been that evening. At times, it seems as if she is not better but worse, but she was joyous yesterday evening. Happier than she has been in a long while. It is moments like this when I am grateful, for I fear I have lost her in many ways, but then I am eased. We savour each other’s company; she values mine. Surely, all is not lost, as long as she wishes me to be near her. Her felicity is not the same as that which is defined by society, for she is melancholic still, but it is felicity, nonetheless. It is her own version of happiness and that cannot be wrong. This reflection has forced me to ruminate upon this sole question: could we not be happy in our own way? I am inclined to believe we could be. Nothing is perfect, but nobody is nearer to that perfection than Miss Bonnie Donoghue.

Chapter Notations

132. Johnson’s Dictionary (15th April, 1755) was written and completed by Samuel Johnson, and was considered the pre-eminent English dictionary until the publication of the Oxford English Dictionary in 1884. The influence and reception of this Dictionary was exceptional, and it was used widely in academia, in business, and at home. The writer- Simon Winchester- states: “One asked for The Dictionary much as one might demand The Bible”. This eminence meant that using The Dictionary as a gift in education was common, as also seen in the opening chapters of Vanity Fair

133. Chaupar, a.k.a. chopad or chaupad, is a cross and circle board game that originated from India.

134. Antakshari, a.k.a. Antyakshari, is a spoken word game that originated from the Rāmāyana and is played in both India and Pakistan.

135. The Rāmāyana is considered one of the two major epics of ancient India and of Hinduism, the second being the Mahābhārata mentioned in Vol.3.

136. A direct quote from Ramayana: A Retelling by Daljit Nagra (2014).

Chapter Text

With the clattering of wheels, the horses coming into view along the pathway, the arrival of the Donoghue carriage was announced within Colworth House. This excursion was financed by Bonnie’s aunt and uncle, with an expectation that their son-in-law should be involved in the payment of this journey, although he did not petition to be involved but, rather, cheerily accepted this disbursement without any offer of his own. In affording the excursion, the elderly couple did not remark upon it and their daughters certainly thought nothing of finance, for they were used to such ceremony. Thus, Sarah, Louisa, and the latter’s husband were regaled with a comfort that none of the three had paid for, nor were they, in all likelihood, to reimburse.

Upon entering the grounds, Louisa peered out of the window, observing the sole figure that awaited them atop the steps. It was not their cousin but her custodian. At the sight, Louisa huffed. Glancing across the carriage, she remarked-

“She cannot come to the door. She is more uncivil than when we saw her last.”

Her sister’s voice was no less tranquil for this discovery. “Bonnie is ill; that is why we are here. We can only assume that she is unable to greet us at the door, and let’s not forget that we did not inform her of our visit until we had boarded. She has had little time to prepare.”

“I suppose you can excuse her,” Louisa muttered, “but she has never been entirely amiable.”

“She has been grieving for the death of her parents since coming to live with us. That is not an entirely fair assessment.”

“So, she should hardly be grieved by now. It has been a decade, or thereabouts.” Louisa turned to the man beside her, urging him to assist her. “And what do you think, darling?”

Tinkering with a small, mechanical device, Percival van Blois peered upward, the motion causing his spectacles to slide further down his nose. He returned them to their rightful place, blinking dazedly at his wife. Noting her expectant stare, he turned his attention to the manor.

“It is an agreeable house, by all standards. A little small, but I am certain her extravagant taste will compensate for the decoration inside.”

“I was speaking of Bonnie, dear.”

“Oh, yes...” He searched through the window for the woman in question, though he did not view her. “She is not there.”

“That is precisely what we are speaking of!”

She did not chastise him further, for she was accustomed to his ways, and he was unperturbed by this blunder. He merely uttered- “How strange!”

This was the natural end of his participation and he returned his attention to the device in his hands. Louisa’s countenance revealed her disapproval, though she was not resentful of his distraction; in truth, her affection for him overcame any dissatisfaction that arose within her. Opposite, Sarah smirked, her gaze wandering in the direction of her sister.

“It is crucial that we behave splendidly,” she remarked. “No tartness from you; it will not help matters.”

Louisa did not utter a promise of any kind, nor did it appear, from her features, that she had formed one inwardly. Rather, she pursed her lips and stared out of the window, surveying the grounds before her. Moments later, the carriage came to a halt upon the driveway, the footmen offering assistance to the ladies as they descended. Despite his engrossment with the curious and indefinable object that he had brought with him, Percival allowed his wife to withdraw first, pausing at the door in anticipation of his sister-in-law, his hand stretched out towards her.

“Come, Sarah,” he urged. “Take my hand. It is in front of you.”

She reached out uncertainly for him and he took hold of her gloved hand as it fumbled in the air, her fingers curling around his when she realised he had grasped her. Grateful, she smiled and he guided her to the door, instructing her when to bow her head and where to step as she descended from the carriage. He would not allow anyone else to assist her and the footmen, familiar with this custom, did not intervene.

Once her half-boot (137) had touched the ground, she sensing the solidity of it, she expressed her gratitude once more. He released her, as Sarah’s hand was swiftly tucked around his wife’s elbow, they remaining stationary until Louisa was satisfied that her sister had gripped her securely.

The Donoghue sisters were not alike their cousin in feature, but their deportment, their manner of carrying themselves with an air of affectation, their silken dresses, their precious jewellery, and the delicacy of their countenance was reminiscent, if not entirely alike, to Bonnie and in this view, it was apparent that they were relations of one another.

As for Percival, his small stature, tousled hair, and the way he constantly fiddled with the cogs he had pieced together was not quite the impression that the family were used to presenting, but in intellect, he was exceptional and in affection, the tenderness that he possessed for his wife was incomparable, and she, in turn, loved him, though nobody had anticipated the match nor thought it, at first, one of mutual devotion. On first appearance, their inability to consort with others was their sole likeness, but it was also that which left them comfortable in each other’s company when this was not always the circumstance with others.

Halting at the stairs, they were greeted by Miss Ainsley, who was moved to tears by the sight of them. She descended in an attempt to greet them, yet her weeping prevented her from walking any further, and she paused to dab a kerchief under her eyes. The custodian had thought herself forgotten by the Donoghues and the Maukharis alike, abandoned to handle the afflictions of her ward with only her conscience as her guide. Despite her reservations, Miss Ainsley loved Bonnie dearly but she was aware of her inability to assist her and, in the past few months, had secretly hoped for familial intervention. It had come at last, this thought overwhelming her.

All three guests received her tears with an air of bewilderment, the sole indication to Sarah that the custodian was tearful being in her loud, heaving breaths and the emptying of her nose onto the kerchief.

“I must apologise for the lack of preparation,” Miss Ainsley wailed. “We received your letter yesterday...”

“You must not apologise, Miss Ainsley,” Sarah insisted. “We did not provide you with sufficient notice.”

“Bonnie, she is inside.” The custodian hesitated, glancing between them, before admitting- “It has been difficult to remove her.”

Disturbed that there was to be no offer of tea, Louisa spoke out. “We could refresh ourselves and have tea whilst we wait for her.”

“No,” Sarah frowned. “We must see her at once. Surely, we cannot have tea without her.”

“In theory, no, but in actuality, it is quite painless for us to...”

Sarah reached out her hand towards Miss Ainsley, interrupting Louisa, a gesture which caused the old governess uncertainty. She did not wish to intervene in the young woman’s speech, but she would not forsake the lady before her when she required aid. Sensing her trepidation, Sarah spoke out, commanding softly-

“Miss Ainsley, please; take me to her.”

“I would be honoured, Miss Donoghue.”

Removing her hand from Louisa’s elbow, Sarah did not discern the animosity upon her sister’s features, though she knew the expression was there. She heeded that Louisa was unwilling to be reasonable in this circumstance and knew she would be led, with great care by Miss Ainsley, to the destination that she wished to reach. Behind her, Louisa followed at a sullen pace whilst Percival accompanied her, the young man inattentive to the scene that had passed before him.

Whilst they walked through the manor, the journey was memorised by Sarah with considerable skill and she noted any turns or furniture that may be an obstacle, if she were to walk alone. She did not like to rely on those around her and would ensure that, in every instance, she seized the opportunity to be independent.

It was not strenuous for her to decipher when Bonnie was near, for she could hear the pianoforte before they entered the room. The piece was a ballad, though Sarah could not place its title. Behind, Louisa flinched at the sound. To her, the sight of her cousin playing at the pianoforte, her melancholy evident, was dismal to look upon and she wished that she were anywhere but there.

This sombre atmosphere was palpable; Sarah did not have to observe it to know the sorrow that surrounded her cousin. Led to the instrument, her hand settled upon Bonnie’s shoulder, a notion that aided her in discerning where precisely she was.

“Good afternoon, dear cousin,” she greeted. Her gentle tone did not reveal the anxiety within her as she ruminated upon Bonnie’s health. She leant forward and kissed her atop the head, though there was no real affection behind the gesture, it being a formality between them. “We are grateful that you have allowed us to stay here with you; we hope we may be of use.”

Bonnie’s reply was equally apathetic. “I am sure you will be, as always.” She peered across at the additional guests that were standing in the room. “Hello, Louisa.”

“Hello,” was the frank response.

“And Percival.”

Percival grinned, genuinely pleased to have called upon her. Bowing his head, he emitted, resonantly- “Bonnie.”

Delighted to view them together after months apart, Miss Ainsley announced, in a state of awe, that it was time for tea.

“I am sure our guests would prefer to rest after their long, arduous journey,” she intimated to Bonnie.

To this suggestion, her ward was uninspired, although Sarah smiled as she stared ahead of her.

“Yes, the sea was rather stormy on the way here. I was quite ill for some time. A cup of tea is precisely what’s needed.”

“I did not mind it,” Louisa stated, triumphantly. “I have always loved the water.”

“I felt downright awful,” Percival asserted. “I heaved many times. Louisa has always been unnatural in how she fares over water. She was the only one who was well.”

Whilst they talked, Bonnie peered up at Miss Ainsley, uttering lowly- “Do what you will. If you want tea, call for it.”

She had stated so in the hope of ridding herself of them, despite knowing she must join her cousins if they were to be seated. This whisper, Sarah heard and she lowered her head to speak with her.

“We thought we should celebrate with a feast. The usual dishes will suffice; you received our request for some additions?”

“We did!” Miss Ainsley confirmed.

Bonnie glanced peevishly up at her cousin. “There was a lot of ruckus yesterday merely for some dishes.”

“So, you would prefer not to have any saltfish or plantains? Surely then, you shall not want the chana aloo (138) or kheer (139) that we requested. We shall be without tonight.”

Bonnie stared glumly and petulantly at the pianoforte, her fingers slowly tracing the bottom of the keys, feeling the curve of each.

“I never asked you to have a feast nor to deliver any food.”

“I foresaw you needing a little comfort,” Sarah asserted, composedly. “They have always been some of your favourite dishes and I knew you would appreciate them. Miss Ainsley says you have eaten your remittance (140) in pastries and cake, so we were sure you needed a change in diet.”

“We allowed you the kheer,” Louisa spoke across.

Percival glanced up from the chair in which he had seated himself. “We are to have kheer? Excellent!”

Bonnie sighed heavily, her shoulders lowering. Despite her displeasure, she could not prevent herself from admitting: “It is true. I have missed eating at home. Some of the staff here do not flavour it the way I like, although I tell them constantly how I want it cooked. The cook says she has been tested awfully, working for me.”

Miss Ainsley scoffed. “And what would Mrs Hughes know? She has never been so well-tested in her career; she should be grateful for the knowledge she has gained.”

Percival emitted a short laugh. “I suppose some cooks’ idea of refinement is boiling vegetables. What shall boiling a potato and slathering it in butter produce? Anyone can cook so simple a dish.”

There was a murmur of disagreement and Louisa glanced down at him, her voice low. “Potatoes are not an amusing matter, dear. Do not talk so lightly about them.”

He merely arched his gaze in response, unperturbed by his wife’s reproof. Across the room, Bonnie placed her hand atop Sarah’s, as it had continued to rest on her shoulder.

“Will there be callaloo (141)?” she questioned.

“Naturally.”

There was not a pronounced alteration in Bonnie’s countenance, though there was a lightness to her eyes as she stared at the pianoforte, her body visibly restful at the thought of the food that awaited her that evening. It was not her preference that her cousins remain with her for the foreseeable future; if she had known of their plan to travel, she would have refused. There had been an arrangement that they would visit in the spring, but they had come unexpectedly, months earlier than either party had wished for; yet, it had been at the insistence of her aunt and uncle. Bonnie was not ignorant to their reason for visiting and she could not prevent the animosity that arose within her when ruminating upon it. Yet, she perceived she could be silent for one night, if she were to be fed well. She believed it to be her sole solace.

Chapter Notations

137. Half-boots were ankle-high boots that were worn by women during the Regency Era, typically used and made for outdoor wear.

138. In Indian, ‘chana’ refers to a chickpea and ‘aloo’, a potato. Together, it is a chickpea and potato dish that can be used in various forms, such as in curries and chaats.

139. Kheer is a sweet dish and variation of rice pudding that is popular in the Indian subcontinent and Iranian plateau.

140. Despite any inheritance or income from land ownership, unmarried women were subject to the financial supervision of male relatives, who would dictate for them when money could be spent and for how much. This meant unmarried women did not have direct access to their own money and, if they had no income, would have to rely either on the charity of their family or earn a living.

141. Callaloo is a popular Caribbean dish that is made out of a variety of leaf vegetables.

Chapter Text

The silence was enduring. It was prolonged to the degree that nobody wished to impede, the only time it was broken being in the short exclamations of Percival who would write capriciously into his journal and the lowered beseeching of his wife, who would entreat him, each time, to be silent. Aside from this intermittent sound, there was no other. Louisa was staring fixedly at their guest, Percival at his journal, Sarah ahead of her, and Miss Ainsley at her cup of tea.

Yvonne gazed, in return, at Louisa, since they were already acquainted, though they did not know each other any further than the trivial understanding that they had formed of one another at Diana Hartford’s dinner. The intent stare that would often pass between them was not lessened by either, both defying the other to speak first. To neither’s surprise, it was Miss Ainsley who spoke, her fidgeting hands revealing the fretfulness she held for the situation.

“I must apologise once more, Miss Davers; I really must!”

“It is no bother...”

“No, I do not know what has overcome her recently. She is often asleep until late morning. It is uncouth for a woman of her stature, her gentility. The way she has become, it is highly improper!”

“Indeed!” Louisa concurred.

Yvonne refrained from scowling in her direction, her civility directed entirely at the custodian.

“I do not mind waiting,” she insisted. “I have done so many times before. Besides, is this not the perfect opportunity for us to acquaint ourselves with one another?”

She smirked in the direction of the sisters, to which Louisa smiled but said nothing. As for Sarah, she was silent but she smiled too, for she could not discern if she was being watched. With no response from either, Yvonne took to observing them both, there being little else to occupy her time. She decided to trace the familiar features of the youngest first, since she was sat directly opposite.

Louisa had not altered in temperament since the last time they had met, for she continued to appear permanently indifferent to those around her. In beauty, she was equally matched to Bonnie, though Yvonne could not believe anybody to be a true rival in comparison to the comeliness of her neighbour. She did not perceive any further similarities between them, besides the repulsed curl of the lip whenever she was displeased. In this, they were perfectly alike.

As for Sarah, she was older and shorter than her sister, her dreadlocks shaped into a bun, though she did not have ringlets, a fashion that her cousin imitated, but, rather, tight braids along the scalp. Her dark gaze settled hazily on the table before her, her fingers constantly curled around the handle of the teacup whilst she was drinking, so as not to have to search for it afterward. Yvonne thought it unfortunate that she was reticent in comparison to her sister. Although her dress and deportment revealed the same refinement as Louisa, her countenance equally charming, she appeared mannerly and astute, virtues of character, to Yvonne’s mind, that the other did not have.

The husband, Yvonne held partial interest in speaking to, although he had not spoken to her since their meeting at the staircase. When inquiring upon the journal that he was carrying with him, he scribbling across the page in a frenzied manner, he laughed sharply, though not ill-humouredly, and remarked-

“I am convinced, Miss Davers- it is Miss Davers?- yes, well, I am convinced that organic life follows a pattern of development or has endured one from the beginning of this Earth as we know it until now, and from understanding this pattern, we can explain how various species are in the condition that they are currently in, but not solely this! In discovering this pattern of development, we may understand how long the Earth has taken to form these layers beneath the crust itself and how long it may take to form them once more. We can then harness this information to work with the Earth itself in producing a means of production and power that was wholly inconceivable before this moment in time, if we were to understand where this pattern of development was headed. That way, we would no longer have to rely on manpower, horse power, or even steam. Coal? Pah- that is nothing! I am speaking of a power much greater than coal, which is the power of nature itself. Lyell (142) has induced me to conceive possibilities that I have never before thought possible. We are amidst a period of great discovery, one which we should not waste. The world was not created in seven days, but in millions of years. Perhaps more!”

Yvonne stared at him in bewilderment as they walked beside one another, they adjoining to the drawing room.

“And is this the hypothesis that you are testing in your journal? Some may say you are a heretical man, Mister van Blois.”

“What is one heresy to another?” he uttered, indifferently. Upon gesturing towards his book, however, he chuckled. “And this? No, its sole purpose is in recording my daily observations. You see here? The sleep I had was most excellent, despite the mattress being too firm for my tastes. The breakfast, adequate...”

Deciding to divert the topic, she returned to the subject of science, one in which she was genuinely interested. “I would be fascinated to hear your musings on the pattern of development within the Earth and its ultimate use for the means of production.”

Percival stared up at her with avidity. “Gee, I thank you! I see you are a woman of science, Miss Davers. I heard you were a woman of exceptional taste but to know you are one of great intellect too is reassuring. It is hardly possible to discover such a person in the countryside; one is always speaking of cowpats and the tedious particulars of farming. Haystacks are of no interest to me, I assure you...”

Before he could speak further, he was interrupted by the calling of his name, his wife and sister-in-law approaching them from behind. This had been the furthest they had spoken, he continuing to write in his journal at every sip of his tea or slight sound in the room. From across the table, Sarah was determined to resolve the reticence in which they sat.

“Perhaps someone may wake her,” she suggested. “If she is awake, we can have tea in the garden. It is not too cold yet; compared to yesterday, it is a lovely day for it. Do you not think so, Louisa?”

“That is an option worth considering,” her sister responded, though it did not sound as if it were true. Rather, Louisa was peering around the room. “Before she left, Bonnie borrowed one of my books. I think she may have it here; I should search for it before she wakes.”

Sarah stifled a sigh. “We are here for five weeks. You may search at your leisure; now is not the time.”

Louisa merely huffed. Both were astonished when Yvonne abruptly stood, her chair scraping against the carpet. The noise was so resounding that Percival was distracted momentarily from his journal.

“I can wake her,” she exclaimed. Perceiving the resonation of her voice, she lowered it before adding- “You know what Bonnie likes best, so you may continue with the tea. I have no doubt that she will be pleased with the effort.”

She hurried from the room before anyone could protest. Miss Ainsley opened her mouth, a sound emitting from her, but Yvonne had already passed through the door, closing it resolutely behind her. Exhaling in relief, she paused, her fingers still curled upon the handle. She delighted in the quiet that followed, yet she reminded herself, a moment later, as to the reason for her departure, urging herself to step away from the entrance and to traverse upstairs.

Striding through the manor, she did not desire to be impeded; she was fatigued already with the conversation. Despite knowing Miss Ainsley, she could not bear to hear another account of her school work, for it was the same each time. Yvonne often had the patience to sit and listen, even if it did not interest her, but she was impatient that morning to see Bonnie. It perturbed her that she had believed herself quite alone with her neighbour- for the next few months, at least- and to realise that she was not to have the privilege of her company, not whilst her cousins resided at the house, was troublesome to her. Yvonne discerned that she now understood her neighbour when she had stated that they cannot always be fortunate in being alone together, though she wished that were the case.

However, upon reaching the bedchamber and knocking on the door, the lady in question did not respond. Yvonne rapped her knuckles once more on the panelled wood before entering, noting, as she did, that Bonnie was asleep. Upon viewing this sight, Yvonne halted. She had not considered how she were to conduct herself on finding her neighbour asleep, although it had been the greatest possibility, and she now considered the impropriety of such an act. It was not unseemly for one friend to view another in the privacy of their bedchamber, but, in that moment, she perceived it to be.

Yvonne stared down at her, unconscious of the deference in her gaze as it settled upon her neighbour. Her gaze reverentially traced the mass of hair that was sprawled across the pillows, the hand that was curled near her face, the softness of her figure as it rose and descended in rhythm with her gentle breathing. From the opening in the curtains, a slither of sunlight stretched across the room, settling upon the bed and upon Bonnie herself.

The intimacy of it was not disregarded by Yvonne, nor could she allow herself to disturb her from this peaceful slumber. She discerned that she may reach across and touch her, merely to rouse her, though she deemed it improper. Uncertain, she knew not how to proceed, staring perplexedly down at the bed before lowering her gaze to the floor. She perceived this to be the decorous way of conducting herself, so as not to stare, and pondered on how she would rouse her, electing to call her till she woke, this seemingly the most appropriate form of action. Determined, she glanced upward, merely to perceive that Bonnie was staring directly at her.

“Bonnie!” she exclaimed, her hand rising to her chest. She had jolted, the motion humbling her, and she uttered- “I apologise for startling you.”

“You did not startle me,” Bonnie mumbled, her disoriented gaze peering around the room before settling, once more, on her neighbour. The sight induced her to smile. “I must have sensed your presence; I woke up to find you standing there. You were not loud.”

“I was about to call you,” she informed her. “I did not know how to wake you without alarming you.”

“You would not have done so.”

Bonnie brushed her hand outward, idly patting the unoccupied space nearby. This gesture was heeded and Yvonne sat upon the bed, watching her companion, who had not the slightest inclination of rising from within but was, in lieu, staring contentedly up at her. Yvonne’s desire to explain her presence had not entirely settled, concerned as to how it may be perceived.

“Your cousins, they wish to have tea outside,” she clarified. “Sarah would like you to join them, although Louisa seems to have a vendetta against the book you stole.”

“Oh.” Bonnie huffed in laughter, her gaze arching. “She has not mentioned that again, has she? She never read it. Besides, she may have it. It was merely some romance novel that she owned; I did not find it that intriguing. All she had to do was ask.”

“I shall take it down to her, if you like,” Yvonne offered.

“No, let her wait.”

She stretched her body outward as she lay there, continuing to smile in contentment at the woman before her, a happy sigh emitting from her as her arms came to rest in a folded position above her head. Observing her, Yvonne could not discern how she had gained the privilege of looking upon her. She wished she had the fortitude to glance away, to have the ability to dismiss the charms of her neighbour; yet, she could not turn her attention elsewhere whilst Bonnie was close at hand. Yvonne merely smiled in return, equally contented to be in her company, the thought causing her to flush.

“I shall return to your cousins,” she decided, pardoning herself. “It will allow you to wash and dress.”

“You can stay,” Bonnie contended. “You will not view anything untoward.”

Yvonne could not allow herself to accept, though she could not deny her either. When perplexed, she returned, always, to the notion of propriety. She was certain to never be incorrect when acting upon those terms. “I cannot leave them down there. I am the guest among your family; I do not wish to be impolite.”

“They shall insult you plenty by the time you leave. Well, Louisa shall, and perhaps Percival, though he does not intend to. Sarah is simply indifferent. You do not have to care for their feelings; they do not care for yours.”

“Oh, I know, but I do not wish to grant them any sort of satisfaction, not on my being uncongenial. Miss Ainsley also wished to speak with me. She wants to update me on the girls’ French. I do not believe they have progressed since we last spoke, but she wishes to tell me anyhow.”

Whilst she clambered from the bed, Bonnie’s laugh followed her movement, a sound which caused Yvonne to beam across at her. She watched her as she drifted from the bed to the dresser, the lady peering over her shoulder to smile at her once more, her features settling into a picture of contentment. In her nightgown, her untied hair tumbling down her back, she should have appeared untamed but she was no less elegant in her manner.

She opened the curtains, invoking the sunlight to erupt, with all of its radiance, upon her. Bonnie tucked her hair behind her ear, smiling out into the late morning whilst she peered down onto the lawn, shrubbery, and trees. The sunlight danced gently against her soft features and russet brown skin, a delicate halo of light settling upon the crown of her raven hair, revealing the faint, erratic strands of unkempt curls that were protruding from the thick waves below. She peered at Yvonne, who had been staring at her, her mouth agape. With a tender smile, Bonnie petitioned, softly-

“Then you may go, but do not leave me too soon.”

Yvonne shook her head in conviction. “If you do not wish me to leave, I shall not.”

She stood and bowed ceremoniously. Nevertheless, her route to the door was delayed by her approaching Bonnie, the lady having reached out her hand towards her as she left. Yvonne took it gently within her own, kissing it firmly, before inclining her head as a form of adieu. She did not glance behind her as she departed, for she knew it would prevent her leaving, but sensed that Bonnie was watching her, her constant gaze disturbed solely by the closing of the door between them. It was only when this act was completed that Yvonne dared to glance in her direction, though she was incapable of viewing her. Exhaling lightly, she remained by the door, unable to return to the room nor distance herself from it, before compelling herself to return downstairs, her feet traipsing reluctantly across the carpet. She was certain that an account of Bedford’s schoolgirls and their French awaited her. Howbeit, there was nothing that she could do to prevent it. Yvonne must simply endure.

Chapter Notations

142. Charles Lyell released his book ‘Principles of Geology’ in 1830, an influential volume in both the area of geology but also in wider science. His theories that geological processes were older than previously imagined and were still shaping the Earth’s structure to that day were unprecedented, as it implied that the Earth was much older than people had believed it to be originally. This also influenced Darwin, who believed that this space of time in the Earth’s evolution was necessary and relevant to the space of time needed for the evolution of organic species. Lyell can be found referenced in Darwin’s works, such as in the infamous ‘On the Origin of Species’ (1859).

Chapter Text

“The girls’ needlework is developing excellently. Bonnie’s was always delightful, but she has neglected it of late.”

This concluding statement was mentioned with considerable distaste on Miss Ainsley’s behalf, who could not bear to think of the needlework that had been wasted whilst Bonnie slept soundly in her bed. It was a subject too grievous to her. Beside her, Sarah spoke out, her voice unceasingly placid.

“It is a shame to hear of Bonnie’s despondency, though she has been inclined to that way of behaviour for some time now. I was pleased to hear a doctor was sent to examine her.” She turned her head in Yvonne’s direction, having gauged where it was earlier by the sound of her voice. “She did not accept any assistance whilst she was with us and she did not seek it whilst she lived at home. You must be the first person whose advice she has heeded since the death of her parents.”

Each occupant at the table turned their attention towards her, except Percival, who continued to note his observations in his journal, the local wildlife in the garden having seized his consideration. With the three women staring at her- or in her direction- Yvonne attempted to quash the nerves that arose within her. Her opinion of the Donoghues had been ungracious before becoming acquainted with Bonnie, but the urge had now presented itself to her to form a favourable impression. What’s more, she did not feel as if she had been of any assistance to her neighbour. Rather, she wished the aid she provided was of the eminence that the lady deserved, since it was, to her mind, inadequate.

“There is no need to thank me,” she insisted. “I merely wanted to assist her in any way I can. I am pleased only if Miss Donoghue is pleased, and I hope that this is the beginning of a new way of living for her.” She paused, convinced that she was finished, but she soon added from her own impulse: “It has been discouraging to see her as forlorn as she is.”

Miss Ainsley turned towards the sisters with vehement persistence. “It is the right time to come, girls. I have to say she has been difficult to live with. Yes, she has always been obstinate, but her temper...” She paused to shudder. “I cannot say anything without causing irritation! I cannot do much for her, not when it comes to her temperament. Miss Davers says she is unwilling to take the credit, but I do not know who else can, other than she.”

This discussion was abruptly concluded upon the entry of Bonnie, who entered the temple. In her attire, she was no less refined than her usual presentation, but there was a weariness to her features, a darkness forming under her eyes, and there was not a smile to her lips, not even in formality. There were varying degrees of reception from the occupants of the temple, all of which remained unnoticed by the lady. She merely seated herself in the chair and stared down at the table. Louisa looked up from her plate, her arm resting idly over the back corner of the chair. It was beyond her ability to droop, for her corset was too tight, but she compensated admirably by placing her bottom further forward on the seat and resting herself at an angle. Louisa was resolved to slouch and opposed any attempt that prevented her from doing so (143).

“She has risen,” she declared, caustically. “I did not expect to see the invalid till evening, the way she slumbers.”

Yvonne glowered in her direction. Beside her, Miss Ainsley merely sipped her tea in silent agreement. This silence was broken seconds later by her insisting to Louisa that if she did not seat herself properly, she would require a backboard (144), the very same she had had as a child, which soon urged Louisa to straighten her stance.

Intruding, Sarah gestured outwards towards the centre of the table, where she knew the tea, sandwiches, and delicacies to be.

“I shall pour out if you wish,” she spoke towards Bonnie. “Take what you want; it is your house, after all.”

Her hand reached cautiously for the teapot but, upon viewing the motion, both Louisa and Miss Ainsley prevented her by attempting to seize the pot simultaneously. Louisa grasped it first, and the custodian chose to be of assistance by drawing the sandwiches closer to her ward, so that there would be no further attempts to reach across the table. Once the commotion had settled, Sarah continued.

“We are pleased to have you join us,” she smiled serenely. “We were worried you were unwell, but I hear you look better than when we saw you last. Your complexion has much improved; I know you have gained weight too. That is an alteration that has cheered us all. Perhaps it is the friends you are making here.”

“Perhaps,” was the response.

This cold civility was astonishing to Yvonne, who had not viewed her in this disposition before. There was a part of her that was amused by Bonnie’s wilfulness, though she was concerned for the indifference that had settled upon the familial assembly now that they were together. She waited for Bonnie to glance upward, so that she may provide her with silent encouragement but the woman did not raise her gaze from the table. This display was a stark contrast to the good humour that she had exhibited upstairs and, determined to cheer her, Yvonne spoke out.

“There is a river close to the house,” she directed towards the sisters, “if you wish to see it. Bonnie and I walk there every week together.”

“It is not an entirely attractive river, but it has its charms,” Miss Ainsley appended. Speaking across the table, as if her ward were not there, she told them- “You know how Bonnie likes the water.”

“I suppose we may see it,” Louisa uttered. “There is not much else to do in town. We could walk along the river, meet the Mounts and Leongs, and then we could travel to London. It might do us all good to be active and see the latest plays and operas. I know it is not the season (145) but there should be more entertainment in the city than here.”

Sarah’s expression remained unmoved at this suggestion, yet there was a hint of condemnation to her tone. “You know that Bonnie is not fond of the city and the country air will be better for her than staying in London. We shall stay here. Do you agree, Miss Ainsley?”

Miss Ainsley did not agree. To socialise in London was her greatest wish, even if it was not the season, and she had hoped that their close proximity would induce frequent visits to the capital, although there had been no success in the matter. Reluctantly, she uttered-

“If that is what Bonnie prefers.” Hereafter, she pressed her advantage. “Although, I think it would be prudent for Bonnie to host a travelling party to London at some point. It is not often that you are all here together, and it would most certainly be an enjoyable time.”

“I think we should ask Bonnie,” Yvonne disrupted, crisply.

All pairs of eyes turned to view her, except Percival’s, but Bonnie did not glance up from her tea, which she was stirring in vain. She sensed the pause in discussion and a silent sigh parted from her lips.

“I am staying here. If we are to visit London, Miss Davers shall come with us. Both Miss Davers.” Her voice was steady, despite her pensive demeanour, revealing her decisiveness on the matter. “I will not leave Bedford without them.”

“There is nothing preventing them from leaving now,” Louisa contended. “It will be worth the expense.”

Aware of the dispute that was likely to form, Sarah spoke out: “Bonnie has stated her preferences. We shall not contradict it. We are here to care for her; that is what we shall do. If she decides to travel, we shall go with her, accordingly.”

Louisa was highly inconvenienced by this decision. She could not forgive the missing book and now, to not travel to London was the most grievous insult yet. The vehement expression upon her face merely reminded Yvonne of the first time they had met. It was a Donoghue trait, seemingly, to be sullen in company, particularly when the activity or topic did not suit them. Subsequently, they sat in oppressive silence. Yvonne had believed her family to be arduous, particularly upon the nerves, but she now perceived that she was grateful for Penny and her cheerful nature, for it was a breath of air in comparison to this stifling atmosphere. It was inconceivable how the following weeks would ensue with all four women in the House. As for Percival, he was unaffected by the turn in mood but remarked upon the delights of the squirrel, as a small family of them had passed by the temple. Certainly, one could not decipher if their presence was of benefit to Bonnie or a hindrance. To Yvonne, she perceived it to be the latter.

Chapter Notations

143. Historically, it was impossible for women to slouch when they wore a corset, as the material would not allow them to do so if it was tied properly. They had to sit upright; at least, in regards to the torso.

144. In the past, some people, particularly women, would use a board strapped onto the back as a means of straightening one’s posture.

145. When referring to ‘in-season’, this usually referred to the months between April and July, where the upper class would travel to London, and events would be held especially for their enjoyment and leisure. Any date outside of these months was considered ‘out-of-season’ and anyone who was upper class was expected to entertain themselves in other towns and cities, or abroad.

Chapter Text

There was no certainty as to how it had happened; surely, it was within their nature and from that perspective, it was inevitable. The circumstance, in itself, was unfortunate, for in aim, they were evenly matched but in execution, there could be no agreement. Thus, the Davers sisters discovered themselves, one fine morning, heatedly discussing the design for the village. A discussion that was descending into quite the altercation.

Yvonne had received another letter from the Dunces, weeks later than stipulated, merely for it to be used as kindling for the fire. Having conveyed the message, Penny was encouraged to approach her on another subject, although her innocuous and intrusive questioning soon lead to peevish answers from the oldest, who believed this intrusion as unwelcome as the letter had been. Peevish answers led to peevish responses, until Penny, so similar to her sister, condescended to dictate the terms in which Yvonne was working upon her project, which she knew, in all likelihood, would rouse her sister into further irritation, but she continued anyhow, since she believed herself to be correct beyond reproach, though neither responded admirably to condescension but would often return with their own. It was a lamentable series of events, though not irregular, and it was on these terms that they proceeded.

“Do you truly believe that I should build an entire village and not designate the appropriate amenities within its construction?” came the indignant cry.

“I am merely asking you to consider that poor housing, particularly in the countryside, is common and it would be heart-wrenching indeed to have a sister who contributes to the issues of today’s society rather than addresses them appropriately,” was the afflicted response.

Bewildered, Yvonne raised her hands in the air. “Where did you gain the impression of my building poor housing? Do you perceive there to be any flaw in my plan?”

“I was merely bringing it to your attention, Yvonne.” Penny raised her nose in the air in an offended manner, her arms folding. “You needn’t be so irritable. Can we not discuss the demands of the workers without descending into a terrible quarrel? You have a responsibility to ensure basic sanitation, public privileges, and reasonable rent; that is all I wished to say. The workers demand it and, as a landowner, you should respond with the necessary conditions for human dignity.”

Yvonne stared up at her, her brow knitted, primarily in befuddlement than irritation.

“Once more, I demand you to tell me where you believed any of my design or accounts to be unreasonable,” she implored. “For all of your appeals to my good nature, I am uncertain as to where my good nature was not applied. The demands you have raised with me have already been considered and agreed upon.”

Penny could not decipher where precisely she was offended, but she perceived herself to be. Unfolding her arms, she raised her shoulders, peering all around her, though not daring to glance directly at her sister.

“Then I am pleased to hear it,” she uttered. “I merely wished to raise my concerns and they have been addressed. It pleases me to hear you have not been neglectful...”

“I never was!”

“Yes, well, it pleases me. In these trying times, we mustn’t discourage ourselves from being true allies to the workers. We have a duty to them.”

Penny’s pious gaze came to settle, finally, upon Yvonne, who was staring crossly up at her.

“You are correct in one instance,” Yvonne exclaimed. “These are trying times! Certainly, you try my patience. Away with you; I am working!”

To this, the girl wailed, though there were no tears in her eyes. “Oh, how can you be so heartless?” She clasped her hands to her chest. “To dismiss your own sister when she has the capability- no, the dexterity- to assist you in your hour of need!”

Yvonne exhaled quietly, though heavily, and slowly removed the spectacles from atop her nose. She folded them neatly, placing them upon the desk, her gaze returning, a moment later, to her sister. It was evident that the girl was spiritless from remaining so long within the manor, and she longed to evoke a spectacle in which to occupy her time. This incident was not peculiar to her, since it was not the first time it had occurred, but she sensed that she had less patience than usual in governing her. With her elbow resting against the desk, her fingers rubbed a circular motion against her forehead.

“Penny, I beg you. Leave me be,” she murmured. “If you want to be useful, you may have my designs and observe them yourself. If you continue to have any concerns, then you may approach me.”

Delighted, Penny stepped forward and scooped the papers into her arms.

“I shall, Yvonne!” she declared, appreciatively. “I shall peruse them most ardently! If there is anything I can do to assist you, I will do so. We can talk again tomorrow, for I am certain I shall have enough time to inspect them and return with any proposals I have. You will think them worthy, I am sure!”

Appeased by the notion of her leaving, Yvonne uttered- “Yes, yes, do as you please. We will talk tomorrow.”

Penny chortled in her pleasure, though, as she glanced upward, she yelped in surprise. A handful of papers fell to the floor and she dashed towards Yvonne, half lowering to conceal herself behind her. Disoriented, Yvonne stared around her and then at the girl, who was staring fixedly at the window. She seemed to perceive that there was no longer any threat for she raised herself with an- “Oh!”

“And what is the matter now?”

Penny returned to her position on the other side of the desk, restoring the fallen papers to her arms. “It is nothing. Someone passed by the window.”

“People often do that.”

Penny scowled. “Yes, I am perfectly aware that there are servants on the grounds, Yvonne; that is not what I meant.” She paused, staring out yonder before peering down at her sister. “I have seen a man thrice on these grounds and he is not a servant. Mrs Dunkhurst noticed him a while ago and then once more, two weeks previous. She saw him whilst she was returning from town one evening. He is always here while you are absent.” With a huff of laughter, she added, deploringly- “Not that that would be difficult, for you are never here.”

“And he is no relation to the staff nor a trader?”

“No, I asked. Nobody knows him nor have they seen him before, but he comes quite close to the house.”

“Why did you not tell me sooner?” Yvonne questioned.

Penny raised her shoulders nonchalantly, lowering them a second later. “I do not know what his intention is or where we would be able to find him. There have been no burglaries, nothing stolen, not even on the grounds. The animals and farms are fine. I am not sure what he wants. He dawdles an awful lot and likes to stare at the house. I saw him about the windows once. It is strange but he is not entirely culpable of anything; he may simply be passing.”

“This close to the house? I doubt it. I shall speak to the servants. If they see him again, I am to be called for. I will not have anyone peering into my windows, that is for certain!”

Penny glanced tentatively at the glass. “All right; I shall say if I see him again.” Lowering her gaze to her sister, she could not repress the remark that came forth. “Perhaps, if you were at the Park more...”

“That cannot be helped.”

“Well, when I am brutally murdered, then you shall be sorry,” she concluded with.

Yvonne peered up at her as she placed the spectacles back onto her nose. There was a moment of hesitation before: “Yes, I suppose I will be. Until then, you must say if you see him.”

Penny glowered as she left, her tightening grip on the papers causing them to crumple in her arms. The door shut firmly behind her, the resonance intended to inconvenience the eldest, who certainly felt the emotion arise within her. She overlooked the gesture, however, as she was used to such conduct, preoccupied already with the work that awaited her. Drawing a piece of paper towards her, she grasped her pen, addressing the letter to her steward.

I am prepared to finance the new cottage on the grounds, somewhere near the East of the gardens. You have marked the spot and I have shown you myself, so I shall not detail it here, but I wish for you to speak with any architects that specialise in Neoclassical (146), for that is my preferred style. I shall prefer a similar architect to Soane (147) if one can be had. I shall leave the choosing to your discretion but I shall require the plans within the next month. If we are to start construction, it must be done now whilst I am waiting for the development of the model village. If you could advise them on the urgency of the plans, I shall be grateful. Please refer to the accounts I provided you with for the total sum of this venture, and please transmit the designs I have passed to you in regards to the greenhouse. If the architect wishes to make some alterations, they may, but the overall concept must remain the same. It is as Miss P. Davers wishes.

Concluding the letter, she sealed the paper with wax, the Davers insignia stamped upon it. She stared down at the letter in exultation. Since returning to the Park, it had been her greatest desire to improve the grounds and she was to now observe the enhancement that she had wished for. Haynes Park was not a home that she took comfort in but it was her ancestral home and, in this view, she regarded it highly. Yvonne perceived that the condition of the building and its grounds were a reflection of herself, as its owner, and she was adamant that it should not become antiquated or degraded in any way, but continue to persevere.

The Park had remained the same since her father’s death, though it had not been much altered beforehand, and Yvonne did not believe that this dormancy should continue. She accepted that there was a time when all must submit to the natural advancement of life, and she was prepared to undergo the alterations necessary to ensure this, even if it afflicted her mother, who wished for it to remain the same as it had always been and she with it. Yvonne viewed this tendency in the baroness and was dismayed that she may be the same, that she should resist any alterations for the better and so, she resolved herself to advance forward, trustful that it should elevate the Park further.

A greater future awaited Haynes Park, or so she believed. It was crucial that she must, for the alternative to her was too harrowing to consider. It terrified her that the object of her misery, the place in which she had received torment and derision in her youth, was to remain forever the same and that she, too, would remain with it. At the present, Yvonne had the authority to modify the manor to her wishes and she could not neglect the opportunity when it was so perfectly within her grasp. She was not entirely certain of her vision for the future, what it may entail, but she knew it ought to progress in some manner. Penny spoke so often of her being absent from the grounds, but Yvonne could not repress the inclination within her to be far from it, wherever possible. If she were to remain there, if Penny was, adjustment must come. To her, there was no other alternative.

If she were to stay, it would be unbearable to live within the hallowed halls of the Park, the furniture, the decoration, the routine of her mother and the servants reminding her of the past. Yet, if they were to be altered to her own vision, her own aspiration, Yvonne believed that she may be tempted to stay, that Haynes Park may be the home she had always wished it to be, this being the precise reason she had resisted her mother’s protests and gifted herself with this new edifice upon the grounds. With the frequent complaints of her sister, she had decided, too, upon the plans for the greenhouse in the hope that she may provide some relief to the girl. Perhaps then, there would be felicity within the home, or there would begin to be. Yvonne was incapable of perceiving what else she may possibly do if she was proven to be wrong. She could not conceive any other option.

Chapter Notations

146. During 1750-1830, there was a new movement arising in architecture that was termed as Classicism, although it was often termed as Neoclassicism to differentiate from the Classical architecture that was produced during ancient Rome and the Renaissance.

147. John Soane (1753-1837) was an English architect who specialised in the Neoclassical style, and produced such infamous works as the Bank of England, Dulwich Picture Gallery, and his own museum, the John Soane Museum, that contains collections and artefacts from his lifetime and career.

Chapter Text

Miss Ainsley held a particular liking for the Mount family, she believing them to be Bonnie’s closest friends- the Davers being an exception- and with this assumption, she subsequently wished for Sarah and Louisa to meet them. Thinking them to be a family of more interest than the Davers, Louisa accepted this invitation, whilst Sarah stated, calmly and quietly, that she would heed Bonnie’s wish.

Bonnie would have preferred to stay in the House, but she reminded herself of Dr Chifamba’s instruction that she remove herself from her home on a weekly basis. With this duty in mind, she reluctantly agreed to spend an afternoon with the Mounts. Yet, upon suggesting so to the family themselves, an invitation was extended from the Leongs to spend the afternoon at their estate. This was unprecedented, for Bonnie had never been invited; the sole time she had met them privately being in the home of their cousins.

Other acquaintances in Bedford often commented on her visiting the Leongs, as they seemed to believe that Bonnie would have a particular interest in calling upon them. They said their home was distinctly Oriental, a word that had been used frequently in her presence since arriving in town. Perhaps they believed that her Indian heritage and their Chinese heritage were one and the same, and she would find comfort amidst all that was Oriental, she being so far from her family and home. Upon hearing such words, Bonnie often fell silent and did not answer, though she had seen Miss Leong laugh when the word was used in her presence. The young woman had once caused offence by responding-

“How you flatter me! And surely, how relieved Miss Donoghue must be to know she has such gracious neighbours. The courtesy you have shown Miss Donoghue and I in mentioning the Oriental must be returned, surely! We shall certainly strive to accomplish the heights of courtesy that you have shown us. In fact, you must come to my home; we shall have a feast! All of the food you love- frog (148), golabki (149), Turrón (150), we must have them all!” Despite the astonishment on their faces, her countenance retained its expression of artlessness. She continued with: “You must eat them all the time, I am certain. How could you not? You are European; it is food from Europe. Surely, it is all the same to you! You must come and try it; you simply must. It will remind you of all your favourite dishes at home.”

There was a great deal of grumbling amidst the party and the term Oriental was not used again in the presence of Miss Leong, though the word was still heard, on occasion, near Bonnie. The unease this caused her, combined with the attention she had received from Mr Leong, caused Bonnie aversion in visiting the family and their home. Albeit, it was no fault of theirs, but she preferred not to be associated with them merely through lineal circumstance, nor did she think they had anything in common. She, therefore, accepted the invitation with great reluctance, although this feeling was not shared with her cousins nor her custodian, who were all delighted to visit.

The journey was undertaken in arduous silence, solely on Bonnie’s behalf. Nevertheless, as they circled the grounds, she perceived that she was charmed by the decoration that had been implemented, felicity arising within her at the sight. They passed through a grove of trees and she could not repress the gasp of wonderment that escaped as she stared around her. Miss Ainsley, too, leaned closer to the window, her mouth agape. Opposite, Sarah could not view the grounds but she perceived the gasp, swiftly inquiring into the matter.

With great detail, Bonnie’s and Miss Ainsley’s words stumbled over one another as they listed what they saw. From the large ponds; colourful fish; arched, stone bridges; red, green, and gold pavilions; woods created from dove trees, ginkos, verdants, and other varieties; the stone and wood sculptures viewed along the pathway, some of animals, of mystical creatures, and some of a meditative or merry Buddha, it was impossible to describe the view in its grandeur, for it was difficult to state in words alone. Upon viewing the Buddha, Miss Ainsley sighed.

“Since we have left Ireland, you never see any statues in the countryside. You could always say a prayer when viewing Mother Mary on the road and you knew you were blessed. Here, they are Godless. I am pleased that the Leongs know and understand the virtue of a good statue. You can never have too many!”

“Some may say that is a Catholic preference,” Bonnie muttered.

“We are Catholics, my dear!”

Bonnie did not think much of Mother Mary or her shrines, though she soon apologised silently in the fear that Mother Mary could hear her. Opposite, Sarah concurred that it was a pity this tradition had not been adopted by their English neighbours, to which Miss Ainsley zealously agreed.

Leaning further towards the window, Bonnie closed her eyes, smelling the sweet osmanthus (151) nearby. It reminded her of the flowers, plants, herbs, and spices that she was accustomed to in her Irish home, all of those which her mother had cultivated from her own homeland. Withal, this abrupt reminder of her mother induced a wave of anguish to arise, all of which lodged itself within her chest, and this blockage of sensitivity caused her to almost sob from the pain that it induced. Suppressing this sudden affliction, she opened her eyes, a teardrop falling to her cheek. She hastily wiped it away, staring out into the greenery as it passed her by. The vibrant array of autumn leaves momentarily sedated her, the soothing combination of green, grey, and white amidst it all, despite the season, giving rise to tranquillity.

At the demand of Miss Ainsley, she returned to her seat, leaning back into the chair, staring silently and longingly out of the window. Her custodian continued to detail the garden and the house to Sarah, but Bonnie did not speak again, not even as they withdrew from the carriage. She paused on the driveway, bemoaning the sound of Louisa, who could be heard exclaiming as she descended from the carriage behind. Percival followed his wife, petulantly, for he had been instructed to leave all mechanical devices and journals at the House. In turn, he hardly spoke; there was nothing to say, to his mind, if it was not in the pursuit of science.

Ahead, the door to the house was opened, the footman awaiting them atop the stone steps. Once the family had amassed, they ascended, Miss Ainsley detailing to Sarah the carved lions that they passed (152), she encouraging her to reach out and touch them. This delighted Sarah and they did not reach the hallway until she had finished tracing the detail of their faces. As they removed their outerwear, the footman informed them that the Leongs and Mounts awaited them in the drawing room.

Bonnie peered around the hallway as he spoke. Despite the house’s Neoclassical design, the inside had been decorated with discernible Qing influences (153), a fashion that was not observable within the Mounts home. For her cousins, who were so used to travelling, they thought nothing of its decoration but for Bonnie and Miss Ainsley, who had rarely travelled anywhere or visited anyone, this was an extravagance that they were unused to and they stared all around them as they passed through the house, murmuring and exclaiming to one another as they walked. The shoji panels (154), the intricately carved and hand-painted tables, cabinets, and chairs, and the florid wallpapers were fascinating to Bonnie. Certainly, it was nothing like the decoration she was used to, from Ireland or from India, but she thought it exquisite.

The drawing room in which they were led was no less splendid in design, and she was startled to see that the Leongs were dressed differently within their home than when she had seen them in town or at their cousins. All four were dressed in robes. The sole time she had seen them dressed alternatively to European fashion was at the ball, where they had worn the comeliest robes, the two women wearing their hair in the liangbatou style (155), this method allowing them to decorate their hair with ornamental flowers and foliage, whilst Mr Leong maintained his queue plait (156), regardless of the environment he inhabited. As for his son, he did not adhere to the current fashion in China or England but wore his hair in a bun or, as he had fashioned it at the ball, his hair worn loose, with a knot tied at the top of his head, a silk ribbon wrapped around it (157). They were now dressed informally in robes, though the delicate stitching of orchids, butterflies, and flowers were elegant, even in so mundane a setting.

Comparatively, the patriarch of the Mounts insisted that they heed the fashions of Europe, yet this stark contrast caused them to appear quite irregular within the home of their cousins, Mrs Mount remarking regularly on their new embroidery, jewellery, and tea that was brought to them, the envy she held for her brother and his family, in being able to retain their culture, apparent.

Invited into the drawing room, the guests were implored to sit. Miss Ainsley was quick to drink the tea and accept the delicacies that awaited her, chattering to whoever was near her that she had never been so well-received. Sarah was led to a chair where she was placed beside her sister and Percival. Bonnie glanced anxiously around her, since she had not been directed to any particular chair. She noted that the young Mr Leong was watching her, expectantly. There was a vacant seat alongside him. Disinclined to show him any favour, she hastened to the seat beside his sister. This preference delighted Miss Leong, who had heard Miss Donoghue discussed many times by Penny. Still, she was bemused by this sudden consideration, the young woman never having shown any particular interest in her before.

The party spoke briefly on the health of each family, inquiring into Sarah and Louisa and their journey to England, how agreeable they believed it to be, as well as Miss Ainsley’s inclusion of the school girls and their progress. There was a brief succession of compliments as to the house, the grounds, the reception that they had received, before their hosts decided upon mah-jong as their game of choice.

Mrs Mount and Mrs Leong had a continuing wager with one another, so it was agreed that the elders would sit together, whilst their children, despite being fully grown, may sit at their own table. Percival elected to remain with Sarah, so that she was not alone, and the rest divided themselves into two parties. Bonnie was unfamiliar with the game, which, to her consternation, induced Mr Leong to sit beside her. Surveying the room, she noted that Miss Leong had not yet been seated. She had been speaking to her parents and was traversing the room when she was observed by her guest.

“You must sit here, Miss Leong,” she insisted, staring pleadingly up at the young woman.

Unperturbed, her host responded to her entreaties by sitting in the reserved seat. This was to Bonnie’s advantage. When the tiles were assigned to her, she leant towards the young woman, inquiring into the meaning of the small symbols. When Mr Leong tried to intercept with his own explanation, Miss Leong would merely shush him.

“Let her explain, cousin,” Henrietta disrupted. “There is no need to speak so imperiously.”

“I am merely trying to aid our guest,” he contended.

Bonnie barely glanced at him as she uttered- “I am perfectly fine, thank you.”

Henrietta humphed in laughter, not having heard her speak. “Hao-Yu, what a gentleman you are! Quite the knight in shining armour, is he not, Miss Donoghue?”

“If I were to need one...” she muttered.

Upon hearing this murmur, Miss Leong leant forward and emitted, triumphantly- “Ha!” Returning to her previous position, her voice lowered to its usual sonority. “Now, let me finish speaking.”

The game continued without much difficulty, though Bonnie was unused to playing and did not fare as well as the others around the table. From the other party, there was a torrent of raillery and playful taunts, for Mrs Leong and Mrs Mount were superior in play to everyone else. They often ventured together, a circumstance that emboldened each woman to win, so that one would owe the other a small debt. This ambition was lost on their husbands, who both continued to play without seeming to notice the competition that had developed in front of them. As she stared distractedly at the other table, immersed in the outcome of the game, Bonnie heard Mr Leong’s voice close by.

“Do you require assistance?”

Startled, she turned her head to stare questioningly at him.

“No, thank you. Your sister has answered any questions I have.”

He smiled at her. “I have some knowledge of the game myself. You do not have to rely on her, if that does not suit you.”

“It suits me very well,” she asserted.

“Someone does not know when it is time to be quiet,” came Miss Leong’s voice. “Nor when to accept defeat when his sister is superior to him in play.”

Henrietta, amused by the scene before her, uttered: “Let them coquet a little. It is harmless.”

As she laughed, so did Euphemia. The sight abashed Bonnie and she glanced askance at Louisa, who smirked as she plucked a tile from the centre of the board, a response that merely caused the young woman further humiliation. She stared down at the tiles before her, her gaze tracing the markers of bamboo in the polished wood (158). The frantic beating of her heart was palpable, the pulsation becoming quicker when she unwittingly focused on her chest. Bonnie did not realise it but she had pinkened, and, upon hearing the laugh of Mr Leong beside her, she discerned the immediate desire within her to return home.

“No, we were not being so familiar as that,” Mr Leong protested, although the insinuation visibly pleased him. “Surely, I could not draw the attention of Miss Donoghue. Any man would aspire to it but those men would be the most fortunate men in the world to have gained it!”

Louisa laughed, derisively. “Name your offer and you shall have her. She is not as beloved as you think; no man has dared to approach her in years.”

“There is a difference in not wishing to be sought and being unsought.” Bonnie raised her gaze to meet that of her cousin’s, an austerity to its gleam that only Louisa could identify. “Surely, as pig-headed as you are, even you know the difference.”

This riposte satisfied her and she emitted a small hum of laughter once she had spoken, a motion that induced the others to assume it was a jibe between cousins. Nevertheless, Louisa knew it was no jest and glared across at her.

“Bonnie!” Henrietta giggled. “You are simply horrid today!”

Beside her, Euphemia merely looked terrified by this statement and avoided glancing directly at either Donoghue. As to her cousin, he did not appear to detect the animosity between the two women and turned towards Bonnie once more.

“I would provide you with all the riches in the world, if it were possible,” he stated, sincerely.

This caused a further bout of giggles on the opposite side of the table, and Bonnie pinkened once more. There was a sense of disgrace in her receiving his attention, but she heeded that there was a further feeling that arose with it- indignation. Following her disagreement with Yvonne, his consideration was particularly unwelcome. She had thought it, at first, trivial and amusing, since she could not conceive that it should ever amount to more than a mere fancy on his part, but the accusation that it could lead to marriage struck her, for she realised that Yvonne was correct. There was every possibility to believe he would approach her with an offer. It had been made apparent, in the presence of his family and among peers, that he held every intention of courting her. Not only did he have this expectation but she perceived that his family did; at the least, his cousins. Nauseated by this realisation, she requested a glass of water from Miss Leong.

Miss Leong glanced askance, merely in acknowledgement, though there was an aspect to Bonnie’s countenance that caused Miss Leong to halt and stare at the woman beside her. She observed her disposition, the way her gaze fluttered restlessly across the room, and her expression settled into a kindly smile.

“Miss Donoghue, I think you need some air. You would benefit more from a walk in the garden than a drink of water. May I take this chance to escort you across the grounds and show you a short tour of our wonderful garden? I heard you are quite the admirer of flowers.”

Bonnie was adamant to leave, assenting to the suggestion. Rising, she halted in dread when she noticed that Mr Leong had stood too; yet, his sister waved him away with a flick of her hand, linking her arm with Bonnie’s.

“No, not you. We do not require such gallantry; we are merely walking around the garden.” Observing his hesitation, she insisted once more that he sit. “We shall be quite fine without you.”

Her parents discerned that they were withdrawing, inquiring into the reason, which Miss Leong provided as simply they needing some air. As they departed, Bonnie heard Miss Ainsley exclaim:
“Quite right! It is too much for her poor nerves being away from home. You must excuse, Miss Donoghue; she tires too easily.”

Bonnie thought her correct on the last remark, though she believed she was not exhausted from leaving the house, but of the people she was surrounded by. They tired her, exceedingly. With that thought in mind, she allowed herself to be escorted, quite haughtily, from the room, relieved to distance herself from the occupants within. She was desperate to be anywhere but there.

Chapter Notation

148. This is a reference to French cuisine and one of their national delicacies- frog’s legs.

149. Golabki is the Polish name for a Central European dish, which consists of boiled cabbage leaves wrapped around minced meat, onions, and rice (or barley).

150. Turrón is a type of Spanish nougat that contains honey, toasted almonds, or other varieties of nuts.

151. Osmanthus is a holly-like shrub with small, scented, white flowers. This plant is native to Eastern Asia, although its species can be found in other parts of the world.

152. Stone lions, also known as Chinese guardian lions (pronounced ‘shi’ or ‘shishi’ in Chinese), are a symbolic sculpture of the Asiatic lion. They are placed at the entrance of a building in order to guard and protect the grounds, as well as the people within, from harmful spiritual influences and threats from others. Depending on one’s wealth and status, the lion may be bigger or smaller to symbolise how important the building is or how important the people are that live within it.

153. The Qing Dynasty, also known as the Manchu dynasty, was the last imperial dynasty in China. Its rule started in 1636 in Manchuria but soon extended over the entirety of China until its end in 1912. The Qing dynasty also ruled Mongolia and parts of Russia.

154. Shoji panels are thick, translucent paper stretched in a wooden frame, with latticed wood or bamboo. These are traditionally used in and associated with Japan but the oldest known folding screen was located in China during the 8th Century and was also used by the Chinese.

155. The liangbatou hairstyle and headdress was a fashion worn by Manchu women. This is where women’s natural hair was parted in two and folded over the headdress to create a rigid structure on either side of the head. Additional wire frames or extensions could be added for decoration, which could then hold various ornamentation, such as flowers and jewels.

156. A queue hairstyle was a hairstyle worn by Manchu men. The hair on the back of the scalp was grown long and often tied into a braid, whilst the rest of the head was shaved bald.

157. During the Ming dynasty (the dynasty before the Qing), adult men would wear their hair long and knotted in a small bun at the top of the head, or they would wear all of their hair in a bun. All hair was grown long as it was believed that cutting your hair was a symbol of dishonour. Hao-Yu would have been allowed to wear his hair in this fashion, as he lived in England and would have received no punishment or penalty for doing so, but once the Qing dynasty began, men were required to shave their heads in fashion with the queue hairstyle. Although this was compulsory, this act was first met with resistance. In comparison, women were not required to wear Manchu-style hair.

158. Mah-jong has six suits. The bamboo suit is referred to as sticks, as the small bamboo pieces make up little stick figures, which also reference the suit numbers, number one being the exception (the first tile of this suit is traditionally a bird).

Chapter Text

Miss Leong led Bonnie to the rear of the house, ushering her into the gardens and along the stone path. Until they reached the enclosure, not one word passed between them but, having reached a secluded area in which to talk, Miss Leong peered humbly at her guest.

“I realise that we have nothing to say to one another, Miss Donoghue,” she stated. “We have rarely exchanged no more than a few words with each other. Now, we find ourselves quite alone and with no common interest to keep us talking. Yet, I hope that a walk in silence is more agreeable to you than sitting with the others?” When Bonnie did not answer, she being uncertain in her response, Miss Leong pressed on. “You need not maintain any pretence with me. I shall not be offended. Being related to my family, I am aware of how they are. They can be presumptuous. Such manners have the power to offend and trust me, they do. There was no offence meant, however. You must believe me.”

“You do not have to apologise on the behalf of someone else,” Bonnie uttered.

Miss Leong laughed softly. “No, I do not.” She paused for a moment. “We have one great similarity, at least.” Upon the rising of Bonnie’s brow, she laughed again. “Miss Davers, of course! Penny. We are mutually acquainted through her, not solely through my cousins.”

Bonnie brightened at the mention of her friend. “Oh, yes! Penny is most wonderful; I have come to know her well.” Her countenance settled into a contented smile. “We are unlike and yet, we have so much in common. I wish I had half the vitality she has.”

“Quite! She is precisely the sort of person to leave you breathless when you have hardly done anything or gone anywhere. Whatever occupies her mind, she must do it, and do it quickly and earnestly! Even in conversation.”

“If you are well-acquainted with Miss Davers, then you must have much in common?”

Bonnie was anticipative that she should discover a new acquaintance that was of greater benefit to her than the Mounts. In trusting, she was rewarded, for it was discovered that there were many affinities between them. They traversed the shortest route in the garden, for there was an extensive landscape to discover that they could not possibly cross in the time that was allotted to them, and as they walked, they spoke of horticulture, of the curation that they had produced from plants native to their home country and culture, but also of the English wildlife. They discussed the Davers; the dance, how they wished for another- Bonnie mentioning she wished for one even better than the last; of embroidery, the landscapes and flowers they embellished upon the cloth. When questioned on where she purchased her material, Miss Leong detailed the shops in town that she often frequented, this discussion inciting her to mention Penny.

“We visit together so often,” she told her. “Both of us shop in town with Miss Palmer, though Miss Palmer cannot come as oft as we, for she lives further away. Yet, we find plenty of ways to amuse ourselves. On occasion, we are joined by the soldiers- you know, the dragoons that have been staying within the town- and they are quite merry and rambunctious, I must say!” Observing the astonishment on Bonnie’s face, she hurried to add: “But they are gentlemen; you mustn’t mistake me on that account.”

“Does Penny talk with the soldiers?”

“I think you know Penny shall talk to anyone. She has a friend, certainly, and he is rather taken with her, but they meet solely in town. We have never been improper. None of us have communicated outside of those meetings, I assure you.”

Bonnie perceived the propriety of the situation, trusting that Yvonne knew of Penny’s outings; it was inconceivable that she should not. Satisfied in the matter, she inquired into where she may acquire different materials, a query that Miss Leong was delighted to answer; she knew the precise shops that Bonnie must frequent if she were to purchase textiles from all over the globe, not simply from England.

“Now is the time, Miss Donoghue. It has never paid to be so fashionable; we have materials and colours now that we never had in our youth (159). Granting, it comes at a high expense, more so for you than I, but I also cannot help but feel grateful for having the opportunity to purchase furniture and clothes from China (160). Living here is a little homelier now.”

Bonnie was silent for a moment. “I must admit I know little about the politics of India. I have never been there, you see, and since my mother passed, I hear little of it. My family do not like to speak of such matters to me. Some of my family there are of the opinion that the English shall greatly improve the country, but that is not the opinion in Ireland (161). Naturally, I can speak to the situation in Ireland, but never having seen the country for myself, I could not speak to the condition of India. All I could hope for is the freedom of my people. But yes, I do feel comforted that I can indulge, if only slightly, in my culture, even if it is not sourced equitably (162). If I wish to maintain some connection, I do not have the privilege of saying no, else it shall be cut off altogether. I can simply hope that, one day, the Indian people may share their culture and trade on their own terms.”

“I am astonished that there are some who hold the opinion that English occupation is to be encouraged,” Miss Leong remarked. “Though I do not know much of India, I must admit. The Chinese would not submit so easily to the Occidental (163) idea of improvement.”

Bonnie smiled at her. “And so they should not. Ideas are to be exchanged, to be used as inspiration for a greater society, not to be forced upon another. No good comes from such force, such division. One should not submit to another, particularly when each has their own eminence but also their own weaknesses. There is no clear victor in advancement; they are on even terms. Surely, alliances are of a greater benefit to the people than sovereignty. In species, we are the same, but in culture, we are different. Is that not what makes the world fascinating? I do not think it should be so if we were all the same.”

“We are similar in mind, Miss Donoghue! I could not agree more. How tedious the world should be if we were all precisely alike.”

Ardent to return to happier subjects, they spoke of painting, for Bonnie professed that the garden inspired her. She was invited to return, if she wished, to paint the gardens or the house. This invitation, Bonnie accepted and she walked in contentment as they approached the rear entrance.

“If you take pleasure in painting, have you tried calligraphy, Miss Donoghue?” her companion questioned.

“Never!” she exclaimed, disconcerted that she had never thought to practice. “It did not occur to me that it was an art-form I may try.”

“I am a great lover of calligraphy,” Miss Leong informed her. “I practice every day. You must not think me boastful but my parents take great delight in my writing, and some of the scrolls that you have seen in the house are my own creation.”

“I did not realise.”

“Would you like to see?”

Bonnie affirmed that she would, and she was led to another entrance in the house. There, a servant was called for, as Miss Leong wished for her slippers before entering the room. Whilst they waited, the young woman turned to her visitor, their arms still linked amicably together.

“Do you wear slippers, Miss Donoghue? We are allowed shoes in the hallways and in the drawing room, for we often have guests, but we wear slippers in every other room. So many people here wear their shoes indoors and it is a most vulgar practice. Imagine stamping dirt into your fine carpets and polished floors!”

“Yes, we used to do the same when I lived in Ireland. I must admit, I have rarely been out nowadays and often wear slippers all the time.”

Bonnie faltered in her speech, ashamed to have disclosed a fault to someone with whom she was not familiar. Nevertheless, Miss Leong was unperturbed.

“That is natural; they are far comfier than shoes. They pinch my toes too much if you wear them for long.”

The servant returned with Miss Leong’s slippers and a clean, unused pair for Miss Donoghue, laying them on the carpet before the two ladies. Removing their shoes, they stepped into the room, leaving the dirtied pair on the steps outside.

“Your shoes will be brought to you before you leave,” Miss Leong assured her. Stepping further into the room, she laughed at the thought. “You are not expected to leave without them.”

The studio in which they had entered was reserved for artistic past-times, the desk situated purposefully so that it overlooked the large, round window, the garden displayed majestically through the sphere. Bonnie gasped at the sight, delighted by the shape of the opening, for it reminded her of the moon. As Miss Leong rummaged in the drawers of the desk, she spoke out.

“It is beautiful, is it not? This is one of my favourite places to sit and dream. I prefer to draw, paint, or write, whichever calls to me. Sometimes, mother or Hao-Yu sit in here too, but I like it most. Some of my paintings and calligraphy are on the wall, as well as mother’s. Hao-Yu has not the artistry for painting nor embroidery.” Here, she paused to snicker. “But his calligraphy is lovely.”

Bonnie studied the wooden panels and scrolls that hung from the walls, awed by their beauty. Noting a scroll bordered charmingly with flowers, she pointed towards it.

“What does this one say?”

“From the mud springs the lotus (164).” Miss Leong withdrew from the desk to stand beside her, they staring at the scroll. “That is one of my favourite proverbs.” When Bonnie glanced questioningly at her, Miss Leong smiled, content to elucidate. “No matter what conditions the lotus is in, such as the mud, this beautiful flower will always grow and prosper. The lotus, as I am certain you know, symbolises purity and enlightenment, but also of rebirth (165). We may be in an undesirable position in life, but from it, we have the opportunity to become wise, to become a better person than we were before, and to change ourselves or our lives into the best it can be, and in doing so, we are capable of touching upon our Buddha nature.” She appeared to remember Bonnie was not of the same religion. “Or the land of God, or brahman (166). From great suffering and darkness can come great light, and in each moment, that opportunity is within us. All we have to do is to know how to touch upon it. Do you not think that inspiring?”

Bonnie stared admiringly at the lotus and the symbols lined within the centre of the scroll. Heartened, she uttered-

“Yes, I think it is.”

Returning to the desk, Miss Leong continued. “I remind myself every day of the opportunity to be happy. There are always conditions for happiness; all we must do is search for them, which is why I awake every day and smile. Every day is another day to start anew and to try our best to touch upon the best version of ourselves and our life, which is why I adore calligraphy and painting, as well as being in nature. It is how I access a clear mind; it is as if, in those moments, I am the closest I can be to the divine.” She had been staring at the papers laid on the desk but she peered upward, abashed. “I hope that does not sound absurd?”

“Not at all!” Bonnie asserted, joining her at the desk. “Your view is remarkable!” The good humour she had developed in hearing this speech lessened, her dejection returning. “I wish I could think as you do. You are younger than I and yet, you understand so much of the world and of yourself, of your religion. When I was younger, my mother told me of the lotus of the heart (167), and how one cultivates concentration and insight, but I can hardly understand my own thoughts, not anymore. I try so hard to wake up every day and smile, but I never can. It shames me, truly.”

Miss Leong shook her head.

“Miss Donoghue, you must not think so. From time to time, we need a little guidance, a teacher or friend to aid us, but that is not for us to be ashamed of. We all need assistance and we all must learn in order to become wiser; that is simply the natural state of being human. You must not be ashamed of needing guidance. I was taught these lessons from a young age and incorporated them within my life, my spirit, and soul; it does not take a few days or months. You know that from your own study. It has taken me a very long time, indeed, to learn such lessons and I continue to learn, even now.

“You are on a different path to me and if you take longer to succeed in your aspirations, you must not wonder why, when we are not headed in the same direction from the start. You must know you are travelling to where you need to be and move ahead as well as you are able to. In turn, I am headed where I am destined to be and that is why our path does not look the same, for it is not. If you hasten to meet me further along, you shall only discover that I was never there and you merely exerted your effort for no reason. You were misled. Only you can dictate the pace in which you progress.”

“What if I am not travelling anywhere but I have, instead, remained in the same position?” Bonnie uttered, despairingly.

Miss Leong hastened to assure her. “Everyone needs rest or a momentary pause, so they may review where they have gone and where they wish to be. You have the story of the good Samaritan in the Bible, which I admire. When you are weary and you need assistance to continue your journey, I think it is worth asking others to support you on your way, and the people who love you most or care for you will always assist you, including those who are simply pure in nature and intention. You do not have to travel alone nor labour alone.” Miss Leong glanced down at the papers that she had decorated in writing. “That is how I view it.”

Bonnie followed her gaze, muttering- “I do not wish to be a burden.”

“You will never be a burden to those who love you,” Miss Leong proclaimed, softly. “When I ask others for help, my family or my friends, that is what I always remind myself, so that I am no longer afraid to admit aloud that there are times when I suffer and there are times when I require aid.”

The tenderness of her words resonated within Bonnie, who smiled appreciatively at the woman beside her. Pleased that she was consoled, Miss Leong returned the gesture. Bonnie discerned that her host had been kind to her, as well as attentive, and she wished to return the courtesy, inquiring into the various papers upon the desk that illustrated Miss Leong’s calligraphy. Miss Leong was equally beholden by this consideration and, as they departed from the room, she was in earnest that they should become better acquainted with one another.

“You may call me Nuo,” she offered.

“Then you may call me Bonnie,” was the sincere response. Inspired by the art she had seen, she thought to say so to the woman beside her, but she had a question that she wished most ardently to declare, querying, anxiously- “Perhaps we may paint together some time?”

“Yes!” Miss Leong declared. “I would be delighted.”

They returned together to the drawing room, Bonnie incapable of repressing the smile that had formed on her lips. She could discern how Penny had come to be friends with Miss Leong; in comparison, she was much more agreeable than some of the acquaintances she had formed since arriving in Bedford. Bonnie wondered how they had not spoken to each other before, since there were a number of similarities between them. She thought, too, how pleased Yvonne should be in knowing Penny had friends that were well-suited to her and becoming of her station. This thought, she wished to share when she saw the lady next.

Upon their return, Miss Ainsley was anxious that Bonnie must rest, insistent that they should call another day. This was received well by their hosts. They had been inundated with such a variety of compliments that they hardly minded the shortening of their visit. The guests were provided with their outerwear and Bonnie her shoes, a rising of chatter amongst the group inducing a flurry of promises that they must meet once more before Sarah and Louisa were to return abroad.

When the footman approached Bonnie with her outerwear, he was interrupted by Mr Leong, the younger, who urged that he should assist her. This was not to her liking and she stepped forward to seize the coat from both, attempting, with great pains, to wear it without assistance. The same skirmish was enacted for her bonnet and gloves, which astonished both the footman and Mr Leong alike, yet she was satisfied with the endeavour, smirking to herself as she strode towards Miss Ainsley, lingering closely to her.

Once dressed, the guests were escorted to the driveway, Mr Leong following Bonnie to the carriage. He inquired into when she may come again or whether he may be permitted to return the call. Sarah heard him and emitted-

“Why, yes! You may come when you please; we shall be honoured in becoming better acquainted with you and your family.”

This pleased him greatly, though Bonnie scowled in her cousin’s direction. Since the woman could not view her, she felt quite safe in enacting the motion.

“I am rather occupied at present,” she informed him, though she did not pay him the courtesy of glancing in his direction. “You see, I am planning to travel with Miss Davers and then there are my studies and occupations. I am perfectly engaged at present. I call on others too, you know, so I hardly have the time to sit at home...”

“My dear, that is all you do,” came Miss Ainsley’s objection.

“So, yes, it is imperative that you inquire beforehand,” Bonnie concluded, quashing another scowl. “I could not possibly say when I am independent.”

“That is a shame,” he sighed, staring forlornly at her. “I had hoped to see you again.” A thought occurred to him, adding- “My sister, naturally, would hope to see you once more. You have formed quite the friendship.”

Bonnie did not wish to encourage him, though she had hoped to meet with Miss Leong again. Reluctantly, she uttered- “Quite.”

He offered her his hand as they approached the carriage, but she simply lifted her skirts and marched determinedly inside. Watching her, he lingered, yet he sensed he was not to receive any further communication and retreated to stand with his family. Louisa passed the carriage, having aided Sarah at the steps, embracing the moment to lean forward, delightedly, at the door.

“I should not be so contemptuous. Not many men would accept a spinster as a wife; you should seize the opportunity whilst you can to accept any man who will wed you. He does not need to know of your impairment till after the ceremony.”

She smiled, impudently, traipsing to her carriage before she could receive a response. Bonnie stared heatedly at the place in which she had stood, her mouth slowly down-turning.

“You must not listen...” Sarah began.

“I am not!” Bonnie retorted, her arms folding, crossly.

Miss Ainsley had finished her rotation of curtseys to each Mount and Leong that she passed on her way, ascending, moments later, into the carriage. As she lowered into the seat, she peered askance.

“It was a wonderful day for connections, was it not? What a suitable match Miss Leong was for friendship, but a suitable match also in Mister Leong. He is not one to be ignored!” When she received no response- Bonnie staring adamantly out of the window- Miss Ainsley frowned, her voice rising so that there was no mistake in being heard. “I said: he is not one to be ignored, Bonnie!”

“Then, by all means, speak with him when you see him next, if that is how you feel.”

Miss Ainsley pursed her lips, muttering her dissatisfaction for those she was compelled to travel with, though she assured Sarah that the remark was not directed at her. Sarah merely smiled, intent to speak no further on the subject. If Bonnie was not to respond, she could not be forced.

They departed with a wave, both families hopeful in how the afternoon had been spent, they thinking that a connection had been formed between the two estates, in friendship and, potentially, in an attachment much greater, though this outcome was disconcerting to one in particular.

Bonnie could not bear to think that she had received any preference or consideration, her dejection returning with unsettling rapidity. Resolved to lighten her temperament, she reminded herself of all that had been expressed between herself and Miss Leong, her spirits lifting momentarily at the thought of acquiring someone who may be better suited to her in friendship.

This thought naturally led her, as all her thoughts did, to Miss Davers, who she thought herself most suited to in all aspects of the word. She could not imagine that anyone should replace her, and she wondered further on Yvonne’s speech when they had last spoken of marriage, desirous to return to the subject with the woman herself, merely to reiterate that she did not intend to accept any proposal presented to her. It was imperative, to her, that Yvonne understood this. Accordingly, Bonnie hoped that the situation would resolve itself and that there should be no discomfort nor misunderstanding between them. The closer she came to the House, the further this desire settled within her mind.

Chapter Notations

159. Compared to the muted colour and fashion that is associated with the Regency Era, the 1830s saw a dramatic rise in exuberant and colourful materials and fashions, all of which were tied into Romanticism, a trend that used inspiration from historical trends to shape new ones, such as reinterpreting wide collars, curled hair, and puffed sleeves from the 17th Century. Thus, this short period of time in European history is known as both flamboyant and modest.

160. Due to the rise of colonisation in African and Asian countries, as well as the trading relationship between the three great powers at the time- the British, French, and the Ottoman Empire- there was a rise in ‘Orientalism’, a term denoted to the study of Eastern culture and society from the Western perspective. With Orientalism came a rise in interest for all that was ‘exotic’ and ‘other’, which included the trading of clothes, furniture, and art from the East, which the Europeans invested in and filled their homes with as an expression of wealth and ‘exoticism’, particularly in the case of fancy dress, where Europeans viewed Eastern clothes as freeing, colourful, but also sexualised. This trade would have made such commodities from China and India easier to source, as there was an increasing demand for this trade.

161. There were some native Indians of the opinion that British sovereignty brought culture, a more favourable hierarchy, and a sense of scholarship to India in a way that hadn’t been present before; however, aside from the Protestants and English that settled in Ireland, the general opinion towards British rule was much more hostile.

162.The East India Company extended their control of India with the backing of Parliament, and conquered, absorbed, and looted a number of previously independent or autonomous states, appointing high-born Governor Generals from London to regulate India’s trade, to collect their taxes, and impose their law on Indian citizens. This, combined with the Europeans’ increasing interest in all that was ‘Oriental’, Britain exported trade from India whilst also stifling Indian-ruled competition, enabling them to become the main competitors in the country. All of this trade was then sent through British trade routes, or returned to England through the looting of the homes of nawabs and aristocrats of the Mughal empire. Similar to the clothes, furniture, and art that Bonnie would have been able to access, this made Indian trade in general easier to access for the British, but it did not mean that the trade was justly sourced. As someone who has family in India, Bonnie would have been aware of this.

163. Oriental being the term for the East, Occidental was the term for the West.

164. A Chinese proverb. The direct translation is: The lotus springs from the mud.

165. Particularly in Eastern religions, these meanings are ascribed to the lotus flower.

166. In Hinduism, brahman is considered the ‘absolute reality’ and the ‘supreme existence’ of the universe. Resultantly, brahman can be found in everything and everyone, and is the core essence of all that exists. Ways in which people can understand this concept and touch upon brahman within themselves and in everything else can be discovered and outlined in the Upanishads, philosophical scriptures within Hinduism. One way that brahman can be reached is through a ‘lotus heart’, which Bonnie later mentions.

167. The lotus is a sacred flower in Hinduism and Buddhism. Lotus of the heart or lotus heart is a term that indicates having an open heart. As the lotus emerges from the water or mud, its petals begin to open and, similarly, as the person arises from their difficulties and they grow, they must open their heart and receive others and life with compassion, trust, and faith. In the Upanishads, the lotus of the heart is mentioned to be the size of a thumb.

Chapter Text

“When will she come down?”

Miss Ainsley fumbled with the pearls in her hand, the beads slipping through her fingers as she silently recited the rosary. She hoped, in prayer, that she could incite the Lord above to aid her ward and deliver her to dinner. Bonnie had not joined them, contending that she did not need to eat, but she had not sat with them in the evening; she had stayed in her room since returning from the Leongs.

“I could hardly say what the matter is,” Sarah frowned.

Sprawled across the sofa, Louisa peered over her book. “Nothing is the matter with her. There never is. She is always nervous over nothing.”

“Indeed, girls, she has been hysterical, more so than usual, these past few months.” Miss Ainsley’s voice rose to a fevered pitch, and she wiped a tear from her eye whilst she attempted to compose herself. “I could not speak as to where this behaviour has come from. She becomes nervous quickly; I hardly know why, nor how to sooth her.”

Percival was seated beside Louisa, having remained immersed in his book all evening. This volume rested neatly upon Louisa’s feet, which, in turn, rested idly upon his lap. Nevertheless, at this digression in conversation, his attention was drawn to them and he uttered-

“They say gyrators are quite the cure, Miss Ainsley!”

Miss Ainsley hesitated, recalling the discussion she had had with Bonnie in regards to her treatment. This reluctance was visible, she emitting, moments later, that she disagreed. “No, gyrators are not to be used. I could not permit it.”

Louisa huffed, releasing her book in a state of surliness, watching as it fell, resultantly, onto her stomach. “Miss Ainsley, she must be treated or else she shall never recover.”

“Bonnie has already stipulated that she prefers the treatment prescribed by Doctor Chifamba, and she truly has tried her best to follow his instruction.” This virtue caused Miss Ainsley to pause, for she was greatly moved by the endeavours of her ward. “She does not wish to have traditional treatment.”

“You must be firm with her,” Louisa enforced, “else she shall continue to do as she pleases. Soon, she shall be beyond saving and she will have to be removed (168).”

The sound of steps caused the party to fall silent. Stirred by the sound, Louisa sprung to her feet and dashed to the door. She had hurled the book onto the sofa where it landed not far from Percival. This bustle, he hardly perceived but merely entreated her to be cautious whilst he was reading. At the door, her countenance revealed her disappointment, her neck craning forward so that she could survey the hallway.

“It is Mister Reeves,” she declared. “He is walking to her room.”

Sarah turned her head to the side.

“Wait for him; we must know what was said.”

Louisa waited, as instructed, calling to the footman as he returned downstairs. At the sound of his voice, Sarah rose, approaching them both at the door. She reached out her hand when she heeded that she was near them, waiting patiently until it was taken by her sister. Guided closer, the rustle of their skirts as they brushed together indicated that she was directly beside her, and she turned her gaze towards the door, where she knew the footman to be.

“Mister Reeves,” she appealed, gently. “What is it that Bonnie requested?”

Adam glanced uncertainly between them, before admitting- “She has asked for Miss Davers.”

The mere mention of the gentlewoman enraged Louisa.

“We are here if she needs assistance!” she proclaimed.

This fit of temper, Adam was unperturbed by, having lived alongside his mistress and her custodian for many months. He simply blinked in response, conscious that the request would be fulfilled, for it was the request of his mistress and she was not to be swayed. Heeding his indifference, Louisa turned to Sarah, pulling her closer, as if she were deaf, as well as blind.

“I do not like her being so dependent on Miss Davers. It is odd, is it not, Sarah?” Her voice lowered into an ardent whisper. “I think the whole situation with them is becoming too familiar.”

Sarah was silent for a moment. Hereafter, she spoke out in a resigned manner.

“I shall speak to her. Please wait till I return, Mister Reeves.”

Louisa protested. She did not wish for her to journey alone upstairs, but Sarah, in a rare resemblance to her cousin, refused to be governed. She pardoned herself and ascended the steps, her hand gripping the wooden railing as she followed the route upstairs. Knocking lightly upon the door, she waited for the assent before entering. There was no visual indication of Bonnie’s reaction to viewing her, though she could discern the animosity, as she muttered-

“Oh, it is you, Sarah.”

There was silence. Sarah clasped her hands in front of her, her posture impeccable as she stared onward. Inhaling deeply, she prepared herself for the inevitable dissent.

“Mister Reeves has informed us that you wish to call for Miss Davers. It is late, Bonnie; we are doubtful as to whether it is necessary for such an action. We do not wish to disturb her if we are here and can be of service to you.”

“No, no; I want Yvonne,” came the protest. Despite the anguish within her tone, it was discernible, too, that she had been tearful. There was the soft padding of feet heard upon the carpet, the noise indicating that she was pacing back and forth by the window. “I asked for her.” This acrimonious response was lessened, her voice quivering as she said- “Can you bring her to me, please?”

The anguish within her speech caused Sarah to hesitate. Stepping forward, she halted solely when she reached the bed, fumbling as she turned to sit upon it.

“Bonnie, please sit.” She tapped the space beside her, lightly, hoping that her cousin had viewed the gesture. “We can talk about what is upsetting you. Did something happen at the Leongs?” She paused, contemplating the afternoon that had passed at the family’s home. “Did Mister Leong upset you?”

There was a rustle at the window, which she knew to be Bonnie’s nightgown as she hurried to sit upon the chaise longue. What she did not realise was that Bonnie was kneeling atop it, having glanced anxiously in her cousin’s direction but she soon turned to stare fixedly into the dark outside, peering downward often, as if expecting to view someone there. In her silence, Sarah continued.

“You can refuse,” she assured her. “You do not have to accept him.”

“No, I will not accept him,” was the resolved response.

“Then let’s not be nervous. We can have some drinking chocolate and sit by the fire, then we can read some of your favourite poems or one of your books. It shall sooth us all before bed...”

“No!” Bonnie exclaimed. Whirling around to glower at her, she demanded, hereafter- “Where is Yvonne? I sent for her.”

Sarah repressed the sigh that began to arise, her poise maintained as she stared ahead. She was gratified that she could not see, for she was uncertain of the expression that would have formed if she had seen the petulance displayed upon her cousin’s countenance. It was evident it was there, for she had heard the tone before, and she had heard the expression that often accompanied it detailed to her, countless times.

“We requested that Mister Reeves wait,” she disclosed. “Partly as we are unaware as to the reasons why she should come. It is late and we do not wish to disturb her unnecessarily.”

At this admission, Bonnie began to weep, furiously. Sarah continued to sit, for she was often hesitant and troubled when compelled to display affection, particularly to one who did not wish to receive it. She listened to the sound of Bonnie’s movements whilst she sobbed- her cousin had grasped her Prussian blue shawl, wrapping it around herself, as she continued to stare out into the night. Discerning that there was no figure traversing towards her in the dark, Bonnie’s cries became louder.

“I want you to call for Yvonne,” she wailed. “She must be here.”

Sarah did not believe their friendship to be odd, not in comparison to others, but she was concerned for the dependence and importance that Bonnie placed upon Miss Davers. She thought it superfluous. It occurred to her to speak with Bonnie on the matter, this reflection having occurred to her more than once, but she knew it would not be received with the prudence she had hoped for. Perhaps, then, she may speak to Miss Davers herself, who surely believed it taxing to tend so often to her neighbour. Standing, Sarah was not so callous as to refuse her plea and said: “Very well.”

She returned downstairs, where Miss Ainsley and Louisa awaited her. They were astonished to hear of her decision that Miss Davers was to be called for and, on Adam’s departure, Miss Ainsley remarked-

“I appreciate Miss Davers’ efforts with Bonnie and I think her friendship has done her good, but this is most peculiar! We cannot send for her at this time, especially when the three of us are here.” She disregarded Percival’s shout of- “Four, Miss Ainsley!” and babbled, nervously- “In some ways, she has improved but only with Miss Davers, and in many others, she has become worse. I do not know where to start with her.”

From the sofa in which he had not once moved, Percival offered, triumphantly- “As a man of great acumen, I can speak with her and...”

“No” was the collective answer.

He huffed in defiance, believing them to have made a dire error, though he returned to his book a second later. Sarah sensed that the other two women were staring at her and she intertwined her fingers together, a small gesture that revealed her concern, despite her placid demeanour.

“She is distraught, though I cannot say why. Perhaps Miss Davers will illuminate us; she is a reasonable woman. We cannot be of any help to Bonnie if we do not know what is causing her upset. It is better, for tonight, that we call for Miss Davers and try and negotiate a balance of responsibility when it comes to Bonnie’s care. We must do all we can to keep her from an institution.”

This word, although insinuated before, was distressing to Miss Ainsley, and she demanded, fretfully- “Is she to be institutionalised?”

The Donoghue family had not shared their intentions with her, despite Bonnie being in her care, she trusting that they had arrived to aid them simply when they needed it most, but it became evident to her that this was not the case. They had arrived solely to assess Bonnie. With this revelation illuminating itself to her, Miss Ainsley discerned that her hysteria had risen to a level that she had not previously thought possible.

“Not at present,” Sarah admitted.

To this confirmation, Miss Ainsley fanned herself and requested her sal volatile (169), for, all of a sudden, she felt terribly faint. This appeal was received by Percival dashing across the room with her salts in hand, merely to dash back to the sofa, once she had seized them, where he continued to read his book. Beside her, Louisa’s expression revealed that this lack of removal was a disappointment to her.

“Mother and father have spoken of it, but they try not to involve us in such talk.”

“We have come here to assess the situation,” Sarah continued. “We were told she was improving, but we are unsure whether she is now that we have lived with her. She is only improving in the presence of Miss Davers and I would not call that progress. Bonnie is far too dependent on her and I hope that Miss Davers understands a more reasonable distance must be initiated between them. If there is to be advancement, Bonnie must become independent.”

To this, Miss Ainsley concurred. She perceived that her previous assessment had been correct, particularly in regards to them travelling alone together, and this exoneration emboldened her.

“I agree! I am grateful to Miss Davers, but they have become too close. Bonnie will not agree to anything without her and she has become more resistant to my support since becoming acquainted with the Davers family. She does not want anyone other than Miss Davers in her company.”

Invariably reasonable, Sarah mused- “At least she has gained friends and is socialising. That is more than we achieved whilst she was in Ireland; we could hardly coerce her out of her room. We can be grateful for that, certainly.”

Louisa scowled. “She still has not given me my book. She says she will not until I stop asking.” Huffing in irritation, she sauntered across the room and lowered into the seat beside her husband. “She has always been a terror.”

Led to a seat by Miss Ainsley, Sarah’s brow knitted.

“You aggravate her on purpose,” she censored.

“She aggravates me!”

“Then you must stop aggravating each other,” she advised, indifferently, seating herself.

“I can only consider that approach when she returns my book,” Louisa uttered, ill-humouredly. “Then I think we can be greater friends.”

After she had spoken, the room descended into apprehensive reticence, except the intermittent exclamations of Percival, who had reached the apex of the novel, where Edward, after returning from war, expressed his love to Marguerite, a fair lady who belonged to a rival nation. To this, Percival was captivated and repeated the confession aloud. It was received with great delight by Louisa, who was momentarily distracted by the love affair; this novel being their favourite. Miss Ainsley scoffed.

“Were you not reading that book when we saw you last?”

To this, Percival was offended.

“Miss Ainsley,” he uttered with the greatest severity, “The Portrait is a defining novel of warfare, romance, the endurance of the human spirit, and wit, and if you had read my series of essays outlining my thematic analysis of the novel, you should not think to question why I read it at least once a year.”

“He is greatly attached to it,” Louisa appended, as if there were any doubt.

Miss Ainsley merely arched her gaze. She was primarily focused on awaiting Miss Davers and did not wish to discuss The Portrait when it was a discussion that she had heard many a time before. In lieu, she remained unmoved until their guest arrived, as did Sarah, but the avid discussion opposite continued between husband and wife, as one believed Edward should have married Violet, whilst the other adamantly contended for the virtue of Edward and his love for Marguerite, these expostulations continuing until the arrival of Miss Davers, since this was a debate that often arose and so, they were well-primed to demonstrate their case.

Chapter Notations

168. To an institution.

169. Sal volatile is a solution of ammonium carbonate mixed with alcohol, which produces a sharp scent. This was therefore used as a smelling salt. Smelling salts were used for their strong, harsh smell which often caused people to wake up once they had fainted, due to an immediate reaction to the fumes.

Chapter Text

A servant stumbled onto the front steps of Haynes Park as the clock neared midnight, requesting urgently that the eldest Miss Davers travel with him to the House. Yvonne had been reading to Penny; yet, they had ceased to orate this chapter in favour of sitting opposite one another at the table, their hands grasped together as they attempted to thrust the other’s hand into a position of defeat. This was the conclusion of their reading an adventure novel. They had provoked a discussion as to who would survive in the wilderness, each believing that they would be the conquering hero and the other, a victim to any circumstance that arose to mind. Thus, they conceded between them that wrestling was the sole option in which to resolve this discussion, but the lack of exertion on Yvonne’s part was irksome to Penny, who was merely becoming more and more crimson in the face.

At the intrusion of the footman, Yvonne sprung to her feet, releasing Penny’s hand. To this, the girl thought herself the victor and hurrahed in her conquest.

“I am the champion and it is you that shall perish at the hand of yellow fever!”

Yvonne merely chuckled, believing that she was undoubtedly the strongest and would have proven so, if she had not been disturbed. Tenderly, she ruffled her hair. “Yes, you are correct. I shall die horribly! How satisfied you must be.”

“Greatly,” Penny concurred, as she was kissed atop the head.

Following her to the door, she wished Yvonne a safe journey, wishing to know of Bonnie’s health, though she merely hummed equivocally in response to her sister’s wish that she retire for the night. With the eldest absent, she believed she may do as she pleased.

Outside, Yvonne discovered that Othello had been brought to her, and she accepted the horse with gratitude. She ascended and urged him onward. Bonnie’s servant had travelled on a steed of his own, riding alongside her; howbeit, she was swifter than he, knowing the route in greater detail and confidence, and she hurried ahead of him, even in the darkness of night. Subsequently, she arrived before the servant was able to match her in speed, halting upon the driveway whilst he continued to ride along the incoming path. Othello had hardly paused before she swung her leg over him, her foot that remained in the stirrup allowing her to keep sturdy, and she sprung to the floor, her own chest heaving, not from the effort but from suspense.

The front entrance was open, she being expected, and she was led directly to the parlour, where the Donoghues and Miss Ainsley awaited her. Following the footman, Yvonne hardly thought of her appearance, yet she noted the strand of hair that had fallen across her forehead and she brushed it backward, though it simply fell once more, a moment later.

Her entrance incited the family to stand, and she bowed her head in Adam’s direction, who withdrew from the room. They observed her dishevelled appearance, she having rode wildly across the fields, and she, in turn, observed the aversion in Louisa’s countenance, the perpetual cheerfulness in her husband’s, the fretfulness in the custodian’s, and the composure of Sarah. In unison, they curtseyed and bowed, to which Yvonne bowed her head in acknowledgement. Sarah was the first to speak.

“We apologise for the inconvenience, Miss Davers, but Bonnie was asking for you. We tempted her to think otherwise, but I am afraid that she is resolute. I did not want to quarrel with her and I thought, as you have spent time with her recently, that you would know best how to deal with her temper.”

Yvonne was silent for a moment, her chest heaving, though she desperately tried to quieten her erratic breathing.

“I appreciate your trust in me, Miss Donoghue,” she expressed, “but I am afraid that I am not the person that is most qualified to speak with her when her spirits are low.” Upon viewing the astonishment with which this statement was received, she continued. “There have been previous occasions where I have merely aggravated the situation and distressed her more.” She hesitated, inhaling deeply so that she may momentarily contemplate the situation at hand, but so that she may also regain her breath. Her initial apprehension was replaced with a deep anxiety at the condition with which Bonnie was in; Yvonne had never been urgently called before. She did not know how she could assist her but she did not wish to leave her, especially when she had requested her presence. “Yet, if she wishes to speak with me, I will endeavour to calm her. Do you know why she is distressed?”

“No,” Sarah admitted. “She has made no allusion as to what has unsettled her but she insists on seeing you, so we have decided that you must be called for on this occasion. We do not understand her behaviour and we hope that you may enlighten us, if she wishes to confide in you. We have struggled for some time to have her confide in us, not only now, but before she came to England. It would be greatly appreciated, on all accounts, if you were to aid us, if only for tonight.”

Yvonne bowed her head once more. “I will do my best.”

She withdrew from the room, the closing of the door provoking Louisa to glance in her sister’s direction.

“I do not believe her when she says that she has no power over her. I have never seen anybody have as much influence over Bonnie and her temperament. This is precisely what Miss Davers does!”

“How do you mean?” Sarah frowned.

“I have heard it said that she often exercises power over other women,” Louisa reputed, “and compels them to rely completely on her. She is close with other women more than what is appropriate. They were talking of it, even when she was in Dublin.”

Sarah raised a brow. “Is there any foundation for these allegations or are you engaging, once more, in common hearsay?”

“I have heard it said quite frequently and not always from the same people,” Louisa defended. “There must be foundation in that. Besides, Bonnie is not entirely natural herself, for she used to follow that woman around... Miss- oh, what was her name?- Miss O’Grady, do you remember? She sobbed for days after the last time she saw her.”

Miss Ainsley humphed indignantly at the mention of Miss O’Grady, but Sarah merely glowered in her sister’s direction.

“We are here now,” she uttered, unwaveringly, “and I think it wise to see for ourselves how she fares before we make any judgement.”

“To think Miss Davers has been called for... I would not have guessed that the day would end like this.” Miss Ainsley inhaled deeply, as if she had been greatly wounded. She turned, beseechingly, to the woman beside her. “You have always been astute, Sarah; did you ever foresee such behaviour from her?” Before there was a response, she persisted. “Well, naturally! You must have foreseen this whole event. It was in her nature from the start to be unyielding, self-willed. Oh, how I wish I’d known sooner! She may have been prevented from such impropriety as this.” Miss Ainsley dabbed the kerchief at her eyes. This enabled her to gain a sense of resolution and she added- “I do not believe that Miss Davers has acted inappropriately, though there have been rumours, yes. Bonnie, however, seems to be abandoning all decorum as time goes on.”

Louisa glanced meaningfully at her sister. “See, she has a power over them.”

“You mean to tell me next that she is a witch.”

“Perhaps she is,” Louisa mused. “If you do not think me serious, you should at least consider the odd relations that she has had with other women. As I have said, they are closer than what is appropriate.”

“Your idle talk is inappropriate, Louisa. We shall see for ourselves, as I have already mentioned. Keep your comments to yourself until such a time that it is needed.”

Louisa stuck out her tongue, which caused Miss Ainsley to tut in offence. Sensing she had been distasteful, Sarah glared in her direction, seating herself and turning primly from her. Unsettled, Miss Ainsley lowered herself into the chair beside Miss Donoghue. The situation had troubled her, she wishing to ease her ward as swiftly as possible, but her misgiving was of no consequence; she knew she would not receive a solution in the time that she preferred. Miss Ainsley would simply have to wait for Miss Davers to return downstairs if she were to receive an answer.

Entering the room, the gloom startled Yvonne. A sole candle was lit on the bedside table, she perceiving the stifled sound of Bonnie’s wailing before she observed her on the bed. She had curled into a foetal position, her arms wrapped around her knees, her head resting between them. Her weeping hitched each time she drew a deep breath inward, as though she were gasping for air, and her breath was so frenzied in its execution that it occurred to Yvonne that her neighbour was hysterical, her wailing induced by a deep sense of trepidation that she could not remove. Its sound was almost identical to the feverish sobs that Yvonne had previously experienced, infrequently, and this recognition caused her own nerves to rise, though she stifled them as well as she could, resolved to be steadfast for the woman before her.

Approaching the bed, she knelt one knee upon it and reached out, her fingertips brushing gently down the plaited hair. The touch induced Bonnie to raise her head, noting the woman above her. Eyes widening, she leapt upward, her voice hitching in her throat, a sob having arisen with the motion.

“Yvonne!”

Grasping her tightly around the neck, she embraced her, her damp face burying in the curve of her neighbour’s neck. Yvonne returned the embrace, one hand holding her securely around the torso, another resting on the back of her head. Despite their mutual distress, Yvonne discerned the familiar scent of lavender that emanated from her. She did not realise it but she was eased by the smell, any reasoning that had abandoned her upon leaving the Park returning.

Disentangling from her arms, both hands came to rest on her dampened cheeks, feeling the way her body convulsed with each weep that arose freshly within her.

“What is the matter, Bonnie?” she petitioned in a low voice. “Will you tell me, if not your cousins?”

Disoriented, Bonnie stared across at her. “They do not know anything."

“Tell me?” Yvonne urged, her voice still low, as if a resonant tone would disrupt the tender moment. She wiped a stray tear with her thumb. “Have you been hurt?”

“No, it is not that.”

She inhaled, but the sound was hindered by a great deal of mucus. Yvonne removed her handkerchief and held it to Bonnie’s nose, which she swiftly emptied. Indifferent to the remnants, Yvonne merely folded it and returned it to her pocket. Bonnie inhaled again, merely to repress the trembling of her chest and lip, both of which continued to shudder. Drawing her attention back to the conversation, Yvonne brushed her cheek with her thumb.

“I cannot help you, Bon, if you do not speak to me.” In response, Bonnie glanced at the door in terror. Yvonne could not possibly conceive what the matter was. “You act as if you have committed a crime. It is not so serious, surely?”

“It is not a crime by definition,” she uttered.

“Then you have sinned?”

“I feel as if I have.”

Bonnie glanced downward. The sight of the woman before her appeared to captivate her and she reached out to rest her hand against the centre of her chest, her touch lingering. Her reluctance was apparent, as though she believed Yvonne to be an apparition, one that would simply dissipate when she needed her most. The solidity of her body beneath her hand, however, soothed Bonnie and she stared down at the gentle rise and fall of her neighbour’s chest as she breathed, the faint quiver of her heartbeat felt beneath her fingertips.

Asudden, her countenance convulsed and she started to weep once more, her hands rising to conceal her face. Yvonne sat hurriedly beside her, one hand stroking her knee in an attempt to sooth her, the other hand bolstering her upward. Perplexed, she was uncertain of how to ease her but remained with her in silence as she wept. Minutes later, Bonnie attempted to repress her sobs by wiping her face and eyes, though that merely caused her countenance to redden further, and, in a gulping effort, she stared ahead, though she addressed the woman aside her.

“Yvonne... I am suffering. Please. Help me.”

Each word was punctuated with a convulsion of her body, simply from the exertion of restraining her emotion. Her voice was low in its wretchedness, its timbre thick with despair, as well as the strain she had caused herself in weeping. Upon perceiving these words, an aching sensation arose sharply within Yvonne and she stared across at her companion, her own lip trembling.

“I will help you,” she promised her. “Tell me what I must do.”

The hand that rested upon Bonnie’s knee tugged lightly at her and she glanced down at the fingers curled upon her leg, her forlorn gaze rising, moments later, to meet her neighbour’s.

“Stay with me?” Her hand reached down to rest atop Yvonne’s, her tone pleading. “Stay with me tonight. Do not leave.”

Yvonne shook her head, her fingers folding over her companion’s. “I will not go. I will stay, if that is what you want.” Observing the relieved sigh of Bonnie, she sat upward, determined that she should assist her. “I shall have my nightclothes sent for.”

Pressing her hand, Yvonne released her, assuring her that she would return. She passed through the door, closing it resolutely behind her, her hand falling limply to her side as she released her grip on the handle. With a shuddering breath, she closed her eyes, her hand rising to press firmly against her chest, desperately endeavouring to calm the frantic beating of her heart. She remained in that position until she was satisfied that she could speak with the family downstairs.

Urging herself forward, she returned to the parlour, where she informed them that Bonnie was unwell and would benefit from having a companion during the night to ensure that she was settled. A protest arose on Louisa’s lips but, upon Yvonne’s inquiry into whether anyone else wished to undertake this duty, there was no forthcoming response. Her remaining at the House was settled and a trunk was called for that contained her clothes and other necessary items. Miss Ainsley ordered that the house should be locked upon its arrival, for they were all anticipative to retire to bed.

Awaiting the trunk, Yvonne sat with Miss Ainsley whilst the additional guests embarked upstairs. They sat in silence, since Miss Davers could not clarify Bonnie’s distress and Miss Ainsley was too fatigued to hear of any other matter. At last, the trunk arrived with a note expressing Penny’s well-wishes. Gratified, Yvonne pocketed the paper and hurried upstairs, followed sedately by the custodian, who returned wearily to her own room.

A chamber had been arranged for Yvonne’s stay, although Louisa had chosen the one furthest from Bonnie. Knowing that she would remain with the lady herself, Yvonne was indifferent to this choice; it would abide unoccupied. She placed her trunk on the bedstead and removed the nightshirt, discarding her clothes and attiring appropriately for bed. Folding the clothes into the trunk, she closed and locked it, abandoning the case where she had placed it. She was focused solely on returning to Bonnie’s bedchamber, neglecting to arrange the room so that it appeared used. Her neighbour’s wellbeing was her primary concern, disinterested, momentarily, in the rumours that may arise from such a decision.

Before retiring, Miss Ainsley had equipped her with a candle of her own and Yvonne carried it with her to illuminate the path ahead. Her bare feet padded softly across the carpet, no other sound emanating from the house other than her large strides and the rustle of her nightshirt as it fluttered around her legs.

Arriving at the bedchamber, she knocked before entering, peering around the door to view Bonnie lying upon the bed. Approaching her, she bent down to place the candle on the bedside table, yet her proximity emboldened Bonnie to reach up and take hold of her. Despite Yvonne’s caution of the open flame, she was practically hauled onto the mattress by the grip on her shoulders, she releasing the candle holder before it was brought with her.

This additional warmth and consolation to Bonnie soothed her, if only slightly, and she embraced Yvonne as she lay beside her, her head resting peacefully not far below her shoulder, her eyes closing contentedly as she felt Yvonne’s heart beat against her own, her temple’s rhythm matching that of her neighbour’s. In response, Yvonne embraced her, her long arms enfolding her securely within, though her fingers traced a delicate route on her back in the hope that this would subdue her further. The silence was disrupted, a minute later, by Bonnie’s soft admittance.

“I am astounded that you are not yet tired of me.”

“You have a low opinion of yourself,” Yvonne returned. “I do not like to hear it.”

“I do not, not always,” murmured Bonnie. “When I see you, when I am near you, I am happy but then I think of how I cannot please anyone. Everyone always wishes for me to be different, one way or another, and I can hardly ask myself what I wish to be. So, you see, I cannot make you happy, not in the way you make me. I hardly know how to content myself.”

Yvonne’s brow furrowed in the dark. “Why should you please others? I have found that rarely anyone is pleased when it comes to the paths we choose, so you ought to simply continue as you are. At least, in this lifetime, you will have secured some semblance of happiness if you follow your own heart.” She paused, reflecting upon her neighbour’s words. “You cannot fathom the magnitude of all you have done for me. You have been a beacon of light in my darkest hour and yet, you rate yourself so lowly. I cannot bear to hear it, Bonnie. You do yourself the greatest injustice.”

“So do you!” came the protest. “You do not rate yourself highly.”

Yvonne smiled at her exclamation. She was riveted by the sensation of cotton beneath her fingertips as they traced along the material, though she perceived her hand was tiring from the effort, and she laid it to rest on her neighbour, discerning the curve of her back as she did. Restful, she closed her eyes, muttering-

“Can we agree to see the best in each other, even if we cannot always see it in ourselves?”

From below came the petulant murmur of: “I always see the best in you.”

“And I in you.”

Yvonne turned her head to the side, her nose brushing against errant strands of thick, black hair. The proximity almost induced her to hum in felicity, despite Bonnie’s temperament.

“You do make me happy,” she assured her. “I can merely apologise if I have made you believe otherwise. And I would repent, a thousand times, so you would know that I was true.”

Reticence fell upon them before Bonnie uttered, hereafter: “Kiss me.”

“Pardon?”

Yvonne opened one eye, as if that would allow her to hear better.

“Kiss my head and then I shall know you are sincere.”

Yvonne merely mumbled her assent, for she was close to slumbering. She leant her neck forward, kissing her firmly atop her hair. Afterward, she returned to her previous position, her breathing becoming heavier in her drowsiness.

Her kiss had not been received well by Bonnie, who, to the contrary of feeling eased, became agitated. The woman stared around her in the dark and then at the body upon which she was lying. She peered upward to observe the serene expression of her neighbour, and this view merely disturbed her more. Her hands clutched the nightshirt, its material crumpling in her grasp, and she heeded that the words had abandoned her lips before she had thought any further on them.

“I know why they are here.”

The sudden noise caused Yvonne to stir and she opened her eyes, humming in acknowledgement. With great effort, she responded- “Who are here?”

“Sarah and Louisa.” She hesitated. “I do not want to be institutionalised. It would not be difficult for them to convince a doctor that I should be removed. With my medical history and my... my sex and my skin colour, certainly, it is to my disadvantage.”

This reference to an asylum caused Yvonne to awaken, her grip unwittingly tightening on her neighbour.

“I am startled to hear of such a scheme,” she professed. After a moment, she tendered her own musing. “Though I do not find your reasoning to be illogical.” With her head turning towards Bonnie’s, she uttered, consolingly: “I shall not let that happen.”

“I will not be like those women you hear of- broken and constrained by marriage or by tradition, women who must submit to some form of slavery or are simply hidden away and forgotten, like some impurity on the family name, some vampire or beast that needs to be kept apart from others. I have seen women like me locked away for less, married off, abused and tormented, or who would rather have submitted to death, and they have. I could not be bound for an eternity by someone else’s bonds (170).” Bonnie paused, her breath shuddering as another sob threatened to arise within her. “I have committed no crime, nothing beyond resisting the societal expectation of what a woman should be, how I should behave. For it, they wish to lock me away for the rest of my life, rather than simply admit that I could be dissimilar from them. I am not ignorant to the fact that they think it is a crime to be a woman, let alone a woman with brown skin. That is as good a reason as any without my listlessness, my dejection.”

Yvonne glowered into the darkness, her hand stroking the shuddering movement of her companion’s back, which she knew to be a barely repressed wail.

“No, you have committed no crime,” she resolved. “And I could not let them remove you from your own home. If they were, I shall make their lives as hellish as any employment they force you to undergo. They shall soon release you; it will be easier than living with the consequences I have planned for them. Surely, they know. They are women of mixed heritage too; they should know your plight? They should have sympathy for your situation.”

Bonnie shook her head, which merely demonstrated itself as a scrape of the cheek against Yvonne’s chest.

“They do not think of it that way; they hardly care, for it is not their difficulty. It is mine. When they are in such a position of privilege, they cannot conceive the horrors that would await me there or, at the least, they do not wish to think upon it (171). Why distress themselves? There is no fellowship between us, in kin or experience. We are so far removed from one another that I hardly think we will ever agree. They will do anything to be rid of me. If they cannot bind me within four walls, they will surely bind me to a man first.” She was silent, contemplating whether she was capable of sharing the following thought, but she soon conceded to it. “I will not marry him, Yvonne. Please, do not be angry with me; I cannot help how he acts toward me. I would refrain from seeing him ever again if it made you happy.”

Beneath her, Yvonne tensed. She, too, was silent as she meditated on her response.

“I am sorry to hear that you are misunderstood by those closest to you,” she uttered. Her fingers alighted upon the tip of her plait, quite by accident, but the motion soothed her and her touch lingered. Tracing the curve of the woven hair, her breathing eased, and she told her- “I will not force you to do anything. I know you cannot help it. You must not think of me, but of your own felicity.”

“They are not the ones who are closest to me,” Bonnie mumbled, as she became drowsy. “I care more for your opinion than theirs.”

She closed her eyes, the gradual tranquillity of her breathing revealing that she was close to sleeping. Nevertheless, her words had concerned Yvonne, who was conscious that they had visited the Leongs earlier that day. She questioned if some event had occurred that she was unaware of. It was astonishing to view Bonnie in so affected a manner, and it was likely, to her mind, that Mr Leong- or one of her cousins- had unsettled her to the point of feverishness. The thought that the young man in question was considered a suitor of Bonnie’s continued to incense her, but what caused her further indignation was the view that he had caused her neighbour discomfort.

Yvonne lay in her displeasure, glaring up at the canopy of the bed as if it were the man himself, her arms enfolding around Bonnie, protectively. Whether it was the decision of the lady beside her or the Donoghue family themselves, Yvonne knew she could not be the successor to any such affection. Her heart would be sorely injured in the events to come. The subject of marriage loomed perpetually over them and it merely grew in magnitude as time passed by, rather than removing itself entirely from view, as she had desperately hoped it would. Yvonne was prepared for disappointment and yet, she could not bear to lose her. She did not think her heart would ever be ready.

Chapter Notations

170. This is a reference to the treatment of women at this time, some of which can be observed within fiction. It was common for women to be villainised, made pitiful, or objects of ridicule when unmarried, such as in ‘Great Expectations’, ‘Shirley’, and ‘Emma’, but also to be villainised, scorned, or ridiculed for being married, or seeking the financial and social comfort of marriage. Often, they were punished narratively for this, such as in ‘The Count of Monte Cristo’, ‘Vanity Fair’, and ‘Bleak House’. Moreover, women were also punished within marriage, as they had no financial or social independence, or power outside of the partnership, as outlined in ‘Mary & The Wrongs of Woman’, where one character was placed in an asylum for the convenience of her husband, an issue that was prevalent between the Stuart and Victorian Era. This was perpetuated further with lower class women and BAME women, highlighted by the treatment of Mrs Rochester in ‘Jane Eyre’. Although some of these novels were published in the Victorian Era, some are set within the Georgian Era or were issues still prevalent in society at that time, all of which Bonnie would have been aware of. The difficult position of women regarding mental health, marriage, and class status, as well as their political, social, and medical freedom was well-known and an issue that was heralded in literature and in society as far back as the Stuart period, decades before this was set.

171. Sexual and physical abuse were common within mental institutes at the time, physical abuse including treatment like restraints and shackles, forced feeding or starvation, and unconsented medical and surgical treatment.

Chapter Text

There was a rustle of movement by the door. Adam peered upward to note two figures dawdling by the entrance to his room- one tall and slim, one small with short, untamed hair. Beholding this sight, he returned his attention to the shoe that was grasped within his hand, raising his other hand to brush a smattering of polish along the leather. He hoped to compose himself before he was approached, repressing a sigh as he heard a brief hem, nearby. Glancing askance, he perceived Mr van Blois standing beside him.

“I say, good chap,” the gentleman proclaimed, “may we talk?”

Percival peered at him through his spectacles, his expression revealing that he had been compelled to speak by his wife, rather than through any want of his own. Behind, the woman in question peered intrusively over his shoulder, the apathy she held towards the footman visible. With parted lips, Adam placed the shoe and cloth onto the floor, a silent sigh escaping. As he returned his gaze upward, he asked-

“How can I assist you, sir?”

Percival waved his hand in a circular motion, as if that would aid him in forming his inquiry. “It is in regards to Miss Donoghue and the visits she receives from her neighbour, Miss Davers. You are familiar with these visits, I assume?” Before the footman responded, he chuckled- “Well, yes, you would be. You allow her entry! My wife and I and, hum, well, Miss Donoghue too- Sarah, that is- we wish to know how often Miss Davers visits here.”

“Once a week, sir,” Adam answered, truthfully. “Oftentimes, she visits more but Miss Donoghue has been unwell and Miss Davers sits with her when Miss Ainsley is at the school or on social visits.”

“So, she stays at the house for long periods of time?” came the question.

“I could not say for definite, sir.” Adam frowned up at him. “She stays as long as she is required to whilst Miss Ainsley is not present, or they walk to the Ouse once a week. They stay as long as it takes them to walk there and back. Four or five hours, I would think, between them conversing and staying by the river. She may stay longer if Miss Donoghue is painting.”

Percival peered over his shoulder at Louisa, as if she did not hear.

“Four or five hours,” he repeated to her. This caused her to nudge him sharply in the back, which inspired another question, for he turned back to Adam. “And their discussions, they are interesting? Diverse?”

Adam wondered at the question. “I am never with them, sir. That is not my role. If you wish to know of discussions, Miss Ainsley accompanies them at times, so she would know the answer to your question.”

Percival nodded, believing this to be reasonable. Louisa did not, however, and spoke out.

“They are good friends, you would say?”

Adam did not mean to enact the gesture but he raised his shoulders and lowered them again. “I suppose you could say so, ma’am. I beg your pardon but I would not know, for my job is to simply allow Miss Davers entry, ensure she is comfortable, and take her to and from the door. If she visits at least once a week, one might guess that they are closely acquainted. Miss Donoghue has returned calls to Haynes Park, and Miss Davers, the youngest, has also visited the house several times.”

Louisa pursed her lips, irked that he had not answered in a way that she had hoped for. Assertive, she questioned- “And their behaviour does not strike you as odd? You have not seen any strange occurrences, or noticed anything that would cause you concern?”

Adam glanced down at his shoes, his disgruntlement directed at them rather than at the two beside him. When he peered upward once more, his countenance was displeased but deferential.
“No, ma’am. I cannot say that any occurrence at the house has struck me as odd. Besides, I do not believe it is my place to make such judgements, particularly in regards to my employer and those she esteems. I would like to reiterate, ma’am, that I simply do as I am asked.”

Percival nodded his head, sighing in concurrence. “That is all a man can do.”

Louisa stared down at the footman, surveying the expression upon his face.

“Thank you, Mister Reeves, for answering our questions. We merely wish to nurse my cousin to health, and any information we can gain of her routine is appreciated. I am certain you understand.”

He returned the stare. “Yes, ma’am, I understand.”

She attempted to smile, courteously, to which Adam returned the gesture. Pleased by the exchange, Percival guided his wife from the room, cheerfully singing ‘The Clod and the Pebble’ (172), this tune being entirely of his own making. Perceiving their withdrawal, Adam grasped the shoe and cloth, resolved to return to his previous task. It was not until they had disappeared from view that his brow knitted quizzically, and he glanced towards the door. He could not understand the precise reason for their questioning, but he discerned that he ought to be dishonest; he felt they were attempting to expose an issue that he failed to comprehend. As he could not fathom it, he did not wish to speak upon it in fear that it affected Miss Donoghue. Adam did not wish to afflict her in any way. He would do all he could to prevent her from coming to harm.

24th October 1830

I awoke this morning, half-forgetting where I was and why, but I discerned Bonnie in my arms and soon recalled the night before. Despite having awoken before her, I remained where I was in fear of disturbing her. Yet, she sleeps so long and so soundly that I woke her anyhow, soon after. It was a little later than I would usually rise, but earlier than she does, and I encouraged her to have breakfast. She did not wish to traverse downstairs, so I returned to my given room to dress for the day, visited the kitchens to inquire into our having breakfast, and afterward, returned to her room, where I roused her once more, for she was asleep again. I hardly know if she was addled, since she often stared at me with an air of being disoriented and she could barely raise herself from the bed, often grumbling and moaning as she did. It appeared to be a great effort. She was still sitting on the bed when the food arrived- they had brought a table and two chairs so that we may sit together by the window.

When the servants had left, she stared across at me but did not wish to come to the table, insisting she was not hungry. I was concerned for her and brought the food to the bed. After great pains, I convinced her to eat but only if I sat with her atop the mattress. There, we ate together. She sat beside me, we were both cross-legged, and she rested her head on my shoulder. Despite how long she slept, she was fatigued and, at times, she would begin to weep again, though she attempted to hide it. She would stare down at the food and sniff and wipe her face, one hand always gripping my knee and thigh, and when she cried, she would rub her thumb where it rested against me as if the motion brought her comfort. When I placed my arm around her shoulders, she calmed and was able to have more from her plate.

Once I was satisfied she had eaten, we lay down again, for it was evident that she would not rise and she clung to me once more. I held her too and calmed her as well as I could, stroking her back and hair, and she soon dozed. I must admit that I dozed too, for I was awake later than usual, and we were not long asleep before I awakened again. She continued to sleep but I gently stroked her arm in the hope that she could discern the comfort, even as she slumbered. I must have fallen into repose myself whilst watching her because I awoke later in the morning and so did she. She was a little more alert than before, and she smiled when she saw me beside her. I could not help but smile in return, for I was pleased to observe some semblance of happiness within her.

I asked her if she was well and she said yes; she was better. Not entirely but she was not as unwell as she had been the night before. We finished the remnants of breakfast and we lay down again afterward, talking about any subject but that of last night. I did not want to upset her and she did not broach the subject. She was delighted to hear of my wrestling Penny and insisted that Penny was visibly the strongest, for she knew it would vex me, and it did. At first, it was a good joke but it is not difficult to concede that I was clearly the victor. Bonnie would not admit it and I soon altered the discussion to another, since it is quite obvious that I am the strongest out of the two and even in jest, we need not be ludicrous. This brought some amusement to Bonnie and she laughed at my vexation.

Whilst we were speaking, she would often reach out and grasp my arm, stroking it or holding onto it. I think she wished to be comforted, so I imitated the touch and she settled more comfortably. My heart aches for her. She stared and smiled so affectionately at me when I held and caressed her, she finally settling into some semblance of peace within herself, that I hardly knew what to make of it. She is fond of me. I rather think she admires me, reveres me, and I do all I can to justify her esteem. I wish to tell her all. She has been my confidante these past few months and yet I cannot confide my deepest desire to her. Even if she were to return the affection, how quickly she would be torn from me, one way or another.

I could not let her go, you see, not once she was mine. Even if we parted in distance, she would remain so deeply burrowed in my heart that she would remain with me always, in memory and in sentiment, and I could not live with another ghost. I have lived with more than one and I do not know whether I could fill the void that would accompany her absence, not this time. That is why she cannot know the reverence I have for her in my heart.

When I lay there, I felt as if there was nothing but her. On our first meeting, she was the light that appeared to me as I knelt in the darkness, weary and oppressed, and in remaining there, I soon observed her in the distance and I followed her, daring to believe that I could bathe in her, entirely. I am blessed by her presence, in the same way I look out at night, when all seems lost amidst the dusk, and there above, I see the moon, and I know I am in the presence of the divine. I am entranced by her and in being so, I am Endymion (173), doomed for all eternity to remain fixed to this point, merely so I can admire her, but I am untroubled by this servitude, for I do it willingly. If only, like Selene, she never wished for me to leave her.

At midday, I departed, however, and she was reluctant for me to depart. I had to speak with a tenant and could not be late, but she fretted greatly. She was miserable to release me, but she was no longer tearful nor did she appear so distressed that I felt incapable of leaving her, not like the night before. To ease her, I promised I would return briefly in the evening to inquire after her, though I could not stay long, her family being present, and she accepted this promise. I kissed her firmly on the forehead and when I leant back, I observed that she had closed her eyes and clasped her hands together as she knelt upon the bed- she looked as if she were praying. She opened her eyes and wished me farewell, rather tentatively, and I returned downstairs- quite reluctantly- to inquire into departing.

There, I was approached by Sarah. She was swift to inquire into my time at the House, whether I had gathered the reason for Bonne’s agitation. I did not know how to answer. I believe Bonnie is distressed by Mr Leong and the understanding that she may be taken from her home, either through marriage or to an institution. All of this, her family are aware of and have schemed against her. I could not, in good conscience, reveal to her cousin what her affliction was. I merely told her that the subject of Mr Leong was uncomfortable for her, but did not venture to explain further. For all Sarah is aware, that is all I gained from her in truthfulness. Sarah curtseyed and thanked me for my time. She offered to grant me a gift on my return or to send a gift to the Park, but I insisted I did not wish for her to do so. All I do is in kindness to Bonnie.

Not wishing to remain there any longer, I ventured outside, though I was uneasy at leaving Bonnie alone with her cousins. She has become worse in their presence, confirming my suspicions that they are incapable of aiding her in any way. Certainly, this weighed heavily upon me as I waited outside.

Soon after, my trunk was brought to me and I fastened it to Othello. We were circling the driveway when I noted that Bonnie had come to the upstairs window and was watching me depart. She waved as she used to, and, as I did not have my hat, I saluted her, bidding Othello onward. Before the house was hidden from sight, I peered over my shoulder and saw that she had remained at the window. She appeared to have appreciated my salute and I smiled at her, though she was distant from me- I do not know if she saw me.

I have now returned from my meeting and I shall soon write about all that transpired, but now, I must go to dinner, else Penny shall come and find me. Yet, I leave with one thought, dear journal- I truly believe I can make her happy, even if it is in friendship. I think there is hope yet in remaining with her.

24th October 1830

It has been some time since I have written here, desolate as I have been. Yet, I have returned to these pages in perceiving that my heart has lifted, if only slightly, and I feel a hope that I have not felt in some days. Since my last writing, I have read The Portrait (again! Percival would not hear of us reading another novel), we danced the moulala and the kwadril (174), my first round was with Percival, my second with Sarah, and then Percival elected to play the drum (which he does quite wildly) whilst Sarah and Louisa danced indiscriminately in the centre of the room. Miss Ainsley joined them and she urged me to accompany her, though I soon tired and sat back down. We also went for a walk to the Ouse, which I was pleased with; I was quite at my leisure walking along the river. There was not much to do, which Louisa was certain to be made known and she often fanned herself into a great complaint. We decided upon visiting the McLarens and the Spencers next week, so that shall quieten her for some time.

Yesterday, we visited the Leongs, though I cannot say any more than that, for the mere remembrance of it causes me disquiet. I remember fondly, however, the words that Miss Leong granted me and I strove to be true to them. She told me that I must admit to another when I suffer so that I can allow others to assist me, and I did. I called for Yvonne and she came! I heard them talking of it at dinner. They say she came riding avidly to the House and how ferocious she looked to them! I could not prevent myself from dreaming of it. How like a romantic hero the image is! She came for me when I asked. I remember she was a little disorderly and flustered upon arrival; how it causes one to consider that she was truly concerned for me.

I know she was. She tended to me so well; she was so kind, and thoughtful, and compassionate. How forlorn I was until she came. Her tenderness calmed me soon after; it is difficult to be fearful when she is present. I was grateful for her attendance, for the strength and solidity in it and in her mind. If only I could be the same!

She lay with me this morning. You would not believe how comfortable we were with one another, how companionable. I did not expect to be so intimate with her, though I cannot be upset with such progress. At one time, I hardly thought we would be close again and there we were, lying together, closer than we had ever been. When we spoke, I wanted her to know that I could not bear to marry, and she was not incensed but assured me that I did not have to, that she wished for my felicity; nobody has assured me so well as she. I believe we are starting to understand one another.

Even in my darkest days, she is the sun that shines upon me, the star which guides me. The dark comes, as it always does, but at the end of it all, she returns to me and I feel the warmth she brings with her, the light and hope that arises with her presence, her smile. Even at my lowest, she is able to animate me, to revive a sense of vivacity within me. Then, the darkness within me disappears, if only for a little while, and I am able to bask in her. But then she leaves and I am despondent once more, for I have no light without her, not from within. Undoubtedly, to me, she is my Caroline (175).

She says she will return this evening. She vowed she would, so I await her. I have stared so often out of the window, I keep pricking myself with my needle and have bled once. Miss Ainsley has chastised me and removed the hoop from my lap, as she says she cannot trust me with the needle, but I hardly mind. I am sitting here on the sill, waiting for her and the very thought causes me happiness. I shall wait until she comes and write the rest of this day’s entry. Until then, I think of the weight of her arms around me, the kiss she impressed upon my forehead, and stay hopeful. Hopeful that we will be able to form some semblance of bliss and happiness between us, even for the slightest moment. What I would do for us to be alone together, the same as we used to be! I cannot share my thoughts fully. You see how my hand trembles as I write; it is too shameful to admit aloud or on paper. I blush even now at how confidential and tender we should be with one another, if we were to be left alone. So, here, I abandon my pen before I reveal too much of my sentiments. If I do, I shall be quite ashamed. Till later, my friend! I await the sight of her on the horizon.

Chapter Notations

172. The Clod and the Pebble, William Blake (1794).

173. In Greek mythology, Endymion is the lover of Selene, the goddess personification of the moon.

174. Moulala and kwadril are Saint Lucian folk dances, derived from the minuet and the quadrille.

175. Caroline II, Thomas Campbell.

Chapter Text

Sweeping the brush in small strokes across the canvas, Bonnie arched her head sideways to muse upon it, peering aside at the mirror, seconds later, to observe her position. The view that greeted her appeared to inspire her, for she imitated the observation onto the portrait. Her inertia and the presence of her cousins had delayed Bonnie’s attempt at painting herself, but she was determined to complete it, having started it, and she had resolved to apply herself until it was completed to her satisfaction.

Behind, Sarah was reading, her fingertips brushing over the raised dots upon the page (176). Louisa and Percival had travelled to town with the Mounts, whilst Miss Ainsley was at the school. With all chattering members absent, the silence was welcomed by both Bonnie and Sarah, who were pleased to sit in reticence. The lady of the house was outlining her knees, nevertheless, when she perceived her cousin speak.

“You are fortunate to have a friend in Miss Davers.” Sarah’s fingers had paused in their perusal, and she was staring in the direction of Bonnie. “From the times we have spoken, Miss Davers certainly appears to be a well-educated and remarkable woman. I admire her courage in all that she does; without a doubt, I wish I had half the boldness she has.” When there was no response, Bonnie frowning at the portrait, her hands folded neatly upon her lap, Sarah pressed on. “She is precisely as Louisa described her, but there is more to admire in her than my sister gives her credit for.”

Bonnie continued to stare at her faintly-outlined knees upon the canvas, yearning to remove herself from the room, though no adequate excuse appeared to her. She discerned that a discussion was to arise that she had worriedly anticipated, and the outcome of this discussion, she was unsure of. Her relatives were visibly concerned for her burgeoning friendship with the eldest Miss Davers; she had seen the expressions upon their countenance when Yvonne had visited her, the previous week. They did not believe their reliance on each other was suitable. Yet, it was unbearable to her that they should be separated and she was prepared to resist any instruction that was presented to her.

Undisturbed by the thoughts of her cousin, Sarah continued.

“I have spoken with Louisa after all that I have observed here and I do not believe we are needed, if Miss Davers is to continue tending to you as well as she has.” Hearing a faint rustle from across the room, she did not realise that Bonnie had turned to stare, wide-eyed, over her shoulder, though she did discern that she had gained her attention. “You are not senseless, Bonnie; I know why you have been hostile to our presence, why you always have been. You have nothing to fear from me. I would like to hope that we can one day be friends, not merely cousins. My duty is to support you, to guide you to the correct solution, one that will lead you to your future happiness, and that is the role I must undertake. I have received this role with the utmost gravity and I hope you can perceive in time that I am worthy of being confided in.”

Bonnie turned back to the painting, humming in acknowledgement. Nothing more was said on the matter; she merely raised her hand and continued to paint. Hearing the scratch of the brush, Sarah endeavoured in her speech.

“Have you considered the proposal from Mister Leong?”

Bonnie whirled around in her chair.

“He has not yet proposed,” she contended.

“No, but he will.”

She stared anxiously at her, not realising that she was close to marking her skirts with the paint. “Do you consider that a possibility?”

“There is every reason to believe it shall happen,” Sarah deliberated. “He has shown himself to be fond of you.”

Hesitating, Bonnie glanced down at the brush, realising she had left a faint mark upon her skirts and she exclaimed in dismay. She placed down the brush, hesitating in her movement as she peered askance at her cousin. Watching her, she pondered upon the following action, before standing and strolling across the room to sit beside her on the chesterfield, observing her, warily. Leaning forward, she urged-

“Do you foresee me saying yes to him?”

Sarah turned her head in Bonnie’s direction. “I see many possibilities, but it is, conclusively, down to your feelings on the matter. You have the power to accept him and refuse him.”

“What do you think my answer will be?” she coaxed.

“You shall refuse him,” was the candid response.

Bonnie raised her brows in astonishment. “How do you know?”

“You have not shown him any fondness,” Sarah observed. “Courtesy, yes. You have always been polite but I would not say you have ever shown him kindness. There is no affection on your part, I can discern as much. Then again, you have never shown interest in any man. You seem to despise them.”

In that moment, Bonnie was pleased that her cousin could not view her, for she pinkened.

“There are none that have gained my interest.”

“And yet, you are so fond of Miss Davers,” Sarah said. She smiled to herself, as if she could discern the wide-eyed astonishment of the woman beside her. “You know, they say a good friendship is often better than a marriage. There is more happiness in the long-term, and I can see you are close to one another. Miss Davers is good to you and I can see that you are good to her, despite your reluctance to extend that kindness to anyone else. In that, you are well-suited.”

“In friendship,” Bonnie reinforced.

“Yes.” Sarah smiled again. “In friendship, though there is no shame in cultivating a romantic friendship in one’s time (177).”

Wishing to divert the focus from her, Bonnie queried, intrusively- “And you have no admirers? You are the oldest; I am sure my aunt and uncle are hoping for a match.”

Sarah’s good humour receded. “No, there is no husband.” She paused, before admitting: “I doubt there ever will be. I am not the one who gains admirers; that has always been Louisa’s role. My parents do not speak with me on the subject. By now, they hardly expect any different, but they also do not like what I have to say on the matter.”

Bonnie’s curiosity was piqued. “What do you have to say?”

“I have said that I am hoping to live in Minehead,” she admitted. “In fact, I have discovered a home there that I would like to purchase.” A smile arose at the edge of her lips. “I like being near the water too.”

Bonnie was astonished to hear so, in regards to the home. She leant forward in her bewilderment.

“How could you afford such an estate when you have not gained your inheritance, and you have no husband? Who will you have to aid you, too, in your living?”

“It is not an estate; it is a cottage.” Hearing the startled gasp of her cousin, she continued, her high spirits returning. “It shall not be costly and I will be able to rent it through my remittance if I were to share the financial strain with another. My friend, Ruth, has agreed to live with me. We have decided that it is more efficient, and she shall be my companion, so that I will have the aid I need. We will not have any staff. Perhaps a maid or a cook, but that shall be it. All the other work will be done by ourselves.”

“But to live in such a condition when you can afford much more! When you have the right to more...”

“I do not need more, Bonnie. I am content as I am,” Sarah replied, simply.

Bonnie frowned. “And who is Ruth?” Her eyes widened and she exclaimed. “Oh, she was that brutish girl that used to follow you around school!” She emitted a giggle. “I see you two have become close.”

Sarah was silent.

“I have come to appreciate her,” was the response.

“But why her?”

Sarah contemplated her answer, moments passing in her deliberation. Inhaling deeply, she began to speak with the utmost severity.

“You have known me my whole life, Bonnie, or, you have known me all of yours. I have always been the quiet one, the invalid, the dull and tedious sister in comparison to Louisa and even in comparison to you. Yes, you! You, who have always been beloved, who always commands attention from those around you, even when you do not intend to. I have seen how others respond to you. Growing up, I have lived in the shadows of both yourself and Louisa, but also of my parents and the Donoghue name. I know what it is better than anyone to be talked of, to have your life decided upon by others, to have others coddle you when all you need is a little assistance, but nobody appears to know what that entails. I do not want to live in the shadows, as if I were some blemish on the family name. I cannot bear to be condescended to.” Pausing, she chuckled. “I suppose, in that way, we are similar. We are not quite what is expected of us.

“Yet, when I am with Ruth, I am free. I am not a burden nor a disappointment. She matches me well. Where I am still, she is passionate, fiery. She has more nerve and daring than I could ever hope to have. She does not view me as an invalid, as someone who is tedious or who must be coddled. She sees me as I am.” She raised her gaze to where she knew Bonnie’s head to be, endeavouring to stare directly at her. “Do you ever meet someone and you feel as if you could hardly discern where your life was headed, who you were, before they came? It seemed so uninspired, dull, and then, all of a sudden, there is such vibrancy in your life that it leaves you breathless?”

“Yes, I know the feeling,” Bonnie uttered with bated breath.

“People like us, we are quiet, sensitive, reserved. People mistake it for insipidity but with the right person, in the right place, you are far more than you ever thought you could be, as if you are a firework erupting in the dark of night. When you thought you were about to dwindle into nothingness, you are suddenly bursting with life and colour. Not that I necessarily know colour when I see it...” Here, she paused to laugh, good-humouredly. “But I can feel it and that’s what colour feels like to me. It feels like how I feel when I am with her.” She hesitated, unable to observe Bonnie’s response to this fervent articulation. “You must think me strange for expressing myself this way, both in sentiment but in its singularity of character. I know I rarely express myself, but I think, this time, we may understand each other. It is strange, is it not? We have hardly ever felt that we could before. Understand each other, that is.”

For the first time, Bonnie stared across at Sarah with adoration in her gaze, both for the faith she had shown in her kin but also in reminding her of her own sentiment in regards to another.

“God bless you, Sarah,” Bonnie pronounced. “You are not a burden!” Her expression sobered. “I know how it is to be a disappointment, regarded as some terrible misfortune upon the Donoghue and Maukhari name. Miss Ainsley may be ignorant to my felicity, but I am not ignorant either to the knowledge that my parents would be displeased with me also. They would want the same for me as Miss Ainsley does.”

Sarah reached across to rest her hand upon Bonnie’s. “Your parents adored you. We do not know the people they would be today, as they would never have surmised the woman you would become. All we know is that they loved you, deeply.”

“Love is not always enough,” Bonnie uttered. “Not when there is no approval. One must always be approved.”

Sarah laughed, sadly, her hand returning to her lap. “Yes, one must be approved, but I cannot help but feel I will continue to live, with or without their approval. I do not know if I can continue to live the same if I were not free.”

Bonnie sat silently, contemplating all she had heard. With the image of her neighbour in mind, she smiled, the solemnity removing itself from her countenance.

“I am pleased for the both of us,” she declared, passionately. “That we plan to live our lives the way we want to, that we do not require marriage in order to be happy and to live independently. As you said, a friendship is often better than a marriage.”

Flustered, Sarah’s hand brushed across the open page. “Yes, I believe it is.”

“But you frighten me greatly in abandoning all decorum!” Bonnie stood, viewing the astonishment upon her cousin’s features at this unexpected reproach. “A cottage, Sarah! When you may have your choice of estate and grounds... I could not imagine such depravity.”

Sarah smirked. “That is because you are wilful. The cottage itself is peaceful and when you open the windows or sit in the garden, you can hear the faint roar of the sea.”

Bonnie had returned to the stool, staring tenderly at her painted knees, though the expression was not entirely for the painting itself but the image that had formed in her mind. Humming in delight, she murmured-

“Yes, I suppose that would be wonderful!”

“Pardon?”

“Nothing!” she called back. “I said it must be wonderful, that is all.”

The two continued in silence, Bonnie painting; Sarah, reading. Both had retreated into their own thoughts, the dreams that arose in musing upon their felicity, and neither wished to be disturbed.

Chapter Notations

176. Louis Braille invented the braille system for partially sighted or blind people in 1824, though he did not publish this system until 1829. The braille system and revision that we know today was developed and published in 1837.

177. The term romantic friendship was used to describe a same-sex friendship that included romantic intimacy between friends, though not sexual. Historically, this was often used to describe passionate or affectionate friendships between women. In the past, sexual queer relationships would have been termed as romantic friendships, as any sexual intimacy would have been kept secret. Same-sex friends who would spend the majority of their time together, lived together, express devotion or affection to one another, were considered to be in a romantic friendship. In the past, this would not always have been viewed as strange, as passionate expressions of affection between friends and viewing them as a priority over others were seen as typical behaviours, particularly for women. Moreover, as some girls and young women were encouraged to have romantic experience before marriage, though not sexual, romantic friendships were actually enforced or initiated by family members between girls and young women, meaning that these behaviours were not, in itself, always considered odd, not until they came to marrying age.

Chapter Text

The doorbell echoed throughout Colworth House, disrupting the Donoghues as they lounged in the library. Sarah and Percival were reading- he also having learnt braille- and Louisa watched them both as she lay upon the chaise, fanning herself indolently. Behind, Bonnie was at the bureau, noting down music that she had obtained from the town library. Upon hearing the doorbell, each occupant of the room turned their heads towards the door. Bonnie prayed that it was Yvonne; Louisa, that it was anyone who would relieve her from the depths of boredom; Percival, that it was nobody so that they may continue, and Sarah framed no opinion at all but waited patiently for their entry.

A brief knock was heard and Adam entered, announcing that a Mr Leong had arrived. Consequently, all heads turned from the doorway to Bonnie, who was staring at her footman in alarm, her pen poised in mid-air. She had not anticipated the visitor nor a disruption of Luchesi (178). Disgruntled, she stared at the footman, as if she were hoping he would retreat from the room and leave her be. In turn, Adam stared at her, deducing that she would instruct him when she was inclined. This led to a minute of silence where they both watched each other, expectantly.

“Well, let him in,” Louisa demanded when nobody spoke.

“We... we are occupied,” Bonnie protested, faintly.

Louisa scoffed. “Hardly.”

Adam’s hesitant gaze removed itself from Louisa to his mistress. “Excuse me, ma’am, but he has requested a private audience with you. He has not arrived for a social call.”

The eruption of movement that accompanied this statement startled both Bonnie and Adam alike. At the referral of a private audience, Louisa sprung to her feet, grasping her husband’s arm, so that she may remove him as swiftly as possible. The book he was holding tumbled to the floor and he stared at it in dismay, though there was no time in which to obtain it; he was being guided from the room. Halfway to the door, Louisa appeared to remember her sister, for she released him to grasp Sarah instead, ushering her from the sofa.

“Sarah...” Bonnie uttered, timidly.

Before she was removed, her cousin asserted- “Refuse him and then it will be over.”

Louisa heeded this remark, her expression contorting into one of horror.

“No!” she declared. “There shall be no refusal.” Pointing directly at Bonnie, she insisted- “You cannot afford a refusal.”

The two scowled at one another and the sisters abandoned the room, Bonnie watching them irritably as they departed. Nearby, the footman remained, having received no confirmation from the lady herself that the guest should be allowed inside. With no other person present, Bonnie stared longingly down at her sheet music. She was perturbed that anybody had disturbed her, particularly when it was someone who had not been invited to call, and her fatigue had increased during the time her cousins had lived with her, for she was unaccustomed to consorting with others on a daily basis. Bonnie did not have the vitality to be courteous.

She thought of her neighbour, how troubled she would be that Mr Leong had been admitted into the House, by the confession he had come to profess, and she thought of herself, the profound pity she held for her situation, this overwhelming sentiment causing her bottom lip to protrude. Bonnie felt very wronged, indeed; she did not believe anyone was as aggrieved as she was in this moment, and the thought almost caused her to weep for the injury that had been inflicted upon her by others.

Her immediate thought was to refuse him entry, but he would simply return another day and she could not bear, if that were the case, for Miss Ainsley to be present. Certainly, she had never been more pleased that her custodian was absent. In pondering, it occurred to her that she must endure the situation and in doing so, grant herself the opportunity to conclude this misfortune as quickly as it had ensued.

With a deep inhale and quivering lip, Bonnie requested that the caller be brought to her. Adam hesitated, perceiving her uncertainty, delaying in the expectation that she would alter her opinion and bid him to return. Yet, she did not speak further, electing to stare sorrowfully and petulantly at the desk. Bowing, he departed from the room.

During his absence, Bonnie stood, closing the bureau and pacing in the space behind the sofa, her hands wringing together in the hope of dispelling her agitation. This restive method of roaming did not ease her and she meditated on how her neighbour preferred to employ herself in this manner, since Bonnie had unsettled herself more in pacing than in remaining still. The longer it took for the young man to arrive, the more provoked and resentful she was that he had ever arrived at all and, by the time he had reached the library, her features had settled into a state of petulance. The footman perceived this as he announced the guest into the room and scurried swiftly backward, excusing himself from his mistress’ presence.

Mr Leong did not perceive this disturbance but bowed ceremoniously, apologising for impeding upon her and her family. He straightened his stance, staring expectantly at her as he removed his hat. In return, she stared down at him from across the room, her gaze inhospitable as she stood behind the sofa. It was inconceivable that Bonnie should drift far from the bureau, she holding every intention of returning to it, so she remained where she was, undesirous to shorten the distance between them. Despite her displeasure, her decorum had not entirely abandoned her and she curtseyed.

“Mister Leong,” she acknowledged. “May I inquire into the reason for your call? It has come as quite the surprise to myself and my cousins; we were not expecting you.”

For the first time in their acquaintance, he appeared apprehensive. He peered around him, as if that would provide him with the answer he needed, before uttering-

“I was passing by and thought I should return your call. From the other week, that is.”

She doubted his reasoning, for there was nothing else to occupy him near her home. There would be no reason for him to travel that far afield other than to directly call upon her. This, she repeated to him and his timidity visibly increased.

“Would- erm- would you accept the effort as a compliment to yourself?”

“Certainly, you are audacious,” she remarked.

He attempted a smile at her. “In the complimentary way?”

She repressed an arch of her gaze, though it flickered askance, despite the attempt. Sullenly, she muttered: “If that is how you wish to view it.”

Mr Leong stepped towards the sofa. “May I sit?”

“No,” she instantly responded. Observing his astonishment, she recalled her civility and said- “I do not have time to sit. It would be viewed as a slight to my cousins. Please, Mister Leong, whatever you have come here to express, I implore you to express it.”

Hemming, he peered around him once more. It was evident that the call was not materialising in the way that he had wished, that he had hoped to make himself quite comfortable and confidential with her before he was to admit his reason for calling. Deliberating upon his choice of words, he raised his gaze to meet hers, despite the visible modesty in his countenance.

“I suppose it shall come as no surprise to you that, for some time, you have been the object of my affections, that I have revealed my preference to you above all others. From the moment I saw you, you bewitched me, and I have thought of you and only you since.”

As he spoke, Bonnie inhaled deeply, her gaze wandering to the window. She preferred to watch the grass fluttering in the breeze in comparison to the earnestness with which he spoke.

“I am desperately in love with you, Miss Donoghue, and I have come here to ask you for your hand in marriage.” He swiftly lowered to his knee, which startled her, and she gazed at him in amazement, recoiling unwittingly from the action. “You are the treasure of my heart and always will be. For you to return my affection or for you to esteem the position of my wife would be the greatest privilege I have known in this lifetime.” When she did not respond, she staring aghast at him, her countenance paling, he continued to urge her, shuffling forward on his knee so that he was closer to the sofa. “Did you approve of my poems, Miss Donoghue? I may write you more, but, as your husband, I may provide you with far greater devotion and security than you believed possible. I will cherish and serve you in every way; you will be venerated as you deserve to be venerated. Allow me, Miss Donoghue, to grant you this service.”

In his ardent silence, Bonnie regained her senses, her chest heaving from the disquiet that had settled within her. She had anticipated his words, yet upon perceiving them, she had not predicted the stupefaction, the dread, that arose within her. It induced her to silence. Her hands had come to rest on the back of the sofa but, as he stared up at her, they tightly grasped the wood, her knuckles paling to the same shade as her features. Observing that she could not speak, he decided to reiterate-

“Miss Donoghue...”

“No,” she uttered. His eyes widened and she finally met his gaze. “No, Mister Leong. I am sorry but I have no intention of marrying. Besides, we are not well-matched.”

He frowned in his perplexment. Standing, he contended. “Pardon me, Miss Donoghue, but I believe we are incredibly well-suited to one another.”

She could not prevent the laugh that arose within her. Wishing to initiate a larger distance between them, she strolled to the window. Bonnie stared out into the garden, beholding the sight before her, all that she could discern through the squared panes of glass. Her brow furrowed as she stood there, her head turning askance, moments later, to glance at him.

“You may think so, Mister Leong, but I do not believe that to be the case. We do not know each other; we have hardly spent any time together. I am uncertain as to what basis you have founded this belief. We are not well-suited at all.” Abashed at her words, he hesitated, but she had not expressed all that she wished to and continued. “Besides, I could not marry a man who has offended one so dear to me.”

Mr Leong stared at her in confusion. “Offended?”

“Yes, I do not know all that has passed between you and Miss Davers, but you know, surely, she is a dear friend of mine and your differences have caused a great deal of pain to her.”

“Differences?” he exclaimed in bewilderment.

Bonnie shook her head, the manner in which she conducted herself qualifying her, in her mind, for sainthood. “It is not for me to be involved, but I will speak my mind and I cannot, in good faith, be close to someone who has caused my friend any sort of grievance.”

Mr Leong frowned at the carpet, incapable of fathoming how he should respond; he was unaware of any such grievance.

“It is unfortunate that Miss Davers and I cannot be better friends,” he decided upon.

This appeared to satisfy her, which encouraged him to attempt a form of reconciliation with the woman before him. He contemplated how he was to approach her.

“Are you promised to another?”

“No,” she refuted.

“Then you are waiting upon another’s declaration?”

She paused, staring at the flowers that were visible from the windowpane. Inhaling, her breath quivered, her hand pressing against the wall beside her.

“I am not waiting for any man.”

Tentatively, the young man stepped forward. “Miss Donoghue, please. I do not mean to be presumptuous, particularly to you, who I covet above all others, but may you, at least, consider my offer? I can promise you security where others may not. At this time in your life, I may be a friend to you when others may not extend an offer of...”

“At this time?” she repeated, incredulously, turning to face him.

He realised his blunder.

“Believe me, I did not mean to insult you,” he hurried to say.

“Because I am older, you believe that I am undesirable? That nobody else may think me attractive? You are my sole option, I suppose!”

Mr Leong shook his head, fiercely. “No, Miss Donoghue, I was merely suggesting...”

“Well, you may not suggest any further!” she declared, her voice rising.

Her cheeks had flushed and he perceived that there was no further contention to be had, for he had administered a most grievous error. Fumbling for the correct words in which to sooth her, he moved closer to her.

“I-I must apologise, Miss Donoghue, if I have offended you,” he stammered. “That was not my intention!”

Bonnie’s gaze flickered around the room in her distress, its attention settling upon the door. She brushed past him, muttering-

“Thank you, Mister Leong, but there is nothing more for us to say to one another.”

He watched as she strode to the entrance, seizing the handle to open it, she waiting aside for him to follow. The young man knew he was defeated. Worse, in his humiliation, he had insulted her. It was understandable, to his mind, that she would prevent any further contact between them and he was inconsolable at having caused such a rift when his intention had been to achieve the opposite. Grieved, he wandered to the door, staring pitifully up at her. He bowed, returning his hat to his head once he had finished.

“Good day, Miss Donoghue. Thank you for your time.”

She did not respond but watched him, coldly, as he departed from the room. It was not until some moments later that a thought struck her and she dashed from the library. Calling his name, she hurried past him in the corridor and into the drawing room. He watched her with astonishment, a glimmer of hope arising that she had altered her opinion. When she returned, however, there were papers in her hand, which she passed earnestly to him. He glanced down in bewilderment, recognising his own handwriting.

“Your poems,” she informed him, her chest heaving as she endeavoured to regain her breath. “I cannot, in good faith, keep them now.” When he returned his gaze to her face, she appended- “I am sorry, Mister Leong, but you are not the greatest privilege in my life.”

He nodded, unable to respond with words of his own. From behind, Adam’s gaze flickered between them, riveted by the suspense before him, though he was urged into motion by the guest continuing to the entrance. With her chest still heaving, a surge of devastation arose within her, though she waited until the door was closed, its lock heard clicking into the doorframe, before she allowed it to consume her. She had hardly regained her breath when she turned to dash upstairs, a sob arising. Irked, she wiped the tears that dropt to her cheeks and, as she reached her room, resolutely closed the door behind her, the wood shuddering into the frame with an almighty thud.

Bonnie sprung onto the bed, settling onto her back as she plucked the handkerchief, simultaneously, from her sleeve. Holding it above her head, her gaze traced the initials that were embroidered upon it, the sight causing another sob to arise within her, her thumb brushing reverently against the canary stitches. She released it, allowing it to flutter onto her chest, where she pressed the silk firmly against her. Below, she could discern the frantic pulsation of her heart.

Despite her blessing in removing this suitor, Bonnie could not prevent the agitation that arose within her. She could not discern if it was for the inconvenience of being disturbed, for not having all she desired, for the bother of marriage between a man and a woman, for the disappointment she knew Miss Ainsley would undoubtedly feel upon her return, or the disappointment her parents would have felt. Disconcerted, she wept soundly for each and she wept also in relief that she needn’t fear the affection of Mr Leong. His privilege of having a close acquaintanceship with her had been removed and, in her gratification, she thanked God.

Her sensibility was heightened to such a degree that she wept twenty minutes before she began to calm, though she remained upon the bed, the handkerchief pressed to her heart. She dared not move but remained with it for as long as she could. As her fingers brushed against the material, she could perceive her heart rate ease, returning to its normal rhythm, and she breathed a sigh of reprieve. For a brief moment, she had encountered true independence, perceiving that one of the shackles in which she felt bound to had unfastened its hold on her, relieving the burden that she had skirmished under since her adolescence. Yet, there was a weight in her heart that would not allow her to smile, though she did feel lighter in body and mind, if only slightly, and she stared up at the ceiling, her mind vacant as she focused on the feeling of the silk beneath her touch. To her, there was no greater comfort.

Chapter Notations

178. Andrea Luca Luchesi (1741-1801) was a Classical composer.

Chapter Text

Miss Ainsley returned with no recognition that a proposal had taken place. Nobody in the House spoke of it, although Percival and Louisa glanced frequently at her, and Sarah sat quietly, more so than usual, diverted one way or another with some occupation of thought. It was early evening by the time Miss Ainsley returned and she joined the cousins in the parlour, where Sarah was sitting on the floor, a cushion nestling her legs and backside, whilst Louisa sat directly behind her, braiding her hair, the eldest’s dreadlocks unbounded and flowing along her shoulders and back. Seated beside his wife, Percival was tinkering with his inexplainable device, the apparatus starting to transform into a discernible mechanical structure. Across the room, Bonnie continued to paint, though she could not continue much longer, for the light was beginning to darken.

She had returned downstairs and placed herself in front of the portrait, composing the piece in an agitated and intent manner. In the hours that passed, she did not speak to anyone and nobody spoke to her. Sarah had been listening to the brush of her arms against her dress, the scratch of the brush, awaiting any notion that she wished to speak or remove herself from her distraction, but she did not. Behind, Louisa would infrequently raise her gaze to glance at her cousin. Despite their mutual distaste for one another, she was apprehensive too in mentioning the visit.

Heedless to what had transpired, Miss Ainsley mused aloud- “Perhaps we should return to the Leongs before you travel to Austria for the winter. They expressed their wish that you visit again and we should not be discourteous.”

There was silence in the room.

“I will not be able to join,” Bonnie responded at last.

“And why not?”

Bonnie did not heed her but continued to paint, her back turned from the other occupants in the room. Sensing the discomfort of those around her, Sarah spoke out.

“We can visit without Bonnie, if she is indisposed. We shall be a merry group, I am certain.”

“Yes,” Louisa laughed. “We shall be all the merrier if Bonnie were to remain at home. It is easier for her to pout here, alone, than to have her pouting amidst company.”

Despite herself, Bonnie pouted on hearing these words. Miss Ainsley glanced between the two sisters, astonished that the manners she had come to venerate in the Donoghue family were sorely missing, and she shook her head in disapproval.

“No, this will not do,” she declared. “After the courtesy they have shown us, it is imperative that we return the kindness. At best, we should extend an invitation for them to call here.”

There was another moment of reticence.

“That is not entirely true, Miss Ainsley,” Sarah uttered. “Mister Leong called this afternoon. Bonnie has repaid the compliment, so she is under no obligation to attend to them again.”

Miss Ainsley glanced between the three that sat before her. Bewildered, she peered over her shoulder.

“Bonnie, did Mister Leong call today?”

“Yes, he came.”

The custodian turned her attention, once more, to the sisters.

“Well!” she exclaimed. “I suppose one does not believe I am in a position to be informed.” She exhaled, loudly, her gaze down-turning. The sorrow that she experienced was perceived by everyone in the room, since her voice was resonant and it warbled solemnly in its melodramatic display. “Surely, it is not my place, but after all the years I have spent in service to your most venerable family, I would not have thought, for one moment, that I would be excluded.”

“It was not for us to discuss,” Louisa admitted. “It was for Bonnie to tell you.”

Miss Ainsley had already forgiven them, trusting that Bonne was incapable of recalling her propriety, melancholia being debilitating to one’s mind. What’s more, she was impatient to hear all that had passed.

“So, what was discussed? He is a fine young fellow, indeed! I am sorry to have missed him.”

There was another bout of silence, Percival staring intently at his device as he curled further forward, the motion indicative that he wished to avoid the custodian’s gaze. When Sarah did not speak, Louisa sighed irritably.

“We were not present, Miss Ainsley. I am afraid we could not divulge any words that were said. Bonnie was his sole companion; he wished to speak with her alone.”

Miss Ainsley’s head turned faster than she was in the habit of moving and a spasm arose in her neck, since she was unaccustomed to stretching it that far.

“Well?” she demanded. “Is this true?”

Conscious of the discussion that was to come, Bonnie placed down her brush. She was not far from completing the portrait, but she perceived that she was to be disrupted and would not endeavour to continue when she was in such a state of mind, nor when she believed her environment to be inimical. Her hands folding upon her lap, she continued to stare at her own reflection on the canvas.

“Yes, it is true,” she professed. “Mister Leong requested a private audience with me.”

“To speak with you on the subject of marriage?”

Bonnie scowled. “One might say he came here with the intention of proposing.”

“With the intention?” Miss Ainsley’s brows rose. “Did he not propose then? What did he say?”

Bonnie peered over her shoulder, apathetic. “He said all he needed to. I refused him.”

Miss Ainsley stood. “You... you refused?”

Sarah stood too. “We shall finish my hair upstairs.”

Percival did not need encouragement but dashed to the door, his gaze refusing to rest upon the custodian or her ward. Whilst he hastened into the hallway, Bonnie rose leisurely from the stool, fortifying her mind for the conversation that would undoubtedly come. When she spoke, her voice was temperate, despite the tumult of emotions within her.

“Yes, Miss Ainsley; I did.” In justification, she adjoined- “He called me an old maid.”

Louisa scoffed. “That is because you are one.”

Sarah reached out for her sister’s arm, discovering it as she fumbled in the air. Grasping her, firmly, she urged her upward. “Come, Louisa.”

The young woman did not want to be removed, but she followed her sister. She perceived that she would hear Miss Ainsley’s grievances at a later date and this settled her into departing. Louisa believed that she needed to form a judgement of her own from all that was discussed, so that she may repeat this assessment to Bonnie afterward. Resultantly, she strained to hear any words that were passed between them but nothing was exchanged further whilst she was in the room. Her attempt to remain at the door, bending over to listen at the keyhole, was hindered by Sarah, who hauled her upstairs to finish braiding her hair.

Alone, the two women stared silently at one another, one aghast, the other disdainful.

“Why?” Miss Ainsley breathed, incapable of fathoming her decision. Tears welled in her eyes as she recalled her past employers, and she appealed- “What would your parents say, Bonnie?”

Despite her apprehension on the subject, the faint quiver in her voice was the sole indication that she was unsettled. “They would want me to be happy and I would not be happy with him.”

“But he is the right age for you,” the governess protested. “Handsome, affluent, respected, and he is to inherit his father’s estate. No man will ever be right for you if not Mister Leong.”

“And what of love?” Bonnie petitioned. “Do I not have a say in whether I love him?”

“Oh, my dear, love is not important.” Miss Ainsley smiled, amused by this reasoning. “Love shall not guide you through your darkest days. Money will, and influence. Both of your family names will be sufficient in continuing your legacy.”

“I do not think my legacy comes in the marital home. Not with Mister Leong, at least.”

“You have another suitor?” Miss Ainsley questioned, her excitement overwhelming her. Without waiting for a response, she continued, cheerfully- “I suppose it need not matter. A girl like you may have as many suitors as she pleases. You could choose any man in this town and he would fall at your feet, but you must decide, Bonnie. You are the right age for marriage; any later and they shall start to think you odd.”

Bonnie reddened.

“Odd like Miss Davers?” She halted, though she was not satisfied that she had expressed herself fully. “She is not married and yet, you believe her to be impressive, to be worth your acquaintance.”

“Yes, well, she is the exception,” Miss Ainsley chuckled, dismissively. “Her destiny is not the same as yours. Besides, they have Miss Penny if all is not to happen with Miss Davers. They have another option. Lady Davers is fortunate in that way, but you are the only one. You must consider your options carefully! As time goes on, you will not be so fortunate in having a choice.”

A short burst of air released from Bonnie’s lips, the sound revealing the vexation that she was experiencing. “I do have a choice! I refused.”

Any good humour in Miss Ainsley receded and she raised her finger at Bonnie, bellowing- “This is Miss Davers’ influence! I have started to wonder on the suitability of your acquaintance and I think you have become too familiar. It has worried me for some time but now, I hear there has been talk.”

“Talk?” Fleetingly, the affliction she experienced was observable, but her demeanour soon altered entirely. Her brow rose, her posture straightened, and in the deportment she adopted, she was imperious. “And to what do they speak of? Of me?”

Distinguishing her disposition, Miss Ainsley exhaled, her voice softening.

“Bonnie, you must understand, your friendship with Miss Davers is becoming quite improper. Now, you have rejected poor Mister Leong.” At his name, the young woman before her arched her gaze. “What shall they think when you continually refuse men and stay close to Miss Davers?” Recalling the indictments that had accumulated over time, Miss Ainsley became shrill. “A woman like her has a reputation, you know!”

“A reputation for what, precisely?”

Bonnie had previously forgiven her custodian for any misgiving towards Yvonne, since she believed it to be the fault of the town; they had situated those fears within her. Nevertheless, over time, Miss Ainsley was emboldened by the continuing taunts and Bonnie could no longer absolve her. The austerity in her voice revealed this, inducing Miss Ainsley to agonise further over the situation. She stepped around the sofa, approaching her, her assertions almost stumbling over one another in her haste to express herself.

“It is not to be spoken of in polite society. Now, I recognise that she has been a good friend to you and we owe her a great deal- the Lord knows I have the highest respect for the Davers family- but there is a time when their presence in our lives becomes a hindrance, rather than a blessing.”

Bonnie’s expression revealed her offence. “And that is how you repay kindness?”

“Kindness cannot withstand a tarnished reputation.” Miss Ainsley paused, inhaling deeply. It was imperative that she contemplate the following words, deliberating as to how she could influence her ward to her opinion, the tenderness with which she spoke revealing her concern for the woman before her. “Bonnie, I urge you to think wisely about who you acquaint yourself with and to what extent. I have tried to aid you in every way, yet even I cannot prevent you from the reputation that you are starting to develop.”

“And what reputation is that?” she demanded.

“I do not wish for them to see you as some oddity. The way you conduct yourself and your friendship with Miss Davers...” Miss Ainsley faltered, her gaze settling, shrinkingly, on her ward. “Bonnie, it is rather queer. And it is my duty...”

“I am unconcerned as to what you believe your duty to be. You answer to me!” Bonnie felt her lip tremble. Her finger rose to press against her chest and despite the quivering of her voice, she yelled- “I am your employer! You have no right to speak to me this way or to interfere in any aspect of my life, as you have taken such liberties to do. I urge you to remember your place, Miss Ainsley, else I shall have to remind you. You are here because of me and if you cannot keep to my opinion, I have no further use for you.”

“Bonnie...”

Her ward did not heed her but dashed past, clambering up the stairs to reach her room. Although she was distressed, her countenance was immovable. It was not until she reached her bedroom, the door closing behind her, that she remained motionless, her hand pressed against the wood. Her head lowered, a deep, cheerless exhale emitting from her. Moments later, she raised her head, her hand falling to her side, and she hurried to the other side of the room where her altar was situated.

Kneeling before it, she clasped her hands together, glancing restlessly between the crucifix, the statue of Vishnu, the incense, candles, rosary, and ghee, as well as the other ornaments and offerings that adorned it. The sight caused her to surrender to the emotions within her, her entire body crumpling. She leant forward, her head resting against her knees, her hands clasped between her chest and thighs, and she wept.

It was not until she had exhausted herself that she returned to her upright position and murmured, her voice thick from weeping:

“Our Father, who art in Heaven, hallowed by thy name...”

She did not leave the altar till she had repeated the prayer several times, satisfied that she had repeated it with the correct intention of purity, hope, and the need for assistance. It was difficult to decipher which predicament she needed assistance with the most, for she had many, whether it be her family, her neighbour, her custodian, her acquaintances, or the eternal anguish she felt. They were a burden that she was incapable of carrying and yet, she felt their weight upon her, pressing onto her chest so that she could hardly breathe. This sensation disturbed her and she stood, traversing to the foot of the bed where she immediately returned to the floor, her back against the wood. Bringing her legs to her chest, she sobbed, her fingers brushing up and down her legs as if that would soothe her. Bonnie remained there in the dark; she did not know how long, her misery the sole companion she had, for nobody came to minister to her nor speak with her for the remainder of the day.

Chapter Text

Miss Ainsley could not prevent herself from wailing into her kerchief, her conduct causing Bonnie to glance reproachfully in her direction. It was the date of her cousins’ departure, an adieu that the custodian received with great sorrow, but one in which Bonnie was personally comforted. She was anticipative to be alone once more, the thought in itself deeply gratifying, though she wished that her cousins would be so kind as to take Miss Ainsley with them.

This reverie was disrupted by Sarah, who was standing before her, and who wished, in a placid tone, that they remain friends. This platitude was not unfamiliar to Bonnie, as it had been repeated numerous times before but it was the first time that she had received it with any degree of pleasure, desirous that they must write to one another. After their conversation, Bonnie was keen to know her cousin better and she wished, too, to stay with her at the cottage so that she could spend a month or two resting by the sea.

Before she turned to the carriage, Sarah uttered: “My last advice to you is that you remain happy and healthy in all that you do. I believe happiness is closer than you think.”

Bonnie glanced askance. Miss Davers was situated not far from her, her hands clasped behind her back as she stood stoically aside from the group. She had been invited to the farewell, not by the sisters, but by Bonnie and she had remained silently but dutifully beside her since arriving. Noting the glimpse in her direction, Yvonne returned the look. Startled, Bonnie swiftly returned her attention to Sarah, a blush arising.

“Perhaps.”

Pleased, Sarah curtseyed, repeating the motion in both Miss Ainsley and Yvonne’s direction. The two curtseyed and bowed in equal measure and Percival, who had already emitted his farewell, led Sarah to the carriage. Watching them, Bonnie was conscious of another’s presence, slowly gazing across at Louisa, who was staring dourly at her.

“Thank you for the book,” she proclaimed, on receiving her attention. Hesitant, she added- “I will send you a card when we return to Dublin, though I do not know when that will be. The country is so ghastly with- well, you know- the condition it has been degraded to (179) ! We can hardly expect to entertain there, but if we were, it would be wonderful to receive a card in return.” Here, she sighed. “It would have been quite the adventure to have visited a room or two, and to have travelled to London. Alas, it was not meant for me!”

Bonnie stared across at her. “Goodbye, Louisa.”

Perceiving that she was unlikely to receive a card, Louisa frowned. “Yes, goodbye.”

The young woman did not repeat the generosity of her sister and departed without curtseying in anyone’s direction.

With all three seated in the carriage, the horses were urged into motion and they circled the driveway, the two sisters and Percival raising their hand in acknowledgement before they disappeared from sight. The moment they had faded into the distance, Miss Ainsley spun on her heel, taking a moment to glare in Yvonne’s direction before entering the house.

Astonished, Yvonne stared after her, peering at Bonnie, moments later, in the hope that she would explain this sudden hostility, but her neighbour did not speak. She was staring at a grove of trees ahead, her countenance uncommonly grave. Despite this solemnity, Yvonne’s gaze rested upon her companion, a surge of delight arising within her at the thought that they were to be alone together for the first time in weeks. Smiling, she stepped towards her.

“Would you like to walk along the river? We could bring some poems to read or you could recite your favourites to me, as you did before. I would not mind hearing them once more.”

“I hardly feel like walking,” Bonnie murmured.

“But it is necessary,” Yvonne insisted. “For your health. Doctor Chifamba prescribed a daily walk. We need not go far, if you would prefer. Besides, we have been unable to walk together weekly like we used to, not since your cousins arrived. I thought we may reconvene today?”

Since their first meeting, they would walk together to the river or across the countryside, whichever suited them on the day, and they had not strayed from this venerable practice, aside from when Bonnie had been travelling. Yvonne was perturbed that this custom would be forgotten, as it had been during the Donoghues stay at the House, particularly when the answer was:

“No, thank you, Yvonne.”

Bonnie did not glance at her nor did she say anything more, but ascended the stairs, entering the house, reluctantly and sorrowfully. Staring after her, Yvonne followed her into the hallway.

“You are cross,” she remarked. “Has something happened?”

Lowly, Bonnie uttered: “I am as well as I have ever been.”

“You are not a good liar.”

“And you are not very quiet when one wants to be quiet,” she retorted.

Entering the drawing room, Bonnie released the door before Yvonne had crossed the threshold, the door almost striking her companion in the face, though her guest was swift to reach up and prevent the incident from occurring. This response induced Yvonne to remain at the entryway, her countenance wounded.

“I shall not stay if you wish to be cruel. You were the one who requested that I be here.”

There was no response as Bonnie lowered herself onto the chesterfield. Vexed, Yvonne grasped the handle, halting when she perceived a soft petition behind her.

“What do you do?”

She peered over her shoulder. “Pardon?”

Bonnie was staring down at her hands, her fingers that fumbled with the hem of her sleeves. Two tears fell onto the material as she deliberated the following words. Inhaling quaveringly, she bit her bottom lip, dragging her teeth along it as if to prevent herself from weeping.

“When it feels as if everyone despises you or that the whole world is against you, what do you do? How can you possibly bear it?”

The last sentence caused her to weep and she raised her hand to conceal her face. Yvonne stared down at her in perplexment.

“Is that how you feel?” she inquired.

The answer appeared to exasperate Bonnie, for her hand fell forcefully into her lap and she gestured across the room, as if there were someone there, her voice rising as she spoke. “I feel as if I cannot find happiness without someone ruining it for me! It is as if I am not allowed to be happy.” She brushed the few tears that she shed, her gaze remaining resolutely on the floor or at the furniture, rather than at the woman standing at the door. “I lost all that was dear to me when my family passed; I was content to have a new life here, to live somewhere where there were not terrible, haunting memories of what once was. I was pleased to be here with you, and to know Penny. It has given my life meaning in ways that I have not felt in a long time, that there is hope for a brighter and happier future but, when I feel that is within my reach, I feel as if God deserts me. He makes a mockery of me, of all that I hope and desire. The Gods wish to separate us completely and sever the only tie I have to this world.”

Yvonne stared at her in silence. Troubled, she managed to declare- “Why do you think that is the case? What has happened?”

She strode over to the chesterfield, seating herself beside her. Hesitant, she observed her features, the despair upon them, and then reached out to entwine her fingers with her neighbour’s. It was rare that anyone equally matched her hand in size; other women tended to have smaller hands, but Bonnie’s entwined with hers perfectly. With their similar height, there was little difference between them and her long fingers enclosed upon Yvonne’s with equal comfort and vigour. This observation, Yvonne was enraptured by until she heard Bonnie speak.

“There has been talk. Of you. And I. Of how we are together.”

Yvonne glanced up, anxiously. “Does that upset you?”

Gazing across at her, Bonnie smiled, her cheeks pinkened and damp from tears.

“I am not ashamed of our friendship, Yvonne,” she assured her. “That is not the issue.” Her gaze lowered in her abashment. “I cannot bear the scrutinization.”

“Do you want me to visit less?” Yvonne questioned.

Her disquiet rose to a further degree but Bonnie frowned across at her, relieving her apprehension.

“No,” she protested. “That would hurt more.” She tugged their clasped hands onto her lap. “You must stay here. With me.”

Yvonne exhaled in relief. Staring at her, Bonnie discerned any good humour within her lessen and she stared down at their hands.

“I am not always the person you believe me to be, but I wish to be better. I try to be.” Observing the perplexment upon her neighbour’s features, she persisted. “I am not unaware of my past life, the way I was growing up or the way I was before I came here. Reflecting on my youth, I am ashamed; I do not always recognise myself. I despise myself at times. You see, in my adolescence, I could be quite spiteful and cruel. There are times when I know it was due to the people I associated with but there are times when I know that I cannot hold anyone else accountable for my behaviour. During those years, I felt perfectly entitled to behave the way that I did; it was not as if they forced me to be horrid. You know, if we had met all those years ago, I do believe you would have disliked me and I, perhaps, would have received you with the same apathy and ignorance that my family had, or Annie when she came.

“But when my parents died, my whole world changed. I was not prepared for the responsibility or the loneliness that would arrive simply from a single adjustment to my life. Although it was one incident, it was profound. I started to reflect endlessly on myself and my life- before, then, and after. What had led me to that moment and where I would arrive at once it was all over. The thoughts, they would not cease. Over and over I thought of everything and anything, and I saw myself reflected in the frivolousness and selfishness of those around me, in my family and in my friends. Yet, I felt incapable of escaping. Then, I had the thought to leave, to come here to England.

“Everyone had an opinion on where I must live, what I must do, but I searched and searched, sometimes in hope and sometimes, I believed, in vain, and then I discovered that Colworth House was available to lease. I remembered you; you came instantly to mind, and I had always hoped to become acquainted with you since you visited Dublin and how strange and fortunate it seemed to me that such an opportunity had arisen for us to finally meet after all this time. I hoped that this would be the transformation I needed, that I could simply begin anew somewhere far away, surrounded by people who were more to my liking and to my new way of living...”

She paused, staring ahead.

“But nothing has changed. No matter how I alter my situation, it is all the same. I have not changed either; I am miserable still, flummoxed and resentful that everyone else is content or has attained some semblance of felicity and yet, no matter how much I try, no matter how far I reach out to grasp it, I cannot reach that beatitude that I so desperately desire. Now, I wonder if I have ever known happiness- at least, in my adulthood. I believe it is retribution for having been so wicked.”

Yvonne started at the last word and objected, vehemently- “You are not wicked, Bonnie! How could you think that?”

“Wherever I go, everyone is the same. All of my friends are callous, shallow. I came here to escape them and I find Henrietta instead! Whether it is here or in Ireland, my troubles follow me- I am never quite satisfied one way or another and I have to ask myself if I am so terrible a person that misfortune follows me, no matter how I try to escape it.”

“I would not say you have many troubles to worry you,” Yvonne frowned. “Not at this moment in time. Certainly, your cousins did not aid you, nor did they suggest the correct sort of aid, but they are gone now. There is no risk to your being removed. You have made friends and acquaintances here other than Henrietta; you have established yourself very well; you have all the influence and fortune to do as you please, and you frequently engage in creative, intellectual, and charitable pursuits. You have people surrounding you who are willing to remain with you and tend to you until you are well, if that is what you require.” She tilted her head to the side, hoping to meet her companion’s gaze, urging, softly: “I am here. If you wished it, Penny would be too. Is that so unfortunate?”

Bonnie was silent for a minute, refusing to meet her gaze and electing, instead, to stare impassively ahead. She did not appear convinced by her reasoning but she soon responded-

“I suppose you are correct.”

Hopeful, a thought arose within Yvonne that she was compelled to share.

“If you are restless, there is always our travels to look forward to,” she smiled. “Bedford is not the most interesting place to be. We can find excitement elsewhere.”

Conceiving the adventures that they were to have together abroad, Bonnie returned the smile, though her spirits were low.

“Yes, you are right,” she conceded. “We can travel together and experience more than thought possible here.” Her free hand came to rest atop those which were entwined. “We can escape together, see the world together.”

Yvonne reached up to rest her hand on her cheek, gently guiding her towards her. Bonnie allowed herself to be drawn closer to her companion, receiving the kiss upon her temple with graciousness. She focused on the sensation of Yvonne’s thumb stroking her cheek, though the hand was removed seconds later. Lowering her head, she placed it against her companion’s shoulder, the smile on her lips genuine, particularly when she perceived that the gentlewoman had, in turn, placed her head against hers. The weight was soothing and they remained in silence for some time, the only disturbance being the hum of Yvonne as she remarked-

“Yes, I think we shall be quite happy together.”

Chapter Notations

179. Earlier that year, the counties of Mayo, Donegal, and Galway suffered a famine. From then onwards, widespread famines occurred nearly every year up until the beginning of the Great Irish Famine, fifteen years later (1845-1852).

Chapter Text

The rapid rumble of an unknown force, its vigour echoing against thick wood, awoke Yvonne. She raised her head to glance dazedly in the direction of the noise, apperceiving that it was coming from the bedroom door. It occurred to her that it was someone wishing to wake her, urgently, and she clambered from bed with a yawn. She paused at a nearby chair to adorn her robe- it being neatly folded over the backrest- groaning and muttering consolingly to Dr Johnson, who was squawking at the disturbance.

Massaging her forehead, she reached the door, opening it to discover that it was the butler who had knocked. The man was still in his nightclothes, his expression barely visible in the gloom but she could discern that he was staring worriedly up at her.

“My apologies, ma’am, for disturbing you but there is a man lurking around the grounds. He was seen headed in the direction of the downstairs study. We could not find him again but he has not come away from the house, else he would have been seen. Partridge saw him through the window downstairs whilst he was smoking and talking to Keller; both can account that he had no reason to be this close to the estate.”

“Are there any of our men out on the grounds now?”

“Yes, ma’am. In all directions and we checked the study, but there was nobody there at the time. However, he could have rounded back. There was no forced entry on any of the doors or windows when we checked. That must have been several minutes ago.”

Yvonne rubbed her eyes. “I shall join you. Search the grounds once more and I will go to my study.”

The butler bowed and disappeared from sight. Upon closing the door, she entreated the cockatiel to be silent but he merely screeched at her. Glancing around her in the dark, she endeavoured to think clearly, her mind desperately attempting to capture a thought that she knew was on the edge of her consciousness. Grasping it, moments later, she hastened to the chest of drawers and rifled through the contents. She removed an object from within, uncovering the package to reveal that there was a pistol inside.

Nimbly, she primed the gun with the powder and balls, frantically thrusting the contents further down with the rod. This rustle caused Dr Johnson to chirp in warning, for he could not abide the noise as he slumbered, but she merely apologised and continued the motion. Abandoning the reserve powder and lead atop the dresser, she quickly adorned her boots and departed.

She dashed down the corridor, her boots barely tied to her feet, listening for any sound other than that of her own footsteps against the carpet and the rustling of her nightshirt. Ahead, she perceived a glint of light in the dark and she halted, raising her pistol in preparation for an ambush. A second passed before-

“Bloody hell, Yvonne; there is no need to blow my head off!”

Yvonne scowled, lowering the gun.

“You are supposed to be in bed,” she contended.

From the dark came Penny’s retort.

“With all this hoo-hah? I could hear Mister Thompson knocking on the door from my room.” She laughed, her voice trembling as if she were a ghastly spectre. “No, it is I, the robber, come in my nightgown and curlers to torment you.”

“Hah! You are not far wrong.”

Observing the glint once more, Yvonne squinted, noting that the silver object was in her sister’s hand. It became defined, the longer she stared, her eyes gradually adjusting to the dark.

“Penny?” she frowned.

“Yes, Yvonne?”

“Why do you have an axe?”

Penny glanced down at the weapon in her hands before returning her attention to her sister. Nonchalantly, she raised her shoulders.

“For an occasion such as this?” Her glance drifted to the object within Yvonne’s hand. “And where did you hide that? That is not one of your usual pistols. Why do you have it?”

Yvonne sniffed. “For an occasion such as this.”

Penny grimaced. Her amusement receding, Yvonne heeded the urge to continue through the house. She held the gun upward, in the expectation that she was to use it, stepping cautiously towards the staircase. As she did so, she gestured to her sister that she should return down the corridor, though Penny did not heed her warning and followed her, axe in hand.

“Where are you going?” Yvonne whispered, heatedly.

“With you!”

“No, you are not.”

“Yes, I am!”

Yvonne descended three steps before reaching upward to shove Penny in the leg, urging her to return the other way. Penny did not move, however, but raised her axe higher.

“I shall follow you and then, we shall both attack,” she signified. “If you miss him, you only have a few bullets. I can sprint at him with the axe; he will hardly know what has occurred before I have at him.”

Yvonne raised her brow. “Oh, is that right?”

“Yes."

Perceiving that the girl could not be deterred, she sighed. “Stay behind me.”

“I shall,” was the ardent response.

It was not until halfway down the staircase that the eldest discerned Penny was not as far in distance as she had hoped, and in halting, the younger woman nearly stumbled into her, the blade not far from plunging severely into her back. Viewing the glare that formed on her sister’s countenance, Penny arched her gaze.

“I was not that close.”

Nevertheless, as Yvonne continued to walk, Penny waited until there was a reasonable distance between them before following. Approaching the library door, Yvonne indicated that Penny should remain there. The girl clung to the handle of her weapon, staring all around her in the dark, expectant that she should be ambushed and would have to thrash the blade around her in order to escape. This vision of gallantry and irrationality did not occur, however; she was left in the shade of nightfall, the eldest slowly opening the door to slip furtively into the study.

Instantly, she noted the breeze against her skin, the night air causing her to shiver. This irregularity caused her to scrutinise the scene before her, expectant to discover a shadowy figure within the room. Rather, she observed that her desk was strewn with papers, a condition that it had not been left in when she had departed for the day; the nearby window was broken in one of the lower panes, large enough for a slim body to pass through, and there were scattered fragments of glass along the rug. Scowling, Yvonne thought of the cost of such a repair, as well as her poor filing system, which had been left in a state of disorder.

She went to the window and peered through. Along the wall, she noted a figure moving steadily but swiftly in the dark, its shadow disappearing around the corner of the estate. She glowered in its direction, swinging her leg through the open pane and lowering herself through the window.

Following the path in which she had seen the figure, she endeavoured to be silent. The man could be seen not far ahead, though it was impossible to decipher who it was, she questioning if it was a servant.

“Halt!” she yelled.

It was not a servant. The figure started to run. Irked, she raised her pistol, the blast of the bullet resounding in her ears, the splintering sound echoing in the otherwise silent night-sky. She heard the man exclaim, one hand coming to press against his arm, and she dashed towards him.

In his momentary bewilderment at being shot, he had slowed his pace, which allowed Yvonne to swiftly approach him from behind. She leapt at him, once she was close, managing to take hold of his torso, and they both tumbled to the ground, the whooshing sound of papers heard around them as they fluttered into the air.

The man attempted to return to his feet but she had not entirely released him, managing to clasp him to the ground. Nevertheless, her grip lessened when she was struck in the chin. Growling, she reached for the gun that had fallen onto the grass, using the handle to strike him on the side of his face.

“What are you here for?” she demanded, as they skirmished on the ground.

There was no answer and she repeated herself to which the man smirked, a huff of laughter emitting from his lips.

“To say hello to you, Miss Davers; naturally.”

He kicked one of her legs backward, causing her to lose balance. This allowed him to scramble from her, attempting to stand in the brief moment that she was immobilised. Yet, she was swift to regain her poise and crawled forward, grasping him once more around the leg. He tumbled to the floor with a thump. As they wrestled upon the ground, the sound of yells and approaching footsteps were heard from the entrance to the house. The commotion disturbed the burglar, who appeared to realise his chance of escape was eluding him, the longer he stayed. Vexed, he whacked her across the side of the face, its force accumulating primarily along her jaw. The impact caused her ears to ring, momentarily, the indent of his round, flattened rings felt against her skin, precisely in the place that he had struck her.

“You will not get away with this,” she exclaimed, her jaw aching.

“You ought to be careful,” he grunted. “Some people do not take kindly to arrogance.”

Yvonne could feel the taste of copper arise in her mouth, which she knew to be blood. Spitting into the grass, she scowled. “And who do you refer to?”

“If you cannot pinpoint one person, perhaps you are not a well-liked woman.”

Offended, she thrust her fist into his arm where she knew he was wounded. He cried out, his instant reaction to strike her once more, his blows becoming frenzied. Before he was able to escape from her, he managed to take hold of the gun and strike her with it, as she had done him, the handle colliding heavily with her brow. She managed to grapple it from him but he was intent to run and he did, having dashed a considerable distance by the time the servants had passed her in their pursuit.

On all fours, she inhaled quaveringly, sensing each imprint that he had left upon her body, her jaw continuing to ache and another sharp sensation arising around her eye where he had last struck her. She did not attempt to shoot him again, for he was too far from her, but she did perceive Penny hasten past her with the axe.

“Penny!” she glowered. “Do not run with the axe!”

The girl halted, glancing ill-humouredly at her. “But he is too far away for me to throw it at him.”

“You shall not catch him now with your little legs.”

Calling to a nearby servant, she instructed for a search party to be released, one on foot and another on horseback.

“He shall be lost if he is to head for the wood; it is best now to find him on horse. It shall be faster.”

Assenting, the servant collected the lingering staff, hurrying them towards the stables. She stepped forward to follow them but she discerned a small hand had come to rest on her arm.

“You are not going, Yvonne,” she contended. “You are injured; you must remain here.”

Yvonne frowned down at her. “I am not that badly injured.”

“You have blood coming out of your mouth!”

“It is only slight.”

Penny raised her brow, the expression similar to that of the eldest’s, a gesture which startled the gentlewoman into complying. The truth was that she would have preferred not to have ridden after the beating she had endured, although she was pleased that he had been as badly beaten in turn. She leant forward to grasp the papers but Penny was swift, and she compiled the documents in her hand before Yvonne could retrieve any more than one. Urging her back towards the entryway, Penny carried them, unconcerned in returning them to their owner in a timely fashion.

As they entered the house, Penny lit a candle, noting the condition of her sister for the first time, the slight swelling that had appeared around her brow and eye, the crust of blood in her teeth, and the discomfort in her expression. Concerned, Penny stared at her, leading her towards the stairs and gesturing for her to sit upon them. She abandoned the papers atop the nearest surface and joined the gentlewoman upon the wooden steps. Peering at her with the candle, she blurted:

“My God, Yvonne! Did he hurt you?”

Her voice revealed her sympathy and she gently placed her hand atop her sister’s, holding it tenderly within her own. Yvonne did not appear to appreciate the kindness, mistaking it for pity, but she did not remove herself from the touch.

“No, Penny, I am fine, if not a little sore.” She glanced around the darkened hallway, the silence that had fallen upon the house. “Could you fetch me some water, please?”

She tilted her head to the side, the back of her neck emitting a resonant crack, the same noise occurring when she tilted her head to the opposite side.

“I have already sent Mrs Prescott to fetch some. Whilst you were outside.” Penny peered around her. “She should arrive any second.”

They sat in silence, hands entwined, Yvonne having eventually returned the gesture. In their reticence, she raised her shoulder and rounded it forward, a clicking sensation discernible along her shoulder blades. She groaned in her unease and her head lowered to her chest, where she appeared to be asleep, although she was simply resting in anticipation to be cleaned. The thought that she had shot the man in the arm comforted her and she smiled to herself as she waited.

Mrs Prescott approached them a minute later, the water in the bowl soothingly warm. Expressing their gratitude, the sisters allowed her to return to bed and Penny grasped the cloth that had been brought with it, leaning over to dampen it. Watching her, Yvonne regarded the faint reflection of herself in the water, the faint trickle of blood that had dashed down her chin. Reclining, her elbows bolstering her against the stairs, she leant her head back, sighing heavily.

Penny knelt beside her, gently dabbing the cloth over her face. She wiped the blood from her first, the crimson that had fallen across her chin. As she did so, Yvonne swiped her fingertip along her tinted teeth, observing the stain that it had created upon her skin.

“A rather nasty business,” she muttered.

“What is?” Penny frowned.

“This.” Yvonne showed her the blood upon her finger. “I wonder who had the audacity to send for him.”

“Was he not a thief?”

“Not in the traditional sense. If he was here to steal something, he took them solely from my study; what sort of thief would steal papers and not jewels or our fine furnishings? No, this is to do with my trade; most likely, the factory. It seems I have upset someone.”

Penny swirled the cloth in the water, wringing it dry seconds later. She observed the brooding expression upon her sister’s face.

“Who would be so upset as to send a thief into our home?” she pondered aloud.

Yvonne stared into the dark, the displeasure she felt visible upon her countenance.

“There are only two people on this earth who I refuse to trade with,” she remarked, “and two people who are in the most want of my money.”

Penny’s eyes widened. “The Dunces?”

“That would be the most likely guess.” At the thought, Yvonne scowled, her voice rising, her hands clenching. “I have a good mind to visit them now and confront them. I have bullets left; why waste them?”

Penny grasped her arm.

“Oh, Yvonne, please stay,” she implored. “Let’s not be rash!”

Yvonne peered across at her, the hostility in her features lessening and she smiled, her tone softening.

“No, that would be too easy,” she assured her. “When have we Davers ever achieved anything painlessly? I will simply continue to conduct myself the way I have always done; that will merely provoke them more.” She paused in her contemplation. “But I think we shall have to be more careful about who comes near the house.”

Penny stared at her, curiously.

“If you require assistance, I am here,” she offered, timidly. Reflecting upon the virtuous qualities that she believed herself to have, her assurance grew. “I think you shall find me quite helpful.”

“That is peculiar, I must say, for I find you meddlesome,” was the retort. Upon perceiving the dismay with which this was received, the smirk upon her lips lessened and she reached up, her hand resting on Penny’s tightly curled hair, assuring her- “You need not exert yourself on my behalf. I shall not ask you to become involved in my disagreements but I know you mean well.” Tenderly, she patted her. “Thank you.”

Penny smiled. “You know you can depend upon me.”

“Yes, I know but now, I must depend upon myself. You have all the troubles of a young woman, I am sure, that you hardly need my interference.” As they smiled at one another, she instructed- “Now, off to bed with you and leave the axe downstairs.”

“Oh no, Yvonne! It remains with me.”

“I shall discover it one day. When you least expect it.”

“No, you shall not. You shall never find it!”

Yvonne allowed Penny to dash past her with the weapon, the girl ascending the stairs. She believed she would remove it from her eventually; she did not fear her having it for one more night. Leaning over, she obtained the dish and cloth, encouraging her sister to return to bed whilst she restored the items downstairs. For once, Penny did not object and ambled up the wooden steps, while Yvonne walked slowly in the dark, contemplating the night that had passed, the news that she expected to hear once the search was over. She rinsed her mouth in the kitchen, discharging the water back into the bowl, trusting that any remnants of blood had been removed. With a deep exhale, she turned and headed towards the entrance hall, where she reflected upon the papers that had been left on the table, the reason for their being taken. She sat in the dark, ruminating, and did not consider returning to bed until her servants had arrived. There was too much to ponder.

Chapter Text

Kenneth Dunce was announced within Haynes Park whilst Yvonne was reading in the upstairs study. Traversing downstairs, her agitated expression revealed her disinterest in receiving him, yet she was curious to hear the reason for his visit, particularly after the intrusion that had occurred two days previous. Upon receiving him, he beheld her countenance with some astonishment, stuttering out his question as to whether she had thought any further on their business deal. He paused afterward, staring at her before uttering, nervously-

“What happened to you?” He hesitated. “I heard there was a break-in, two days ago; they are talking of it in town. Were you beaten?”

Yvonne stared across at him.

“Slightly,” she responded, indifferently. “He did not depart unscathed either. The intruder, that is.”

“Is that so...?”

“Yes, I shot him,” she remarked. She watched him for a moment, the disquiet that had settled in his demeanour. Desirous to probe, she added- “He escaped, unfortunately, but I know that I caught him in the arm. Yet, if I were to know who the man was, or there was someone who should ever recognise him or know him, I would like him to know that I aimed to maim, not kill. If I were to ever see him on my property again, however, I shall not be so kind the second time and the next shot will be fatal.” She watched the young man pale and she smiled. “How he will hear this, I am uncertain, but if someone were to let him know, of course, that would be most gracious of them.”

Kenneth peered up at her. “And your charming sister, she was not harmed?”

Yvonne’s smile disappeared as swiftly as it had come, for she did not appreciate the way in which he had described her.

“No man would ever have the chance of harming her in my presence.”

To this, he appeared genuinely soothed and she deliberated upon this response. He did not answer for some time, however, and she was desirous to remove him from her property, inquiring-

“Is that all you wished to speak upon, Mister Dunce? A new deal? You see, I am a busy woman and I cannot stand here all day whilst you deliberate.”

“No, that was it,” he admitted.

“Then there is no deal.” Before he could protest, she continued. “I have told you before, Mister Dunce- I find this back and forth very tiring. I will retract our arrangement altogether if you are to waste my time.”

“That is no way to conduct business,” he contended.

“I conduct business how I like. Do not tempt me, for I will withdraw it. I mean what I say. There is no reason for you to come here and disturb me today when there have been no further developments for us to speak of.”

He glanced resentfully at her as he was ushered from the room, the footman having been called by the bell.

“Farewell, Mister Dunce!” she called after him. “And thank you, Mister Milton. That will be all.”

The footman bowed his head as he departed, the incredulity upon Kenneth’s face obscured by the closing of the door. Smirking, Yvonne waited until he had left before returning upstairs. Any attempt to inconvenience the brothers was a source of pleasure to her, as they had inconvenienced her thoroughly in the time that she had become re-acquainted with them. They did not have the upper hand, as they believed themselves to have. Their attempt to thwart her business had been prevented and she believed it was divine intervention, for she had been principled in her dealings with them, a virtue that she trusted would gain her her reward- that being the removal of the brothers from her life. She anticipated the day it should happen.

“Oh, your sweet, sweet face! It is ruined!”

Bonnie was inconsolable. The bruises across Yvonne’s jaw and temple, as well as the lightly-shaded swelling along her eye, was distressing to Bonnie and she continually stroked her companion’s face, the sight overwhelming her into silence.

“I would not say that,” Yvonne uttered, her brow down-turning.

Her neighbour sorrowfully brushed her finger along the bruised jaw. “How could anyone hurt such a lovely face?”

On hearing this, Yvonne could not prevent the smile that arose, the theatrics of the woman before her causing her great amusement. Reaching up, she tenderly took hold of her hand, her thumb lightly stroking it in a smoothing motion.

“I am all right, Bonnie,” she insisted. “You do not need to fear for me. I am handling the situation. Besides, I doubt he shall return after the pandemonium that has arisen. So, you see, there is nothing to be concerned about. Nobody was harmed... not significantly.”

She did not mention that she had hardly slept since, fearful to rest in the circumstance her family were harmed or her papers were stolen, although she had taken great pains to relocate her documents and she had slept every night with the gun nearby. It was imperative that her sister and mother, her neighbour even, were undisturbed by the commotion, believing it to be a deficiency on her behalf if she could not protect them. Despite this diligence, her mother appeared undisturbed that the event had occurred, for she had slept soundly the whole night and did not appear to realise that there had been any upheaval at all.

Carefully observing her, Bonnie removed her hand from Yvonne’s grasp, reaching upward to gently rest them on either side of her cheek. She stared tenderly into her eyes before leaning forward to kiss her firmly on the forehead. Sitting upward, moments later, she watched as Yvonne turned her head in response, one hand cupping the lady’s, enfolding it closer to her so that she could press her lips against the centre of her palm.

“Let’s not upset ourselves,” she urged her. “We shall continue as we always do and have a lovely evening together.”

Bonnie pouted. “But you have not been content recently! With Wellington, the riots, and now this.”

“Yes, well, one cannot be happy when a sworn servant of the state abandons his post (180).” Yvonne’s voice was sharp, though her vexation was intended for the man himself, not her companion. “I suppose it is what the people want.” She paused, contemplating the situation at hand. “At least we avoided Captain Swing (181); he has hardly been seen in the county, though I heard that there were disturbances near the border (182). At least the farmers are pleased with me; they had their usual pay and celebrations. I promised them higher wages over the winter and they did not scoff at it (183).” She humphed. “Why should they? They would not be treated half so well anywhere else! Two shillings and three pence in the winter is more than they shall receive if they were to be employed by another (184). Penny tells me that is not the point. I can never please her. She has an opinion on everything nowadays.”

She was silent, though another thought roused her into a complaint seconds later. “Yesterday, I was told not to involve myself in such matters! As if I could not possibly understand anything to do with business or politics! Mister Cushing heard me speaking in town of the election and mentioned that I should keep to what I know, that petticoat politics is unbecoming (185). Is it not enough that they bar me from political or business events? I receive no invitations... They had a market dinner (186) three weeks past and did not invite me. They think I have not noticed; well, I most assuredly have! I have every right to be there as much as they do.”

Bonnie stared affectionately across at her, her hand resting upon her companion’s. Despite the chagrin in her guest’s tone, she was unperturbed and felt great warmth in hearing her speak. Smiling, she uttered-

“They cannot comprehend the discernment that you hold, nor the generosity. Time should not be wasted on such people, for they hardly deserve to hear your opinion at all.”

Perceiving the fondness with which she spoke, Yvonne did not wish to pursue the subject any further; she preferred to savour her neighbour’s company, having been deprived of it in recent weeks. This, she repeated aloud.

Bonnie was delighted to hear so, favourably disposed to any compliment that she received from her neighbour, and she was inspired to mention that she had hoped to continue the Rāmāyana with her. This proposition was welcomed by Yvonne, who was keen to hear more, and they settled on the sofa to finish the story.

Nevertheless, Bonnie discovered that she was incapable of concentrating, despite the gravity of the hero’s plight. The account of Sita, who had been abhorrently tricked by a Māyāmruga (187) into being captured, was a climactic tale, yet she sensed Yvonne’s arm around her, her hand on her waist, the gesture causing them to sit closely together and she, in turn, placed her hand upon her companion’s thigh, both women often stroking each other in comfort, but also for the satisfaction of being close to one another.

When Bonnie met the gaze of the woman beside her, she heeded the ardour and adoration in Yvonne’s eyes, the smile that had come to rest naturally upon her features as she watched her, and the intensity would cause Bonnie to titter nervously as she spoke. She would continue to talk, though she would pause when she discovered herself smiling in return and they would both laugh for no discernible reason. Bonnie could not help but think of poor Sita and her anguish whilst she, herself, laughed as she told her story. It was not the epic within itself that she found amusing but the disorientation she felt under the fervour of her neighbour’s stare.

She glanced at her once more, merely to perceive her neighbour’s gaze had flickered downward and she knew her to be staring at her lips. Bonnie pinkened, her speech faltering, the motion causing Yvonne to look upward.

“Please, continue,” she urged. “I am listening.”

Bonnie stared at her, her countenance reddening further when she realised that she forgotten which part of the story she was narrating. She stared down at her lap, desperately hoping to compose herself and recollect her thoughts. Peering upward, seconds later, she inadvertently tugged at Yvonne’s leg.

“Will you stay again? Tonight?”

Yvonne stroked her waist in apology. “I cannot, not tonight. I must be home.”

“Yes, of course...” Bonnie chastised herself for being forgetful, her eyes alighting upon her neighbour’s bruises. “I did not mean to forget.”

“It is all right,” she assured her.

“Then will you assist me? With my dress again? We shall be late and I do not wish to disturb Bronagh.”

Yvonne smiled tenderly at her. “If that is what you want.”

Bonnie lowered her gaze to her companion’s leg, watching the way her fingers lightly brushed against the material of the pantaloons, feeling the solidity and warmth that lay underneath.

“I would much prefer dressing if you were there to help me,” she breathed.

Close to her ear, she could discern Yvonne’s breath against her skin. “Is that why you have asked me to undress you?”

Bonnie’s gaze rose swiftly in her abashment, her heart pounding wildly against her chest.

“Not all the way!” she protested. She glanced askance, flustered. Uncertain of how to respond, she laughed, shortly. “You say it as if we have acted improperly.”

Yvonne grinned, though she sensed her discomfort, reaching up to stroke her tenderly along the shoulders, the bare skin that was exposed there, her hand coming to rest on the back of her neck.

“I am nothing, if not a gentlewoman, Miss Donoghue,” she said, soothingly, though her good humour was visible to see. “I know I have not acted improperly.” Yvonne looked across at her neighbour, the plumpness of her lips, the alluring brown eyes under long, dark lashes, and the softness of her skin as she caressed the back of her neck. Captivated, Yvonne could not prevent herself from saying: “Unless you wish otherwise.”

Bonnie bit her bottom lip, the motion preventing a delirious giggle from surging forth, the fondling of her neck merely increasing her elation.

“I shall remind you of that in the future,” she remarked. “You are quite a tease, Miss Davers; I must say! I know who to ask, if that is the case.” She paused, venturing to say, moments later- “You may undress me till your heart’s content.”

Her neighbour’s gaze flickered momentarily to her lips and Bonnie could not prevent herself from imitating the movement, anticipative of their touch. She perceived her neighbour lean towards her. Expectant, her eyelids fluttered to a close, sensing the heavy palpitation of her heartbeat within her chest. Yet, before she could feel a welcoming weight press against her, she heard the echoing of footsteps and her eyes swiftly opened, her hand releasing itself from Yvonne’s leg. The weight upon the back of her neck disappeared, her skin cruelly cold and desolate without it, and she watched as Yvonne relocated further across the sofa.

By the time the door opened and Miss Ainsley had entered, both were staring expectantly at her, Yvonne with a flushed countenance and Bonnie with a glower. Yvonne stood and bowed, the custodian bowing her head in return. Bonnie did not stand nor did her glower lessen, her mouth settling into a firm line.

“I apologise for my late arrival. I was unaware that you had arrived at the House,” she heard Miss Ainsley saying. “My condolences for the intrusion you received, Miss Davers; we were informed by Mister Ingham that it had occurred. Your courage in chasing the fiend and defending your home was inspiring! I shudder to think of what may have been, but we were relieved to hear of your family’s safety.”

“Thank you, Miss Ainsley. Fortunately, my sister and mother were unharmed.”

As they spoke, Bonnie stared petulantly across the room, her gaze fixated on the wooden floor. She was incensed that they had been disturbed, let alone that the interference continued. Without comprehending the conversation before her, she spoke out.

“I was narrating the Rāmāyana.”

Both women glanced down at her, though Miss Ainsley peered momentarily at their guest, as if to question her feelings on the matter, but there was no apparent emotion on her face.

“Yes, well, I did not mean to interrupt,” she declared in her disgruntlement.

Yvonne glanced between them, silent. She discerned that Bonnie awaited her and she smiled, reassuringly, returning to her seat.

“We can continue,” she nodded.

Howbeit, Miss Ainsley had seated herself with a sigh, distinguishing that she did not agree. “We have heard the Rāmāyana before; you are similar to Percival with The Portrait. Is there not another story that we could hear?” She deliberated on the matter. “How about Jonah and the Whale?”

“We read the Bible yesterday,” Bonnie protested.

“We are supposed to read it every day.”

“I did,” Bonnie mumbled. “I read it this morning.”

Yvonne flung her hands in the air.

“I have wonderful news,” she declared. Yet, upon perceiving the discontent that settled between the two women, her voice lowered. “It is about the cottage...”

The custodian and ward avoided glancing in each other’s direction but smiled directly at her.

“I entreat you to share the news with us, Miss Davers,” Miss Ainsley insisted.

“Yes, you must tell us!”

Yvonne glimpsed between the two women, uncertain. Once she had observed that they were in earnest, however, she elucidated.

“The design was returned for the cottage and the greenhouse. The architect- Robinson- he was quite expeditious with it all. The greenhouse is almost precisely as Penny wanted it but with some practical alterations, and the cottage is beyond anything I could have envisioned. Soon, they shall be underway and, once they are completed, you may both come and see for yourself the work that he has constructed. It is remarkable! Haynes Park shall not be so dull now.”

“It is unprecedented already,” Miss Ainsley protested.

“Yes...” Yvonne’s hesitation revealed her differing opinion. “It shall be even more so!”

Bonnie clasped her hands together in delight. “Shall we be the first to see?”

Despite the custodian’s low warning, the lady was assured that she would be the first to visit these edifices. This confirmation spurred Bonnie into a flight of whimsicality.

“I have been unwell recently but I am keen for us to return to our walks,” she chattered. “I have hardly been outside these past two weeks and I should like to walk with you to the Ouse. It is crucial that I rouse myself from lethargy, to endeavour once more to be well. We used to relish our time outdoors. Remember, there was once a time where we walked nearly every day together?”

“Yes, I remember,” Yvonne smiled.

“We should walk tomorrow!”

“Only if Miss Davers is free to do so,” Miss Ainsley adjoined, graciously.

“I do not mind,” Yvonne assured her. Turning to her neighbour, she said- “I shall be here at my usual time.”

“And I have been ruminating greatly on our travelling together. I think of it every day. I know I am not in the right condition for travelling but I will be! For when you wish to leave.” She paused to allow her companion to speak, but she soon pressed on, despite herself. “Have you decided upon a route?”

“I have thought upon it.”

To the great delight and insistence of Bonnie and her custodian, an atlas was fetched and unfurled upon the table. All three stood over the sketch, watching as Yvonne directed them to each route that they were likely to take.

“I have thought about Vienna, Venice, or Rome but, naturally, I must take you to Paris.” She paused to smile at her companion, who was flattered into silence. “At least, that was my plan before India. Now, I think it may be Paris, Rome, and then on to India. We shall have to visit Vienna and Venice another time. Perhaps there can be a journey to Ireland- a tour there, and then we can travel back through Europe.”

“You have a second trip planned already?” Miss Ainsley exclaimed.

“Well... Yes.” Yvonne did not appear to comprehend the difficulty in such a scheme. “Miss Donoghue has expressed her wish to travel and I hope to remain in her acquaintanceship long enough to see her travel a second time.”

“You will!” Bonnie proclaimed. She peered down at the atlas with overt delight. “Oh, this is more than I had hoped for! To travel to all of these places are far beyond my wildest dreams. And to think that they shall one day be my reality!” Her gaze traced the map. “And what do you think of a tour of Asia or Africa?”

“Certainly, I would adore the notion of travelling around the world, from one side to the other! I know I have travelled more than others when it comes to the number of countries I have visited but I would not consider myself well-travelled, not truly, until I have broached beyond Europe. There is more to this world than even I can imagine! People say they are well-travelled but remain within one continent. You cannot consider yourself so if you have remained in one section of the world; it is unthinkable.”

Miss Ainsley raised her gaze from the map, her features revealing the dread of such a journey. Not solely for herself but for her ward.

“It is inconceivable that Bonnie shall travel all that way. Paris, perhaps, but not all across the world! With her delicacy, she is better remaining at home.”

“With all due respect, Miss Ainsley, it is not your choice but Miss Donoghue’s.”

Bonnie’s fingers curled gently around her companion’s wrist. “You cannot leave without me.”

Yvonne smiled consolingly down at her.

“I would not step foot in any of these cities if I was without you. That is a promise.”

They heard Miss Ainsley tut and the custodian excused herself to sit down. She declared that her legs were tired, choosing to entertain herself with a book whilst the others continued to survey the atlas. Watching the custodian, Yvonne waited until she had seated herself before speaking once more.

“This shall be a new start for us both,” she whispered. “We can both travel as we have wished. You have been a breath of fresh air since arriving in my life; it would be an honour to provide you with the variation you wish for in yours.”

Yvonne had wished for a travelling companion, one suitable to her, since adulthood and she felt as if she was on the precipice of obtaining her desire. She believed she could achieve this new experience with Bonnie, that they were in desperate need of each other, and that they would be well-suited for their journey together. To her, it was a new beginning. She was close to obtaining a new business, a new home, and she perceived she had a new perspective- a change of heart- in the anticipation of acquiring a new companion.

As she observed her, she noted that Bonnie was silently weeping. The lady perceived the concern upon her features, insisting that she was, in fact, delighted and it was this intense happiness that caused her to weep as she did. From the sofa, Miss Ainsley peered askance at the sound, yet the sight of her tearful ward was no surprise to her and she continued to read.

“To have this chance with you, I am overjoyed. The felicity that I mentioned to you, the one that I have struggled to discover these past few years? I think I have found it.”

Upon hearing this, Yvonne was gratified. She thought them equally matched in their contentment.

As Bonnie prepared to depart for bed, she indicated to Yvonne to follow her upstairs. Her neighbour dutifully accompanied her, yet, midway up the staircase, they were hindered by Miss Ainsley, who called to them from the entrance hall.

“Is there a reason you are both travelling upstairs?”

Bonnie hastened to explain. “Miss Davers is assisting me...”

“That is most gallant of you, Miss Davers, but your assistance is not needed. I shall help Bonnie. You may leave for home, as I am certain you are anxious to return to your mother and sister.”

Yvonne bowed her head, expressing her gratitude to the custodian. She heeded the way Bonnie’s gaze lingered on her as she descended the stairs, that gaze unfaltering, even as she waited in the foyer for Mr Reeves. Emitting her farewell, Miss Ainsley motioned to Bonnie that she would meet her in her bedroom, passing the young woman on the stairwell. Her ward’s gaze followed her, sullenly, until she had disappeared. Once she was no longer in sight, Bonnie turned to her guest.

“I apologise, Yvonne.”

“No, there is nothing to apologise for.” She smiled meekly at her. “Another time.”

The suggestion that there was to be another attempt satisfied Bonnie and her expression lightened.

“Yes, another time.”

As Yvonne dressed in her outerwear, Bonnie watched her, patiently. Her gaze was attentive, never once wavering in its diligence as her neighbour donned her coat, hat, and gloves. As she strode to the door, her cane clicking against the tiles, Bonnie stepped in front of the footman to follow her.

Yvonne perceived that she was close behind, the edge of her lips flickering upward, and she paused on the steps to doff her hat in her direction.

“Thank you for having me.”

Bonnie leant against the frame, smirking as she remarked in a lowered voice- “I haven’t had you quite yet.”

Hemming, Yvonne endeavoured to repress the shade of crimson that rose along the top of her cheeks. “Yes, goodnight.”

She bowed her head and crossed the driveway, ascending into the carriage. Waving contentedly, she watched as Bonnie disappeared from sight. It was her face she thought of as the vehicle drew from the House, the smile that was upon her countenance, the way the light from the hallway shaded her figure as she stood in the entryway. In the frame of Yvonne’s mind, she was the sole object and it was this that maintained her smile as she sat alone in the carriage, thinking of the journey that they were to undertake together. She perceived that her existence was to never be the same, not with Miss Donoghue in her life, and she could not have been happier for it.

Chapter Notations

180. Despite being elected nearly three months previous, the Duke of Wellington’s popularity fell greatly when he continued to oppose reform. This opposition caused him to be defeated in the House of Commons and he resigned soon after on the 16th November 1830, where he was replaced by Earl Grey, a Whig.

181. During the Swing riots, Captain Swing was the name given to a fictitious figure. Its name was signed at the bottom of a number of letters sent to parsons, farmers, and magistrates. These letters usually demanded higher wages and the removal of agricultural machinery, but could contain other threats too, depending on those who made the demands.

182. Bedford did not experience any rioting, despite disturbances in the surrounding counties, and it was only near the border that there were any indications of unrest.

183. Demands for higher pay in the winter was common during the Swing Riots. Labour was needed the most in summer, as this was peak season for farming. Resultantly, labourers were paid higher wages for their efforts, but during the winter, lower demand meant lower pay. This was why higher pay in the winter was a common stipulation among the rioters and dissenters.

184. In Kent and Sussex- two counties that paid higher wages- the average wage was 2 shillings, 6 pence a day during the summer and 2 shillings, 3 pence over the winter. Stotfold in Bedfordshire also paid these higher wages, but many places within the UK did not and paid significantly less.

185. Petticoat politics is a term used to describe a form of government which is directed entirely by women.

186. A market dinner was another term for a gathering of businessmen who would use this dinner to associate with other traders and share camaraderie among tradesmen.

187. Mayamruga is a Sanskrit word for an illusory or false deer.

Chapter Text

26th December 1830

You shall know, dear journal, that Adonis had ventured to Tartarus (188) on the day that Bonnie approached me, insisting that we should share our festivities with one another. I think she had been waiting for the Solstice to discuss it with me. It need not matter that one household was Catholic and the other Protestant, but that we should come together to celebrate as one. Ordinarily, we do not celebrate Christmas further than Mass and a turkey dinner, but Bonnie would not hear of it and persisted in her wish to decorate the house and for us to share dinner; it would be a small feast. She was most certainly in the festive mood, which influenced Penny. Together, they are quite the pair, bothering me incessantly until I relent. I hardly wished for them to cause such ruckus, not this close to Our Christ’s day of birth, so I requested a late addition to our decoration and to our Christmas dinner in the hope that they would be occupied elsewhere.

We were to see the effects of it yesterday and what a marvel it was! When mother joined us downstairs, she merely tutted and told me that this extravagance is merely the Catholic in Bonnie and we should not succumb to such measures. The Lord does not choose favourites based on who has the most frills. Yet, when I viewed the wreaths and foliage around the walls, the doorframes, the windows, the flickering candles all over the house, the red and green bows and ribbons, the trees decorated with small candles- with glass angels, pinecones, robins, and curled paper amidst the branches and leaves, I was certainly impressed. Haynes Park had never looked so warm, so merry. Penny was ecstatic. It had been her and Bonnie’s choice to decorate the house, both of them deciding how the rooms would be adorned, and Bonnie informed us that Colworth House would be the same, for she decorated every year with these jovial arrangements. Mother relented to the decoration eventually, for she was fond of the little manger in particular and the china statues that were sat within it. She thought it rather becoming.

On the morning, after we awoke, we had Mass. We dressed in our very best- Penny like a little chicken in her white feathers and frills, mother in her best red silk, although her countenance was equally red when Penny accidentally stood upon it, and I in my green waistcoat and matching green hat, both a shade of deep forest green, with my yellow cravat. Very festive, in my opinion!

Mass was most excellent. The story of the birth of Christ inspires us every year and is one of the sole times I have seen my mother moved to tears, for it is one of her favourites. I could not help but think of Bonnie, that she should be with us, but it was not to be and I perceived that the pew felt empty without her there. During the homily, I was quite distracted on conjuring an image of her to my mind, imagining she was there beside me, that I forgot to be thankful for the year that has passed and for the birth of Our Lord and Saviour. I was ashamed of myself, but I was able to include a short moment of gratitude before the priest continued the service.

After Mass, we spoke briefly with the Haringtons. We would ordinarily join them for dinner, alongside the Spencers and McLarens but this was not the arrangement this year, as we had decided to dine solely with Bonnie and Miss Ainsley. Bonnie had received an invitation to the Haringtons and the Mounts, but she had decided against them all, revealing to me that she would prefer a quiet Christmas with us at home, since it was her first here in Bedford. It was agreed then that this is how we should proceed and the following Christmas, both households may return to the Haringtons for our usual celebrations. They were sorry to not have us there, but they insisted we should reconvene next year. Certainly, I prefer to dine with them, but I thought I would much prefer to share the day with Bonnie now that she is here.

It had snowed the day before, quite heavily- we were worried we could not travel to Church- but it had eased on Christmas day and the roads had been shovelled for the carriage to make its way to town and back. I was concerned too that Bonnie would not be able to come to the estate if the carriage could not travel along its usual path, but I had ensured that the path was clear for her. She did not come till early afternoon, as agreed, but I kept peering out of the window in the chance that I would view her in the distance.

When she arrived, she was resplendent! Attired in white and gold, as she stepped from the carriage, she appeared to me as an angel that had descended from heaven to grace us with her presence. Not even Miss Ainsley’s exclamations about the weather were a distraction; my consideration was solely on her.

Hereafter, I led them inside and they removed their cloaks, warming themselves by the fire, yet the bell rung almost immediately for dinner. We migrated to the dining room- Bonnie sat opposite, Penny beside her, Miss Ainsley on my side, and mother at the head. The centrepiece was sensational, with a golden candelabra upholding red candles, holly leaves and berries carved into their side. Foliage also adorned the centre, shaped charmingly into a ring, with pinecones, berries, bows, pomegranates, and figs. I am sure I viewed Penny eat a fig or two, although I cannot be certain. She would deny it if I were to ask her.

As for dinner, it was exquisite! We had beef, venison, and a deliciously large turkey. They were all roasted to perfection, and there was choice too of turtle soup, fish, cockles, mussels, and vegetables, with a side of frumenty (189), naturally! We were treated to mince pie and plum pudding. Mrs Dunkhurst had prepared the most fantastic, frosted Twelfth Night cake with little sugar figurines that we all found simply delightful, except mother who cared only to eat it.

We all passed the wassail bowl around the table in the midst of the meal (190), all of us having a drink from it. With our glasses, we toasted to each other’s health. Penny drank it a little fast for my liking and had another, though I soon prevented her from having any more. She was not pleased but did not protest. Primarily, I think she felt ill from eating so much and could not drink any more, even if she wished to.

Afterward, we settled in the drawing room, entertaining ourselves with games and, once they were completed, Bonnie was encouraged to read a passage from the Bible. Her voice was so gentle, like the tinkling of a bell, that even mother was pacified. It was the sort of voice that was perfect for the festive season and we were all gratified for her reading.

Once our food had settled and the games were concluded, Penny insisted that we spend some time out in the sleigh. I was unsure, for it is an old contraption, but it has served us well over the years and Bonnie had never ridden a sleigh before. Naturally, this induced me to consider. I did not wish for her to be excluded from such an opportunity, so I agreed to take them on a short ride. Unfortunately, there was room for only the three of us, yet Miss Ainsley was pleased to remain in the warm, remarking that she would have the honour of keeping our mother company. As she said so, she realised mother was asleep in her chair, as often happened after the excitement of Mass and dinner. She snored as she slumbered and, on perceiving this sight, Miss Ainsley supposed she could entertain herself until we returned.

Ensuring Penny and Bonnie were warm in their cloaks and muff (191), I went to fetch the sleigh and tie the horses to it. I rode it to the driveway where they awaited me. They clambered on, excitedly- Penny first, since she was incapable of waiting, and Bonnie on the other side. We rode along the fields, I following the best route for such a wintry spectacle. From the high ground that I endeavoured to take, it was possible to view the snow blanketing the horizon, the fields that rolled far beyond us, and the whitened trees, hedgerows, and the reflection of the sun atop this covering of frost, the white landscape glittering in the pale ray of light.

As we glided along, Penny leant forward and started to sing ‘Joy to the World’. She glanced between us, as if to encourage us to do the same. Bonnie was amused and joined her, their voices weaving joyously together. They both looked at me and I knew I must concede, so we sang, all three of us, as we passed through the quiet roads, our voices the only thing we could hear, apart from the stomping and panting of the horses, and the sleigh as it slid across the ground. Bonnie was urged to choose a hymn afterward, she choosing ‘Away in a Manger’ and I chose ‘O Come All Ye Faithful’. We continued to sing until we returned home, ruddy-cheeked and high-spirited.

When we stumbled into the drawing room, we recounted our tale and Miss Ainsley remarked that she was sorry to have missed the singing. Mother awoke suddenly during our entrance, startled to hear that we had been gone from the Park at all, though she did not care to hear the details.

This seemed the most appropriate time for us to exchange gifts. We rarely do so but we had decided this year that we should. Ordinarily, I will buy a gift for mother and Penny, but I must admit that I had bought more than one for my neighbour. For mother, new stockings- which she did not find impressive-, Miss Ainsley received new volumes of books that she may use for the school, to which she was delighted. As for Penny, I had bought her a golden music box, one that opened to a little canary that rose and sang from within. This, she believed to be delightful and was much absorbed with it. I received a present in turn, merely books that she had ruined from using them to press her flowers with and that were no longer readable from the stains that this had induced in the paper. One must be grateful to receive compensation for such an ordeal, though not grateful that it had occurred to begin with!

Bonnie and I also exchanged presents. I was anticipative to see how she received them. I had ordered new brushes and paints from London, some of the best I am told, and score sheets for her to play. I also included duets for the piano and violin. Although I am not the greatest pianist, I will endeavour to try my all so that we may play together, as she wishes. I bought her a new quill too, for her writing. It was composed of a peacock feather, which she appeared to adore. All of this, she received with great delight and she shed a tear or two, as is her custom. To view her delight was a delight of my own, and I received her gratitude with much pleasure.

All of this joy was soon gone, however. After receiving her gifts, I was ashamed that my presents should be so insufficient in the wake of hers. She had gifted me with an inscribed Bible, a most lovely edition, alongside a new barometer that was decorative to a degree that I did not think possible. It was fancifully embellished in its writing and colour- the inside was painted like the changing of the weather, of lovely little pastoral scenes, and its frame was made of the tiniest tiles, a beautiful pattern of blues, yellows, pinks, and whites. It was startling for I had never seen a barometer that was not metal or wood; it was incredibly charming. She informed me that she had bought it so that I may take it with us abroad, that I may have this new barometer to carry with me and take great pride in. This was not all, for she had gifted me with a new golden pocket watch, one with my name inscribed on the back. This watch I promised to use always; it was perfect and I pocketed it that instant. The last present she ordered to have carried in by the servants. From its size, I could guess at what it was and she uncovered it to reveal her painting.

Miss Ainsley merely pressed her lips, whilst mother asked loudly why she had gifted a portrait of herself, but Penny gasped- I could hear her from behind me, complimenting Bonnie on her composition. As I stared at it, I could not help but think it was all that I had hoped for and expected from Bonnie’s artistry. It captured her perfectly. She was in her cerulean dress, the curve of her face, the shimmer of her hair, the softness of her features, and the hands folded neatly in her lap were identical to how she is and so expressive of her spirit that I felt I was truly looking at her. I was enamoured with it and could hardly tear my gaze from it to look at Bonnie herself, who waited expectantly for my opinion. I assured her it was splendid, precisely what I had hoped for, and she appeared gratified. The gift caused me much sentiment and I avoided looking in her direction, for I was greatly moved and could not express my felicity in receiving it. It was not difficult for me to decide that it should be hung in my upstairs study, somewhere where I could view it always and where it would not be shared with anyone but myself.

As we walked back to the sofa together, I whispered my intention of hanging it there and she was incredibly pleased to hear so. We sat together by the fire, my plaid blanket wrapped around our legs to warm ourselves. Mother was taken for a short sleep and Penny granted Miss Ainsley a short tour of some of the rooms, leaving us alone with one another for some time. We thanked each other for our presents, our hands entwined, her head on my shoulder, and we sat in gratified silence. I read the newspaper and informed her that the Rocket had been overpowered by Planet, a new train that can travel up to thirty-five miles per hour. She was delighted by this, lifting her head to read along with me, her chin settling on my shoulder. I informed her that Stephenson had also been appointed chief engineer at the London and Birmingham line (192), which should be even more fantastic than Manchester and Liverpool, especially as it has been rumoured to travel over the Ouse on its completion. She asked me where, that we should see it together. Milton Keynes, I informed her (193). This delighted her and we agreed that we should travel together once it was completed, so that we could view the line for ourselves. Together, we sat, waiting for the others. We had quite the discussion between ourselves about travelling, about our morning at Church, about the new year, how she must fast soon for Saphala Ekadashi (194), how content we were, how pleased we were to be with one another.

Asudden, she remarked that there was mistletoe under the doors- had I noticed? I said I had not. They had been placed there purposefully, she told me. This startled me; I did not know of their existence and I wondered on her putting them there. For the Christmas spirit?- I asked her, since they are traditional and I know how she likes to adorn the place with little ornaments. She laughed, her head lifting, her chin resting once more on my shoulder, and her eyes sparkled with such mischief and affection that it quite unnerved me. I had not the courage I had before in nearly kissing her- these pages know how tormented I was for having almost taken all innocence from her- and I uttered: did she not think mistletoe traditional? She said she cared not so much for tradition but she did not mind a little kiss, that she quite sought it. How strange, I said, for there was nobody here other than our little group, that she should not expect any suitor to kiss her so improperly and whole-heartedly, that she should not even think of anything so indecent for her own sake but also in there being no suitor present. She laughed again, much louder and longer. Once she had finished, she called me a priss (195), which I did not think fair. She asked did I not want to be kissed whole-heartedly and improperly by someone, not even once? I said I could not imagine it, though I could not prevent myself from ignoring my own advice and conjured many images to my mind of this very thing.

Bonnie leant across and kissed me on the cheek, her lips lingering against me. She sat back, grinning terribly from ear to ear, and she stroked my arm as if to soothe my abashment. There, she said, I was kissed whole-heartedly but not quite improperly. She had saved me from hellish torment, though it was unfair of me to receive all of the kisses and she had none. Was it not the season of generosity? I supposed it was and one would not hurt, so I leant forward and kissed her swiftly and clumsily on the cheek. I did not mean to be so ungainly but in my haste, I rather smacked her than kissed her with my lips but she did not appear to mind and was very pleased. She looked like a cat who had certainly gotten the cream; I believe she is as cunning. I felt my cheeks warm and she laughed again, lifting our entwined hands to kiss mine, and she lowered them back onto our legs, her head resting once more on my shoulder.

She continued to converse as if nothing had passed between us and I thought her a coquette. Certainly, she does not realise how greatly she pains me when she acts so, how much my heart aches and yearns for her. It is unfair she asks me to kiss her so brazenly and kisses me too, and then acts as if nothing has occurred between us. I could not be so unaffected! My heart did not rest in its frantic rhythm for some time and it was startled again when Penny and Miss Ainsley returned, Bonnie releasing me before they had entered, and I sat in much difficulty as I listened to the list of compliments Miss Ainsley had for the estate and its furnishings. Mother soon returned from her rest. The beating of my pulse could be heard in my ears but it had only begun to subside by the time she arrived.

Together, we talked for a little while longer and as I looked around at the scene before me, I could not help but think- what a picture of family contentment! I could have remained there for the rest of my days and been quite happy. Even Diana was well-behaved and when she came to sit with us, she settled nicely near Penny, who was sat on the rug by the fire. She allowed Penny to stroke her until she was almost slumbering, though Bonnie wished to stroke her too and she went to the floor to crouch over the dog and pet her. I thought it all superfluous, particularly as Miss Ainsley also cooed over Diana but the little dog hardly minds. She finds it encouraging. So does Penny, who also likes the attention. Eventually, Bonnie returned to me and I remarked that the dog must be her new favourite. She said that was hardly the case; the difference with Diana is that she allows herself to be petted. I pursed my lips and did not respond.

Soon after, Miss Ainsley and Bonnie returned to Colworth House, I waiting upon the driveway until they were out of sight. It was hard to view them, as it was dark, but I remained anyhow until I was certain that they had disappeared. I returned inside, arm in arm with Penny, who remarked how lovely the day had been, how comfortable we all were with one another, and how much Diana had liked the attention. I had no doubt that was the case.

Hereafter, she mentioned a strange subject. She expressed that she thought I needed some respite, from working on the cottages and the factory, but also from Bonnie. I did not understand why I should need respite from Bonnie- she was not difficult to focus on, unlike my work. Penny said no but she has occupied a considerable portion of my time and effort. My expression must have revealed my bewilderment, for she continued by saying that she believes it wonderful of me to care so deeply for our neighbour, but I should not do so at the expense of my own health and comfort, that I often forget both in my pursuit to care for others. I did not entirely agree and this caused Penny to raise her brows. She says she has seen me tired in the evenings or even in the mornings where I have spent all night calming Bonnie and ensuring she is content; that I have dashed between the Park and the House to care for our mother, for Bonnie, and for the business; that she has seen me slumber in an instant in the chair, moments after rubbing my eyes and neck, complaining I am sore. She says, too, that I have been in higher spirits since becoming acquainted with Bonnie but she thinks that I am also cross for longer periods of time and oft troubled. She told me that I cannot accept this strain forever, that I must place it down, in whatever way that may be. My heart was troubled with one matter or another, she knew, and I must not distress myself when it could easily be avoided.

I had not said anything during this time and she said she would not continue speaking if I weren’t to listen and that she did not mean to grieve me in any way; she simply wished me well and she felt that I was not entirely well in whatever way that was. I was quiet, since I felt she was correct in some instances and in others, I could not comprehend what she meant. I told her so and she did not continue the conversation, but told me that it was fine, that we should appreciate the rest of our day together. Although she kept to her word and said nothing more, she appearing as cheerful as she always did, I reflected on all that she had said.

I know that I often become absorbed in one subject or another. I cannot prevent it; it is in my nature. In doing so, I often place myself in all sorts of positions and events that I did not mean to, exhausting myself in the process. She was not wholly incorrect; I was tired, certainly. I ended every day fatigued, aching in body, mind, and spirit. Although Bonnie had brought me much joy, there had also been unease in our acquaintance. But I thought of her hand entwined with me, the weight of her head on my shoulder, her lips on my cheek, and I thought that it was inconceivable I should release her. I could not part from her, not yet. We were all so familiar with one another, content in each other’s presence. I can see that even mother is becoming used to Bonnie and Miss Ainsley, that she did not mind them being here yesterday. That is rare for her that she should not begrudge anyone for coming into her home.

I lay awake last night- and awoke this morning- thinking on what Penny had said, the flushed countenance of Bonnie as we circled over the hills and how her voice rang out over the fields, and as she read from the Bible, when she raised her glass at the table and looked directly at me, and the way she pressed my hand as she climbed into the carriage. I am tired, certainly, but I am not tired of her. I could never tire of her. Of the way she smiles, of the way her voice sounds as she says my name, of the way the morning light now settles upon her portrait in the study. Despite the weariness I feel for some aspects of my life- for the tediousness of my family situation, for the house in which we live, for the business, for the society that I have been placed within, for my heart which rebels against its supposed natural course- amongst it all, I do not weary of her. I think of yesterday and I think, certainly, joy to the world! That is what she brings me- joy. I could not have felt closer to God with us all sitting together yesterday and with her directly beside me. Surely, we had tasted heaven. And there is no mistake to be had. Not there; not with her.
God bless everyone and God bless you, journal. Merry Christmas!

Chapter Notations

188. Adonis is the mortal lover of Aphrodite in Greek mythology. He is seen as a symbol of rising in the summer and dying in the winter, hence ‘Adonis has gone to Tartarus’ being a phase that indicates the Winter Solstice.

189. Frumenty was a dish that was popular in the Georgian Era as a side dish. It is a porridge dish that would often be flavoured with almonds, currants, saffron, and sugar.

190. A wassail bowl was a bowl that would include cider, ale, and mead infused with apples and spices. This was shared around the table as a Yuletide drink, where everyone would then hail good health to their loved ones.

191. A muff is a fashion accessory, cylinder in shape, that was made from fur or fabric. Both hands could be inserted inside in order to keep the hands warm.

192. There were rumours of a London and Birmingham railway as early as 1925, but George Stephenson was not appointed chief engineer until 1830. It took another three years for the railway to be approved.

193. The railway line travelled over the Great Ouse River at Wolverton. A one and a half mile embankment, as well as a viaduct, was created in order for this to be accomplished.

194. Saphala Ekadashi is a fasting day for those who celebrate Hinduism, particularly those who worship the god Vishnu. This is a sacred day, as, by fasting, the devotees believe they can wash away their sins and achieve a joyful existence. Since ‘saphala’ is translated as ‘to prosper’, this celebration is for those who wish to make space in their lives for success, abundance, and fortune.

195. Priss is another word for prude.

Chapter Text

The morning had brought its difficulties. Penny was in high spirits, chattering incessantly at breakfast, and in departing the dining room, Yvonne believed she had achieved peace. Yet, she was mistaken. Penny followed her into the library where she continued to talk, the border collie accompanying her, dutifully. Seating herself in her customary chair, Yvonne ruffled the newspaper to indicate silence, although this remained unheeded. Her sister had grasped a magazine, kneeling upon the floor to read it, the paper lain across the table in front of her.

As Diana sat upright beside her, Penny flicked through the publication, indifferent to the words that lay before her. A metre away, Yvonne’s non-committal hums and remarks did not indicate that the youngest ought to be quiet, as she had hoped, but merely encouraged her to speak further. It appeared to Penny that she was interested in her chatter and so, she did not cease in her prattle but merely continued, ardently.

“And then I shall be in town with Miss Leong and Miss Palmer. It has been rather cumbersome, I must say, for Nuo is often accompanied by her brother. This was hardly an issue before but since the proposal, it has been rather difficult to enjoy his company. He simply wallows! The way that man wallows is almost impressive.” Penny paused to giggle, her hand rapidly tossing the pages over. “I can see why he was refused! Even Nuo is irked with him. Hopefully, he does not join us today. Nobody has been allowed to mention Bonnie at all for fear of distressing him! It is an awful palaver.”

Yvonne’s head turned at the sound of their neighbour’s name.

“Pardon?”

Discerning that she had been inattentive, Penny frowned up at her. “Were you listening?”

“Yes, you mentioned Bonnie.”

Penny arched her gaze, the first two words emphasised to accentuate the irritation she felt on having to repeat herself. “I said we are not allowed to mention Bonnie in front of Mister Leong. It has been cumbersome being around him.”

Yvonne blinked. “Why would that be?”

“Because of the proposal, you boob (196)!” The exasperated bellow induced Diana to bark, primarily in imitation of her owner. “Remember? He has been devastated since she refused him.”

Penny continued to flick through the magazine, turning the pages to the start so that she could repeat the motion once more, anticipative that she had missed the articles in her swift perusal. From her chair, Yvonne continued to stare at her. Her lips began to slowly thin into a narrow line, her brows down-turning in equal measure.

“Penny...”

Penny stared up at her, exhaling. Impatiently, she uttered- “Yes, Yvonne?”

“What do you mean by a proposal?”

The words that she emitted were accentuated with a disturbing clarity of tone, a chilling resolution to her voice that caused her sister to halt. In her bewilderment, the girl did not glance upward, the realisation dawning that the eldest was unaware of the event. Troubled, Penny did not know how to proceed but stared down at the table for some moments, though a swift glance at Diana calmed her, for the dog did not appear perturbed by the situation that was unravelling. Penny raised her gaze, slowly, peering timidly up at her sister.

“Did Bonnie not tell you?” she questioned.

“Tell me what, precisely?” Yvonne demanded.

“I thought she had!” Penny’s countenance pinkened- she did not wish to be blamed for any discord between them. “I saw her the week after. She told me everything... that Mister Leong had proposed to her. She refused, naturally, but she was troubled; she wanted to discuss it with someone. Clearly, her cousins were of no comfort to her! I assumed she would have told you when she saw you.”

Yvonne pursed her lips, her fingers tightly gripping onto the newspaper.

“No,” was the response.

Returning her gaze to the articles, she did not answer any further. Penny sat in silence, neither touching the magazine nor looking at her sister. She did not dare to speak further, for she did not savour the adamant expression that had formed on her sister’s countenance, any visible warmth withdrawing from her gaze, and as she had not been confided in, she could not begin to discuss the matter, nor comprehend how to solve it. Thus, she remained in reticence. Yet, she need not fear long, for Yvonne tossed the newspaper onto the table and stood.

“I am leaving.”

Penny repressed the urge to question where she was headed, simply nodding in response. She observed her sister stride from the room, the material of her pantaloons as they swiftly brushed together revealing her dissatisfaction.

When the door closed behind her, Penny winced. Sighing lightly, she discerned that she could not fully comprehend Yvonne’s grief, though she knew the eldest sorely experienced it. Penny believed she could speculate as to where this difficulty had arisen, primarily from her observations of her sister and her life, though she wished she knew more of the situation. She wished to assist her. Nevertheless, Penny was beginning to accept that she would never be confided in. The thought afflicted her but she was uncertain of how to relieve it. She discerned it may never be eased. That would require her sister to trust her.

The hurried footsteps, the frantic bursts of air that poured from her lips were all that Yvonne could hear, apart from the pulsation of her heartbeat in her ears. She was headed towards Colworth House, the animosity within her spurring her onward, yet, upon viewing the edifice, she halted. The displeasure that had been aroused within her upon hearing the revelation yielded to another feeling altogether, one that she anticipated but one that she could not bear to endure. This sorrow within her arose as swiftly as the vexation and she turned from the House, directing her path towards the fields instead, the terrain that lay beyond the estate.

She thought upon Augusta, upon Josephine, her mother, her father, those who she had been surrounded by in her childhood and adolescence. She thought of their taunts, their judgement, their dismissal, the love that she had craved and had been refused. No matter who she became, who she had tried to be, the achievements she earned, they were inadequate in comparison to the expectations of others. Yvonne was inadequate. With this thought, she breathed heavily through her mouth, each breath barely repressing the abounding emotion within her. Yet, she continued to walk, her strides becoming quicker in her need to escape the woman behind her, the emotion that she invoked.

Try as she might, she could not prevent herself from ruminating. Her thoughts and emotions swelled within her until she was certain she would collapse from the pain that surged through her chest, her hand reaching up to massage the centre. It felt as if she could barely breathe, that her chest was beginning to constrict terribly, and she endeavoured to ease the pain, though no such relief came to her.

Traversing the landscape, she observed a hill and started towards it, ascending the slope. The exertion of climbing allowed the tension in her body to bring the release that she desperately yearned for, that being a focus for her mind. Her attention remained on the beating of her heart, the dull aching of her limbs, and the bursts of air escaping her lips and for a moment, it was eased.

She arrived at the summit of the hill, viewing the scenery before her, all that lay towards the horizon. From where she stood, she observed Colworth House and across the terrain, Haynes Park. They were far removed from one another in distance, though, in overall proximity, they were immediately beside one another. Yvonne did not find this analogy amusing, though she laughed anyhow, her chest heaving.

Craning her neck backward, she stared up into the dismal, grey sky, the torment that resided within her erupting, and she screamed. This resounding yell echoed into the skies above, the force of it draining her. From behind, a pair of birds flew from the trees and hastened from her, preferring to settle in a quieter branch. Her knuckles whitened as she gripped her cane, she flinging it across the grass, watching as it spun through the air and rebounded along the ground. Yvonne collapsed to her knees, her resentment spent, and she wept, deeply. The sobs wracked through her body, she staring across at Colworth House. The sight merely distressed her more.

Despite Bonnie’s refusal, she did not doubt that it was over. Yvonne had not expected to be triumphant, not in winning her heart or hand, but she had been unprepared, all the same, for the time when she would lose her. She had believed she could be with her a little longer before a serious contender arose in search of her neighbour’s heart. Undoubtedly, copious men found her beauty, fortune, and disposition charming, and if Mr Leong was not the man to impress her, there would be another. She would be removed from her life, either way, and Yvonne feared that she would take her heart with her, watching as the organ continued to beat in the hand of its victor, even after it was removed, a bloody trail left in its wake as it was carried further from her until they were separated forever. In time, she felt there would be nothing left but a hollow space within her where her heart was supposed to be, where it had been taken ruthlessly from her.

Staring at the House, she drew a quivering breath inward. She knew she must release Miss Donoghue, though she had not planned for it to be so soon. Yet, the reality was that Bonnie had never been hers to begin with. Yvonne could not refuse her neighbour the societal comfort she so earnestly desired, not for her own satisfaction. It was time for them to part ways.

Chapter Notations

196. Boob: Idiot.

Chapter Text

The doorbell echoed throughout Colworth House, rousing the curiosity of Bonnie. She had not expected a visitor. Nobody had informed her of their intention to call nor was it anyone’s ordinary visiting hours. Curious, she peered through the window, craning her neck to glimpse whoever was stood at the entryway. Delighted, she perceived it was Yvonne and she dashed, in anticipation, to the drawing room. In her haste, she encountered her footman in the hallway, who had come to request Miss Davers’ admittance. Mr Reeves was startled to perceive her as she hurried past, his question fading into reticence as he watched her. Nevertheless, she distinguished what he was to say and advised that her guest be brought to the drawing room.

Entering, Bonnie closed the door behind her, hastening to the sofa. She collapsed upon it, a huff of air releasing in the effort. Whilst she waited for her visitor, she attempted to regain her breath, smoothing her skirts in unison with her breathing. Bonnie was pleased to note that Miss Ainsley was at the presbytery (197), allowing for the two of them to remain alone together. The smile that this induced was still on her lips when the door opened and her neighbour entered.

Observing her, howbeit, her smile began to fade. Bonnie discerned the solemnness upon her features, concerned that a predicament had arisen, the remnants of concern that followed the burglary still present within her mind. There was no customary greeting nor any indication that her guest wished to be present. Consequently, Bonnie hesitated, uncertain of how to proceed, but she soon gained courage, for she wished to ease her in any way she could.

Approaching her neighbour, she embraced her tightly, leaning backward, moments later, to peer into her expression. It remained unmoved, though she detected the agitation in her gaze. As she regarded her, she was startled to perceive that her companion was on the brink of tears, the sight arousing her compassion, and she reached upward to gently stroke her cheek.

“Do you wish to speak about it?” she inquired.

Yvonne lowered her gaze, her bottom lip trembling. Her sole response was to lean into her touch, the expression on her countenance sombre. Discerning this silent answer, Bonnie lowered her hand to entwine her fingers with the woman before her, gently guiding her into the room.

“Come, we can play cards.”

This endeavour was futile, however. A game of whist did not cheer her. The longer Yvonne was silent, the more perturbed Bonnie became, her own spirits lowering considerably. Her offer of chess was rebuffed and Bonnie sat down at the pianoforte, reciting her favourite pieces, though her neighbour did not respond, apart from some words of acknowledgement on their completion.

Troubled, she stared at the sombre expression, deliberating on how she could soothe her. The thought that Yvonne had always comforted her unsettled her, for she was ashamed that she could not return the gesture. Moments later, inspiration struck and she smiled, pressing down on the keys, the slow movement revealing itself to be Romanze.

Whilst she played, she heeded that her neighbour’s gaze had risen, settling upon her, watching her steadily as the tranquil but plaintive melody echoed in the room. The notion that she had roused her from silence pleased Bonnie, her spirits lifting as the piece continued. Each time she played, she thought solely of her neighbour and she hoped that in hearing it, Yvonne thought of her. As the piece came to an end, she allowed the notes to fade, peering expectantly at her guest.

Howbeit, the affliction in the woman’s features astonished her. She had believed that the piece would lift her spirits but she was mistaken. Yvonne’s quiet apprehension was starting to unnerve Bonnie and there was a poignancy within her gaze whenever it settled upon her that she had never seen before. Although she could not define the emotion, her own sensitivity responded to it and she was starting to perceive that she did not wish to hear the reason for her upset. She sensed that it would be hurtful to her own sensibility.

From her place in the armchair, Yvonne’s lips parted but Bonnie stood, as if in protest.

“Bonnie, we must talk...”

“No, I think we should dance.”

Yvonne stared up at her as she approached, disturbed by her refusal. Softly, she uttered-

“I am prepared now to share what is on my mind.”

The affliction she was experiencing affected Bonnie and she, too, felt afflicted, merely increasing the sense of urgency within her to avoid the discussion. She reached out her hand.

“We can talk,” she assured her. “But first, you owe me a dance.”

Yvonne glanced down at her hand, hesitation emerging on her features but she released a quiet huff of laughter, a smile appearing for the first time since her arrival.

“I suppose you are correct,” she conceded. “I do owe you a dance.”

She accepted her hand, allowing herself to be led from the room. As she walked, Yvonne almost closed her eyes, feeling the softness of her companion’s skin as it brushed against her, her fingers unconsciously tightening their grip. Yet, moments later, Bonnie released her hand to open the rear entrance, ushering her across the gardens towards the orangery.

Entering, they closed the doors behind them, feeling the heat start to seep from their bodies and from the nursery. It was not as pleasant to sit in the orangery during the winter, due to the chill that emanated from the glass, yet the edifice was able to maintain some heat of its own capacity, hence the vast array of trees and plants that were housed there throughout the year. Standing in the centre, they came to a halt and faced each other, silently.

Restless, Yvonne urged- “And then we shall talk?”

“If I do not enliven you first.”

Yvonne smiled, though the sentiment did not quite reach her gaze. “Yes, we shall see.” She paused. “We have no music.”

“We can dance without it,” Bonnie assured her.

Yvonne grimaced. “We will look ridiculous.”

“No, we can sing,” she protested. “It shall be lovely.” After a moment of deliberation, she added- “We can waltz.”

They assumed the position, Bonnie feeling the weight of her neighbour’s grasp on her waist, the delicate way in which her hand was held, the sensation causing her to smile at her companion. Yvonne’s gaze lowered, swiftly, her cheeks darkening.

Disconcerted, Bonnie started to hum, the tender sound reverberating in the spacious room. They swayed in rhythm with the murmur, their feet, seconds later, stepping effortlessly across the floor, each movement in concert with one another. The echoing of their footsteps on the marble floor drummed in time with the music that she created, the rustle of their clothes the sole accompanying sound to them both. In the midst of the orangery was an aisle in which one could walk back and forth amidst the greenery. It was this passage that they danced within, their feet sweeping across the floor as they took one stride after another, each motion wholly in unison with their partner.

Whilst they marched, Bonnie’s voice leading them in this sedate waltz, the peculiar nature of their dance was not lost on her consciousness, and as she whirled across the floor, she giggled in the midst of her singing. The abrupt laugh caused Yvonne to laugh also. They recognised that they both felt absurd, yet their gaze met, both smiling, and this encouraged them to continue.

Bonnie was startled to note the vigour with which Yvonne began to guide her, as though her fervour to dance was ignited by this moment of revelry. Allowing herself to be led, she was twirled in a circle, her hand coming to rest on Yvonne’s waist, as Yvonne’s was on hers, and they danced almost pressed against one another. This intimacy caused Bonnie to smile. She released her hand from her waist, allowing herself to be twirled once more, Yvonne lightly drawing her backward until Bonnie’s behind was pressed against the front of her partner. With her hand still on her waist, Bonnie placed her hand over the top of her companion’s, unable to resist brushing her fingers against her. Her other hand was held upward, not once released from Yvonne’s light grasp, and they moved in concert once more, stepping nimbly across the room. She sensed her neighbour turn her head, her breath felt on her cheek, and she closed her eyes, the edge of her lips tilting upward at the feeling.

Yvonne’s nose brushed against her as she stared at Bonnie, observing the contentment on her features, the way the dim, mid-day light fell upon her. She could sense the softness of her thick, raven hair, the curl that was pressed against her temple in their proximity, the smooth fingers that rested on her own, and the luscious feeling of Bonnie’s blue, velvet dress beneath her fingertips. Inhaling in gratification, Yvonne was unable to repress the smile that arose, sensing the familiar scent of lavender emanating from nearby. In response, Bonnie leant her head further into Yvonne’s touch, feeling her companion’s nose press firmly against her. There was a hum of amusement from the woman behind her.

“You are undoubtedly winsome, Miss Donoghue,” Yvonne breathed, contentedly. “You hardly know how much.”

Bonnie perceived the warmth of her breath against her cheek, the tip of her nose brushing gently against her, and she trembled.

“Then tell me.”

Yvonne turned her around so that they were facing one another. Despite the usual stance, they were closer to each other than before. Neither leant back as they were supposed to, electing to remain where they were.

Bonnie stared across at her, the contentment within her increasing, even as Yvonne did not answer. The proximity between them was exhilarating, her fingers tightening on her companion’s shoulder. Moments later, she released her, her hand coming to rest on the back of her neck, her fingertips lost amidst the short yellow hair, its hue reminding her of the sun. Christmas had revived her spirits to a small degree and she had thought incessantly on the beginning of the new year, the opportunities that she conceived it would herald. Amidst it all, she saw Yvonne, these hopes and dreams orbiting her as if she truly were the centre of the universe. Bonnie hummed happily, absent-mindedly stroking her neighbour’s hair.

In her satisfaction, she did not wholly comprehend that Yvonne had leant towards her, her nose almost brushing her own. When Bonnie raised her gaze back to her companion’s countenance, she smiled in response, her attention lowering to her lips. She did not wish to alarm her, nor to cause her uneasiness, so she peered slowly upward, observing her expression. Her companion did not remove herself from her grasp nor exhibit any concern at the motion; she merely stared tenderly at her, her thumb brushing instinctively against her hand.

Emboldened, Bonnie inhaled sharply and leant forward, her lips pressing against her neighbour’s. There was a brief moment where she received no response, they both standing still. Discouraged, she was prepared to lean back when she felt the same pressure being applied to her own lips.

At the touch, Bonnie softened into the embrace, rapturous that her affection had been received. She had kissed Yvonne Davers and, in turn, Yvonne was kissing her. Bonnie did not know which God to thank but thanked them all. All she could comprehend was Yvonne’s arms around her, the softness of her hair beneath her fingertips, the gentle caress of her lips against her own, and Bonnie believed she had discovered heaven on Earth. No, she did not believe; she knew.

Chapter Notations

197. A presbytery is the house of a Roman Catholic parish priest.

Chapter Text

The touch lasted seconds. In those moments, it was tortuous and exquisite, they continuing to kiss one another, hesitation and ardour simultaneously present. Yvonne’s hands tightened their grip on Bonnie, on her hand and waist, clutching them both as closely to her as possible, attempting to imprint the sensation of her body against her own. It was not until she believed she had succeeded, that she felt she may part from her and forever remember the imprint of her body, that she stepped away, disentangling Bonnie from her arms.

The dismay that she felt in enacting this gesture was apparent and she was unwilling to view the expression upon her companion’s face, the astonishment, the bliss, the tenderness that would undoubtedly be present. Rather, Yvonne turned from her, her hand resting on her head whilst she stared at the vast array of greenery along the wall, before turning around, seconds later, to face Bonnie. She did not speak but glanced around the orangery, restlessly, her hands coming to rest on her hips. If the movement had not been astonishing in its suddenness, the sight of her standing there, quizzically, would have been comical.

Bewildered and abashed, Bonnie watched her, uttering, seconds later-

“Are you all right, Yvonne?” When her companion continued to peer around her, disoriented, she pressed on. “I apologise for any discomfort I have caused you. It was unintentional, you must believe me.”

Yvonne’s gaze was drawn directly to her, her expression softening.

“You must not apologise, Bonnie. It is not your fault.” The edge of her mouth twitched and she stared across at her neighbour with a lamentable expression. Despite the disquietude within her, the following words were spoken with great resolution. “You cannot help the way that you are... But I can.”

“How do you mean?” Bonnie frowned.

“I should not have allowed this dalliance to continue for as long as it has. Not when your intention is to go no further. I know you will marry a man, Bonnie, one way or another.” Her mouth downturned, her voice quivering. “I do not wish for it to be true but it is.” Yvonne’s countenance was wretched as she spoke, as was her tone. “I beg you not to kiss me, to give me hope, when there is none. We both know that you will have to leave me in the future, and I would rather we did not continue as intimately as we have with one another if that is to be the case.”

Bonnie shook her head. “It is not the case! I have told you numerous times, Yvonne, that I do not wish to marry.”

“You received a proposal...”

“That I refused!” Her gaze flickered to the stance of the woman before her, the weariness in her features, the distress in her eyes, and she felt herself soften. Stepping forward, she halted almost immediately, for she noted the way Yvonne flinched. Bonnie inhaled sharply, perturbed to have caused such a reaction, yet when she spoke, her voice was gentle, despite her nerves. “For some time now, I have held hope that you may return a semblance of the affection and devotion that I feel for you. The truth is, Yvonne, I love you, passionately and unreservedly. You hardly know what I would give for you to love me in return.”

At the words that she had longed so desperately to hear, Yvonne stared at the glass, her teeth pressing into her lip. The sentiment was painful to hear, elation and despair arising within her, and she dragged her teeth across her lip to prevent the tears that were beginning to arise.

“Did you hear me, Yvonne?” Bonnie questioned, taking another step towards her. The following words were quiet but they were emphasised with every ounce of feeling that she could possibly muster. “I love you.”

As she moved, Yvonne instinctively stepped backward, her gaze rising to meet hers with wilful ferocity.

“No,” she refuted. “No, you are infatuated as any girl would be. That is not love and it will not last.” Withdrawing further, she endeavoured to create a suitable distance between them. Her attempt at indifference was thwarted by her quivering inhale, her voice thick with emotion as she half-sobbed the following emittance. “I will not allow you to break my heart.”

Bonnie flinched as she spoke, her gaze settling irritably on her companion.

“I am not a girl, Yvonne. I am a woman and I have the right to decide for myself. Are you not the one who has continually assured me that I am an adult and I have the right to choose my own destiny? That I have the right to take action as I see fit?” Upon viewing the disagreement that had formed in her expression, Bonnie retorted- “You cannot tell me how to love!”

“I would never tell you how to love,” Yvonne countered, “but we were speaking of your life, your aspirations, not... not romance!” She hesitated, momentarily, before uttering: “Not this.”

“So, I am incapable of deciding upon the person I love, but I can correctly form any other decision regarding my life?”

Yvonne was silent for a moment. She appeared to be deliberating how to respond, though she was uncertain how and she laughed, primarily in bemusement but also in frustration.

“You are inexperienced,” was the eventual response.

Upon heeding those words, Bonnie’s cheeks flushed crimson.

“I am not so inexperienced as to believe that my advances were unwelcome,” she contended. “You claim that you did not wish for us to be intimate in any way, but was it not you that, some weeks ago, attempted to kiss me before we were so brazenly interrupted by Miss Ainsley? I did not speak of it in case you were modest and were not yet comfortable in admitting our fondness for one another, but you were quite willing to accept my affection whenever it was given. In fact, you received it very well.”

Yvonne stared across at her, her eyes widening, her countenance and ears swiftly reddening in her abashment.

Stammering, she asserted- “That was an erroneous judgement on my behalf. It shall not and should not happen again.” Inhaling deeply, she steeled her reserve, though she could not rid herself of the aching sensation that had developed in her chest. “In light of the circumstances, I think it would be best if we did not meet with one another. Not for a while. I have thought upon it and I think it is the best course of action. In truth, I was hoping to tell you earlier.”

Any fortitude that Bonnie possessed disappeared and her hands clasped together, apprehensively, her voice lowering.

“You do not wish to associate with me?” She paused. “Is it my health?”

Yvonne hastened to assure her, stepping forward, her arm rising to grasp her in comfort, but she recalled her propriety and maintained her distance, her arms falling rigidly to her side.

“No, it is nothing to do with your health.” Viewing the forlorn expression that was beginning to form on her neighbour’s countenance, she added, swiftly: “Please, believe me.”

Bonnie stared across at her. “But?”

“But I think Miss Ainsley is correct,” she admitted. “We are too close and it has caused upset in the past. With the dance... Mister Leong. I think that we have become too dependent on one another and I want you to achieve your full potential, but I do not think that I can be of any help to you now. I do not want to hinder you in your social connections, in your health, and happiness.” She hesitated, looking fixedly at her. Her brow downturned, her features softening, and she fervidly declared- “I cannot make you happy, Bonnie. I do not think that is my role when it comes to our friendship. Perhaps in another life, the circumstances would be different, but we are not there. We are here. And I wish you every happiness. I simply fail to see where I can be a part of it.”

“You are my happiness,” Bonnie insisted. “I have never loved anybody as I have loved you.”

Yvonne bowed her head, adamant that she would not fall prey to the charms of her neighbour, choosing, instead, to persistently object against her opinion and her very own desires. She continued to believe that Bonnie was mistaken; any part of her that believed otherwise was daunted by the idea that she may be loved. In being so, she would lose her anyhow. They would not be the victors against societal obligation; she did not believe they could triumph against it all, for she had endeavoured to and each time, she had been mistaken. Loss was the inevitable outcome; Yvonne could not fathom any other conclusion.

“It will pass,” she uttered. “Nobody has ever been able to sustain any sort of feeling towards me, not in the end. You are destined to live with another, to love another, and you shall soon move to greater heights than this.” Glancing upward, she traced the features of the woman before her. The desolation within her was impossible to subdue, her head tilting sideways, as if the sentiment was forcing her to her knees and she could hardly abide remaining upright. Forlorn, though tender, she admitted: “But I can never forget you so easily.”

Watching her, dolefully, Bonnie relented to the sentimentality of her companion. She approached her, tentatively, reaching outward to curl her fingers around her wrist. Tilting her head to match her gaze, her thumb gently brushed against her in a soothing motion.

“Why do you not believe me when I say I choose you?” she petitioned. “Freely and wantonly.” She leant forward, inducing her companion to meet her gaze. “I love you, Yvonne. I have loved you from the moment I saw you. You have become so deeply embedded in my heart that I think I always will.” Her other hand reached up to rest against her cheek, stroking her gently. Emboldened that she did not pull away, she continued. “I cannot be without you; if you leave, you will break my heart.”

Following this fervent declaration, her voice yielded to the feeling within her, tears welling in her eyes. Yvonne winced, glancing askance, incapable of viewing her distress.

“Do not say that,” she urged, lowly, her cheek pressing firmly into her neighbour’s hand. Her own reached up to rest atop it, despite herself.

“Say what, precisely?”

“Any of it.”

“Why not?” she demanded.

“Because I refuse to believe it!” was the impassioned response. “For the sake of us both, we should remain apart.”

Bonnie leant forward, their noses almost colliding, and she desperately searched the gaze of her companion, her thumb continuing to stroke her, gently.

“Do you truly believe that? You think that is best?”

Yvonne stared, wide-eyed, at her. There was visible reluctance in her gaze but she inhaled sharply, her hand releasing Bonnie’s. With resolution, she stated:

“I know that is best.”

Bonnie embraced her around the shoulders, one hand clutching the back of her neck. She was openly weeping, unable to restrain herself any longer. “Yvonne, please... Stay.”

“And watch you become someone else’s wife? No, I could not bear it.”

“I will not be anyone else’s wife,” she wailed. Lowering her head, she rested it against Yvonne’s collarbone, the cravat pressing into the side of her head. She sobbed into the shirt, her hands curling in the thin material. She could not bear to release her, uttering- “I promise.”

They stood in silence. Bonnie was too worsted for words, clasped resolutely to her, as if she were to sink to the floor and drown in her misery if she were to release her clasp on the woman before her. As to Yvonne, she was unsettled. A tumult of emotions had arisen within her and it was solely through her restraint that she refrained herself from shuddering at the sheer force of them. She could sense the weight of Bonnie against her, the arm draped over one shoulder, the fingers curled at her neck, and she perceived that she was starting to alter her opinion. Afore, she had conceded to the wishes of her neighbour, had rebelled against her better judgement, and she knew that she was tempted to do so again, to pretend she had no such thoughts and remain with her, despite herself.

Bowing her head, the tip of her nose brushed against the dark hair. In response, her eyes closed and her lips parted in her grief, her body beginning to soften into the embrace. She was powerless when it came to her neighbour; that much was evident. Yvonne was weak. Nevertheless, she believed there came a time when she must seize control of her senses, where she must place distance between them for the sake of them both.

In her mind’s eye, she saw Josephine and she saw Augusta, the expression upon their countenance as they told her that they were leaving her for another, the devastation she had felt, the few other women in her life who had caught her interest, if not her affection, who had been married or were soon engaged to be, an unending cycle of misery wherever she roamed. This time, Yvonne had nowhere to escape to. Bedford was her home and now, it was Bonnie’s. She could not retreat to the Park, for her neighbour would always be near. It was a trap of her own making. The thought caused her chest to ache, the familiar sensation rising and falling within her chest, as if her heart was prepared to erupt from within.

Reaching upward, her fingers gently grazed the thick, black curls, her hand slowly folding into the soft hair. She inhaled deeply to compose herself, her nose still pressed against the top of her head, the faint smell of lavender and soap detected. Yvonne endeavoured not to be tempted but she felt her grip tighten on the woman against her, and she pressed her lips firmly to the top of her head. She thought once more of Josephine and Augusta; of her mother and her criticisms, of Penny and hers, and she thought of Bonnie. Bonnie as she slept, as she wept, as she read from the Bible, and she thought of all the times she had seen her smile, a haunting play within her mind that would never cease to be. At the thought, the throbbing within her chest merely worsened.

Silently, she prayed to the Lord above and to her companion for forgiveness, leaning backward a second later. She watched as Bonnie glanced up, momentarily disoriented by the movement, her chest heaving where she was trying to soothe her erratic breath, small graceful tears falling from her eyelids to her bosom.

Observing her, Yvonne perceived that her own hands trembled, removing them from her companion and clasping them behind her back, drawing an inward breath to regain some semblance of composure. She could not allow herself to be grieved, not this time, and she would do all in her power to prevent such an outcome from occurring, even if it was to wound Bonnie. In time, she believed the young woman would come to realise that she had been correct, grateful, someday, for the painful but necessary separation.

“You do not know what you want,” she told her, callously. “You are a child.”

Bonnie stared at her, bewilderment forming into a mixture of sorrow and displeasure. Her arms slowly unwound themselves from Yvonne, falling listlessly to her side, and she stepped away from her, her brow down-turning.

“And you are cruel.”

“Better to be cruel than a fool.”

The response had been directed at herself but Bonnie mistook it for criticism, her bottom lip trembling.

“So, you are not returning?” she demanded.

“No,” was the abrupt response.

As Bonnie’s chest began to heave quicker in her distress, her hands fumbling together, she half-blurted, half-rambled- “Excellent. I hardly wish to see you now.”

Her gaze flickered petulantly askance, unwilling to view her. She could not bear the sight of her, but she did not wish for her to leave either. Ahead, Yvonne’s mouth formed itself into a thin line, a moment’s hesitation afforded before she strode to the door of the orangery. She halted with her hand above the doorknob. There had been no particular reason for her pause, other than her reluctance to depart, seizing the moment to observe her companion as if it were for the last time.

Bonnie had been staring elsewhere but, on noticing her hesitation, she glanced askance. Abashed to be discovered, Yvonne bowed her head, rigidly.

“Good day, Miss Donoghue.”

Bonnie glanced irritably at her, returning her gaze to the space in front. With no response, Yvonne elected to leave, believing that there was nothing more she could say, for she had surely injured their friendship beyond repair. She opened the door, her foot stepping out onto the grass when she perceived Bonnie’s voice declare from within-

“You do not love me? You have no feeling towards me in any way?”

Bonnie was staring after her neighbour, her gaze beseeching. In observing her, Yvonne was incapable of expressing the answer that arose in her mind, but waited some moments to decipher what she was to say in its stead. Her gaze softened as she watched her, lowering it moments later in her shame, for she could not bear to be truthful. To Yvonne, her desire was evident, and it was a humiliation to admit her feeling when all that she coveted was not hers to possess.

“It is impossible for me to love you.”

Bonnie inhaled sharply, though that did not repress her emotion but merely encouraged it, and she sobbed with unexpected force, her gaze falling from Yvonne to the floor. Remorseful to have caused her torment, Yvonne refused to waver in her belief that she was acting in both of their interests, although a part of her could not resign herself to leaving her neighbour behind, particularly when she was in such a state of distress. Fortifying herself, she turned from the sight and dashed across the gardens, grimacing to have abandoned her.

Yvonne wasted no time in requesting her outerwear, seconds passing between acquiring them and the sound of her strides as she departed the household. Her quickened step revealed her agitation, her cane swinging in the air, thrashing through the grass, its punctuation into the ground merely echoing the short bursts of air that surged forth from her lips. Despite the turmoil that arose within her, the flush that had appeared in her cheeks, her expression began to compose, for she could not bear to be susceptible to weakness.

She endeavoured to harden herself, to reduce the emotion that was threatening to erupt from within. Yet, she could not repress the wail of torment that arose as she recalled the event. Resentful, she swung her cane through the air, the whooshing motion causing the grass to flutter frenziedly below. The action was a futile attempt to dispel the emotion within her, wiping away, thereafter, a collection of tears that had escaped onto her cheek. Yvonne endeavoured to forget her neighbour, though she was all she could think of, the sole picture in her mind being that of her expression as she sobbed, the affliction in her voice, and the feeling of her lips against hers. The thought almost caused her to stumble but she did not halt, pushing forward towards Haynes Park with a determined stride.

At Colworth House, the lady in question had not moved from the orangery but had waited until she heard the closing of the glass door, the sound echoing resolutely in her ears. One hand pressed against her chest, the other against her stomach, and though she attempted to remain upright, she sank to her knees, heeding the way her body convulsed from the force of her sobs. Raising her head, she stared up at the ceiling, the clouds that she could view through the glass, and she cried out in her grief, the noise resounding through the edifice. Weary, she hung her head, her hands falling to the ground beneath her, where they dangled limply at her side. Bonnie peered around her, at the plants, the chairs, the folded easel that was tucked underneath the table, and she noted the door where the sight of her neighbour was no longer visible. Inconsolable, she raised her hands to her face and wept. She wept with a vigour that she had not experienced since the death of her parents, uncertain as to whether she was capable of composing herself. It appeared that her heart had broken anew but if she were not to reconcile with her neighbour, she doubted it would ever be repaired. Bonnie could not bear to lose her.

Chapter Text

The rolling landscape that was customarily so verdant and green was a picture of desolation, with bare branches, ragged hedges, and faded vegetation. The snow had eased, restricting the fields from fully accentuating how picturesque, how remarkable, the countryside could be in the winter months. All was bleak, as bleak as Yvonne felt, and she stared down at the brown, muddied path that the carriage rolled along. She thought little of where she was headed or what precisely she had left behind, for she could not bear to think at all or to ponder on any subject that caused her a great deal of anguish.

After the dispute between herself and her neighbour, Yvonne had walked directly home, electing to traverse to her room forthwith and lay down in her bed until nightfall, weeping until there were no tears left to shed. She did not eat but wrote in her journal, spending some time afterward staring out of the window and contemplating how she was to live comfortably at the Park with her neighbour so close nearby. Every instinct in her urged her to disappear, to leave Bedford and create some distance between them until she was certain she could recover some semblance of dignity, although she was certain she had squandered all that was left within her.

The following day, she had informed Penny of her intention to travel to London, where she planned to venture further to France in two weeks’ time. With a mere two days between the announcement and her departure, the servants had been instructed to pack her portmanteau. She had spoken, too, with the new footman who had arrived three weeks previous, courtesy of Augusta. He was to travel abroad with her, and care for the horses and carriage. This abrupt news, however, did not perturb him and he informed her that he would be prepared to depart at the time she outlined. With the details tended to, she informed her family, who were less approving of her decision. Penny had sobbed, whilst Lady Davers merely stated that this would be the last time they would meet, for she would surely be dead by the time Yvonne deigned to return to the Park.

Offended, she marched from the music room, perceiving that Penny had followed. She believed she had come to inquire into leaving with her, as was her custom, but they had quarrelled upon the stairs. The eldest promised Penny that she may join her, that she had designated a space for her on the excursion, if she chose to accept it. Yvonne thought it was what her sister had wanted, to leave for Europe; she had begged countless times before, but Penny had stared at her with severe resentment. Contrary to the delight that she thought she would have felt, the girl did not respond at all but dashed upstairs.

She had hastened to her room, pacing in a circle around the bedchamber, one hand clasping her elbow. It was unfathomable to her that Yvonne should be leaving. Her sister was not scheduled to travel till spring, due to the health of Miss Donoghue. She could not decipher what had occurred between them, yet she assumed it was unfavourable, else Yvonne would not have been so capricious in the way she behaved, but she could not deduce if that meant Bonnie would not be leaving with her, that she would remain in Bedford for the time-being.

To leave was all that Penny had wished for, desired, and now it had been offered, she could not depart. They would be relishing their time abroad whilst Bonnie was unwell, whilst their mother was alone, and Penny did not wish to leave abruptly without speaking to Gregory, without them discussing how they were to correspond if she were to leave, but that meant she must stay until these matters were resolved. In that moment, she despised her sister, believed her selfish. Yvonne could not think beyond herself, beyond her own impulses, and it was those closest to her that must deal with the consequences.

As she paced, she caught sight of herself in the mirror, perceiving the redness in her countenance, the dampness of her skin where she had wept, and the wretched expression that had formed on her countenance. At the sight, her face contorted, her fist striking the mirror squarely in the centre. There was a resounding crack, the shards of glass collapsing to the floor. Penny perceived that her hand shook where it had collided with the glass, and she unclenched her fist to stare at the baubles of scarlet that had developed along her knuckles, mesmerised for a moment by the destruction she had caused, cradling the appendage within her hand.

When she had regained her senses, she called for the maid, careful to step from the glass that had dispersed around her. Nothing was said about the broken mirror; it was carefully discarded of by Margaret, who did not believe she was at liberty to inquire or express her concern, but remained dutiful to her mistress’ command.

A day later, Yvonne had encountered Penny in the library. The girl had watched her, guardedly, inquiring moments later as to whether Bonnie was willing to depart so quickly, particularly when they were not scheduled to leave until spring. She thought it would not aid her nerves. Yvonne was silent as she removed the books she had been searching for, admitting before she left that they would not be travelling together, that Bonnie was unwell, and it would be pertinent if they were to spend some time apart, precisely as Penny had suggested. As she could not contend, Penny did not respond. She stared indignantly down at her book, one hand resting on Diana as she absent-mindedly stroked her.

Watching her, Yvonne observed that her hand was bandaged, though she did not receive an adequate response as to why. She perceived that she was not to receive any acknowledgement unless Penny deigned to, and she did not, so Yvonne departed, the turmoil inside of her merely deepening to an unbearable degree.

On the morning of her embarkment, she had spoken briefly to the servants, kissed her mother farewell, and embraced Penny, kissing her firmly on the forehead, but her sister did not speak nor did she reciprocate the touch. The youngest had never refused her before but she barely raised her gaze to emit a farewell, the gravelled driveway seemingly of more interest. Perturbed, Yvonne stared down at her before patting her on the head. She was reluctant to release her, yet she knew she must, stepping unwillingly into the carriage. Penny did not wait for her to depart but hastened directly inside; it was solely her mother and the nurse that she could view as Haynes Park receded into the distance.

At present, there was nobody but herself and a slumbering Paulette, who was seated opposite. It was not a charming sight to watch the maid whilst she slept, her head flung back, her mouth parted; Yvonne preferred to stare at the muddied ground than at her. Staring out of the window, the sole comfort was that she would not be alone whilst in London, that there would be somebody to distract her from the strife that had materialised at home.

She had written a letter to Florence, hoping to speak with her. It was her preference that they meet before she left the country, merely out of consideration and comfort than from any want to discuss the year that had passed. She knew Florence would be there, for she had spent the winter months with her husband, this short period being the sole time, each year, that the both of them occupied their London home. In the letter, Yvonne had alluded to her travelling alone in the anticipation that her friend would not inquire into Miss Donoghue, knowing, as she did, that they had planned to journey together. Yet, she knew her friend well and a part of her feared that it would be this precise reason that Florence would mention her neighbour, invoking them both into another spirited debate.

Her fears were answered when she arrived at the inn, a letter awaiting her at the desk. Reading it in its entirety, Yvonne’s trepidation was eased by the report that Florence was visiting the gardens with a small party of friends and could not be excused, though she had arranged to meet her the day after. She was intent on occupying her time solely with Yvonne for as long as her friend wished to remain with her- or until she departed for France- whichever circumstance arrived first. At the conclusion of the letter, there was a remark expressing her insult that Yvonne should not stay in Florence’s home. As to her thoughts on the matter of travel, she stated that she wished to express them in person.

Yvonne folded the note and pocketed it, allowing herself to be led to her room once she had finished. From the letter, she expected that she would stay the night at the inn but that she would be conveyed, with great haste, to the Alstons the following day. It had not occurred to her to impose- it never did- but Florence would insist. Despite the reproof that she was bound to receive, in regards to her accommodation and in regards to her neighbour, Yvonne was relieved to abide with her friend, for she had sorely missed her and was in desperate need of her company.

This thought was not enough, however, to maintain any semblance of light-heartedness and once her belongings were settled in her room, Yvonne elected to visit the nearby amusements. She did not know where she wished to visit but she knew she wished to be employed with one endeavour or another until she returned, exhausted, to bed. In doing so, she would not have time to ponder or feel beyond the task that she chose to occupy herself with and that was preferable to her than sitting alone in her room with no other distraction than her ruminations. Yvonne did not wish to be alone.

The announcement that Mrs Alston had arrived was hastily delivered whilst Yvonne dined for lunch, one leg folded over the other, a newspaper concealing her face as she read. A plate was placed on the table in front but it had barely been touched, for she had no appetite; she hardly had since the disagreement. When the waiter indicated to her that her guest was present, the newspaper was lowered with a swift flick downward. She stared up at him, her reserved manner causing him to quiver, though she did not appear to notice this effect as she folded the paper.

“I shall receive her upstairs,” was the instruction.

He bowed, assuring her that he would escort Mrs Alston to the room. Expressing her gratitude, Yvonne departed through the rear entrance of the dining hall and roamed towards the staircase, the paper hanging limply in one hand. The sight before her, she did not appear to notice but stared vacuously ahead, her gaze drifting from the carpet to the wooden walls. Arriving in the room, she placed the paper on the vanity, staring at it without a thought in her mind. It was not until there was a knock at the door that she stirred, blinking in response, having been hastily drawn from her reverie. She seated herself by the fireplace before calling for the guest to enter.

The waiter had led Florence to the room but she did not appear to need his assistance. Before he could grasp the handle, she had thrust the door open. Her figure was impressive as she stood in the doorway, her large frame filling the entrance, especially in the consideration that she was marginally taller than Yvonne.

Turning to the waiter, she emitted- “Thank you, darling; you may leave.”

“I would like a fire,” Yvonne spoke out.

“Oh, she would like a fire,” Florence repeated. “Hurry now and find someone before she freezes to death.” Whilst he hurried away, she stepped into the room. “My, it is chilly in here!” As she closed the door behind her, she remarked: “And I do not refer solely to the temperature.”

Yvonne arched her gaze, compelling herself to rise. “Hello, Florence.”

Florence removed her gloves and tossed them onto the table.

“How formal! Was it not you that begged me to be here?”

“I do not think begged is the right word...”

“And here I am.”

Florence flung open her arms and embraced her. Familiar with her ways, Yvonne returned the gesture, an action that she would not customarily enact with another. She would not admit as such but the contact eased her, and she sunk into her embrace. This softening, Florence noticed and she soothed her with a stroke of her hand.

“Oh, my dear, what fine conundrum have you gotten yourself into now?”

Though she did not mean to, Yvonne began to weep, yet this unexpected show of emotion did not astonish Florence but caused her to nod, sympathetically.

“Caused yourself another injury, have you?” She sighed heavily in her pity. “Poor Miss Donoghue. You were so fond of her. What happened?”

Yvonne stepped back from her embrace, dabbing her cheeks and eyes with her kerchief. Once she had composed herself to some degree, she uttered, simply:

“I want to return to France, that is all. I said I shall and I am.”

“But you were to travel with Miss Donoghue and yet, here you are. You are without her. It did not occur to me that you would travel alone, for you were adamant to leave with her. You talk so highly of your new friend; there is not one letter where she is not mentioned.”

“I have not talked of her that often,” she murmured, petulantly.

Florence raised a brow, her hands coming to rest on her hips. Incapable of contending, Yvonne stared at the fireplace.

“She is in every letter that you have written me,” her cohort retorted. “I could not prevent myself from remarking to Hafsa how often you mention your dear Miss Donoghue. Believe me when I say that you allude to her in every letter!”

Yvonne parted her lips, as if she had the power to assert otherwise, but there was a knock at the door and the words died on her tongue. It was not due to the interruption that she could not speak, merely the reality that she had no answer prepared. In her pride, all she had wished to do was disagree.

As the maid entered to light the fire, Yvonne stalked the rear of the room. Florence did not heed her but removed her furs, lowering into a chair and speaking intermittently with the maid. Despite the conversation, she continued to watch her friend, idly, aware that she would talk solely when she was prepared, yet she observed her anyhow, not out of expectation but from concern.

Florence heeded her temperament, her restlessness, but remained silent in regards to commenting upon it, electing to wait for her companion to initiate the discussion. It was not until the maid had gathered the remnants of tools and excused herself that Yvonne spoke out.

“I plan to travel to Paris, meet the Challants, and live with them awhile. I could not decide if I am to then travel further to Copenhagen, as I have been invited, several times, to the Valkendorfs, though I have never accepted their invitation. I do wish to visit and have done for some time but, if it is not to be Denmark, I shall travel elsewhere.”

She declared her intention with great conviction, her pacing ceasing hereafter. Motionless, she stared across at Florence, who was unperturbed by her vigour.

“You mentioned Moscow. At one time, you were planning to visit Vienna, India, and Venice. Did you not intend, also, to return to Ireland for a short period?”

Yvonne flushed.

“No, I could not visit any of them,” she rebuffed, hurriedly. She did not intend to repeat herself but she declared- “I could not.”

“And why is that?”

Hesitating, Yvonne admitted, moments later: “Because I promised I would not if Bonnie was not to travel with me. I would not dream of setting foot in a place where we were supposed to be together.”

Florence watched her with a kindly gaze, her fingers plucking at the armrest. “You can always return home. Perhaps she is not the woman for you; she cannot love you the way that you had hoped for, but from all accounts, Miss Donoghue does not seem the type of woman to wish you ill. You have a friend in her.”

“No, you do not understand.” Yvonne shook her head, vehemently. “She did not refuse me.” Perceiving the bewilderment upon her friend’s countenance, she elaborated. “In fact, quite the opposite. Bonnie, she... she seems to return my feelings. At the least, she is smitten. She says she...” Yvonne hesitated, the following words compelled from her by her own willpower. “To put it simply, she loves me.” At this admittance, Florence brightened but Yvonne hurried to articulate her sentiment before her friend could interject. “But as I have said, she is enamoured by me. That does not make a marriage. She is younger than me and I have experienced it, time and time again, where they feel one way but choose another. Youth is idealistic; it is delusional. All of those fantasies that we have and cherish, they dissipate in time. Miss Donoghue is quite the woman; undoubtedly, there will be many who vie for her hand. There already is. She says yes to me today; tomorrow, she will bow to the pressure that all others have. I will not be the victor, regardless.”

Florence was silent for a moment, staring across at the empty chair before her.

“Yvonne,” she gently enunciated, “sit down.”

Observing her, Yvonne could not decipher the precise emotion her friend was experiencing but she was so direct in her speech, in the way that she stared at the chair opposite, that she was induced to sit in it obediently and stare across at her. Florence raised her gaze to meet hers, her expression hardening, despite the tenderness that remained in her eyes. Her elbow perched itself on the armrest, her chin propped against her hand, two of her fingers resting nonchalantly against her chin.

“You were entirely uncivil to me the last time we met, merely for you to tell me now that you shall not be pursuing the woman who you deem to be ideal for you. Particularly when the woman in question has accepted a companionship with you, as no other has.” She scoffed in laughter, her gaze arching. “Is this not a fine predicament? I would say I am disappointed in you, Vee, though, in time, the only one who shall be disappointed is yourself.” Conscious that the woman opposite would contend, she continued, raising her hand to silence her.

“I have known you since our adolescence. I have watched you pine over love, over Augusta, over Josephine; you have followed them both all over the world. I have watched you ache desperately for amour, that attainment which you believe you have never quite grasped, and now you have been given a chance, you have rebuffed it. After all of these years, after all of that heartache, I do not believe you want love; you want misery. You have become addicted to it. By all means, you have a perfectly good companion there, one who is prepared, seemingly, to commit to you in all the ways that you had hoped for. We both know it is not every day that a beautiful woman admits to loving you, a woman who can also sustain herself at the same degree as you, intellectually, emotionally, and socially. When we have spoken, that is all you have ever dreamt of and searched for. Is it, now that you have obtained all you have ever dreamt of, you are too frightened to accept it?”

Yvonne stared into the fire, soothed by the dancing of flames as she contemplated how she was to express herself.

“The issue is not accepting it,” she admitted. “Not necessarily. I simply cannot suspend my disbelief. Each time I have, I have been sorely disappointed. Even if she means what she says, I cannot help but believe she will leave me anyhow. Everyone has, eventually. Nobody has been able to stay. How can she be any different?” Unwilling to wait for an answer, she pressed on. “I know I am a coward. Even if I have a chance with Bonnie, I have to ask if I can put myself through the hope, the grief, the turmoil again. It would be a wound I inflicted, knowingly and willingly. There would be no-one but myself to blame if I were to be disappointed once more.” Yvonne’s gaze flickered from the fire to the woman before her. Although she had endeavoured to repress them, the tears in her eyes were reflected in the glow of the flames. “I do not think I can, Florence. My heart cannot take any more of this.”

Her voice quivered, the wretched sound inducing her friend’s pity. Leaning forward, Florence’s hand came to rest on her knee.

“Then go to Paris,” she urged. “Spend your days in solitude and let your heart rest. Let it heal. Then come home and speak to Bonnie. Speak to your sister too; you have treated her unfairly.”

Yvonne shook her head. “I asked her to come. She refused.”

Florence’s countenance softened.

“Did she say why?”

“No, though she thinks me selfish.” In her bewilderment, she laughed, though the sound was bitter. “I do not ask and she resents me for it; I ask and she resents me all the same. Penny does not think it the time to be travelling but I had to leave. I could not remain there another second. She hates me for it.”

“She does not hate you,” Florence scoffed. “Penny loves you. But you must make amends.”

Yvonne’s gaze returned to the fire, she leaning backward in the chair with a sigh.

“I shall... When I am prepared to. With the both of them, that is.”

“Good, there is no need to be beastly about it.” Florence sat back in her chair, her hand removing itself from her friend’s knee. Peering across at her, observing her sullen expression, she smiled. The gesture was not borne from amusement but from a need to be merry. Audibly, she exclaimed: “Come, we shall eat! Your crises always leave me hungry and I know you have not eaten properly. Once we’ve had some wine and preferably some chicken, we shall be quite convivial.” Heeding the expression on Yvonne’s face, she chortled. “Well, I shall be.” She peered around her, expectantly. “Are you forgetting something, ma douce (198)?”

“The food and tobacco have already been sent to your house (199). I sent them this morning.”

Florence clapped her hands together, laughing in delight. “God bless you for your kindness.”

Yvonne raised her brows in amusement.

“I wish He would, though I think you confused the Almighty with yourself.”

Florence raised her brows in imitation, the motion and the smirk on her lips signifying her feelings on the matter. “Well, I am sure my service speaks for itself and I am in good favour with the Lord above. That good favour may pass to you, if you wish to receive it. You would be wise to accept.”

“And what would that favour be?” Yvonne questioned, humouring her.

“You may have received it already.”

Yvonne hummed in disbelief, her lips pursing, thinly. Venturing to alter the subject, she glanced at Florence and felt her spirits scarcely lift at the thought of their shared acquaintance.

“How is Hafsa?”

Conscious that she wished to veer from the discussion, Florence smiled in her jocundity. “She is well. She has forgiven you for asking me to flee to another country.”

“I was never serious,” Yvonne clarified in her abashment.

“Of course not,” she laughed. “That is why she forgives you.”

Yvonne was silent for a moment, before asking- “Do you miss her?”

“Every moment.” Florence placed her hand over her chest, where she could perceive her heart beating. “But I hold her here and I shall see my Treasure soon. It is almost spring, you know! We will have another year together before I return to London. I joke to her that we are in eternal springtime; she is like the budding rose to me. I never tire of her.”

“Sixteen years this year?”

“Yes, sixteen. How quickly time passes! Sixteen years of bliss... I wish you the same.”

“Hm, we shall see,” Yvonne muttered, evasively. Continuing to digress, she asked- “Lunch?”

Florence clapped in her delight, mere seconds passing before she had stood.

“Yes, lunch is precisely what we need and then, to mine!”

She offered her arm to Yvonne, who had reluctantly stood, and they walked together downstairs. They talked of many subjects, though they did not return to the matter of travel, for both wished to be merry and neither would be if they were to discuss it. Rather, they spoke of Florence’s husband and all that she despised in his manner, for she had collected an ample list of reasons during the winter, as she did every year. Grateful for her company, Yvonne listened, patiently, equally beholden that she did not have to speak or think beyond Florence and her troubles. She simply had to exclaim when appropriate and, at present, that was all she was capable of. Florence did not mind if she was the sole contributor to the discussion; it gave her time to relay the year that had passed in finer detail than the accounts she had shared in her letters. This silent agreement suited them both. Their time together was short and they did not mean to squander it.

Chapter Notations

198. Translation: My sweet.

199. It is expected in Zimbabwean culture for gifts to be given to a friend or host. As Florence is both, a gift of food is a mark of respect, and food, in itself, is a traditional gift to give.

Chapter Text

Bonnie peered out of the window. When she perceived that there was nobody outside, that there was no sound of an approach, no change in the scenery before her, she glanced apprehensively down at the book in her hands. She had perched herself on the windowsill, anticipative that she should occupy her time but that she, too, may be able to view any caller who approached the manor whilst she read. There had not been a visitor to the House in four days but the last caller had been the Mount sisters, who, in her disappointment, she had refused entry. She had excused herself by claiming she was fatigued but, in truth, she did not wish to speak with anyone unless it was one woman in particular.

After their disagreement, Bonnie had not wished to see Yvonne. If the woman had appeared at her doorstep, she would have refused her; yet, her indignation had swiftly dissipated and she had awaited her neighbour, despite the caution that she would not visit again. Bonnie believed she would, regardless of what had been said, for they had always reconciled. There had never been a disagreement where one did not atone for all that had occurred. Thus, she waited.

It had been painless to wait for the first three days, those where she had regained her spirits, but she had become impatient. Worse, she was fretful. Bonnie had stalked the windows of her house, hastening to the door when she heard the approach of a carriage or caller. She inspected each letter with fervour, expecting to view her neighbour’s handwriting, but there had been no intelligence on Yvonne. With this realisation, Bonnie began to fear that she had meant what she said, that they should not meet with each other again, that the quarrel had been final- their friendship was no longer existent.

Staring down at her book, Bonnie irritably wiped the tears that had accumulated on the brink of her lids, inhaling quiveringly. She desperately attempted to focus, though her silent weeping blurred her vision and she could not read the words, even if she had wished to. Vexed, she closed the book with a thump, tossing it onto the floor beside her. Bonnie folded her arms around her torso, embracing herself, though she gained little comfort from the motion. Pressing her forehead against the cool glass, she peered out onto the driveway, her lip trembling as she awaited a sight that she knew would not occur. Inhaling, the motion merely encouraged her grief and she wept louder.

She doubted that Yvonne would abandon her entirely. She had promised to the contrary and her neighbour was not one to break her word; she had not yet. Nevertheless, she had altered the terms of their friendship during her last visit, this amendment seemingly permanent. Bonnie could not bear to reflect upon that day, disgraced and remorseful to have initiated the kiss, to have breached their friendship in a way that was not wanted nor reciprocated. To know that the action had caused Yvonne to withdraw any acquaintanceship with her, where possible, was an injury she could not bear to reflect upon.

One reflection that she was unable to dismiss, however, was the moment her neighbour had declared that she command her life, that she adopt a sense of authority over herself and the direction in which her life was led. It was a criticism that Bonnie had meditated upon since their disagreement, disconcerted to be titled as a babe that could barely minister to herself, notably when the disparity in age was not so large as her associate believed it to be, nor was she as incapable.

Impelled by this notion, Bonnie decided, asudden, that she should visit Haynes Park. She did not know what she would say once she was there, but she was compelled to state her case, to initiate the reconciliation she desired. She wished to prove to Yvonne that she was incorrect, that Bonnie had the ability to be decisive, to assert her will, regardless of anyone else’s opinion. She would not be mistaken for an invalid.

Compelled, Bonnie clambered from the windowsill, almost delighted at the prospect of discovering Yvonne unawares and proving, conclusively, that she was the one who had been correct, that her neighbour should apologise, and that they should be fast friends, as they had once been. She hoped, too, that she may receive comfort from her in recompense, though she knew that their connection may be tender for some time, that they may not be so familiar with one another as they had once been, but she hoped for it anyhow, for she desired it to happen.

Requesting the carriage, she hastened to adorn her bonnet, coat, and gloves, barely allowing Adam to help her in her alacrity. Bonnie bit down on her lip as she stepped from the House, repressing the thrill she felt at commencing their reparation and preserving their friendship, if her neighbour did not wish for it to be anything more. Yet, for her, it was imperative that they maintain the friendship, for she could not abide the idea that they should be less to one another than they had previously been.

There was a wound that had been provoked by the disagreement, a wound that would not be so easily cured, yet she believed it would, in time, if they would continue to be as they once were. Bonnie could overlook her animosity, her hurt, if she heard the acknowledgement from Yvonne that they were destined as friends, that they would always be. Then, she could find some semblance of contentment in what was left of their friendship. She could find peace. It was this thought that carried her to the Park, the sensation of hope lightening her spirits to a bearable degree.

“How tedious life is, Diana!”

Diana stared sympathetically up at her owner.

“Gregory has gone south and my friends are with relatives! Not even a walk in the garden could enliven me today. How forlorn I am!”

Penny sighed, heavily, primarily to display her despondency to the world at large, so that they may know how spiritless she was. She was seated on the floor, her back against the sofa as Diana rested in her lap, the canine allowing herself to be stroked, tenderly and miserably. The border collie was her sole companion; her mother was in her room, longer than was customary, on the pretext that she would be dead soon. Lady Davers believed the shame of her daughter leaving once more would kill her and she was preparing for the eventuality. Penny almost wished it were true, so that she may refrain from hearing her mother’s complaints every morn and evening.

Hereafter, a knock at the door roused her from her lethargy and Penny raised her head from the sofa. Calling for them to enter, she heeded the footman at the entryway, announcing that Miss Donoghue had arrived and wished to see her.

Penny was startled. She had not anticipated her neighbour; Bonnie had never visited her without the understanding that she was to visit the eldest too. It would be the first time that they had socialised solely with one another.

“Let her in,” she told the footman. “I shall receive her here.”

The servant bowed and departed from the library. Removing Diana from her lap, she climbed onto the sofa, the dog following her onto the furniture in her excitement.

“No... down. Down, Diana.” Penny returned her to the floor. Observing the way her eyes widened, a small whine emitting from her, Penny stroked her head, soothingly. “I apologise, my sweetest, but you know Bonnie does not like animals, not on the furniture nor near her dress. You can sit with me when she has gone. Sit; sit, that’s right!”

Diana stared up at her, tail wagging, mouth open as she panted happily. Whilst she did, Penny brushed some of the hair from her skirt that the puppy had shed, straightening her posture as the door opened and Bonnie entered.

“Bonnie!” she exclaimed in her delight. Standing, she motioned for her to sit. “Please, take a seat. Wherever you like. You know which chair is best by now, I am sure.”

Bonnie stared at her, seemingly perplexed by the sight and she turned, as if to speak with the footman but he had already departed from the room. She returned her attention to Penny, her brow furrowing.

“Excuse me, Penny,” she declared, “but I was referring to Yvonne when I asked to see Miss Davers. Is she not here at the moment?”

The girl peered up at her in bewilderment.

“Did you not receive a letter from her?” she inquired.

At the question, Bonnie’s heartbeat quickened, her hands clasping together in her nerves. She did not comprehend why she would need a letter, but she was able to discern that the vision she had held of their reconciliation was not the reality of the situation. In her distress, she was uncertain of how to proceed.

“No, I have not received a letter,” she returned. “We have not spoken since the last time she visited.”

“Oh...” Penny was silent for a moment. “I had assumed you were aware. All matters considered.”

She fell into reticence, since she was unable to comprehend how to continue with the conversation. Penny questioned if she would have to inform Bonnie of Yvonne’s departure, that there had been no provision to inform her otherwise, particularly when the two were supposed to travel together in the near future. There were copious ways in which she perceived her sister, a plenitude of them unfavourable, but she could not wholly believe that Yvonne would travel without a word to their neighbour, to their friend. It was not in her character to be so negligent, cold-hearted. She assumed there had been a mistake on someone’s part but she could not decide whose.

Impatient with the silence, Bonnie urged her to explain. “I was told of what precisely?’

“Well... Yvonne did not say?” Penny clarified.

The edge of Bonnie’s mouth twitched, her temper beginning to mound. She envisioned that Yvonne knew of her arrival and had hastened from the manor, abandoning her sister to handle a call that may, on all accounts, be disagreeable to her. Bonnie did not wish to be removed in such a degrading manner, the hurt that resided deep within her merely expanding further in her discomfiture.

“No, I have not been told anything,” she passionately remarked. “If you do not mind me saying so, I am starting to become impatient. There seems to have been a miscommunication between us and if that is the case, I desire to be told forthwith.” The dawning realisation that she was not to see Yvonne, that there was to be no apology, and that their friendship may be truly concluded caused her heart to beat excruciatingly quick, her cheeks shading a deep crimson. “I have come here to visit Yvonne regarding the last time we spoke with one another, but if she is not here, if this visit is inopportune, I will return another time. I do not wish to be discourteous but I would prefer to return home, if that is the case. This was not intended as a social call.” Perceiving the dismay upon her host’s expression, she added- “Unfortunately, I am not the most engaging company at this moment in time.”

Penny started to fidget in her seat, discouraged that they were to not spend time together in their equal isolation but she was, instead, induced to repair the loss that her sister had aroused in her absence. She did not wish to be the bearer of bad news but there was no other choice than to inform the woman before her that her sister was not in the county, let alone the estate. Inhaling deeply, she fortified herself as well as she could.

“Yvonne is not here, Bonnie,” she told her. “She will not be for some time. I am astonished that you were not informed, but Yvonne... she left eight days ago. For London. She will be there for two weeks- well, six days from this date- and then, as far as I am aware, she will be travelling across Europe.”

Bonnie hesitated. This revelation took some moments for her to digest, a variety of emotions arising within her. She could not decide upon which to settle for, resentment, fury, alarm, dismay, bemusement, and humiliation simultaneously emerging. It was not entirely within her capability, in that moment, to comprehend that Yvonne had departed for London, since she could not settle upon a singular thought circulating in her mind. All she could discern was that they were to travel together, that Yvonne had promised. Bonnie thought of the money, the schemes, the intentions, and the new travelling boots and pelisse that she had purchased two weeks previous, all fallen to waste.

Her chest heaved as she raised her bewildered gaze upon Penny.

“Are you certain?” she demanded. “Is she not planning to travel in the future? She does not have all of her affairs in order. Yvonne could not possibly leave now.”

Penny was silent for a minute, electing to stare down at Diana as she stroked her. Then she returned her gaze upward. “She said that the factory is being furnished as intended and the cottage is underway- the plans were approved. Ingham has been left to oversee both, and she said that mother is well. There is no reason for her not to leave now, instead of later in the year, as originally planned.”

“Yes, well...” Bonnie prevented herself from saying as she wished, that she had hoped she was the reason for remaining in Bedford. “I thought the plan was that we were to travel together.”

Penny peered down at the dog, discovering great comfort in the softness of her fur.

“This is not unusual,” she admitted. “I would not rely on her; she is entirely unreliable on the matter of travel. She will do as she pleases, whether she made any promise or not. Yvonne rarely thinks how it affects anyone else; she only cares for herself.”

Despite the revelation, Bonnie could not wholly believe that to be true. Yvonne had been a steadfast and valuable friend to her, despite their disagreements, and she had not yet broken any promise that had been formed between them. She was an enduring presence during the short time Bonnie had resided in Bedford that the young woman could not entirely comprehend she was absent, that she would be for the foreseeable future. Her mind reflected upon the gifts that had been bestowed upon her by her neighbour, the evenings that they had spent talking, laughing, and confiding in one another; the moments of comfort and of devotion, even if it had remained unsaid. Amidst it all, Bonnie could not regard Yvonne so lowly as to believe her selfish; it was not in her nature. Nevertheless, she had abandoned her and there was no comfort to be discovered in this realisation.

“But... I...” she began.

The words died on her tongue, her chest continuing to heave. Her realisation that their friendship was concluded, that they had been separated from one another- a separation that was caused willingly and entirely by Yvonne herself- and that she was to be without her was a truth too great to receive in that moment, and she felt her hands tremble. Perceiving the nerves within her, one hand cradled the other and she peered around her, as if she could not decipher how she was to proceed. Across the room, she could distantly hear Penny’s voice, though she was not, in reality, far from her.

“You can stay here a while, if you like.” Her voice rose in its cheerfulness, in its hope. “I would enjoy the company. You could stay the night at the Park and we could have Mrs Dunkhurst make us some pastries. You say which you prefer and we shall have them!”

Tearful, Bonnie shook her head. “No, I do not think I should stay.”

Discerning her agitation, Penny stood. “Bonnie...”

At the sound of her name, the woman began to weep, furiously, turning on her heel and fumbling for the door handle in the hope that she may escape, yet she comprehended the pitiful state she was in and halted, not wishing for anyone to view her. Muddled, she buried her face in her hands whilst she continued to sob, for she could not decide whether to leave or to remain where she was.

Her body bristled as she felt a touch on her back but she perceived it to be Penny, allowing the touch to comfort her. Moments later, the touch was removed and the girl’s arms wrapped around her, her head leaning against her arm, it barely reaching Bonnie’s chest in height. The consolation was sorely needed and she reciprocated the gesture, they both clinging on to one another as Bonnie wept.

To the contrary, Penny was not tearful, her animosity too great to relent to the hurt that resided within her. She sympathised with Bonnie’s grief, for she had experienced it before, knowing how it was to be left behind, to feel alone and saddled with an elder woman who could not possibly assist her in any way that was needed. Nevertheless, she believed that she could free herself, if Yvonne was not to aid her, and she wished to share that hope with Bonnie, so that they may discover some semblance of peace in the wake of her sister’s departure. She refused to rely on another to procure her felicity when she was perfectly capable of providing it for herself.

Chapter Text

Bonnie received a letter from Penny, two days subsequent to her visit. Unfolding the paper, another fell from within, the sight causing Bonnie to inhale sharply. She recognised the handwriting, the curve of the s, the slanted cross of the t, the realisation that Yvonne had written to her inducing a bout of weeping that did not subside for some time. Upon calming herself, hereafter, Bonnie was able to read the accompanying missive from Penny, who expressed that she had received two letters in the post, one for herself and one addressed to Bonnie. The girl assured her that this missive had not been opened or read, but that she had forwarded it with the hope that some answers may be afforded.

Hesitant, Bonnie did not open it for some hours but her curiosity was too substantial to dismiss and, by evening, she relented to reading it in full. She retreated to her room, seating herself by the candlelight, her fingers trembling as she unfolded the paper, breaking the wax seal that she recognised as the Davers crest. Staring down at the familiar writing, the one that spelled out her name, was a comfort within itself. She did not wish to be eased by the sight of it but she perceived that she was, for it induced great fondness for the woman herself, despite the tumult that had arisen after her departure. Ardently, she began to read, partly from interest but partly to trace the penmanship of her neighbour.

15th January 1831

My Dear Miss Donoghue,

There are many sentiments and assurances that I wish to express to you but I am certain you wish to hear none, not after the injury I have caused you. Nevertheless, I could not depart this country without writing to you, without articulating the primary essence of that which I believe you should know.

We have been neighbours for several months; certainly, we were friends as much as we were neighbours. It has been many years since I have formed so swift, so steadfast, a connection, particularly one that has been so dear to me. I hold no pride in the conversation we had, in the words I expressed to you, but if you are to understand me in one way- it is that I cherish your friendship beyond compare. The distance that I have evoked between us is not from repulsion, indifference, or as a means to sever that tie, but because I believe that we would benefit from a period of reflection, to discover ourselves and settle into our beliefs and sensibility a little better, to settle hereafter into a friendship that is beneficial to us both. To achieve this, I believe distance between us is necessary.

We influence each other greatly and though I covet your opinion above all others, it is imperative that we form our own in this matter, that we do not influence each other but learn to decide for ourselves. When we reconcile- if you will receive me- I hope that we may share all then and that we may be more explicit, more settled in how we think and feel in regards to one another and to our future acquaintanceship. We have both been troubled by our fears and despondency, and I dread that ours should coalesce, that they should encourage one another. You may not realise that I have fears of my own but I do; in acknowledging them, I hope to decipher which ones to be real and which to be a farce, and to return to you with greater certainty than if I were to remain where those fears are emboldened- not by you but by the environment in which I find myself within.

I realise that we intended to travel together, that it is both what we wished and prepared for, but I truly believe- in my mind and heart- that it is in our best interests to lay these plans aside for the foreseeable future. Although I have no claim to salvage them at any point, not without your consent, I hope and assume- in what may be considerable pretension- that we may reclaim them someday, reserving these arrangements for a future date, if you should wish to travel with me still.

I apologise, wholly and earnestly, for discarding them at this moment in time, for not being dependable when you have wished so much to travel, but I trust that you will have the means and the want without me, that you will be better for it. When I return, I would be overjoyed to hear of all that you have experienced, all you have achieved, and the places you have travelled to in the time that I have been gone. I know that you will achieve much without me. It is what I have wished most- that you have the freedom to move forward without hindrance, one of those hindrances being myself. I believe any association with me and my name at this time will dissuade the progress that you have been hoping to achieve. It is with great hope that I currently remove myself from your life, so that you will not be obstructed from achieving the felicity that you have so desperately endeavoured to achieve, that being freedom. I have gained quite the reputation, a circumstance that you are not ignorant of, and I would be loath for you and your family name to be sullied on my account.

You must know that it is not due to your health nor to any action you have undertaken that I have removed myself from Bedford. There is no fault but my own in all that has occurred; I accept that the blame rests entirely with me. Please do not trouble yourself with how you have behaved or what you have said. The sole mistake you have made is in trusting me. One day, I hope to be worthy of your trust and devotion, the friendship that you have graciously extended to me, but I am not worthy of it yet. In our time apart, I shall endeavour to be so and I hope to return to you as another woman entirely. Then, I hope we shall understand one another better, that I shall be the friend you desperately require.

All of my thoughts and wishes are with you, dear Bonnie. For all of the hurt I have undoubtedly caused, I cannot atone enough. I hope, in time, I may tell you so myself; I hope to have the courage. Until then, I wish you all of the happiness, safety, and prosperity in the world. To me, there is nobody who deserves it more.

If my well wishes are meaningless to you at this time, I will not blame you. I hope that you recognise, in time, that they are truly meant.

With my deepest regards always,

Miss Y. Davers.

Concluding the letter, Bonnie stared vacantly at the signature at the base of the paper. It trembled in her hand until she was capable of placing it down. With her hands resting in her lap, she stared ahead, incapable, even then, of settling upon an emotion. She was resentful that she had been abandoned, that their travel arrangements had been, but she was concerned also for the wellbeing of her neighbour, the suffering that she seemingly endured. Above all, she loved her and this feeling overcame any other.

The letter did not reveal the truth of Yvonne’s sentiment; it was almost contradictory to what the woman had told her when they had last met. All she could decipher was that her neighbour was disoriented, that she could not settle upon any particular thought or belief, and it was this discernment that caused Bonnie to pity her. It was elusive to her that her neighbour should mention her fears, for she did not know that Yvonne had any, besides- perhaps- the subject of marriage, and she could not decipher how those fears were emboldened by her own. These references to a subject unknown to Bonnie merely aided her confusion.

She did not know what had occurred in Yvonne’s life before they had met; Bonnie had never been privy to her secrets but she heeded that she was wounded. It was her hope too that their time apart would be a period of reflection, that it would reclaim some semblance of a friendship between them, but the thought that they were to be separated for the foreseeable future, that their arrangements to travel were now dashed, was considerably grievous to her and she began to weep. The hope of travelling, of broadening her horizons and escaping the anguish that she experienced at home, had been swiftly distinguished and she was unsure if she could reclaim it, but conceived that she was trapped in a circumstance that was impossible to escape.

Lifting the letter, she read it again, though she held it outward, away from her body, so that her tears did not dampen it. The hope that Yvonne was returning, that she did not blame Bonnie for all that she had done, for all that she was, and that her neighbour had departed in misguided belief, rather than indifference or blame, soothed Bonnie to some degree. Although the missive was addled in its essence, she was reconciled to it, for she sensed the sincerity in the words that had been transmitted to her. She believed that Yvonne wished to improve herself, though she was unsure how or the reason for it, and she trusted that the decision to do so was well-intentioned, if not misguided. Nonetheless, there was a part of her that worried her neighbour had assured her merely out of consideration for her feelings, rather than through candour, that the separation was secretly a relief to the other woman, and that Bonnie had become a burden to her. She worried too that Yvonne’s travels would remind her of all that she coveted, any new or old acquaintanceships that she encountered compelling her, in time, to think less of Bonnie, in recollection and in regard.

Her sense contended against this notion, for she knew it to be untrue, though she wished her body agreed, for it began to feel apprehensive, despite herself. The two notions battled one another in her mind and she perused the letter several more times to gain an answer from the woman herself, but the turmoil that was visible in the letter merely caused her turmoil in turn, and she did not discover the certainty that she had hoped for. Rather, the humiliation of being abandoned, of her devotion remaining unreciprocated, and the perplexity of the situation merely grieved her further.

Folding the letter, she placed it in her drawer, for she could not bear to view it any longer, though she could not bring herself to destroy it either. She simply clambered into bed, being already dressed for the occasion, and lay deplorably under the covers. Staring into the darkness, Bonnie continued to contemplate the situation, incapable of narrowing her sentiment to one definable source. Yet, the later the night, the easier she slipped into a state of discomposure, the fears she held in her heart tearing her asunder. It took hours for her to rest, to fall into unsettled sleep, each thought that haunted her consisting of her family and her neighbour, the loss of the latter causing her to lament anew. The tears that dampened her pillow were silent and she barely stirred from her position, besides the occasional whimper, until she slumbered. There, her dreams were restless, the affliction she received from these images preventing her from awakening refreshed. Her mind would not allow her to rest.

To the contrary, the second letter was not so readily received by its intended recipient, but was opened with great impatience. Each sentence was briefly noted, though the mind did not linger on any note in particular.

Although you did not receive my invitation with the enthusiasm I had hoped for, I shall reserve a space for you, if you choose to accept it. I have forwarded my address where I shall be residing in Paris and, if I am to relocate- in the city or to another country- you shall know instantly, so that you may always know where I am and so that you may join me when you wish...

In the future, I am not adverse to Bonnie knowing of my whereabouts but I ask, for the time-being, that they remain between ourselves. I think it is best if we do not converse for some time. When I am prepared, I shall be certain to inform you, so that you may share my address with whomever requests it...

Please inform Mrs Prescott about the arrangements I have detailed in the accompanying note- the Park shall not differ in its everyday course. As for the business, please ensure that C. Ingham received my letter to him, although I delivered it personally to his address. I cannot speak for the efficiency of his children and would like to know that he has received it, as I have not gained any confirmation on the matter...

If asked, the board wages have not differed from last year. For mother and yourself, your allowances are the same but I can allow more once the cottage has been built, so do not be afraid to request any amount you need in the time I am not there. Within reason!...

Undoubtedly, you are aware that Bonnie has received a letter from me. Please reiterate that I meant no harm, that I wish her well, and that I shall return when I am prepared...

My love always...

Yvonne.

Penny completed the letter and folded it, tossing it onto the table beside her.

“Tell her, yourself,” she uttered.

Chapter Notations

200. Board wages is a form of income paid to servants or staff living within the estate when the owner of the house is absent, but the owner wishes for the servants to continue to board (reside) in the household. Therefore, individuals were given an income to remain at the house, even if they were not in service.

Chapter Text

24th February 1831

As you know, dear journal, I have spent a considerable amount of time occupied at Haynes Park since my birthday. Penny could not bear that I enter my twenty-seventh year alone, so we celebrated in a lovely, quiet way at the Park, where I received much attention from the little party we had formed. Miss Leong and Miss Palmer (Sylvia) had been invited, as well as the Mount sisters, and we were joined by Lady Davers and Miss Ainsley. How humorous the former appeared with a little lopsided tiara on her head and her chin brushed with the crumbs of the cake she had eaten! Whenever Penny tried to assist her, she tried to strike her and poor Penny was left with no choice but to leave her sitting that way.

I did not mind the company of Henrietta, for there were others present who I could speak with. I have not spoken to Miss Leong since I visited her home and I was quite delighted to speak with her again. She was not offended by my refusal of her brother- at least, she did not appear to be- and he was not mentioned by anyone there, not even by Henrietta. In contrast, it was my first time speaking with Miss Palmer, though I saw her briefly at the ball, and I was astonished to discover that she was quite convivial. The commotion that the two caused, alongside Penny, induced Lady Davers to insist, on several occasions, that they be quiet. Henrietta was certainly inconvenienced by the noise but Euphemia seemed to be encouraged by them as time went on, and it may have been the first time she has laughed and smiled in my presence. Hence, when I say that it was quiet, I meant that it was but a small occasion; it certainly was not quiet in sound. Miss Ainsley had to lie down afterward, for she insisted that she had a headache.

Since, I have been a regular caller at the Park. I cannot bear to visit anywhere else and I have barely occupied myself at home, hence the absence of entries. There is hardly much to say when one passes the day in the same way as before. What a dreary existence one has!

Although I have acquired a friendship with Penny before, I feel we are coming to know one another in a more intimate way, as we have rarely spoken in the past without anyone else accompanying us. How silly she is but in the nicest way! She never fails to amuse me, one way or another, and I have found great comfort in her companionship, though I must admit it was unexpected. We are both lonely; we do not need to express it to one another to know it is true. Penny is never afraid of expressing herself and her feelings on Yvonne, declaring that she has been abandoned, that she always has been, and that she finds her sister, at present, intolerable. Supposedly, she always does during the first few months of her absence. As for myself, I cannot repeat the sentiment aloud but I too feel abandoned. I believe that sentiment is quite apparent; anyone can observe how I am affected.

Everyone has remarked on her absence, inquiring into what I know and what I do not, as if I am her keeper and should know her every thought. Many are astonished to discover I know nothing at all. Some clearly doubt our friendship, though they do not say it, and some have been amused, saying condescendingly that I am not the first woman to be disappointed by her. I do not like the insinuation, though I have no doubt that I am not. I cannot bear to think that there have been others and I am but another addition to a long line of women- undoubtedly- who have been wounded by the exalted Miss Davers.

I know I have spoken of her extensively in my journal, particularly after her leaving, but I cannot prevent myself from speaking of her again. A new sentiment has emerged these past few weeks, that being resentment, but I understand that I am hurt, mostly, by her absence and that is precisely why I resent her. How tightly she has me in her grasp and how little she knows it! She could have demanded anything of me- how swiftly I would have made a fool of myself even for a modicum of her affection; rather, she rejected me and I have been made a fool of, even so.

It has been a tedious journey in attempting to forget her, to abandon the feeling she has roused within me- a task I believe to be impossible- but that is why I have endeavoured so greatly to befriend Penny and to visit her at the Park. I cannot bear to sit in my own home- in the drawing room where Yvonne and I have sat countless times, in my room where she has held me in her arms, or in the orangery, where my own heart deserted me. So, you see, I must leave. Although the Park is her home, there are not many traces of her there, in memory or physicality, and Penny is able to bring life to the room in a way that I cannot. I almost forget that this is Yvonne’s home; it feels separate to her. As separate as I am. It becomes almost effortless, in our distance, to dismiss the memory of her.

But when I lie in bed at night, she is there, as she once was. I can almost perceive the way her heart beat when I lay atop her all those months ago, how firm her touch was on my waist, and each night, I weep. I weep because I cannot forget her, not truly. I think of her always.

My admittance compelled me to leave, to lament into my handkerchief until I was somewhat soothed. I cannot bear to contemplate the memory too much! Nevertheless, I shall continue, for I have not yet completed all I have wished to express-

Penny and I discuss many subjects at the Park; there are numerous similarities between us, though there are some differences also, but Penny is good-natured and never appears to mind. We speak little of Yvonne; she often mentions her but I do not respond. It is not out of ignorance but I tend to discover that I am incapable of mentioning anything in regards to her without bursting into tears, so Penny has refrained, over time, from speaking of her unless necessary. It feels almost as if she were a ghost that lingers between us, palpable and yet, invisible to us both.

I almost feel as if I am a ghost myself, lingering between all that is lively and charismatic in life, and all that is dull, tedious, and monotonous. When I am at the House, I feel I am dead. In mind, at least. There is hardly a thought that is not terrifying or apprehensive, and I can barely sleep. I drift between one room or another, moaning and weeping, barely engaging with the world around me, for I cannot bear to be part of it. Often, I feel that there is nothing left for me here on this earthly plain. Miss Ainsley talks so often to herself or socialises outside of the House that I might as well be absent. She would not notice or seemingly mind if I were.

When I visit the Park, I feel warm on the outside, if not within. Penny provides such warmth that I wish to be near her, devouring her energy if she were a flame and me, the moth. Though I am less a moth than Icarus and I would reduce myself to ash to feel a semblance of emotion. I feel nothing and when I do, it is merely rage, frustration, despair, disquietude, or irritation. It is a woeful existence. I hope that Penny never notices the way I use her so poorly, attempting to seize her warmth in the hope I may one day experience it for myself, but she barely seems to mind. At least, at the Park, there is a flurry of life and if I cannot be a part of it, I may be close by.

Two weeks previous, Penny brought Dr. J to the parlour and he came straight to me. He must have recognised me after a moment of staring intently, and he hopped onto my hand. I was quite enamoured by him and him with me. Whilst Penny took Diana from the room, for she was barking terribly, I said to him- Hello, old friend. It is only you and I this time.

He appeared to understand me, since he chirped and repeated my greeting. For the remainder of my visit, he sat on my shoulder and head; once, on my lap. It was merely for a second but I could almost say- with certainty- that I was in good spirits. It has been so long since I have enjoyed the company of an animal and I relished our time together. Penny must have noticed, for she brings him to me every time I have visited since and the two of us- Dr. J and I- sit quite comfortably together. He allows me to stroke him and he has rested his little head against me many a time. Even the memory delights me!

At this time, I brought my easel to Haynes Park, since Penny inquired into my painting there in the gardens. I did not feel any urge to but she was so kind, so delighted by the prospect, that I relented. I have not painted since Christmas and, as I packed for H.P., I discovered the paints and brushes gifted to me by Yvonne. The sight distressed me considerably; it took me some time to compose myself, so I left them out of sight in the drawer. I cannot bear to use them.

At H.P., I was unable to paint, since I had little inspiration to nor was I in the correct frame of mind, but Dr. J sat with me as he often does and I was stirred, all of a sudden, to paint him. So, I did; I completed a fine little portrait! By Penny’s request, I included a cravat and hat- an Aylesbury (201) to be precise. It has been the first time- in a long time- that I have laughed. I have not since but, in that moment, the two of us laughed and laughed, until we were in tears. Dr. J did not understand the fuss but sat atop the painting, appearing quite majestic alongside his own portrait, and that induced us to laugh further. What a funny little picture he made! Penny adored the painting so greatly that she had it framed and hung in her room. It was a compliment to myself and I am pleased that such a masterpiece should have an owner. I am sure Dr. J wakes every day to admire it!

Since, Penny has requested that she have lessons in painting and sketching, for she is quite enamoured but ungraceful in the subject. She stated that she was low with not being able to continue her music lessons, though I did not know she had recently acquired any. Upon further inquiry, she merely stated her music teacher had relocated elsewhere. I did not wish to teach her, primarily from the exertion that this would require of me, but I could discern that she was earnest. As I could not bear to disappoint her, I agreed, so, dear journal, I am now a tutor of art. It is a new prospect but I have taken to it with great skill. Although I do not have the vitality for any endeavour currently, I live in hope that our weekly lessons shall bring back some pleasure to me.

Despite that hope, my fortitude was shaken yesterday- I endured quite the ordeal!- Penny inquired as to whether I have considered a pastime in sculpture. She believes I could make a career from various artistic pursuits if I were to seriously pursue them and that I should expand my repertoire where possible. I had never attempted to sculpt an object in my life; it had never occurred to me. I told her so and she informed me that they had some wonderful statues. Some, I had seen. There are some well-placed figures in the garden and there are some in the home, that I have noticed, but Penny claimed there were more and that I could view them if I wished.

I did not have the heart to instruct her any longer, since she struggles to portray hands, so I consented. Walking to and fro appeared to be a more favourable option in occupying oneself- we had been sitting together for some hours and it had become tedious for us both. I know she wished to roam, so we left the painting behind and traversed across the rooms into the entrance hall.

Penny led me upstairs- a place that I have never before embarked. I have never been invited! In my tour of the grounds and the house, I was only ever shown the downstairs and the gardens and wood. To think that I was entering private quarters was quite exhilarating, for I could not prevent myself from procuring all of those images of what I had imagined it to be like, keen to have my curiosity satisfied.

It pained me momentarily that Yvonne should know my home so well, but that I should not know hers. Certainly, I am mostly to blame, for I could not bear to leave my home and I was rather content to allow her to travel to me. Yet, I am not a stranger to Haynes Park. In the times that I visited, I was not privy to the mysteries of Yvonne’s home, her private quarters, the places in which she finds solitude, not in the way she had been with me. It caused me to deliberate whether she had ever wished to share herself with me in the way that I had shared myself with her, that I had been mistaken in believing the sentiment between us to be reciprocated. In hindsight, there had not been the equal interest I had hoped for.

I realised, quite terribly, that I know little about her in any meaningful way, though she knows so much about me. She has passed me by like a stranger in the night; she has not shared herself with me in any way that is confidential or familiar. All I have ever known of her is a flicker of who she wishes me to see. It is hurtful to realise that you can cherish someone so deeply in your heart and yet, the person you adore may not be real at all but a figment of your imagination. It is true that she may never reveal herself to me and will remain a stranger to the end of our days. How harrowing it is that you can devote yourself to another being, though you will never be a trusted confidante to them, that you are not so respected or desired in their eyes. It reminds me of Aoife, though my separation from Yvonne pains me more than any emotion that arose from Aoife O’ Grady’s departure.

As I was writing, the tears arose once more, so I shall continue with my account of the tour. I cannot bear to linger any further on that specific thought-

When we travelled down the corridor, I was quite startled to discover that there was a sizable gallery where a collection of art was stored. It was magnificent! I could not understand why this gallery was not a room that they often boasted of, for I would be sure to, if it were mine. They had never mentioned it to my recollection; I would have remembered such a room within the manor. So many artworks and sculptures that I was awed by and envious of. Penny stated that Lady Davers was often indifferent to all that she encountered in her later years, though this had once been a source of pride for her.

As for Yvonne, she was not a great lover of art, though she was a bemused admirer and did not wish to enter into artistic discussions if possible, for she would surely be revealed as uncultured in the matter. The pieces they held- she knew of, but she could not speak to the subject of art beyond the room. She often reserved the gallery for social gatherings or large parties where she may direct the conversation to another when it suited her. Penny told me that my being well-versed in art would have intimidated Yvonne and that she never would have shown me the room until she could have foisted me upon another. For a moment, I forgot that she was gone and I laughed, for her ungainliness was amusing to me, a retort upon my lips as to what I thought on the matter, when I recalled that she was not there. My humour and retort died instantly, and my heart weighed heavy in my chest.

There were various other sculptures in the corridors and in some nearby rooms, though I was not particularly affected by any. I knew it to be due to my earlier emotion; I was unable to recover my spirits or earlier interest in the art around me. Fortunately, we came to the final room and, as Penny grasped the handle, she declared to me that these were her favourites, opening the door hereafter with particular zeal.

Inside, on the mantelpiece, were three marble busts. In the centre was a man that I did not recognise but on perceiving the others, I knew it to be Lord Davers. To the left of him, Lady Davers, though she was captured in a younger age than the one I was familiar with. She was strikingly beautiful and I was astonished at the combined features of both herself and her husband, observing, without difficulty, the physical traits that their daughters had inherited. I had been told that Lady Davers was quite the socialite in her time, though it was easier to believe in viewing her marble portrait. It was not that her features had drastically altered or that it was not perceivable in her countenance, but her expression was always so irked- as I knew her to be- that it distorted somewhat the tranquil expression that was visible in her former likeness. The permanent displeasure in her countenance had aged her, the incandescence of her former self having altered into choleric, meaning that she was, in some form, unrecognisable.

As to the late Lord Davers, I could not comment, as I had never known him in life nor viewed a portrait. It had not struck me until that moment that he was not spoken of by his daughters or his widow; his name was not mentioned by any. I did not believe it my place to question why, if it were to provoke unhappy recollections, but Penny did not appear disturbed when she pointed to him and confirmed it was her father. She pointed to the woman beside him, acknowledging it to be Lady Davers, but there was no mention of the bust to the right of the mantle, though I could not help but glance frequently towards it. Instead, she gestured to a small collection of pieces in the room- there was one for each grandparent, two of close cousins, and one of an aunt. I could see, too, the likeness in the grandparents to Yvonne and Penny.

Penny explained that she had been promised a profile of her own when she was of age, which would be commissioned a year from now, and that she had waited years to have her own. She often dreamt of how it would look. It had been her parents wish that Yvonne’s husband should be added to the collection, though this aspiration had dwindled over the years; it was no longer expected, but Penny thought she may have a husband to sculpt, if not her sister. She was rather complacent with this thought and smiled to herself in silence.

It appeared she was finished with her tour but I could not bear to leave the room without viewing it once more, and I turned to stare at the likeness upon the mantlepiece of my dearest beloved. She was visibly younger and had longer hair in the portrait, though it was tied modestly behind her head, the sight of her causing the air in my lungs to cease somewhere in my chest. My distraction must have been apparent, since Penny stated I may have a closer look. It did not occur to me to refuse.

I drifted forward, my hands clasping together in my nerves, and I stared up at the marbled features of her, the smoothness of her cheeks, the slight plump of her lips, and the emptiness in her eyes. In that moment, I thought undoubtedly it was a perfect replication, for, if I were to press my lips to it, it would be as firm and cold as she. Afterwards, I chastised myself. I had been swift to judge her, even as she had expressed to me the suffering she underwent, though I thought of my own suffering and my heart both hardened and softened to her simultaneously.

The words went through my mind- ‘But, when awake, your lips I seek, and clasp, enraptur’d all your charms, so chills the pressure of your cheek, I fold a statue in my arms (202).’ It was unfair and untrue to state that she was incapable of love, but the knowledge that it was not me whom her tenderness was intended for was devastating to me and as I stared up at her, with all of the adoration and yearning that I hold in my heart, I burst into tears.

Penny was alarmed at this sudden reaction and ushered me from the room, but before we left, I took one more glance at the bust at the other side of the room, my gaze devouring her as if for the last time. For all I know, it could be the last. I would not be deceived into never seeing her again, even in marble, and I was desperate to satiate my desire in viewing her.

Penny remained with me until I had calmed and I returned home thereafter, where I slept for the remainder of the day and during the night. The lesson and tears had fatigued me, and I awoke this morning rather addled. I have thought of nothing but the likeness which I saw of Yvonne and I have returned to my journal in the hope that, if I were to reveal all that has happened since my last entry and all that had happened yesterday, I will forget it quicker and with greater ease. I almost wish to forget her too. The memories I hold are cherished but they are also tainted, and I cannot bear the injury they cause me. I cannot possibly think of what I must do to remove that feeling, hence my transcribing it in the hopes of dispelling it outward, so that it resides here in the pages and not in my mind and heart.

If I were to know how she feels in turn, what resides in her mind- if she were to say, once and for all, that we are to be solely friends, that she is not resentful of me, as she appeared to be when I saw her last, and that she does cherish our connection in some form, I will be quite resolved to it. However, I have received no further communication from her, no true reassurance. She has stated that she will return when she has settled, once and for all, on her thoughts and beliefs, but that is no comfort to me, for she may decide against all she has previously said. It is possible that she will alter her course completely, denouncing any connection between us.

I have read her letter again- I read it every day- and it is as confounding as the first time I read it. In her silence, I am anxious and I hope to hear from her soon so that she may clarify her intentions further. It appears that no answer shall be received until she decides to return- when that day will be, I could not say. How troubled I will be, dear journal, until that day arrives! Despite all that has occurred, I wait for her still. I am as devoted to her as I have ever been.

If anyone should ever discover my journal and observe, on these pages, the love that I have held for her, do not think it sinful- please pray for me. Not to be cured but to be loved as I have loved. I desperately require it. My heart grows wearier by the day. Only myself and the Lord above knows how truly devoted I have been to her; in time, I hope she, too, recognises it. I have been a faithful servant to two idols but I think I shall be forgiven by both. I wait in hope that one does not reveal themselves to be false. It would ruin me.

God Bless!

Chapter Notations

201. The Aylesbury is a type of top hat worn by gentlemen.

202. To Caroline, Lord Byron.

Chapter Text

The clock struck one in the morning. Groaning, Bonnie turned onto her side, staring forlornly into the darkness. She had been unable to sleep, falling into repose but not slumber. At first, she had been resentful at occupying another night of restless sleep, though she had become pensive as the dusk drew on. Throughout the night, she had attempted to weep, though no tears came. The overwhelming emotion that came with it did not falter, however, and the disturbance within her merely continued without any means in which to dispel it. This merely furthered her agitation and she had thrashed from one side to the other as she lay in bed, hoping a different position would enable her to sleep at last.

Bonnie had not wept in days. She had been pleased at first, since her tears had been an inconvenience to her and to prevent them was a blessing, yet she came to realise that she had succumbed to melancholy, albeit muted. It had enveloped her in its oppressiveness, refusing to relinquish its grasp. In time, she discerned that this was a fate worse than tears, hoping desperately to return to her blubbering disposition, yet it had not arrived as she wished. She believed that she felt nothing, that she was entirely devoid of emotion since this ghastly quietude had settled within her, but then, she would perceive a sharp sensation of distress on the inside of her chest, the acuteness causing her to feel that she could scarcely breathe.

Since Christmas, she had requested the removal of her family portrait, its home no longer in Killarney but in Bedford. Bonnie thought it would cheer her to have her family near, even if it were in streaks of oil, though the contemplative features of her parents and her brother as they stared down at her merely worsened her condition. She had occupied her time solely in her room, sitting alongside the portrait as if they were beside her in the flesh. Often, she would mutter aloud, as if they could hear her and she would hum to herself intermittently in the opinion that she was responding to them.

Reminded of its presence, she turned so that she may view them, this motion intended to comfort her. She could observe her own features in the portrait, the adolescent reflection of herself and the girl she had once been. Beside her, Ainmire, his boyish features precisely as she remembered them before his death. His heart-shaped face, dark eyes, and large ears were a perfect replication of her own. Their parents stood behind them- her father’s hand resting on her shoulder, her mother’s on Ainmire’s. During the period in which they had posed for the portrait, it had been the happiest period of her life but fate had cruelly separated them from one another. Three of them had since united in a kingdom that she could not enter, and she was the sole survivor, abandoned to live with her remaining relatives, who would not have noticed if she had lived or died.

Compelled towards her family, Bonnie slid from under the sheets, treading cautiously in the dusk towards the portrait on the wall. She had wanted them in her room so that they could always be near one another; it would have devastated her if they were to be removed from her again, even in portrait. Scrutinising them, she muttered to herself, her hand reaching up to trace the silhouette of her brother, he being the closest to her. Her finger brushed gently against the canvas, her skin not falling upon the warmth of another but on cold linen. A whine emitted from her and she embraced herself, her fingers digging sharply into her arms. Her gaze flickered between her parents and Ainmire; lastly, herself, the untainted felicity upon her countenance. Bonnie could not recall a time where she had encountered such contentment since.

Stepping backward, her chest began to heave. She stared confusedly around her, her gaze flickering to the shadowed objects in the room, reaching, moments later, for her shawl. Wrapping it around her shoulders, she headed towards the door, pausing momentarily to stare at the portrait. The sight spurred her onward and she withdrew from the room, her footfalls padding softly and silently against the carpet. In her determination, Bonnie had forgotten her shoes, traversing barefoot down the hallway and staircase.

Minutes passed before she reached the entrance at the rear of the house, fumbling in the dark to find the key in the lock and turn it impatiently. Her brow furrowed, her lips parting as she muttered to herself, afore the door swung open and she stepped outside. The cold winter air caused her to shiver, her foot retreating instinctively back into the house, yet she was compelled to continue, despite the bleak conditions.

Her bare skin pressed against the stone as she stood outside, staring around her in the dark of night- at the stars above, the shudder of the trees in the wind, and the fluttering of her shawl in front. She tugged it tighter around herself, embracing her body to protect it against the brisk air. It did not occur to her that her clothes were inadequate, that she was chilled also from a lack of shoes or any other necessary garment. Rather, she stood, dishevelled, in her nightgown and shawl, her mass of hair unable to warm her for it was tied into a plait, her ears and neck exposed.

She stumbled forward and continued down the garden path, disregarding the open door behind her that clattered in the wind. Although she had no definitive thought in her mind, she traced the familiar route through the grounds and into the countryside, directed towards the river beyond. Her feet did not appear to be stung by the stones and pebbles nor the bitter cold, but ambled onward in their determination.

Along the river, she peered around her, her hand coming to her mouth, as she bit down nervously on the skin. She had anticipated a cottage, though she saw none, and she frowned at the seeming disappearance of this edifice. The cottage in question was Yvonne’s, though it did not occur to her, in that moment, that it was not yet built nor that she must walk towards Haynes Park in order to view the stones that had been laid for its construction.

Its imperceptibility unnerved her and she moaned in frustration and anguish. Despite the wind, the intermittent ejections that she sounded, the affliction that she felt the need to voice, could be heard and she stared around her, clutching onto herself once more as the wind whipped fervently across the early morning sky. The noises of distress merely continued, too benumbed to weep.

Bonnie accepted that there was no cottage, that there was no promised refuge, and returned her attention to the river. Traipsing towards the waterway, her eye fell upon the surface and she wished, for a moment, to be submerged. She was fatigued. Bonnie had scarcely slept in weeks; she had scarcely felt. Every part of her was exhausted- not just in body and mind, but in her soul. She heeded that she was far removed from all around her, that she had gradually become so since the death of her parents, and she could no longer exert herself in the redundant desire to live. It would not be a loss to her loved ones, for she had none, and life would continue without her. There was nobody, to her mind, who cared deeply for her, so there would be none afflicted if she simply allowed the river to carry her away, far from her wretchedness and into another world entirely, one that was promised to be superior to the one in which she currently resided.

All she desired was to lie somewhere and sleep, to succeed in achieving everlasting repose or to slumber, quite agreeably, until the spring returned, when the flowers blossomed and the warmth of the sun could be perceived upon her skin. Bonnie did not know which option she preferred between the two but, in that moment, she believed they were equal in preference and in consequence. She wished to be submerged, removed from the misery within her that would never leave her be, that she believed impossible to remove and that she had tried so desperately to. It was no matter how it was achieved, so long as she achieved it. Whether she slumbered or whether it was breathless sleep that she reposed into, they were a means to an end and so, she continued to stumble forward.

In her mind’s eye, she saw her brother and her parents, they all turning to look at her, smiling. It brought forth a memory where they had sat together by the fire- her parents seated beside one another, her brother upon the rug with their beloved dogs- Rufus and Parvus, an Irish setter and an ageing Irish terrier. She had entered the room and they had all urged her to join them by the fireplace. Now, she was being urged once more to join them in a home that was warm and serene, where she would no longer be affected by misery or isolation. Determinedly, she uttered:

“I am coming.”

Her words were lost in the wind. The closer she came to the water, the more her breath was released in short, misted bursts. Staggering forward, she approached the river, crouching down as she reached the embankment. She was conscious of how steeply it could decline, depending on one’s position along the waterway. Sliding aimlessly down the mound, she half-crawled to the water in her crouching position. Her hand was coated in mud and, undoubtedly, so was the hem and backside of her nightgown. In the obscurity of nightfall, she crouched in silence, her knees pressed together, her hands flattened against the ground to steady herself.

The lapping of the water against the levee, the rush of the stream as it continued past her, was soothing and she listened in an imitative state of complacency. She wished to reach out, to feel the trickle of water against her skin, to be engulfed by it, so that the serenity discovered far below the surface encompassed her entirely and she became one with it.

Staring into the water, she was reminded of her neighbour, the thought tormenting her. It was not the first time she had contemplated those she had loved and lost; if it were not her parents, it was Aoife, Yvonne, or Ainmire. It was continuous, the list of people in her life who she had adored and who were equally incapable of remaining with her. They had been lost to disease, to tragedy, to time, and she had now lost another, as she had lost before. There were others who were not distant from her life but were ashamed by their connection with her, for one reason or another- her cousins, Henrietta, Annie, and Miss Ainsley. Nobody was satisfied with her.

She had been indefectible as a child; how everyone adored her! It was almost expected for her to be loved but she had become a woman, and she had experienced the loss of the sole beings she cared for and that cared for her in return. Undesired by the two women she had come to love; a humiliation to her family and acquaintances; an irritation to the custodian that had once cherished her, Bonnie believed that there was no escape from the degradation of being unloved and invisible to all those around her, whether it was for her melancholia, her retentive nature, her heritage, her religion, or her age. Merely the other day Miss Ainsley had reported that she had grown quite plump, that it was disconcerting to see her lounge all day and feast upon the variety of pastries and cakes brought to her. The pastries had been nothing but a delight to Bonnie and she discovered, after this comment, that they had become shameful, one of the sole pleasures she had maintained now dissolving before her eyes.

It was an indisputable truth that she brought disgrace upon the family name, upon herself, and all those she had ever associated with. Bonnie could not comprehend any other reason for being shunned as she was; nobody wished to be acquainted with her or to be known as an acquaintance. This reflection upon all those she coveted, all those who had passed or who had not remained in her life, merely furthered her distress and she whined, her bottom lowering to the floor, her hands curling in her nightgown. From her lips came the Our Father, the prayer repeating itself several times, though she did not know the precise reason for it. Whether it was to save her from insanity or to remove her existence entirely, she could not say.

Moments later, she stood, staring out into the darkness in reticence rather than at the water below. Its thrashing in the wind was no longer soothing but it continued to beckon, withal. Lowering the shawl from her shoulders, it fell to the ground. Bonnie stepped gently towards the river, her foot lowering into its glacial temperatures. The bitter conditions caused her to wince, though she did not remove herself, and slowly, her other foot lowered into the water beside it. Inhaling sharply, primarily from the cold, she felt the stream lap against her ankles and against the hem of her nightgown.

Bonnie was entranced by the sight and stepped forward, the water deepening around her until it was at her waist. She had kept her arms above the surface, carefully ensuring they were dry. Nevertheless, as she stepped forward, the bed of the brook inclined steeply, causing her to gasp as she sensed herself being dragged into the current, underneath the murky waters. Her foot slid from the polished pebbles beneath, her arms reaching outward as if to grasp any object around her, though there was nothing present.

Bonnie was submerged in the river, her nightgown and hair fluttering alongside her still body. The dusk and the volume of water blinded her; she could not view the scenery that lay underneath, staring into utter darkness. For a moment, she simply rested in the water, her eyes closing, her arms embracing herself as she was pulled along by the current. The silence and stillness were a comfort to her, despite the chill, her mind and body beginning to feel at ease. Then, she inhaled.

When no air reached her lungs, her eyes opened and a sense of horror overcame her. The realisation that she had inhaled water caused her to unwrap her arms from around herself. Endeavouring to breathe, she scrambled to the surface, her legs and arms thrusting her upward.

She had not grasped how deeply she had tumbled into the water- she could not discern the surface for some moments, her limbs endeavouring to fight against the current. Bonnie had learnt to swim in natural lakes and rivers; she knew the threat of the current, the injury that could be done by the increase of a low temperature in her body, and the deceptive depth of natural water. It was then that she questioned if this was to be her last moment before Elysium, if this was the brutal end in which she had subjected herself to in order to reach paradise.

Her head emerged from the water and she inhaled deeply, coughing forthwith from the water she had ingested. Scrambling to the embankment, she discerned that her body was fatigued, having engaged in little exercise in the past months, and her limbs were chilled from the frosted water and air. The wind also caused the current to stream swifter than it ordinarily would. Fearful, Bonnie comprehended that she may not reach the embankment at all, though, fortunately, her continual striving enabled her to drift closer until she was able to grasp the levee, her fingers burrowing firmly into the ground.

Hauling herself from the water, she crawled forward, coughing and spluttering. The amount of liquid that was emitted from inside of her was not what she had hoped for, though she continued to cough, her fist striking her chest until her body shuddered and expelled a pool of water from within. Exhausted, she lay on her front, her forehead pressed against the mud.

Her narrow, though fortuitous, escape from death dawned upon her as she lay there and she groaned from the fatigue and sorrow she felt. Asudden, the staggering realisation of the harm she had committed herself- the comprehension that she had openly welcomed that harm- was unbearable and she began to weep. The image of her parents, her brother, and her neighbour haunted her. She wept for the loss of them all, for the distance created between them when she had wished otherwise, and she wept, too, for those that she had been abandoned to, people who did not care for her nor she them.

How long she remained there, sobbing, she did not know but she was able to crawl across the embankment, her limbs shivering and aching, until she recovered her shawl. Grasping it, she ascended the slope, able to stand on her feet once she had reached level terrain. Her legs quivered as she staggered forward, suddenly conscious of the hardened, wintry ground. The wind was too painful to bear in her weakened and damp condition, and she began to shiver violently as she stumbled forward.

Worn, she could not decipher the path home, particularly in the dark, and she stared about her, disoriented, though she did not cease in her walking. There were no lights in the distance and she could not decipher any particular shape in the night that resembled a building. She moaned in dissatisfaction, in terror, and in the physical disturbance that she was starting to feel, her jaw beginning to chatter vehemently. It did not occur to her to use the shawl for warmth, it hanging from her hand as half of it was dragged across the ground beside her.

Collapsing, she could not decipher if her legs could no longer carry her or whether her emotion overcame her, but she continued to weep. She prayed to God for forgiveness in her folly but for salvation also, terrified that she would not find her way home, that this would be her last night on Earth. Bonnie had not found a will to live but she had found the will to die comfortably, and she was not soothed by the notion that this would be how she passed from the world.

As she sat on the ground, wailing, she perceived a light ahead. The gleaming, fiery ball hovered in the air, weaving in some strange, mesmeric dance, and with it, she perceived the calling of her name. Momentarily, Bonnie believed it was God. He had come to take her from the earthly plain, inducing her to crawl forward to meet Him, though her emotion and physical weakness caused her to cease. She had exerted herself greatly in swimming from the river and she had no physical nor mental will to travel any further. In addition, the voice was not a comfort to her nor was it the voice of anyone she wished to hear, so she remained still.

The light travelled hastily closer and the nearer it came, it began to part into two, a duplicate light hovering near the original. She stared at it in interest and bemusement, watching as it came toward her, her mind unable to fathom the unfurling scene. Bonnie heard her name being called again, the dancing light soon illuminating upon her, and she squinted upward to discover two faces peering down at her. Astonished, she perceived that they belonged to two servants in her household.

“Miss Donoghue...”

The closest to her reached down to observe her, she flinching at the flame in the lamp. He recognised that she was disturbed, both by the light and by the events of the night, and he moved the lamp away from her. The two men observed her, cautiously, as she sat on the ground, discerning her sodden and soiled appearance.

She heard one say- “Miss Donoghue, is there anybody else present?”

It took her a minute to comprehend and indicate in the negative.

“Then we are here to take you back,” came the verdict. When she did not respond in speech or in movement, there was an addition of: “Can you stand?”

Glancing down at herself, at the ground, and at the stained nightgown that she was in, she muttered, faintly-

“No.”

The shawl was taken from her, gently, and wrapped around her, whereupon she was lifted from the ground, the man in front of her holding a lantern in each hand, as she was cradled in the arms of the other. Bonnie frowned up at him, unsure as to how she had come to be there and why she required carrying, but she did not wish to move and remained in that position, amenable to being transported if there was to be no effort on her part.

The swaying sensation as she was carried towards the House was consoling to her and she felt her eyes begin to close. Seconds later, she had fallen into slumber. It was secure and enduring, unlike any sleep she had experienced since the departure of her neighbour. Bonnie lay limply in the arms of her servant, her sleep dreamless, deep, and sedate. It was almost like slipping into death itself but this time, she was content. Not even her ghosts could wake her.

Chapter Text

Miss Ainsley was awoken by the wind rattling against the windowpane and by a pain in her chest. Often, the sharp sensation would arise when she exerted herself too much, physically and mentally, but it could arise, too, when she had eaten a considerable amount in the evening. She lay in her bed listening to the whistle and groans of the gusts outside, though she soon discerned that she would need to walk in order to ease the affliction.

Clambering from bed to adorn her nightgown and slippers, she sipped from the water that had been placed at her dresser. Satisfied, she turned towards the door, directing her path downstairs, relishing in the chance to keep her limbs in movement. As she walked, she massaged her chest, discerning that the soreness was not entirely lessened but it had somewhat eased. She inhaled deeply to loosen the remaining ache within her chest and smiled to herself, for she often relished her night-time walks through the manor, despite her disrupted slumber.

Yet, as she approached the entrance hall, she jolted, the sharp sensation arising again but not from pain, from nerves. The clattering of a door could be heard in the wind, though no such sound was supposed to exist- each entrance was studiously locked before all members of the house retired to bed. With her heart beating frantically, Miss Ainsley feared that there had been an intrusion, her mind recalling the attempted burglary at Haynes Park. She did not wish to discover whether this was correct by happening upon a burglar, desirous for someone else to investigate so that she may be far from the rear of the house.

Swiftly but quietly, she hurried to the servants’ quarters, glancing frequently around her and exclaiming whenever she perceived a noise or object that she did not anticipate. Arriving at the butler’s private chambers, having had the fortune to encounter no living soul, she rapped at the door, Mr Thomas opening it in bewilderment. Before she could explain the reason for this peculiar disturbance, he asked-

“Yes, ma’am?”

“Thomas, Thomas, you shall not believe it! I think we are being burgled.” Wide-eyed in her terror, she informed him in a hushed but frantic tone. “One of the doors upstairs has been flung open.”

Mr Thomas responded instantly by returning to his room and gathering his shoes and coat, departing the chambers once they were adorned.

“I shall wake the men; we will search the house and grounds. I insist you remain here, ma’am!”

Miss Ainsley did not wish to contend, for she had not the courage to traverse anywhere that may contain an intruder. Nevertheless, as the servants hastened from their quarters, she discerned that Bonnie was asleep, blissfully ignorant of an unwanted presence, and was therefore at risk of harm. Exclaiming to herself in her alarm, she dashed upstairs to remain with her and soothe the poor creature, lest she be frightened. She thought it appropriate, too, that they should be a comfort to one another and remain together until they were assured that no such intruder existed on the premises, this notion emboldening her as she fled through the hallway.

Upon reaching her destination, she did not pause to knock, for she knew Bonnie slept soundly and may not hear her. What’s more, she did not wish to alert any burglar to her whereabouts; thus, she opened the door fractionally, gliding into the room with caution, before closing it carefully and resolutely behind her. Exhaling in the relief that she had not been harmed, Miss Ainsley remained at the door until she felt her heartbeat begin to settle. The thought that she was presently safe with Bonnie, that they should remain so if they were to stay together, soothed her. Turning to the bed, she stepped quietly towards it, leaning over to wake her ward.

Withal, as she observed the bed in the dark, she noted that there appeared to be no distinct shape within. Her brow furrowed as she reached out, her hand patting along the mattress to discover a body, but there was no such result. In response, an acute sense of dread began to rise, one far greater than any she had perceived upon believing that there was an intruder in the home.

“Bonnie? Bonnie!”

Her voice became frantic as she felt the whole of the bed, peering around the room once she had finished in the hope that she was simply elsewhere. Despite her effort, she knew the answer before the silence settled upon her. It dawned on her as to why the door had been opened, in regards as to whom had done so, though she could not decipher the reason for it, why her ward would wish to wander so late at night. Nonetheless, the thought of Bonnie alone in the dark, particularly out in the vast fields beyond, terrified Miss Ainsley and she began to quiver. There were countless opportunities for the young woman to come to harm, though the custodian could not bear to reflect upon any of them. She discerned that she may be found, on all accounts, when the grounds were searched and she would consequently be transported back home.

Assured that there was no intruder, that the open door was a consequence of her muddled ward, Miss Ainsley traipsed downstairs, waiting at the rear entrance for any indication of Bonnie’s arrival. The entryway had been closed before the search began and she decided to wait beside it. How long she waited, she did not know but she sat on a stool nearby, anticipative for the door to open and to view Bonnie walking through at any moment.

It was not until she discerned hurried footsteps along the path and the shouting of men outside that her hopes were raised and she stood. The custodian hastened to the door, flinging it open, merely to discern the quickened pace of the servants, one of the men carrying a limp body within his arms. As her gaze lowered onto the unconscious Bonnie, Miss Ainsley’s knees weakened and she stepped backward, falling onto the stool that she had waited upon.

“Oh, my word!” she exclaimed.

The fear that Bonnie was deceased overcame her, beginning to weep in her affright, her hand pressing against her chest to regulate her erratic breathing. In her mind’s eye, she saw her previous employers. Her hands clasped together in her desperation, swiftly marking the sign of the cross, and she uttered:

“Fionn and Padmini, forgive me!”

As the servants entered the household, she heeded instructions to call the doctor, one of the men sprinting past her through the manor. This command provided hope that there was a chance of survival, that whatever had occurred was reversible, and Miss Ainsley composed herself, crossing herself once more in resolution. She stood, ordering the men to carry the young woman upstairs, to which they complied, she following with a hurried step.

Upon entering Bonnie’s bedchambers, she watched as the gentlewoman was laid upon the bed before instructing that the maid be brought to her. She had perceived, even in the dark, that Bonnie was sodden. The mud that had dried along her face and arms were also visible to see. Undoubtedly, she required warming and more comfortable clothes.

In her haste, Miss Ainsley could not ponder any task beyond administering to Bonnie and, as Bronagh entered the room, she was knelt beside the hearth, attempting to light the kindling with a quivering hand. Miss Ainsley peered up at her, as the fire began to blaze, her tone urgent.

“I have placed a new nightdress upon the bed. We must dress her immediately!”

Bronagh uttered her acknowledgement and they began to remove the sodden nightgown from the woman before them. She remained unconscious, her body weighing heavily in their arms as they lifted her. They were able to haul the material from her, the nightdress abandoned on the carpet whilst they hurried to wash and dry her skin, placing her, hereafter, in the clean cloth. Between them, they lay her under the covers, enfolding her in the quilt and an additional blanket.

Miss Ainsley untied Bonnie’s hair, swiftly but gently, whilst Bronagh tended to the fire, rubbing the dark waves with a towel to remove as much moisture as possible. The mass of hair meant that it was not an expeditious endeavour, but she was resolute in her task, brushing the tresses softly afterward so that it was not tangled. She retied the hair and wrapped it in silk (203), so that the back and top of her head were covered and so that any moisture left would not soak the pillow.

By the time she had completed the task, Bronagh had departed, having been instructed that she may return to bed. Alone with her ward, Miss Ainsley stared down at her, abashed that a tear fell from her cheek onto the shoulder of the woman below. She wiped her eyes and reached out, tenderly stroking her finger along her cheek, observing her placid features. It occurred to her that she had not viewed Bonnie this serene in months, the notion distressing her further. Inhaling quiveringly, she removed herself from atop the bed and lowered onto a nearby chair.

In the silence, she questioned what she was to do, whether Bonnie would survive, whether she was to pass from the world before old age, as her parents and brother had done before her, or whether, in her recovery, she would be institutionalised. Miss Ainsley knew she must write to the remaining Donoghues, that they should be made aware of this decline in Bonnie’s health. Nevertheless, as exasperated as she was with Bonnie’s temperament, the elderly woman could not quite release her into the care of another, particularly one who would not guard or nurse her as she required. The notion of Bonnie alone in an institution terrified Miss Ainsley and her hands trembled in her lap as she thought upon it. She wished to believe that there was hope for her still, albeit it slim.

Bonnie had been a girl when her brother returned home in the arms of their father, having been found by the lake, and she was barely a woman when her parents died, merely three days apart from one another. After their burial, she had been removed to a place that was unfamiliar to her, to live with her family who had been strangers to her for the majority of her life. Two years later, Miss Ainsley had been requested by the young woman herself, who required familiarity and was desperate to leave her surroundings so that she may return to her home in Killarney. She had been pensive then- Miss Ainsley recalled- but her sorrow had merely deepened over time and the custodian had been incapable of providing for her in the way that she had hoped. Over the years, they, too, had become strangers to one another.

Miss Ainsley observed Bonnie upon the bed, the glow from the flames flickering over her motionless figure. It was easy to forget how young she was- no longer a girl but unworldly in her years. The old governess had followed the route that had been laid out by Bonnie’s parents, perpetually conscious of the burden in marrying Bonnie to a landed family, in ensuring she was well-connected, well cared-for, and likely, in time, to produce offspring. In her obligation, she had forgotten how delicate her ward truly was and how obstinate. Miss Ainsley was not equipped for the provision that Bonnie required, not if she was to be the sole guardian of her health and happiness. She had hoped, when the melancholia first emerged, that she would be governed by the family to the most judicious route for Bonnie’s recovery, but the Donoghues had not wished to extend their kindness beyond the boarding of Bonnie at their home and the admittance of her allowance.

Often, she believed that the two of them had come to be marooned on an island, the same as she had read of in novels, and that they were scarcely able to survive on the means afforded them, but each time they attempted to gain the attention of passing boats and ships, they remained unseen and unheard, deserted to waste away together until neither of them were left. When the Donoghues had arrived at Colworth House, Miss Ainsley had trusted that this was the intervention she had prayed for, but they had discerned Bonnie was not to be removed, that she was not so direly in need as to enact such a motion, and they had departed.

Her hands quivered in her lap but it was no longer from dread but indignation. She had not wanted to be ungrateful; she had wanted to believe that Bonnie’s family would provide for her in time, but they were abandoned. She had been abandoned. It was solely her love for the girl she had once known and her previous employers, the generosity and esteem that they had once extended to her, that induced her to remain there.

Raising her gaze to the ceiling, she could not bear to watch the unconscious figure of the woman she had failed, and she exhaled, shudderingly, through her lips. Her hands clasped together to steady themselves but she began to sob, her head lowering into her hands, moments later, as her body convulsed. The sentiment arose from the shame she felt in failing her employers- who equally had been her friends, for the turmoil in trying to understand her ward and her needs, and in squandering her retirement- the last years of her life- with a woman she could not aid but whom she loved dearly, though she knew Bonnie resented her efforts. Yet, if she were to leave her, Bonnie would be alone and that grieved her more than living with the woman’s displeasure. In her woe, Miss Ainsley mourned for it all and for the potential that she may yet outlive the last remaining Donoghue in that definitive lineage.

Minutes later, there was a knock at the door and it opened to reveal Dr Kensley. The sight induced her to stand, hopeful that Bonnie would be cured by his attendance. From any harm that had come to her in her wandering but also for the melancholia that had compelled her to enter so readily into that harm in the first place.

“Oh, Doctor!” she blurted, pulling the handkerchief from her robe’s pocket and dabbing at her eyes and cheeks. “Please... please hurry.” The custodian stepped towards the bed, her hand reaching out to grasp Bonnie’s arm gently, as if the motion had the capability of protecting her. “We do not know why she was outside. She was wet through...”

As the doctor approached, his bag placed on the side of the bed, he informed her- “Mister Krol and Miss Patten accompanied me up the stairs to relate all that they knew; they are awaiting instruction in the foyer. I was notified that Mister Krol and Mister Fielding discovered her not far from the river.”

Miss Ainsley exclaimed, repressing the urge to sob once more.

“Nothing was said to me on the matter...”

She stared down at the woman before her, incapable of digesting, in the short time afforded her, why her ward was at the river. Raising her gaze, she knew she must be of service, regardless of her concerns, her first priority being in aiding the doctor so that he may attend to her as swiftly as possible.

“She was in terrible condition when she arrived,” she appended. “Absolutely filthy and soaked to the bone! She has been unconscious since being returned to the house; she has not stirred.” Miss Ainsley reached upward and placed the back of her hand against Bonnie’s forehead. “And she has a temperature still. She did when I combed her hair. I am afraid that she is becoming quite ill...”

Miss Ainsley began to weep once more, blathering in her distress. “She used to love having her hair combed, Doctor Kensley. Her father used to sit with her and comb it until it was completely finished; her hair has always been so long and thick that the task seemed to last forever. I could not leave her hair in the state it was in. It was so unlike her- sullied, dishevelled.” Miss Ainsley was not referring to her hair when she wailed- “She looked awful!”

The doctor did not respond but recorded Bonnie’s temperature for himself, as well as her heart rate. He then bent over her chest and pressed his ear to it, listening. As he did so, Miss Ainsley fell quiet so that he could hear. Seconds later, he raised his head and stared directly at her.

“Her temperature is higher than usual; her heart rate is elevated also. There does not appear to be any aspiration from what I can hear but I would prefer to keep her under observation tonight, as nobody can indicate whether she has inhaled or swallowed water or how much she has, if that is the case. I will remain here to monitor her- any indications that she is struggling to breathe, that she has a fever, a cough, sputum, or the spitting of blood will perhaps be the worst confirmation (204), but if she does not exhibit these within the next forty-eight hours, we may rest easy that she has every chance of a recovery.”

“Oh, thank you, Doctor. Thank you! May the Lord bless you!”

In her relief, she half-bowed to him, her hands clasped before her face, as if raising them in praise and exhilaration, though she perceived the action was also borne from delirium, this state a direct result of the emotion that resided within her. The doctor, however, could not resist the esteem bestowed upon him, even in her evident distress, a complacent smile appearing on his lips.

“No need to thank me, Miss Ainsley,” he insisted, though he tugged at the lapel of his jacket in gratification. “I am merely performing my duty. I will do all I can to return Miss Donoghue to full strength. I will arrange what we need with the servants...”

“I will remain with her,” Miss Ainsley interjected.

Doctor Kensley smiled benevolently. “You are not required to do so, ma’am. I insist you sleep.”

The custodian shook her head, appalled that she should sleep soundly when Bonnie was infirm.

“No, sir,” she protested. “I will not leave her side. I will remain with her until the morning or until she wakes.” Observing that he was to contend, she continued. “I will not be swayed. I will wait here. You and I may sit together, but there will not be a time tonight where I am not with Bonnie.”

He perceived that she was correct- she could not be persuaded otherwise. Conceding, he inclined his head.

“As you wish, ma’am. I shall continue with the arrangements.” With his hand upon the door, he bowed. “If you will excuse me.”

She gestured her consent, returning to her seat once the door had closed behind him. Her gaze settled upon the restful Bonnie, noting that her brow was starting to dampen with perspiration. Searching in the drawers, she discovered a handkerchief and dabbed it along Bonnie’s forehead and down the edge of her face. The reticence that settled upon her was oppressive in its force now that there was no other soul in the room to distract her from the situation at hand, the consequence of all that had occurred that night. Her previous emotion rose to greet her but she neglected to acknowledge it, focused entirely on the woman before her. With the handkerchief crumpled in her hand, she sat watching Bonnie in silence, the sole sound in the room being the crackle of the fire. No other noise nor movement did Miss Ainsley make for some time but settled into staring at her in mute grief. She was incapable of conducting herself in any other manner.

Chapter Notations

203. Silk head-towels or bonnets can be used to maintain the natural moisture in one’s hair, whilst also maintaining their hairstyle, particularly for those with textured or styled hair, as the soft material does not aggravate it whilst it’s in the headdress.

204. These are symptoms of aspiration pneumonia, a type of pneumonia that occurs when food or liquid is breathed into the airways and lungs, causing inflammation or infection. In modern medicine, aspiration pneumonia can be treated but if left unnoticed or untreated, the consequences can be fatal, as the infection can enter into the bloodstream, which most often leads to sepsis. In the 19th Century, before the invention of anti-biotics, treatment was reduced to the use of mercury, which would induce vomiting; blistering the skin so that the heat would ‘draw’ the infection from the lungs and to the surface of the skin; blood-letting or the use of leeches; honey, particularly manuka honey, which inhibits the growth and division of bacteria, and opium, which decreased pain.

Chapter Text

Penny had dispatched a letter to her neighbour in the hopes that they may travel to town together. She had not called upon Miss Donoghue in some days, nor had Miss Donoghue arrived at the Park. Resultantly, Penny had become spiritless. The idea that they were to frolic in town together was a comfort to her, awaiting the response with anticipation. Nevertheless, when she received a missive, it was in Miss Ainsley’s hand, reporting that Bonnie was currently indisposed and could not leave the manor. This dissatisfied Penny, who was desperate to leave the estate, and had hoped for an adequate reason to depart.

She paced in the gardens, Diana at her heels, until she decided that Bonnie’s confinement was the ideal reason to visit; it would be compassionate for her to show such kindness when her friend was unwell, and it provided an adequate reason to remain at Colworth House rather than occupy herself at home where she was idle and solitary. Delighted at the prospect, she dressed for the journey and called for the carriage.

The anticipation of sitting with Bonnie and perhaps painting, singing, or reading, regardless of her melancholy, was thrilling to Penny, and she peered out of the chaise window, a grin upon her countenance. It was not until they entered the grounds of Colworth House that her smile began to fade. With her fingers curling around the bottom of the windowsill, she peered out onto the gravelled turf, observing the straw that they rode upon (205). Though she discerned its intention, the sight bewildered her, for it was unusual for such methods to be used in remedying dolour. Penny questioned if her neighbour’s low spirits were induced by noise, though she had never encountered such a case, this perplexment engrossing her whilst the carriage came to a halt on the driveway.

Upon alighting and ringing the doorbell, there was a ghastly silence from within. There was no visible response- no figure appearing in the hallway nor a sound heeded from inside. Penny began to question if the building was empty, having waited minutes for someone to arrive, when she perceived Miss Ainsley approaching the entrance. She smiled at the sight of her, pleased that the journey had not been wasted, that her day may be thrilling still. Nevertheless, her smile wavered when she viewed the deportment of the custodian through the glass.

Miss Ainsley’s sienna complexion had paled, this alteration provoked by a situation that had visibly unnerved her, though Penny could not comprehend what it may be. Her expression was wretched and fatigued, her well-kept demeanour now dishevelled, her grey hair in disarray, even in the plain bun that she wore. This presentation caused her to appear older than was customary, Penny commiserative for this circumstance, though she could not discern what had caused it.

The elderly woman opened the door, muttering:

“I apologise, Miss Davers, but Miss Donoghue is unwell. As I explained in my letter, she is incapable of receiving visitors.”

Penny was unperturbed. “I am accustomed to dealing with Miss Donoghue’s melancholia, Miss Ainsley; it does not disconcert me in any way. You shall find we will remain good friends, even when she is unwell.”

Miss Ainsley stared at her in silence. The declaration took some moments to digest, this lethargy unlike the governess. It caused Penny to question what had occurred for this transformation to have taken place, discerning that the situation was more severe than she had originally estimated. Hereafter, Miss Ainsley shook her head.

“No, that is not the issue, Miss Davers.” Her voice was as worn as the first time she had spoken. “She has a fever and may be developing an infection, potentially of the lungs. I must monitor her. Bonnie cannot speak to anyone.” Her voice began to waver. “You see, she has not awoken since yesterday.”

Penny’s eyes widened in her trepidation, for she had not anticipated the situation to be so grave. Anxious to be of assistance, she hurriedly spoke out.

“I will sit with her, Miss Ainsley; I will watch over her.” She paused. “Have you been with Bonnie all night?”

Miss Ainsley had lowered her gaze in her fatigue but as she raised it once more, her bloodshot eyes answered before she had uttered a word.

“Yes, I stayed with her last night,” she confirmed. “Bonnie has not stirred; she has not groaned nor moved nor even muttered in her sleep. Doctor Kensley is here; he is sleeping currently. I said I will watch her.” Her gaze was directed past Penny and onto the driveway, settling upon the doctor’s pillbox (206). Penny followed her gaze in curiosity, having been unaware of its presence, drawn back to Miss Ainsley by the sound of her talking, the solemnity in her voice audible. “I do not wish for her to be alone when she wakes. Lord knows why she was outside!”

Sympathetic, Penny reached out and gently took hold of her wrist. “Please rest, Miss Ainsley. I shall sit with her, as promised, and wait until you are well-rested.” Perceiving that she was to protest, she interjected. “I have nothing that occupies me today; mother is quite happy on her own. Besides, Miss White is keeping her company.” There was a pause where Miss Ainsley contemplated the offer, compelling Penny to add, softly: “Please, let me help.”

Although she did not wish to admit it, the custodian was wearied. It was not solely through watching Bonnie but from the bouts of grief, her infrequent weeping, and the anxiety that had accumulated over the night that tired her, and she relented to the notion of rest.

Assenting, she allowed Penny into the foyer, disclosing the medical analysis that she had undertaken throughout the night. Penny was undaunted by nursing her neighbour and assured the custodian that she would care for her as well as she could, that she would watch over her diligently until either herself or the doctor came to relieve her of her duties. She had been assigned a task, which she undertook with all seriousness, prepared to assist Bonnie until she awoke.

As she ascended the stairs- Miss Ainsley already having dashed to bed- it began to dawn on her the gravity of the situation. She recalled what the elderly woman had said to her, of Bonnie being outside, of her being unconscious all night. The infection was undoubtedly from the chill she had acquired from being outdoors in the night-time, though there was no discernible reason for her to have been there. Penny could not conceive what awaited her, the thought of how Bonnie may appear in her unconscious state. She was fearful that her skin was waxen, that she had somehow wasted into an emaciated condition, or that her breathing would be laboured and unbearable to listen to in her struggle. Gripping the balustrade, Penny discerned that she was nervous, her mind conjuring terrible and frightful images.

Quivering, she reached the landing, her footsteps faltering. She did not wish to see Bonnie in her current state, preferring, all of a sudden, to have someone accompany her. Although she had never done so before, she presumed that she would faint upon viewing her neighbour, appalled by the ghastly sight that awaited her, a small part of her almost anticipative at the theatrics that would ensue.

Opening the door, she peered around the oak panel to observe the room. It was dim, the curtains having remained closed, this gloom provoking a sombre atmosphere. The fire was the sole distinction as it crackled heartily in its hearth, illuminating the objects that lay before it. Penny discerned the chair by the bed, undoubtedly Miss Ainsley’s, and the mattress where a motionless figure was recumbent atop it. Stepping into the room, Penny closed the door quietly behind her, not wishing to make a sound, as if the whole scene would be disturbed and Bonnie would awaken from her slumber.

She ambled tentatively towards the bed, her hand pressed against her chest in preparation for her inevitable exclamation of dread, the swoon that would follow, but she heeded that it was unnecessary. Bonnie was laid peacefully upon the bed. There was no notable indication that she was unwell other than the fact she was unconscious. A moment later, however, she perceived the laboured breathing that exerted itself from her chest to her nose, her lips parted lightly as if to aid her in the endeavour. Her cheeks were flushed and there was a speckled trail along her hairline and neck where she was damp from perspiration.

Penny peered around her, discovering a pile of fresh handkerchiefs placed neatly on the bedside table. She plucked the closest one and gently pat it along the outskirts of her neighbour’s face. Pleased to have been of some assistance, she sat down and stared about her, her hands drumming against her skirt and thighs, her feet tapping upon the floor. Although she had arrived only a moment ago, she was restless. The misfortune of Bonnie being unwell, the shock that had caused her, as well as the discernment that she was alone with her, that she would be for some hours, had settled upon her and she wished to be active. Yet, her task was to wait.

She exhaled in her difficulty and stood, pacing across the front of the bed before turning sharply, heading towards the window. Penny opened the curtains, allowing for a portion of light if she desired to read or occupy herself, one way or another. Content to have been of use, albeit it small, she returned to the chair, noting that the Bible had been placed on the bedside table, not far from the extinguished candelabra and the pile of handkerchiefs. It had been left open and Penny peered across to read the passages upon it. The book was unfolded on Isiah. She recognised the story, it being The Helper of Israel.

Aloud, she recited- “So, do not fear, for I am with you; do not be dismayed, for I am your God. I will strengthen you and help you; I will uphold you with my righteous right hand (207).”

Penny wondered why Miss Ainsley had been reading this passage, for she could not discern it to be anyone else. She supposed she required strength for aiding Bonnie, yet before she could ruminate any further, she halted. Although she was acquainted with the custodian, she knew it was unseemly to intrude upon her private thoughts and desires. Yet, she was spiritless, as dull as she had been at the Park, which often impelled her to be curious. At times, to her own detriment. This comprehension of her own failings spurred her to lift the Bible and read it for herself, continuing from where Miss Ainsley had abandoned it. She knew it would distract her but that it may also bring some fraction of relief to her quiet musings. Penny did not know how feverish Bonnie was and she believed it would be beneficial to say a prayer of her own. Lord knows she needed the comfort.

Chapter Notation

205. Historically, straw could be spread on the road outside the house of an invalid so that cart wheels and horses’ hooves were muffled. This prevented any noise from outside reaching the person who was unwell, thus preserving their rest.

206. Small carriages, such as the gig carriage, were commonly used by country doctors in order to visit patients in. Historically, ‘pillbox’ was used to describe anything small or box-like, and thus, the small carriages that carried doctors around came to be nick-named the ‘pillbox’.

207. Isiah 41:10.

Chapter Text

Bonnie awoke the following day, though she did not venture downstairs till ten days after she had awoken. She was prescribed bedrest by Doctor Kensley, who visited her every morning. Following the ten days, he was satisfied with her progress and she was, at last, permitted to return to her diurnal pursuits, with the exception that they were not tedious on her nerves nor her body. This revelation was not received well by Miss Ainsley, who feared that her ward may venture outside once she was able, though Bonnie had no such desire. She had not discovered a will to survive in her idleness but she was inconvenienced by her affliction, having been confined to bedrest. Bonnie believed it too troublesome and did not wish to repeat the circumstance. The illness also prevented the young woman from venturing outdoors, conscious of provoking the ailment into escalation. She believed it would be but another inconvenience to her. Rather, she trailed around the House in her nightgown and robe, disinterested in all around her.

Her will to live was not aided by Miss Ainsley, who followed her wherever she went and would often attempt to engage her in various pursuits that she believed would cheer her. These endeavours had the opposite effect. What’s more, Bonnie retained a cough, a remnant of the chill she had caught in her body, and each time she intermittently hacked or hemmed, Miss Ainsley would rush to her side to ensure she was well, that there was no blood upon her hand or the handkerchief. Occasionally, the custodian would begin to weep at the sound of her coughing, an unbearable reminder of Bonnie’s affliction, in body and mind, and the event that had caused it.

To remove Miss Ainsley from her presence, Bonnie had accepted her neighbour’s daily visits, hoping that, in time, the custodian would feel comfortable in relieving her duties as a chaperone. This fortuitous circumstance did occur soon after; Miss Ainsley had observed how attentive Penny was, assured that her ward would be provided for in her absence. Thus, they were left to their own devices, where they elected to read Crusoe together.

It had been the girl’s idea, insisting that she would enjoy the novel, and that they may read a chapter or two a day. This suited Bonnie, since it was a timely distraction from her misery, allowing her to dream of another world entirely, one that she perceived she could not quite reach, though one she wished to be a part of. In addition, it was a task where she need not exert herself; she merely had to listen to Penny as she narrated the novel.

Each morning, she perceived the ringing of the bell, apprehending precisely who the caller was. Nevertheless, it occurred to her, each time, that the noise recalled a name to mind, though it was not the Davers whom she naturally expected that entered the room, accustomed to another appearing in the doorway. The recollection was unpleasant, yet she could not prevent it, often tearful before Penny had even entered the room. That morning was no exception.

She had invited Penny into the parlour so that they may overlook the gardens, the etchings of spring beginning to form in the terrain around her. Ordinarily, the sight would enthuse her but her disinterest, her unceasing melancholy, merely distressed her more, since there was no delight at the thought of spring and she heeded how altered she was in temperament. This anguish, alongside the undesirable recollection of her neighbour, merely furthered her grief.

Bonnie wiped the tears from her cheeks, emptying her nose into the kerchief. By the time Penny entered, the sole indication that she was tearful was her constant need to blow her nose and the occasional cough. She peered pitifully up at her guest, who smiled down at her, consolingly.

“Lovely morning, is it not?” Penny questioned, cheerfully.

She strolled to the window, where she peered out into the cold and dismal weather. Despite the dreariness, the sight of flowers enamoured her - the small daffodils and bergenia along the hedge, the camellias and primrose in the flower-beds- and she smiled across at them from the glass. In contrast, Bonnie stared down at her handkerchief.

“Yes, lovely,” she muttered.

Undaunted by her response, Penny joined her, staring across with great tenderness.

“I was wondering, on the way here, if we should occupy ourselves another way, solely for today.” Penny paused, anticipative for a response, but Bonnie merely peered up at her, her expression wretched. This spurred her to continue. “Shall we play the piano?... Or we could try some sketching. My technique has refined a little since we last drew together. Your suggestions for improvement were entirely useful!” Unable to command herself, she began to laugh, urged to explain the reason for her amusement. “I tried to draw Diana recently and she came out rather terrible.” She giggled, her hand pressing against her chest to prevent her laughter, though the image in her mind continued to entertain her. “You must see! I sketched her into something ugly. She barked at it, so I think she may dislike the picture but the awfulness makes me rather fond of it.”

Her amusement began to settle and she was able to compose herself, though the remembrance compelled her to smile. She glanced at her companion, who was able, seconds later, to contrive an imitative smile in her direction. Bonnie was unamused, despite the attempt, but the effort to accommodate her cohort was noted. Acknowledged, Penny continued.

“I shall show you when you are next at the Park. You shall see the humour in it.”

Bonnie did not respond. Although Penny was familiar with the disinterest that often accompanied her stories, it was not from her neighbour that she encountered this apathy but from her family. To have her neighbour unknowingly replicate their response was hurtful, though Penny did not wish to dwell upon it, for she knew Bonnie was not of sound mind. Nevertheless, she was wounded by the event.

As to Bonnie, she could not comprehend why she should alter her routine when it suited her so well, irked that she was forced to endure any other occupation. She did not question the reason for this decision, since she could not perceive any circumstance beyond her own suffering, but she would have discovered, had she inquired, that Penny had been reading to Bonnie in the day and returning in the night to endure her customary reading of the newspaper with her mother, the responsibility of both causing her voice to become hoarse, her throat sore, and she wished, for one day, to occupy herself another way, so that she may rest.

They sat in reticence for two minutes before Penny discerned that the woman before her was unwilling to speak- the sole sound Bonnie emitted during that time was a slight cough. Dauntless, Penny resolved to approach the subject that had not been broached, by her or by anyone else, though she believed it pertinent.

“Do you want to talk?” she spoke out. After a moment of silence, she added- “About how you became ill?”

“I do not think you will find the subject interesting,” was the apathetic response.

“If you would like to share it, I would like to hear it,” she encouraged.

“There is not much to tell.”

Although she did not respond, Penny could discern that her companion was troubled, that she wished to speak. Bonnie did not appear to believe her own admission but stared out of the window, her body beginning to curl into a foetal position as she pulled her knees to her chest. She bit down on her thumb nervously as she peered out at the shrubbery, her restless gaze revealing her feelings on the matter. Hereafter, she turned to Penny, though her eyes were downcast, and she echoed-

“I loved her to the very white of truth, and she would not conceive it. Timid thing! She fled me swift as sea-bird on the wing, round every isle, and point, and promontory, from where large Hercules wound up his story far as Egyptian Nile. My passion...”

The last two words were emitted from her in a short burst of air, the edge of her lips twitching upward in her regret for having revealed her sentiment, and she became tearful. Her bottom lip trembled, protruding as if to repress the inevitable way her features darkened in her displeasure, though she could not prevent herself from weeping. She wiped the tears that threatened to fall, turning her face in the opposite direction so that Penny could not view her overwhelming grief. It did not occur to her that it was visible to see, regardless of whether she hid her countenance.

Penny smiled, though it was not from felicity; it was borne from compassion and sorrow. She reached across to rest her hand atop Bonnie’s, hoping she may discover some consolation in the touch.

“My passion grew the more, the more I saw her dainty hue gleam delicately through the azure clear,” Penny recited, finishing the quotation.

Bonnie sniffed before wiping and blowing her nose. She had not yet finished expressing all that she had wished to say, her face angling towards Penny so that she could peer across, her expression woeful, her voice thick with emotion.

“Until ‘twas too fierce agony to bear; and in that agony, across my grief it flashed, that Circe might find some relief- cruel enchantress! So above the water I reared my head, and look for Phœbus’ daughter. Ææa’s isle was wondering at the moon: it seemed to whirl around me, and a swoon left me dead-drifting to that fatal power (208).”

Penny discerned with little difficulty who she referred to, what the passage alluded to in its entirety. The comprehension was injurious to her. In her mind, she exclaimed her sister’s name, sorrowfully- for the hurt the woman had caused herself and for the harm she had caused her neighbour, albeit unwittingly. She perceived asudden what had occurred between them for Yvonne to have fled, forgiving, despite herself, the reasons for her sister’s departure. It was misguided but she knew enough of her sister’s history, primarily through assumption, to comprehend why she had been fearful.

It was injurious to her too that Bonnie should be severely affected, that the both of them had not been capable in reconciling the apparent devotion that existed between them. Her sister, she could not aid; she was across the sea, but one of the wounded parties sat before her and was in dire need of her friendship.

“You were ill, Bonnie,” she articulated, softly, “and we are hoping to prevent that from happening again. Do you not wish to avoid it? Would you prefer to remain this way?”

Bonnie frowned. “And who do you refer to when you say ‘we’?”

“Miss Ainsley and I.”

Contemptuously, Bonnie scoffed. “Miss Ainsley only cares for herself.”

Penny flinched. Despite herself, she perceived that she was enraged, that the emotion within her had blended into white-hot vehemence. She could not discern if it was due to the situation, to Bonnie’s ignorance, or to Yvonne’s pride, or to the resentment she felt at having been placed in the circumstance she had, to endure all that occurred when nobody else had wished to; the pity she held for herself in bearing the brunt of each aggravation or tragedy that was inflicted upon her family, as well as the injustice of being forced to deal with it alone. Unwittingly, she glared at her companion.

“You are blind, do you know that?”

Releasing her hand, she stood, incapable of remaining still in her aggravation. Penny viewed the astonishment in Bonnie’s countenance but that did not prevent her. Her indignation had risen to such a degree that she could not compose herself, conscious that she was compelled to share what was on her mind.

“You are blind to all around you. You have had your share of misfortune, Bonnie. Of that, I agree but you have also had an incredible amount of luck. I am not sure what is preventing you from perceiving it! You have a life beyond what is expected of you, beyond your friends here, and beyond your friendship with Yvonne.” Gracious, even in her fury, she appended- “I do not mean to speak harshly when you are suffering so greatly but you must take command of yourself, Bonnie! You have had every chance and you have not taken it. Yvonne...” Faltering, she discerned that the both of them were wounded to hear her name but she could not conduct herself as if her sister were a ghost, some haunting figure between them that they could not speak of for fear that she would materialise before them in all of her ghastliness. Contrary to how Bonnie felt, Penny could not pretend her sister was non-existent. “She hurt you, and I know because she hurt me too.” Her hand pressed against her chest, her voice faltering in its distress, her conviction in her message the sole fortitude she could muster in continuing to speak. “But she does not control your life; you do. Nobody else can aid you if you do not do it for yourself.”

Penny began to pace, incapable of repressing the irritation within her.

“Miss Ainsley is employed by you, certainly,” she conceded, “but she did not have to accept the offer. She did not have to spend her retirement relocating with you to another country; she does not have to remain with you, by any means. And she certainly did not have to stay with you every night that you were unwell.” She glanced down at Bonnie, who was staring petulantly at the floor, her arms tucked around her knees. “Miss Ainsley is not always the most captivating conversationalist, she may not have the same aspirations as you, and she certainly has her faults, but she has stayed with you, no matter what has happened. It is visible to everyone that she idolises you. You want love in your life, Bonnie, and you want friendship. If that is not love and friendship, I can hardly think what is.

“She has been in your life since you were young and she has agreed to spend the rest of her life with you, in the hope that she may aid you in reaching your fullest potential. You may disagree on the outcome of that potential; it may not be the love that you wanted but it is there. That is more love and interest in your life than I could possibly hope for in mine.” Her speech faltered as she paced, her gaze flickering askance in its affliction. She ceased in her walking and turned to stare directly at her neighbour, who was silently tearful. “What I would give for such care and attention! For such passion in regards to my wellbeing. My own mother does not care what becomes of me; she would only notice if I were dead. The sole time she wishes to see me, to be near me, is when I am of use to her, and Yvonne...” Her voice lowered in her sorrow. “She is not much different.” Penny paused to regain her breath, beseeching, seconds later- “Do you not see how blessed you are?”

“I do not feel as I am blessed,” Bonnie wailed. “I am alone!” She paused before muttering- “I have no friends.”

Penny stared down at her, appalled. Her chest heaved in her displeasure and she inhaled deeply, anticipating the tirade that was surely to come.

“You are heedless!” she accused, tears welling in her eyes. Her voice rose till it was almost a shout. “You have relied entirely on Yvonne for friendship and companionship; you refuse to see what is before you.” She hesitated, as if she were to cease in her retort, but further accusations came to mind that she felt impelled to voice. “You have had numerous chances to acquaint yourself with the people here. Perhaps the Mounts are not the most appropriate friends- surely, we all know that disappointment- but there are the Leongs, the Palmers, the McLarens. Do you not enjoy their company? Have they not all been friends to you? You may travel further down the county and acquaint yourself with the families there. You may even visit London but you do no such thing.”

Bonnie mumbled, petulantly- “I am timid...”

She was barely heard above the rustle of Penny’s skirts, the girl continuing to pace in her restlessness.

“You were restricted, certainly,” Penny contended. “That is understandable, from one woman to another, but you are not now. You have all of the money you need, all of the friends, all of the social status in order to travel, to experience the world. You must recognise, Bonnie, the influence you have in your own life. Yvonne cannot do it for you. She cannot provide the world on a silver platter, even if she were here; you must provide it for yourself!

“In this lifetime, you should not wait for anyone. A companion is a friend who walks alongside you, even in your darkest hours, but no companion must be so entirely your guide, your mentor, your warden that you have no capability of your own to nurture yourself, to guide yourself with your own reason, your own principles. You rely too much on her and I must admit, I do not rate it! Neither should she cater so much to others; she is perhaps a little too generous at times. You need additional assistance, that is no issue within itself, but you must not mould yourself to other people’s will but discover your own. You shall be happier for it.”

Exasperated, she knelt before her, grasping the woman’s hands firmly within her own. Bonnie merely stared down at her, uncertain of how to respond. Her bottom lip merely protruded in her consternation and she sniffed, pitifully.

“Besides, I am here, am I not?” Penny urged, earnestly. “Have I not always been here to attend to you whenever you needed it? Has not Miss Ainsley? She, who you so readily disdain? You have many who wish to be your friend and many more who admire you. There is not one person in this world who has met you and does not want to know you. But, come what may, you are dissatisfied.” Penny’s expression darkened, her tone accusatory. “You are exactly like her. Like Yvonne.” As she stared up at the woman before her, she could perceive the bewilderment in Bonnie’s countenance, though she could also view the pity she held for herself still, the notion irking the girl further. “I suppose you two are well-suited to one another.”

Casting her hands aside, she stood, scowling irritably down at her neighbour. Bonnie merely continued to weep, incapable of voicing her defence nor being able to discern what that exoneration may be if she were to voice it. She was too overcome with all that had been expressed; Penny knew she would not receive a response.

Too provoked to remain beside her, the girl stormed from the room. Bonnie did not know if she would return, whether the denunciation that she had received would continue at a later time. The answer was marked thereafter by the sound of carriage wheels and horses’ hooves on the driveway as they hastened from the House and into the countryside beyond. Discerning that she was alone, Bonnie’s weeping turned into a wail.

Her head buried in her hands as she sobbed, too distraught to move or to utter a word, even as Miss Ainsley entered and consoled her, bewildered and uncertain of what had occurred between the two. Yet, Bonnie did not mention all that had passed between them- the frustration that Penny had expelled upon her, believing it was partly what she had deserved but also that the displeasure was not entirely meant for her and was, thus, not hers to receive. This, she accepted, but she wept even so. It was simply a relief to expel all that lay heavily on her heart.

Chapter Notation

208. An excerpt from the poem Endymion by Keats.

Chapter Text

The following day, Penny returned to the House, where she rung sheepishly on the doorbell. She expected to be refused entry, due to all that had been said the day before, but Mr Reeves indicated that she was to join Bonnie in the parlour. Astonished, Penny did not wish to question the gift she had been given, in regards to reconciling with her neighbour, and followed the footman through the hallway.

Bonnie was in her customary armchair, though she had moved it closer to the window so that she could read the Bible. She heeded the entrance of her guest and indicated for her to sit, closing the scripture and placing it carefully on the table beside her. Before she had returned her hands to her lap, Penny had already knelt upon the floor, her small hands clasping onto Bonnie’s as she wept, contritely.

“Please forgive me,” she wailed. “I was hurt when I spoke to you yesterday but not solely by you. There are some frustrations and misgivings that I have not quite reconciled with inside of myself, all of which were discarded on you. Shamefully so. Please find it in your heart to forgive me...”

Bonnie stared quietly and enduringly down at her, her gaze softened by the tenderness she felt for the girl. When she spoke, her voice was gentle, a hint of amusement discernible in her tone.

“Penny, do not prostate before me; I do not deserve such kindness.” When Penny peered up at her in wonder, the woman’s grasp tightened on hers and she smiled affectionately down at her. “I have ruminated on all that you said to me and you are correct. I do not like to admit it but, despite the way that I feel, I know that I am surrounded by people who call themselves my friends, I have had the benefit of moving to another home when I was unhappy in my last, and when I came here, I found you.”

Her gaze had drifted to the window in her unease but she had returned it to her companion during the last parts of her speech, smiling once more in assertion of all that she shared. The smile soon lessened, her grasp loosening before tightening once more, though it was not from consolation but agitation. It took her some moments to be truthful, her gaze lowering to her lap as she laboured with her own sentiment. Her thoughts were expressed soon after, though they tumbled from her lips with considerable reluctance.

“Though Yvonne is not here, she was a good friend to me and she has helped me more than she realises.” Inhaling deeply, she persisted. “But so have you and I am grateful that you have been in my life. As to what you said about Miss Ainsley, I am trying to reconcile myself to her, although I think we are so different that I often forget how she has stayed with me. If only she would stop talking of marriage...”

She finished by laughing, bitterly. In her reticence, Penny clambered to her feet and dragged the nearest chair closer, so that they could sit together. She lowered swiftly into it, taking hold of her hand once more.

“I cannot imagine how you have felt,” she sympathised. “I should not have spoken to you in that way, regardless, for it is not my place to punish you when you punish yourself. It was my hope that you see sense, but if you are not fully convinced, I shall be here to tell you otherwise.” She pressed her hand, reiterating adamantly- “I will be here, Bonnie, and that is a promise. Besides, where else am I to go?” Her gaze lowered to her lap, her voice wavering. “I cannot go anywhere... My family ensured that.”

Bonnie’s brow furrowed, desirous that she should provide some consolation of her own.

“You may travel if you please.”

Penny glanced up, her own brow knitting. “How? I depend on Yvonne to grant me my allowance and mother is not always well.”

Deliberating, Bonnie declared, moments later- “I shall give you the money you need, and you may travel wherever you like.”

“Oh no!” she protested, her eyes widening.

“I will not use the money, so it might as well be donated to a worthy cause...”

“I would not take a single shilling from you,” she asserted. Her mouth down-turned to reveal how repugnant she found the notion. “Though I appreciate your kindness. If I am to go anywhere, you must come with me.” Penny fell silent in her speculation. Moments later, she gasped loudly, clapping her hands together. “We could go to York! I have a friend there, Mrs Alston, and she shall be happy to have us. Yes, not only her but Miss Balci! Two of my favourite people in the whole wide world. I love them both with all my heart!” She perceived the hesitation in Bonnie’s countenance and grasped her hand, bouncing slightly in her excitement as she pressed her fingers, reassuringly. “We may go for three or four weeks and we are still within travelling distance if mother was to be unwell.”

This idea merely provoked her further in her animation and, as she clung to Bonnie’s hand, she shook it vigorously. Bonnie was startled by this motion, her brows rising, though she did not admonish her, for she appreciated her enthusiasm. To her, she was a guiding star when all else was bleak.

“Yes, I shall write to her!” proclaimed Penny. “Oh, I love Florence... And she always stays with Hafsa in-season. They will certainly accommodate us.” In her breathlessness, she heeded that Bonnie had not yet responded. Leaning forward, she smiled across at her, panting in her short-windedness. “What do you think?”

Bonnie was silent for a moment.

“I am unsure,” she eventually uttered. “I should not travel too much.” Perceiving the protest that was surely to come, she appended- “For my health.”

“Cornelius prescribed a change of air and I think York shall produce enough excitement for you,” Penny smiled, encouragingly. “Besides, who better to care for you than Cornelius’ own cousin?”

When her companion did not respond, she emphasised her smile once more, the edge of her lips tilting dramatically upward. Bonnie discerned that the youngest was not to alter her mind, now she had come to the conclusion, resigning herself to it. She recalled her reluctance at travelling with Annie, though she had found pleasure in it once she had arrived in Scotland, urging herself to trust that this was the same circumstance. Resultantly, she smiled in response, which satisfied Penny greatly.

“Yes, I shall write to her as soon as I am home. You will love it there! Have you ever been to York?” Once Bonnie had shook her head, she assured her: “You shall not regret visiting.”

“I trust that you know what is best,” conceded Bonnie, meekly. “I think we shall make ourselves merry.” Her smile was feeble, it soon fading into non-existence, and she exhaled lightly, her head inclining forward in her repentance. Bonnie’s voice was low as she revealed a confession that she had resisted in sharing, though she knew she must. “I suppose I should tell you what happened.”

Penny did not discern for some moments what had been said, though her eyes widened upon perceiving it. She was not used to anyone being truthful, not entirely, and she could sense the quickening of her heartbeat, for she was both nervous and thrilled at this fortuitous outcome.

“You do not have to tell me anything if you are not comfortable,” she urged.

Bonnie’s gaze returned to the window. “I feel I must tell someone and I am worried that, if I tell Miss Ainsley, she shall never let me out of her sight again. Or worse, she shall have my aunt and uncle called for, and they shall have me sent to an institution. If I were to see Louisa within the next ten years, it will be too soon.”

She paused to laugh softly, though the sound was sorrowful. Tears had already begun to well in her eyes. Perceiving the gravity of the situation, Penny remained silent, waiting patiently for her companion to reveal what she must. There was silence for two minutes before Bonnie was able to summon the courage she needed. She turned her gaze towards Penny, her tone candid, despite all that she felt.

“I am not entirely sure what I was hoping for nor how I came to the conclusion, but I went to the river in the hope of... of parting with this world and searching for the next.” She paused to remove a tear that had begun to pool from her lid. “I went there in a haze of some sort, though I had not decided then that this was my intention. When I arrived there, I felt drawn to the water. I felt as if I could feel them with me.” She glanced fearfully at Penny before returning her gaze downward. “My parents and Ainmire. It felt as if I could sense them and I wanted to be with them.” Her voice began to quiver but she did not cease. “Nothing has felt the same since they passed away and it felt as if everyone leaves me, at some time or another, and with Yvonne...” A small sob emitted from her, though she repressed it, wiping her eyes adamantly. Nevertheless, the woe that she felt was apparent in her voice. “She left so suddenly and it was my fault. I could hardly think or feel. I did not know what to do. I could not sleep...”

She had become gradually hurried in her speech until she was almost incoherent. Her tears had become too numerous to ignore, the compulsion of her chest too painful, and she inhaled deeply. Penny pressed her hand, her little fingers wrapped around Bonnie’s, whose hand enveloped hers as greatly as her own sister’s had done. Attempting to smile, Bonnie assured her, silently, that she was well, removing a fresh handkerchief from her robe, since the other was now sodden.

It was not until she was almost completed that Penny realised that she had seen the silk before. The stitched canary of YD in the corner of the kerchief, the family crest, was indisputable in its design. She stared at it in amazement, for Penny knew it was a favourite of her sister’s, though she realised, in that moment, she had not viewed it for some time. To think her sister had given it to their neighbour was both warming and plaintive within itself. This reverie was interrupted by Bonnie, who had composed herself to a degree that she could return to her clarification of all that had occurred.

“I stood there and all I could think of was that I wanted to go into the water and submerge into it, and keep sleeping and sleeping. I could not say if I truly wanted to... to sleep forever or if, perhaps, I wanted to rest properly for once. But I wanted to be in the water and to be under it.”

As she listened, Penny hoped to compose herself, to be a pillar of strength in Bonnie’s hour of need, but the suffering her friend had undergone was grievous to her. She bit onto her lip to prevent herself from weeping, yet, moments later, she burst into a fit of tears. Beside her, Bonnie continued, their hands grasping onto each other firmly, this simple touch tethering themselves to one another in the midst of their affliction.

“I did not want to re-emerge,” Bonnie admitted. “But then, I panicked and I came back to the surface. I do not think any particular desire drew me back other than my natural instinct to breathe. If that did not hinder me, I might have stayed there.”

Between her sobs, Penny declared in her anguish- “Oh, Bonnie...”

She engulfed her within her embrace, clinging onto her as she wept. Bonnie merely reciprocated the gesture, both grasping each other until they had begun to compose themselves. A fresh handkerchief was produced for Penny, who had merely wiped most of her tears and her nose onto her dress, whilst Bonnie continued to use the one she had been gifted by the eldest Miss Davers.

“I did not mean to upset you,” Bonnie atoned.

Penny shook her head, vehemently. “You must never apologise. I can only atone too for the way you have felt, for the melancholy that has troubled you to a degree that not even I was aware of.”

Bonnie reciprocated the motion.

“You were not to know,” she protested. Observing the girl as she wiped her face and blew her nose, she declared, abashedly- “I have engaged with many sins, in Catholicism and in Hinduism. I have not been as good an attendant to the Gods as I should have been nor to myself. Last night and this morning, I have thought constantly on my karma (209), my goodwill, my piety, all that of which I must be mindful, and I have come to the conclusion that I have not conducted myself as I should have. I have not been a good friend or daughter either, nor a good ward. You see, I must do better.” Upon heeding the consolation that the girl was certain to emit, Bonnie added, softly- “I must try. After all that has occurred, I feel as if my eternal soul is accursed. The prospect frightens me. I really must try to do better, to be better.”

“You are not so lost as that,” Penny objected. “There is hope for you still. We must focus on you regaining your strength and your spirit! All of that will come in time. You must not burden yourself with those thoughts when you are not yet capable of addressing them in their entirety. In the meantime, I am sure the Gods will be forgiving. We are their children, are we not? We may stray or disobey, but that does not mean we are not still loved. You are very much loved, Bonnie, and not solely by God.”

For the first time since the departure of her neighbour, Bonnie smiled, genuinely. The words were a comfort to her and she perceived that the insensibility that had developed around her heart had begun to thaw. Reaching across, Bonnie patted Penny’s countenance with the handkerchief she had provided her, concerned that the girl continued to use her sleeve, despite the cloth that lay in her lap. Their hands had not once released their grasp on each other.

There had not been a time, where Bonnie could recall, where they had been so affectionate with one another but she perceived how desperately they both needed consolation, both reaching out towards each other when they felt abandoned by all others. The way they clung adamantly to their companion was testament to that sensibility.

Once she had finished cleaning the girl’s face, she leant forward in a confidential manner, whispering, urgently- “Penny, you must not tell Yvonne! If you have written to her, please do not tell her what has happened.”

The youngest Miss Davers leant back, her mouth and brow down-turning in her consternation.

“She would want to know...”

“It will only bother her,” Bonnie insisted, shaking her head, earnestly. “She does not want that.”

“That is not true!” exclaimed Penny. “She would come back if she knew. She would come back this instant to see you.”

Observing the disbelief in her neighbour’s countenance, Penny could not repress the urge to defend her sister. For all of her faults, she knew the woman cared for their friend and that she would do her utmost to attend to her, if she were to require it. Yvonne had never faltered in her familial duty, remaining at the Park when she was requested or required, genuinely attentive to the health of her sister or mother. If she were to receive a missive with the news of Bonnie’s illness, Penny did not falter in her belief that Yvonne would return home instantly, regardless of all that had occurred between them. She had always been reliable in that matter and she knew that Yvonne had enfolded Bonnie in her heart, even if she could not admit it to anyone.

Wilfully, she appended- “She would!”

Bonnie peered across the room to avoid her gaze, her features acrimonious at the suggestion.

“She will not return. Not for me,” she remarked. “She could not even stay for me.”

Penny was silent, tentative in the circumstance that she distressed her neighbour, though she felt justified in her opinion. She knew that her neighbour had been the one to experience the dreadful illness, that she was also no longer in any grave or immediate danger, and that she was, therefore, entitled to dictate how she was to approach the situation. Fathoming this, Penny relented to Bonnie’s request, though she could not entirely agree.

“I shall not at present but I cannot lie to her, Bonnie. I am waiting on her letter, so I have not yet had chance to inform her of your illness. If you wish, I shall refrain from mentioning it but she shall discover it someday. When she returns, there may be mention of it. If not from me, from someone else. Neither Miss Ainsley nor Doctor Kensley are known for their discretion.”

One incident was recalled to mind which she knew contradicted her statement, for she knew the practitioner could be discrete, though she did not wish to mention the event, particularly as it was singular and did not necessarily indicate he would be discrete again, nor did she wish to disclose the matter to anyone.

Assuredly, Bonnie scoffed. “Miss Ainsley will not tell her. She is too ashamed.”

Repressing a hum of dissatisfaction, Penny pressed her lips together, her mouth thinning.

“All I can promise is that I shall not tell her in my letters,” she declared. “If she is to discover it in the future, I will try my utmost to keep it between us, but I cannot lie. I know that she is not the most capable of communicating her feelings, else she would be here, but she cares for you deeply.” Noting another expression of dubiety upon her companion’s features, she insisted, sharply- “She does! I know my sister well enough to be certain in how she conducts herself. If she were to hear of this, she would return. I know she would.”

Bonnie wiped the remnants of tears, her voice emotional still, but her features had steeled, an austere demeanour forming at the allusion of Yvonne.

“I do not need coddling, though I appreciate your concern,” was the brusque response. “After yesterday, I have thought on how I shall proceed and I think I need time to improve on myself and my situation without depending on anyone else.” She hesitated. “Though I hate to admit it, Yvonne was right and so was Miss Ainsley. So were you. I have become too dependent on her and that was unfair. For everyone. I must be my own person.” Bonnie became tearful once more, her bottom lip protruding in its customary motion, and she refrained from speaking for some moments, before declaring, woefully: “But I do miss her. So very much.”

Penny stared across at her, wistfully. “I miss her too but we can live our lives without her.” In an attempt to be cheerful, her voice lilted. “She is travelling, so we should have an excursion of our own! I promise you, we shall go to York.” As her friend raised her gaze to meet hers, Penny smiled, consolingly. “It will do us both good.”

Her hand pressed her neighbour’s in assurance, her gaze earnest. It was this innocence of feeling that induced Bonnie to attempt to smile, though her lips had thinned as she pressed them together. She nodded in resolution and acknowledgement.

“All right,” she uttered. “We shall go.”

Penny squealed in delight, enveloping her arms around Bonnie’s neck and embracing her tightly. The motion caused the woman to hum in amusement and astonishment, though her features revealed her dubiety, her dread, at the thought of travel, particularly to acquaint herself with a friend of the Davers. Undoubtedly, Mrs Alston was a friend of Yvonne’s, having heard her name mentioned briefly before. This did not reconcile her to the journey, though she wished deeply to alter her circumstance and, with no other understanding of how to do so, conceded to the idea as the only one worth venturing at that moment in time. Bonnie did not know what else she may do.

Chapter Notations

209. In Buddhism and Hinduism, karma is a concept that equates to the deeds, efforts, and work of a person in their lifetime and the consequences, whether good and bad, that lead to reincarnation. If they reach the highest form of karma, the cycle of reincarnation is ended and the person attains ‘true death’, which results from their spiritual enlightenment. In Sanskrit, rebirth is known as samsara and release (the end of birth and death) is moksha. Moksha is a term also adopted in Jainism and Sikhism.

Chapter Text

Two letters arrived on the same day, both intended for Penny, who received them with great delight. It was not often she received any missive, let alone two, and she hastened to the library to read them. She had brought Diana with her, for they were inseparable, and the border collie peered over her shoulder as the young woman glanced between them, observing the different ways in which her name had been written. One elegant hand revealed itself to be Yvonne’s, her cursive unmistakeable, the other scrawl distinguishable as Gregory’s. He had journeyed as far as the Midlands after his intervention in the South, though they had remained stationed there, even after the disturbances had dwindled (210). The two had remained faithful to one another in their communication, letters passed frequently between them, all of which Penny had kept hidden in her room.

As she peered between the two, questioning which one she was to open first, she ascertained that she must read Yvonne’s, for the eldest always believed her matters were of more importance. Her gaze arched at the thought, though she did not hesitate to open the letter, her gaze flickering amongst the various subjects her sister wrote of.

10th March 1831

Dearest Penny,

The Viscountess relays her well-wishes. She inquired all about you, about mother, and how you both were. Despite all of your mischief, the Challants believe you most charming. They are desperate to meet you and, if they were to travel to England, would be willing to stay with us so that they may finally make your acquaintance. Lucienne has sent you her love also...

On Tuesday, we revisited the Luxembourg Gardens (211), a likeness which I have posted to you, for I thought you may like it. You will see by the signature at the bottom, it was painted by Lucienne’s own hand. She was quite willing that you receive it. There was talk, too, of us visiting the Cemetery or Catacombs, but I thought how dreary!...

After all that has occurred here, the changed atmosphere is palpable. Nobody dares say anything in favour of the Bourbons, though some declare behind closed doors their support for the fallen King (212). I have been astonished to discover that, outwardly, there is still some lingering support for Bonapartism (213). France was divided too on my last stay but I feel now, more than ever, that one must be careful with their opinion, particularly in public. Fortunately, it has not affected me any greater than that. Yet, one does not like to feel uncomfortable, if possible.

We saw a fight only the other day between a Legitimist (214) and an Orléanist (215)- in a café, no less- and it was not a fight simply in words. Surely, you would have had some stirring speech to share with us all that may have convinced the men to put aside their differences, as brethren to one another, but you were not there and some men on nearby tables were compelled to draw the two apart. I await your lecture as to what you think of it all, how pleased you are with the reformist spirit in France, and how you wish you could be here to experience all of the trials and tribulations, as though they are romantic and fantastical adventures for you to experience...

I have spoken to Madame Challant and she has insisted that there is room for another, if you wished to join us here in Paris. I must admit that I am most willing to receive you, that I have hoped for an invitation so that you may come. You are being petitioned, dear Penny! Please know that I appeal to you in all sincerity, that I wish to show you all that you have longed to see, and that I hope you may experience travel in all of its glory. I know it has been an invitation long hoped for, but I extend it now in the anticipation that you will accept. Your company is cherished and desired. I do not admit this lightly, for I know my offer was not well-received the last time I extended it, but the offer remains there, whenever you wish to accept...

After you have experienced it all, we have a proposal of travelling further to Copenhagen and then to Rome. Lucienne, Monsieur and Madame Rouvroy, and the Misses Grzembskiejs are scheduled to travel to Rome for five months before journeying further to Lucerne. I believe this route will be to your liking- there is much in each place that I know you will love and appreciate...

There has been no further risk to mother’s health and I am certain she would prefer for us to be away from home, so there is every reason to believe that now is the correct time for you to join me, for you to experience these places for yourself...

With all of my love and thoughts,
Yvonne.

Penny read the letter several times in its entirety. From the day-to-day affairs of her sister, the hearsay, jaunts, and festivities, to the petition at the bottom for Penny to travel to Paris, the promise that she could remain with her. Her heart lifted at the thought. Every year she had begged to voyage across the sea, imploring her sister since childhood to leave with her, and each time, she had been rebuffed. The chance to join her had been offered at long last, but it was solely in that moment that Penny could not bring herself to accept it. Her mother was in good health- as well as she could be; Gregory may be informed with little difficulty, but Bonnie could not be abandoned, not after all that she had endured. Nor was Penny able to provide the reason for why she had chosen to refuse, she being sworn to secrecy.

Tormented, she wept. The loss she perceived in not being able to grasp the one desire she had always known was grievous to her, and she acutely felt the wrongs that had been inflicted upon her in her lifetime. This injustice was felt for some time and it was a week before she was capable of responding to the letter, her hand and lip trembling, even then, that she could not respond in the positive.

She relayed her sincerest regrets in not joining her, that she wished for it deeply, but she could not leave Bonnie, though she did not indicate why. All she could communicate was that their neighbour’s health was low, that it was not appropriate to leave her at this time when there were so few that could tend to her, and that she did not feel comfortable either in abandoning their mother for long periods of time. This last consideration was hardly one at all to the girl, yet she felt it excused her adequately from travelling.

Penny reread the letter multiple times, hopeful that she had reiterated Bonnie’s illness to the degree that her absence was excused, though not so severely that her sister would worry. She knew she must not indicate how unwell Bonnie had been, in body or mind, in the circumstance she alarmed her sister. Undoubtedly, she would return and she did not wish to incite any altercations or turmoil that may ensue from Yvonne’s presence. Penny did not want to be the mediator, though it was often her role, preferring, instead, that the two women reconciled and bickered equally on their own terms.

As she folded the letter and signed the address, she exhaled, heavily. Despite Yvonne’s ignorance in the matters that had unfolded in her absence, Penny wished she had cultivated the sense to ask at a more preferable time; the offer would have been readily received. To her mind, their travelling together would have induced a closeness between them that she had been yearning for. Now, to the contrary, they had not been more distant from one another, in physicality and in sentiment.

Penny had indicated in the letter that she was to travel to York, instead of Paris, and that she would require the funds to do so. If Yvonne was to travel, she wrote that it was principled of her sister to ensure the youngest also experienced culture, new landscapes, and society, and who better to lead her than Yvonne’s own dearest and oldest friend? This, she relayed to her sister in writing, knowing that she would begrudgingly accept and this was the sole satisfaction she had gained from the transaction.

Aside from this, the scarce happiness she could derive in her communication originated from the news of Daisy Sutton and the progress she had accumulated during her time at school. She knew it would be a comfort to Yvonne to hear about the girl, and the note was written in Mrs Sutton’s own hand, attached to the end of the letter. The youngest Miss Davers had taken comfort from it too, attentive to the Suttons and their prosperity. As to her sister’s illusion to the political landscape of France, Penny had much to say, though she wished to compose the letter in an eloquent manner, one that would inspire and persuade, and one that would require its own paper in length. She comprehended that the oration was better sent another time, for her sister would not respond with equal fervour to her sermon after receiving a refusal to her invitation.

Passing the missive to the butler, she clicked her fingers at Diana.

“Come, Diana. Come along!” She whistled, lowly. “We shall walk out in the gardens.”

Panting happily, the collie followed her, dutifully, staring up at her with visible devotion. The expression caused the girl to smile, warmed by the notion that she had a companion, particularly when she felt she had little others in her life. Nevertheless, she could not dismiss the resentment in being unable to gain the recognition and devotion she wished for in others, especially when she loved them so dearly in turn.

10th March 1831

Dearest Augusta,

What a marvel you are! Even now, you know precisely what I require. You were entirely correct- Mr McKay is an excellent footman and has travelled well, not once complaining and incredibly eager in his duties regarding the carriage. I can confidently say that I have not yet had a better footman for my travels! What’s more, he has absolutely no interest in Paulette and she has none in him. I have never been so appeased in knowing that none of the servants are conducting all manners of dalliances behind my back...

We are travelling soon to Rome. I have sent a letter to Penny in the hope that she will meet me here before we journey across to Italy. This time around, I have sorely felt the need for a companion. I do not admit this lightly but you know how deeply I cherish my sister’s company, though she knows precisely how to irk me in equal measure, and I wish greatly to produce her with the opportunity she has hoped for in travelling. I await her letter with anticipation...

You may ask where my first choice is, the one who I had made the companion of my days and dreams these past several months. Please do not. I am travelling unaccompanied, although I have stated otherwise in the past. You know how fickle nature is with its changeable seasons. I have been a dupe once again and I must bear it as tolerably as I can...

Please tell me if you hear from Florence. I told her once more to write to you, that you would love to hear from her. You may say nine years is too long to reconcile but I think time will warm her heart and her recollections of you, and you shall be friends once again. She is less unyielding in her mature age; you may discover a letter from her any day now...

Please give my love to your family, all except Eliza.

Your fondest friend,
Yvonne.

10th March 1831

C. Ingham.

I await your news with great anticipation. How are the cottages? The village must be close to completion; please inform me at which stage I can expect them. The factory must be furnished or almost so by now. All machines, except two, have been accounted for. Ensure to inform me urgently of their arrival.

Y. Davers.

18th March 1831

Y. Davers.

There have been delays, due to the weather, but the cottages are underway. Are there any furnishings in particular that are to your liking? These details were not indicated in your outline of the cottages. Indeed, the factory is almost furnished with the machines. They have been slow due to disturbances, thrashing (216), and unreliable connections but we are veritably awaiting the arrival of two. One should be here as late as next Friday; I shall inform you when it arrives. I have contacted the list of men you outlined, those who we met in London, and they are prepared for the contracts to be drafted between us.

C. Ingham.

Chapter Notations

210. The Swing Riots reached as far as the Midlands and a small number of towns/villages in the North. Here, they began to diminish, despite the attempt to reach further afield. Nevertheless, intervention by the government was needed and the military was required to intervene, similar as it had been required in the South.

211. The Luxembourg Gardens (the Jardin du Luxembourg) is located in Paris, France. The garden was first created in 1612 when the widow of King Henry IV, Marie de Medici, chose the Palace as her new home.

212. Bourbonism relates to the support and loyalty provided to the French Bourbon monarch, King Charles X, who was overthrown in The French Revolution (a.k.a. the July Revolution) of 1830.

213. Bonapartism is the term used for supporters of Napoleon Bonaparte, who, during 1804 and 1815, was the first Emperor of France. Even though Napoleon died in 1821, the policies that he represented were still advocated for by a small number of the population.

214. A Legitimist refers to the supporters of the Bourbon monarchy.

215. An Orléanist is the term used for supporters of Louis Philippe, Duke of Orléans, who ascended to the throne after the abdication of Charles X.

216. Thrashing did not occur historically in Bedford; this town was unharmed and untouched by the riots. Some disturbance did reach the Bedfordshire border. However, no thrashing or other forms of protest occurred within. Yet, if Yvonne had sourced the machines outside of Bedford- which has been stated- agricultural or industrial machinery was likely to be prevented from reaching its destination by dismantlement or destruction of the machines whilst travelling. This was known to happen during the period that the Swing Riots ensued.

Chapter Text

There had been no discussion between the custodian and her ward as to the incident at the river. It was not that neither wished to speak of it, but Miss Ainsley did not know how to approach the subject for fear of discouraging the woman, provoking her into another drastic attempt at harming herself, one which might prove to be successful, whilst Bonnie, to the contrary, did not wish to speak of it in any event, preferring to lament in silence for all that had transpired. Nevertheless, five weeks had passed and Miss Ainsley did not believe it prudent to neglect the discussion any longer, particularly if familial intervention was required, though her hesitation on this account was equal to her ward’s.

Determined to find her, she wandered the estate, discovering Bonnie in her bedroom. The door had been left ajar, if slightly, and she could discern the light as it filtered through the scarcely-drawn curtains. Bonnie was sat cross-legged upon the bed, reading. At the sight, Miss Ainsley’s mouth downturned, though she endeavoured to fortify herself. Her expression attempted to remain impartial but she could not entirely rid herself of the trepidation that lingered in the pit of her stomach. Rapping lightly upon the door, she entered.

Bonnie peered up at her, her expression impassive, the Bible resting open on her lap. This undertaking had been an occupation of hers for some time and though Miss Ainsley praised such devotion, the sudden cause for it was ambiguous and unsettling, especially when she was accustomed to her ward being idle. There was a view in her mind as to why this had occurred- her swift undertaking of piety- but that merely confirmed her suspicion of how Bonnie had become ill, knowing, as it was, that the act in question was a sin.

“May I come in?” she inquired.

Bonnie stared indifferently at her before returning her gaze downward.

“If you please,” was the response.

Bonnie did not comprehend the reason for the disturbance but she knew it was a severe subject, the gravity upon the custodian’s countenance indicating as such. It occurred to her that they were to talk, at long last, about all that had passed, though she was uncertain of whether she was prepared to be candid, this resistance borne from an inability to be candid with herself, let alone another. Bonnie recalled all that Penny had said about Miss Ainsley, that she was an ally in her strife, though she could not prevent herself from recalling the times the elder had opposed and compelled her when she had not wished for it. Discerning the very woman standing at the side of her bed, Bonnie sighed, lightly.

She closed the scripture and glanced upward. “Must we?”

Miss Ainsley stared sorrowfully down at her. “Yes, dear. We must. It is no joy to me either in having this conversation, but we must not let it fester nor discount it entirely. That is precisely the reason we are in this predicament in the first place.”

Bonnie was silent- she was staring absent-mindedly ahead. Watching her, Miss Ainsley sat on the edge of the mattress. It was of no comfort to her to break the silence but she was inclined to ask-

“Did you intend to?”

Bonnie’s gaze flickered askance, the emotion in her eyes revealing her discomfort. After a moment of reticence, she admitted-

“Yes.”

Miss Ainsley exhaled, quiveringly, a sharp sense of affliction arising within her. She swiftly wiped the tears that threatened to fall, though her loud sniff revealed her sentiment, her lip trembling as she returned her gaze to the woman before her.

“How could you do that to yourself?”

“I wanted to,” Bonnie responded, soberly.

“It is that simple, is it?” the elder remarked.

Her voice rising, defensively, Bonnie retorted: “Yes, it is that simple!” She hesitated before continuing, the conviction in her voice harrowing to the woman beside her. “I wanted to die.”

Miss Ainsley openly wept at this confession, the heaviness in her heart, the devastation that she had harboured there, worsening to an unbearable degree. Despite discerning all that had occurred that night, the verification still astounded her, for her worst fears had been irrevocably confirmed.

“Why?” When there was no response, she demanded, firmly: “Why, Bonnie?”

“Because... because I did,” Bonnie announced, desperately. “That is all there is to it.”

Appalled, Miss Ainsley shook her head. “No. No, my dear, that is not all there is to it! I was invited here as your guardian, your safeguard, now that your parents are no longer with us. Do you think I shall accept so... so baseless an explanation? When I have educated you, guided you, cared for you?” Perceiving the arch of Bonnie’s gaze, her cheeks reddened in her fury. “When I have seen your almost lifeless body carried over the threshold of this house! When I was the one who bathed you, watched over you, and fed you; clothed you! Do you have such little respect for me and all my years of service that you believe you can simply refuse to provide any explanation for your behaviour?

“I have watched you isolate yourself from all of society, from any friends who wished to know you. You have isolated yourself even from me. At one time, you implored me to remain with you. I have watched you engage less and less in this life, in all that once brought you pride and joy. You have scorned me, mocked me, disregarded all of my guidance! You have rejected any offer of comfort and security in this lifetime. I have borne it as no other has!”

“Then why do you not leave?” Bonnie bellowed, her temper sharply rising.

Miss Ainsley stood, her own voice rising as she glowered down at her. “Because I love you! God forbid I should care for your wellbeing or be the sole creature remaining who has tolerated it all. If I were to leave, who would prevent you then?” Both women were openly weeping. Miss Ainsley’s tears were too numerous to wipe away, so she simply rested her face within her hands, wailing. “Who would prevent you from sinking into oblivion entirely? Perhaps never to be seen again. Who would nurse or guide you then?”

She raised her gaze, beseechingly. “Bonnie, you cannot guide yourself. With all of your intellect, your reason, you have none in caring for yourself. You do not love who you are in the way that I love you, else you would not do such injustice and harm to yourself. I cannot bear to see you leave... whether it be to the Lord above or to an institution.” Miss Ainsley kneeled on the bed, leaning across to lightly grasp the woman’s arm. “Please, Bonnie, I implore you, with all of my heart, that you tell me. Tell me your burden so I may share it and relieve you as well as I can.”

Bonnie did not feel as if she could talk but began to sob instead. Any endeavour to express all that lay heavily on her heart and mind was thwarted as it made its way up to her throat. Rather, she merely sobbed further, the cry she emitted in doing so distressful for the custodian to hear.

Miss Ainsley could not fathom the reason for her melancholia, for her dejection. She could see only the benefits to Bonnie and her situation- her beauty, her wealth, her intelligence, her status, her creativity, her accomplishments, all that recommended her as an acquaintance, a friend, a wife. The former governess had known her almost the entirety of Bonnie’s life; she knew how the woman laughed at the crudest jokes, how she would sigh in contentment at the sight of the moon and stars, and how she had cried terribly when her dogs had died. She thought how vibrant a disposition, how magnetic in personality she was, and how exuberant her life had been. How it could be still, if she were to choose to live it. This confusion could not be rectified until Bonnie was truthful in how she suffered. She never had been. Not to Miss Ainsley.

Deciding to command the situation, the custodian spoke first.

“There is nothing in your life that can cause you despondency. Granted, the loss of your parents and dear Ainmire is a terrible one, indeed, but at some time, we must come to accept the natural progression of life...”

Amidst her tears, Bonnie’s voice was firm and cautionary.

“You do not know of what you speak.”

Miss Ainsley stared across at her before standing once more, the restlessness within her preventing her from settling.

“You have experienced great loss, Bonnie; I understand. I sincerely wish for you to see how you are surrounded by those who care deeply for you, who love you still. I feel you do not appreciate the people in your life.”

“I would not say that yourself and Penny are an abundance of people; that is merely two,” Bonnie protested.

“And what of the Mounts?”

She scoffed. “Henrietta is no friend of mine. She is ashamed of me!”

“Ashamed?” Miss Ainsley exclaimed. “How can you think so?”

Bonnie stared down at her lap, her fingers plucking sullenly at the fabric of her nightgown. She inhaled- the noise indicating that she ought to blow her nose- compelling herself, moments later, to reveal her thoughts on the matter.

“She will not introduce me to any of her friends. I was told that Henrietta is forthcoming in expanding her social circle, that she wishes to have everyone meet, so that she looks as favourable and sociable as she can. Yet, the entirety of our friendship has been between us; nobody else has been included. She does not wish me to know or meet anyone, besides her cousins. I think, perhaps, she is ashamed of me. I am the sole friend that I know of- Henrietta’s, I mean- that has brown skin and that is not Church of England. I think she does not wish to invite me to meet her friends or travel with me to stay with others because I am different; a little too different. It is not as if I would meet them and simply conform to the type of acquaintance she tends to surround herself with. People talk, I am well aware. Perhaps she thought her cousins would be the sole acquaintances who would have any commonality with me, though I would hardly consider that a connection at all.

“And she has spoken often of how she dislikes my friendship with the Davers, particularly Yvonne. She thinks it shameful and she knows I shall not be quiet on the matter. I think I am too forthright for her. She finds me difficult. And my school friends, I would hardly call friends. Not anymore. Since my parents passed, I have not received any correspondence from Ann or Catherine or the others, but Annie has... I mentioned it to her when she was here and she made no excuse for them. Not even Annie has written to me. I have received one letter since we have travelled to Scotland together. So, you see, none of my friends are hardly any that you may find within the definition of friendship or amicability.” With complete certitude, she uttered: “I am alone.”

This confession caused her to weep once more and she abashedly removed the tears that fell, incapable of meeting the gaze of her custodian. Miss Ainsley, in turn, stared down at her, glowering. Her countenance formed the impression that she was irked with Bonnie but she said, hereafter-

“Yes, well, the Mounts are young and therefore inclined to stupidity.” As Bonnie glanced up at her in astonishment, Miss Ainsley continued, her tone resolute in a way that was singular for her. “You are worth far more than Henrietta Mount in every conceivable way, and if the silly girl will not introduce you to society, it is the loss of a superior kind but not on your behalf, on hers and all those who have been withheld from your presence and influence. It is you who elevates the Mounts- in their friendship and station- not the other way around. If Henrietta cannot act in accordance with her good sense, we must do as her sense has done and depart from her altogether.”

Despite herself, a huff of laughter escaped Bonnie. As she stood before her, Miss Ainsley’s offence had not yet expressed itself to the fullest degree, hence her continuing.

“We may not have arrived here with fair skin, with the same religion, nor with the same culture as they, but you deserve reciprocity and you deserve respect. We shall not yield to those who think us lesser. You may not have an English name nor an English religion but, by God, as a Donoghue- an ancient and reputable lineage- you will be granted the respect you deserve. I am astonished at Henrietta, for her mother was not born here as equally as you, and yet, she holds such archaic and intolerant beliefs! You do not need her, Bonnie, but she needs you; I think she needs reminding of how generous you have been in befriending her in the first place.”

Bonnie was soothed that her account had been accepted, though that did not remove the despondency within her.

“But it must be me!” she declared. “Yvonne was always a good friend to me and she is gone.”

She removed a handkerchief from her robe’s pocket and blew her nose, forcefully, using the untouched section of the cloth to wipe her eyes. Since her departure, Bonnie had not succeeded in mentioning her neighbour without weeping, this response a humiliation to her, but she could not respond differently, though she had endeavoured to, merely induced to tears once more. Affected by the sight of her, Miss Ainsley perched on the edge of the bed.

“My dear,” she uttered, softly, “No friend that is worth keeping leaves you so abruptly and with solely a letter to explain why. You were supposed to travel together. Miss Davers is not a woman to keep her promises.”

Bonnie stared down at the quilt upon her bed, endeavouring to repress the emotion arising within her, but her face distorted in its anguish. Her teeth clenched together, her eyes closing, as a sob wracked through her body. She raised her clasped hands to her chest, where they pressed flat against it, the motion indicative that she was simultaneously embracing and subduing her aching heart. Her hands felt the pulsation of her body as she wept, her eyes opening as she stared sorrowfully out into the space before her, incapable of gazing upon her companion. Attempting to compose herself, her body shook once more whilst she inhaled, deeply, her bottom lip trembling as she returned her gaze upward.

Tenderly, she declared: “But she means the world to me.”

Miss Ainsley’s mouth twitched in response, for she could not refrain from being affected by the sight of her. Although she was a woman, the elder viewed her, momentarily, as a child. The way she was sat in bed, her hair mussed, her face damp, her eyes pleading, and her hands pressed against her chest as though she were trying to embrace herself, was pitiful. To Miss Ainsley, she would always be infantile in the same manner that a parent always endeavoured to provide their child with their guardianship, despite their age.

In her mind, she cursed Yvonne Davers. She had the precise qualities that were needed for a friend- in society but also for Bonnie and her temperament. Despite their abnormal intimacy, she discerned and acknowledged that Miss Davers had been a steady and beneficial influence on Bonnie but her absence had caused a deluge of difficulties that the custodian had not anticipated. It had not escaped her notice either that Bonnie’s health had gravely declined since the gentlewoman’s departure. In response, Miss Ainsley perceived she was resentful of her absence, primarily for the resultant harm that had come to her ward. She could not, at that time, reconcile her feelings to the eldest Miss Davers, believing it to be some time before she could.

“You should surround yourself with those who feel similarly,” she urged, softly. “Do not chase those who will never pause to think of you in the way that you think of them.”

Bonnie continued to weep, compelling Miss Ainsley to enfold her within her arms. Endeavouring to soothe her, she stroked her hair. There was silence for some moments, apart from the occasional wail. Miss Ainsley shed tears, though they were silent, attempting to prevent them from falling upon her ward, who was distressed already with her own sentiment; she did not have the capacity to manage the emotions of others.

From between her arms, she discerned a whisper of- “Nobody loves me. They do not want me in their life as I do them.”

“I do,” the custodian declared, firmly. “You have so much that is worth loving and much equally to be proud of.” She was silent for a moment. “Men have loved you but you have not accepted their affection.”

Bonnie was silent as she deliberated her answer, though she continued to weep miserably against the elder’s chest. Hereafter, she muttered:

“How can you say that when you are unmarried and happily so?”

Miss Ainsley leant back, administering to the tears that had dwelt upon Bonnie’s cheeks and chin. She tenderly wiped them from her damp skin, brushing back the curls of hair that had pressed against her clammy face.

“I do not mean to cause you grief,” she admitted. “The burden I have laboured under since returning to your employment is considerable. Not because of all you have petitioned me to do but because I am reminded of your parents, and I feel I must do justice to all that they had hoped and wished for you. I must ensure you are safe and secure. Often, I worry what shall happen if you are left without me, when I have departed from this world, and who shall be by your side then. I want a companion for you, an ally in every way, and one who can provide you with the physical guidance and comfort you need. Your parents would have done the same; I worry that you will have none.

“If you were to be married, you would have someone for the rest of your life who can care for you, love you. And I know how desperately you have dreamed of a family. When I met Mister Leong, it was apparent to me that he had an abundance of qualities that your parents would have admired and approved of. I could not think of any other that suited you. At least, not in this county.”

Bonnie shook her head. “I cannot tolerate him.”

Miss Ainsley smiled, tenderly, despite her disappointment. “Then it shall not be him.”

The younger stared downward, inattentive to the smattering of tears that continued to fall. She sniffed, wiping her face with the back of her hand, though it hardly made a difference- her countenance was too damp. Raising her gaze, she met that of her governess’.

“Let me choose. Please. I must choose a companion for myself.” She hesitated before conceding, gently- “I know what their opinion would have been regarding Mister Leong. They would have been dissatisfied with my refusal, I am sure. But- but I must choose for myself. Nobody else can choose for me; I know I shall be miserable otherwise. I cannot act in accordance with their wishes. It is solely me here and so, I must act in accordance with mine.” Bonnie’s hand reached out to curl upon Miss Ainsley’s. “Do you understand?”

“Yes, I understand.”

“And you can accept it?”

Miss Ainsley was silent for a second. “I can accept it.”

The relief in Bonnie’s gaze was visible and there was a shimmer of contentment upon her features. Her fingers enclosed firmer on her custodian’s and they remained in reticence, both meditating upon all that had been said between them.

Once the atmosphere had been restored to a semblance of harmony, Miss Ainsley reached upward with her other hand and brushed back the tendrils of hair that continued to pester the woman before her. Bonnie allowed her, astonished when, moments later, the custodian stood. She stared after her, words perched on the tip of her tongue as the woman appeared to prepare herself for departure. Miss Ainsley was smoothing her skirts and bracing her legs for motion, though she would not depart without speaking with Bonnie. Nevertheless, Bonnie feared she may and as she stepped from the bed, the lady blurted:

“I feel as if my heart is broken.”

Miss Ainsley glanced at her as she felt her legs tremble, primarily from frailty than concern. “Why, my dear?”

Bonnie lowered her gaze, her voice plaintive, though she no longer wept.

“Because all who have loved me have passed, and those who I love or try to be good to do not love me in turn or are not good to me.”

Miss Ainsley sighed, silently, mournful within herself now that she had perceived the cause of Bonnie’s suffering.

“I think it shall be good for us to question who we associate with, and acquire ourselves better friends. Do you not think so?”

Bonnie nodded, mutely. Observing her, Miss Ainsley could not quite summon the spirit she needed, her own heart aching. She smiled, despite herself, for she wished to comfort the gentlewoman who sat upon the bed.

“A little disturbance to our usual routine and circle will do us good, I think!” she decided aloud, her tone more assured than she felt. Peering down, she offered her hand. “Come with me downstairs, Bonnie. We can read the Bible together. You can show me what passage you were reading.”

Bonnie stared at her hand, tentatively, before reaching out her arm and lightly lowering her grasp into the other’s. She was hauled gently from the bed, where the custodian straightened her robe, sought her slippers, opened the curtains, and retied her hair. The young woman did not protest but allowed herself to be tended to, simply accepting each offer that was given to her. Whilst she carried the Bible, Miss Ainsley held the door open, so that she may pass through, and the two walked downstairs together, not a word passed between them. For Miss Ainsley, this was uncommon but there were times, she believed, where there was nothing to be said. They had reached an understanding at long last and in that understanding, they both perceived that there was an opportunity for reconciliation. It was long awaited but gladly received. There was peace to be found in the alchemy of their souls.

Chapter Text

20th March 1831

Penny made me laugh yesterday- she insisted that she could juggle and juggle well. There was not much around for her to prove it, but she acquired some apples and threw them around. To my surprise, she was as skilled as she boasted to be and she entertained me greatly. She hopped about on one leg or did a little dance while she juggled, or threw them synchronously with a song that she sang. Certainly, she was as skilled as anyone from the circus or on stage. I told her so and applauded her for her effort.

21st March 1831

I had the portrait removed from my room this afternoon. Although I love my family dearly, I recognise that it was of no comfort to me to have them there. It merely provoked me more, especially after all that occurred at the river. I miss them, terribly, but I can continue to miss them, even if their portrait is not the first sight I behold in the morning. It merely causes me to cry. There are some mornings when I cannot bring myself to cry anymore; I am too exhausted.

Alternatively, Miss A and I agreed that it would look best in the drawing room. That way, everyone may view and admire it, and I may access it whenever I choose, but it is also not so directly in my line of sight that it grieves me. When visitors view them, I know I shall be proud. Everyone here is yet to see a likeness of my family and I am thrilled to think that they may. They are where they are meant to be- close to me but distant enough that I must remember to live my life as it is now, rather than living in a moment that no longer exists, no matter how much I wish it did. Nowadays, the portrait is comforting but not overwhelming in its presence.

22nd March 1831

Penny performed my favourite songs to help cheer me today. I have been so exceedingly grateful that I have started to energise myself, simply for her benefit. I taught her how to play antakshari, similarly as I did with Yvonne, and Penny remarked that it was similar to the Minister’s Cat (210). I hardly knew what she referred to but I said yes, nevertheless. If she says so, I suppose she is correct. We also played duets together- she on the flute and me on the piano, or her on the guitar and me on my sitar. She is a little inelegant but she is earnest, and she is starting to improve, for we enjoy ourselves so greatly that she plays more often- we have been playing every day! Now she has seen my sarod and sitar, she is a little enamoured by them. She wishes to play, but she hardly has the essential grasp of the instruments she plays at home that there is no use of her learning them now.

28th March 1831

I returned to society this week and discovered myself socialising with Mr Leong twice. Thankfully, we have not been alone with one another, though I think he is as against the idea as I am. He has made the effort to appear wounded and forlorn whenever I am nearby. For that alone, I am pleased to have refused him. He is quite the dimwit.

Equally, Henrietta has hardly wished to speak with me; she is offended by the refusal, knowing, as she did, that it was intended and had taken place. I was most anxious on meeting Nuo, however. We have scarcely been near one another since the proposal but when we were finally alone, earlier this afternoon, she simply linked her arms with mine, same as she had when we first met, and declared that she still wished to know me. I told her I thought she would despise me.

She declared- “Not at all! My brother is kind and well-meaning, but he is also dim-witted. Even I noticed that his advances were unwelcome and I advised him to take heed. Hopefully, he shall learn from his blunder and be more careful in the future as to who he pursues. One cannot force love and one should not expect it.”

This has eased me. I must admit I was concerned to what she may think of me, what her impression was now that we were no longer destined to be family, but I know now that there is no need for me to worry. As to H and Mr L, I hardly care for their opinion anyhow!

31st March 1831

By Miss Ainsley’s suggestion, we have been attending Church each week; I have not missed a Sunday. We have also attended the gatherings after Mass and during the week, so that we may acquaint ourselves with a larger variety of neighbours, particularly those of our own religion. I did not believe that it would matter whether my friends were of the same religion, but I must concede it has cheered me to be among like-minded people. They are not precisely all the same age, social status, or even of the same views as me, but it is a comfort to know people who are alike to me in one way when all of the friends I have are not. I feel a kinship with some of the congregation there that I have struggled to attain for some time.

Miss Ainsley and I spoke with the priest about my being more active in the Church and he has been invaluable in his support. He suggested at our first meeting that, if I wished to acquaint myself more with the spiritual and religious practice, that I may join the parish study group, that there were a small number of church members who also wished to dedicate their time more fully to the application of piety.

I do not think it so much a matter of piety for me as finding virtue within myself and the life I lead. Yet, the notion of discovering that amongst others was reassuring to me, so I agreed, anticipative to meet others and to discuss. It is one of my greatest pleasures- to discuss, to explore, and to discern answers to those Great Questions; resultantly, I could not have assented more readily.

Since then, I have been attending a weekly gathering between a small number of us who wish to talk. It is early still in forging friendships but I take pleasure in their company, and we discuss quite thoroughly and with much amusement. If only there were such a gathering for my Hindu practice. Then, I should feel quite fulfilled with it all.

In our little group, there is Mrs Cantoni, Mr Frias and his two younger sisters, a Mr and Mrs Parsons, Captain Higgins and his father, and myself and Miss Ainsley. Though small, we are a studious and sympathetic group. I do find the Captain a little loud and boastful, but I am striving to be less critical of others. Those qualities, in themselves, do not condemn him but I cannot prevent myself from forming some semblance of judgement towards him, nevertheless.

As to friends, I have been spending the majority of my time, socially, with Nuo, Sylvia, and Penny, aside from the little group we have formed at church. I have benefited from my time with them and have taken greater pleasure in being around others than before. Euphemia has been invited, which she has occasionally accepted, but Henrietta has been scornful of us all talking together. She has come only once in comparison. More the fool her, I think, for excluding herself.

2nd April 1831

I have decided to return to my roots and perfect my practice of yuj (211). I would assuredly benefit from training my mind and body; both are rather lethargic at this moment in time. Since returning to church more regularly and reading the Bible more frequently, I have returned, too, to my Hindu practice. There was much value in the scriptures and their teachings, in the Hindu way of living. For now, I think yuj should be an admirable start and will take much practice. I have decided upon which route of action I should take for each: bhakti, remembering to practice daily; jnana, reciting the scriptures and teachings; karma, involving myself more in charitable pursuits and, perhaps, donating to the charities in Ireland that are handling the famine (212); and dhyana, concentrating and meditating at my altar or when I walk. I want to work earnestly and devoutly on each. I truly believe they will benefit my mind and health, that I may return to some semblance of happiness and ease within myself. They are rather elemental in terms of practice but I think building upon the primary practice and essence of yuj will enable me to develop a more intricate routine over time. It would not be wise for me to hurry ahead when it is not yet in my capability. By-the-by, I feel quite pleased with the steps I have taken so far.

7th April 1831

It has come to my attention that the Captain has some sort of design for me. He has certainly shown that he has an interest in me, though it does not appear to be in friendship. The Higgins family have attended this Church for generations, although he, personally, was stationed in India for twenty years. He got his company there (213) before returning home and he thinks these two connections- that of religion and of India- are an association between us, though I cannot think how. We could not be more distant from one another in every way.

In perceiving his interest in me, Miss Ainsley was overjoyed but she saw how I dismissed him, perceiving that it was not to be the connection she had hoped for. Truthfully, I have been wary of him. A man who has been stationed in India surely thinks himself well-versed in its culture or believes himself to now have a liking for Indian women, but I will not partake in such fantasies or delusions. I am not some terrible caricature of what he thinks he knows nor some sweet figment that he may partake in, but a fully-fleshed being. Although he has been a gentleman so far- in manners, at least- his sweetness does not fool me. He shall not succeed on any account, in friendship or in courtship.

13th April 1831

Recently, I have conducted and composed myself exceedingly well. I have been crying less when it comes to Yvonne, an accomplishment that I have been most proud of. Nevertheless, there was a moment of weakness earlier today and I was compelled to admit that I was not as composed as I believed myself to be.

I realised that it is the one-hundredth day since Yvonne left Bedford altogether, not that I have been particularly resolute on counting the days, but I know it to be the day. It has also been a year this month that I moved to Colworth House. It occurred to me how much could be altered in one year, how one can be caught in the ebb and flow of life and, before you know it, you have been carried somewhere else entirely, away from all that is familiar or comforting. Resultantly, I have been trying my best to distract myself. It has been some time since I have painted or sketched, so I decided to sketch in my book. I started drawing whatever came to mind, allowing it to form as I continued, trusting that inspiration would come to me.

To begin with, I traced the eyes, the nose, the mouth, all those features that came to mind. Inspiration had come upon me suddenly and I found myself drawing with ease; my hand seemed to work of its own will. When I had finished, I found to my dismay, however, that I had drawn a profile of Yvonne, her features unmistakable. How stern she looked, how handsome! My gaze traced the small curve in the middle of her nose, the slight wrinkles in the corner of her eye, and the straw-like hair, though it was undoubtedly softer than the colour suggested. She was softer, though she looked displeased, even in the way I had drawn her. Yet, I remember her this way and I wish, for one day more, that I could hear her satirical remarks, see that curved brow that felt as if she had struck me, to which she would smile and I would smile too. This pencilled portrait did not speak to me, had the inability to say my name, but I would do anything to hear her voice one more time. And with that thought, I wept bitterly until I was called for tea.

Afterward, I do not know how I summoned the courage but I returned to the portrait and stared at it for some time. The name Caroline came to mind, I recalling how I had mentioned the poem in this very journal, and underneath the portrait, I wrote ‘To Caroline’ (214).

I have loved a false idol! She was not what I believed her to be but that does not make her villainous either. It simply makes her human. But she was, to me, an angel. An angel that was superior to me and that was called back to the celestial plains from which she came. In this view, it is understandable that she could not stay, not with me, nor could she ever idolise me or love me the way I do her. And as she left, I watched her soar among the clouds and across the sky, her figure dashing past the Sun, to a world where I could no more follow her than be a part of it. I am a mere creature of Earth. It is unfair of me to accuse her of leaving when we were destined to be apart, when it was not in her nature or destiny to ever be mine. But, dear journal, I want her to be. I want her to be mine. And so, my heart aches, all the same.

16th April 1831

I informed Penny today that I was considering purchasing a horse. At home in Killarney, I used to ride often or I would use the stables at my aunt’s and uncle’s, but I have no horses here. I thought it would be beneficial for my health and I know it was a suggestion from Dr Chifamba when I saw him. I thought, too, that Penny and I might ride together and travel along the path in the nearby woods or across the fields. When I mentioned this, however, Penny exclaimed that they had a small collection of horses, most that are rarely used by them. Yvonne was no longer home enough to ride them; Penny had rarely ridden herself since the death of Claudio, so she offered for me to ride one whenever I chose. I insisted that it was unseemly for me to do so; I could not take advantage of their kindness nor borrow or lend so much when I was already using their library, their instruments, and lingering around their home.

Nevertheless, Penny would not accept my refusal and we went to the stables, much to my protest. I recognised Othello instantly, since he is Yvonne’s favourite. I greeted him and he responded to my presence, as though he recognised me. This delighted me considerably. Penny asked me if I wished to ride him but I could not bring myself to ride the same horse as her. My heart could not yet bear it. Rather, I picked a rather beautiful Cleveland Bay by the name of Hermione (215).

We proceeded on a short ride, Penny on a horse also, to decide whether Hermione and I could ride perfectly together. The route we took was through the wood alongside the Park and we rode for two hours, merely trotting along, talking and laughing. It was wonderful! The flowers are now in bloom, and we spotted some wild hyacinths, guelder rose, and narcissi. We plucked some to take home with us and to create a lovely little bouquet.

Thereafter, we returned to H.P., where I marvelled at the true elegance of the grounds, how the Sun shone complimentary on the flowers and grass, and the splendid view of the estate as we approached it. I could not discern how Yvonne could ever leave here. It was more refined than rugged, in comparison to my Irish home, but that did not mean both were not equally beautiful to me in their own way. I returned to the Park today, both in awe of and content with the ride- Hermione was so well-behaved and the ride so smooth- and with the view in which I had been inspirited by that I was in an excellent mood for the remainder of the day.

Chapter Notations

210. The Minister’s Cat is a parlour game, where each player takes a turn to describe the cat using adjectives that start with each letter of the alphabet. For example, “The Minister’s Cat is an autonomous cat; the Minister’s Cat is a beauteous cat; the Minister’s Cat is a churlish cat...” and so on. Those that cannot think of an adjective in time with the song or chant lose the game.

211. Yoga derives from the Sanskrit word ‘yuj’, which translates to ‘to unite’. Yoga is one of the six major schools of thought within Hinduism, and can be found primarily in the Vedas, hence being considered a branch of Hindu philosophy known as the Vedic tradition. The objective of Yoga is to reach oneness with God by controlling the senses and the mind. Altogether, there are four types of yoga: bhakti (devotion), jnana (knowledge), karma (action), and dhyana (concentration), all of which are listed further below by Bonnie.

212. In 1830, the failure to produce potatoes in Ireland created a widespread famine. Resultantly, riots arose in Limerick and Leitrim to protest the lack of food. This continued into January of 1831, where unrest continued in Limerick but also in Clare.

213. This is a term used to denote that someone has been promoted to the rank of captain.

214. To Caroline, Lord Byron.

215. Hermione is a character from Shakespeare’s ‘The Winter’s Tale’. She is the Queen of Sicily and throughout the play is wrongly accused of adultery by her husband, the King, for showing kindness to a guest who was residing in their household.

Chapter Text

25th April 1831

Today, we were invited to Captain Higgins’s home for tea and study, but a tour of the grounds and house was proposed by the Captain. Although they were lovely, I was disinterested in any notion regarding the man and declined. Yet, it was his father that partook in the tour and the host himself remained behind. We discovered ourselves- purposefully, I believe- quite alone for some time, as the remainder of the group received a tour of the grounds.

It was a home decorated in Indian riches and artefacts, the garden and grounds housing replicas of the Indian landscapes and architecture that he had seen during his time abroad. Despite his professed appreciation for Indian culture and heritage, he asserted numerous times that there was nothing quite superior to the English countryside and English estates, and that he had missed them greatly. He directed this primarily at me, insisting that he show me each single artefact and design he had hoarded or implemented, though I reiterated each time that I was disinterested.

Whilst showing me a taravari (216) that he had obtained, he referenced- whether unknowingly or on purpose- that he was a nabob (217). He then proceeded to thrash the sword around and show it to me, repeatedly informing me that it was a tulwar (218), as if I did not know what it was. He did not appear to care that he was using the Occidental term, not the Sanskrit, although I had corrected him on his first use of it. As to him being a nabob, I told him it suited him perfectly. The title is simply a dilution of the true meaning and is, therefore, a feigned and erroneous position. His being in a position that is neither true nor meaningful, and a digression from its intended purpose, particularly one that he is boastful of, is precisely why I deem it perfect for him. It is the sort of self-deception and conceit that I expect from a coloniser. Undoubtedly, the English can be a vain and frivolous race when they wish to be.

This, I did not recite to him but allowed him to receive the compliment as he thought appropriate, which, unsurprisingly, he was satisfied with. I did not think to ask him from whom and from where he had obtained- or stolen- such beautiful objects and jewels, but I sat in silence, unwilling to entertain him in any way.

Later, he said-

I am sure living here is quite different from what you are used to.

I asked him- how do you mean?

The Captain: When one is used to the wild nature of the Irishman and the primitive way of the Indians, all of this cultivation must seem a marvel.

I: On the contrary, I find it all very dull.

TC: All I mean to say is they do not have the advancement in those countries to what we have here. What could they possible offer us that we cannot offer in tenfold?

And you shall not believe it, journal, for even now, I cannot! But he then invited me to a game of chess whilst we wait (219). In my conviction, I stood and said to him: “I shall take a walk in the fresh air. Do not wait for me; I will be a long time coming back.”

I then proceeded to walk home from his estate. I marched out onto the grounds and into the countryside, where I continued to walk in the direction of C.H. I was weary from the endeavour, as I have not been walking as regularly as I used to or for as long as I should have (I have merely managed a short stroll in the gardens and in the gardens of others). It reminds me how disciplined I must be in regaining my strength!

Sometime later- Miss Ainsley reports it to be approximately forty minutes after my departure- the carriage came dashing down the lane and there was Miss A, peering down at me through the window, hollering and hallooing at me that not only had I left without a word but had proceeded to traverse the route on foot. Despite my perspiring, my flushed countenance, and the aching of my dry throat and worn feet, I insisted that it was no bother for me to walk, that I was quite at leisure, and I would prefer to be here than at Captain Higgins’. She made a lot of noises in turn to reveal her displeasure but I would not be moved, so she urged me into the carriage so that we could return home. I endeavoured to ask her out of politeness whether she had gained any pleasure in viewing the grounds. She said yes- at least she had some pleasure from the day.

Despite her irritation, she had recovered by the time we arrived home and was exulting in all that she had viewed there, who she had spoken to, and how pleased she was in general. She worried for my mind but I informed her of what had occurred and she discerned that I should not be near him, if I did not wish it, though she was insistent that, next time, I remain where I was until she returned to accompany me home.

28th April 1831

As you know, dear journal, Penny and I have been meeting for a month now to have our own religious, ethical, and philosophical discussion, a seceder to that which Yvonne used to engage in whilst she was here. We are not of the same religion but I find her perspective quite interesting, though she could never be invited to the study group, she not being of that inclination. Yet, I find we agree more at times than I do with others. We have much in common. I have not transcribed the discussions we have had nor all of our specific opinions, since I would be writing ceaselessly, but I have noticed there is a slight alteration in me.

I have pondered a great deal on all that Penny has said to me- she so often mentions politics that it is difficult not to have a discussion on it, but in the midst of these meaningful conversations, we have talked also of friendship, of mundane occurrences, and of our thoughts and sentiments on all that has passed. Because of this, we have come to know each other in a way we never expected. I have also ruminated upon some of the opinions and thoughts that Penny has shared with me. It came to my notice again today, as Miss A asked me this morning if I had not heard from Henrietta. I said no. We spoke briefly on the disappointment of her friendship, Miss A merely reiterating all she had said to me before.

Recently, I have been trying to form more meaningful connections with others through shared values and beliefs, the enjoyment of each other’s company, and through patience and understanding. There are social hierarchies within Catholicism and Hinduism, but they also reiterate the importance of caring for others, of being generous, compassionate, of enacting one’s social duty, and valuing all other beings. I mentioned this to Penny, who said she does not define friendships within class but within how great the friendship is, how earnest and tolerant it is. I told her there must be some consideration of class; we do not live in a class-less society. She said no, we do not but we can choose who to value, regardless of social status or material possessions, particularly as we must choose our own values, our own boundaries in which to live in. We do not have to choose to value or to love within orthodox boundaries, not if we find ourselves with a set of different principles or with a heart that cannot be restrained by societal expectation. Apperceiving that my heart rebels against any notion of conventional love, I know that to be true. Perhaps then, my friendship required the unusual, precisely as my heart does.

This thought struck me today, far greater than it had before. Miss A and I have made the error of defining friendship and acquaintanceship within these terms. Sylvia is not as wealthy as we, nor is Mr and Mrs Parsons, nor Mr Frias and the Misses Frias, yet I enjoy their company more than the Mounts or Captain Higgins. I see how I have been vain but I recognise that this is simply the view I was raised with- that I should not socialise with those that were not socially equal to me. I have been endeavouring to release this perspective, though it has been a gradual process. Nevertheless, it is an admirable one. I hope in time it will lead me to a satisfactory conclusion, that I shall be surrounded by those that bring me great felicity and fulfilment compared to where I am now. It is all I cherish and desire, for I wish, with all of my heart, to be happy.

5th May 1831

I have been having the most peculiar dreams, so I recently purchased a second journal, quite distinct from this one, so that I may record the dreams I have been having. I think there may be some deep meaning to them, although some are simply peculiar for no reason at all and I thought it may be amusing to read back on them. I hope so! I have spent all day transcribing them to page.

11th May 1831

I was left to wander Haynes Park today. I was unaware that Penny had journeyed all the way to the Palmers this afternoon and Lady Davers was in no state to host. Resultantly, I was asked if I wished to stay there for some time to occupy myself as I pleased or if I wished to return home. The cheerless memories that follow me at C.H. are too numerous to count or to bear, so I decided to remain at H.P in the hope that the contrasting scenery will afford me some comfort.

I reviewed the progress Penny had made in her artbook, read for a while in the library, and then walked alone in the gardens. Ordinarily, being alone with my thoughts would depress me and assuredly, my despondency was present- as it always is- but there was a lightness in being alone today. I took great comfort in being at Haynes Park. Although neither of them were there, the palpable presence of the two sisters, even in their absence, weighed heavily upon me, though it was heavy in the same manner that a quilt may weigh heavily yet comfortingly upon you, shrouding you in its warmth. I could hear their laughter, feel their footsteps echoing alongside mine, and hear their opinions on the passages I had read in the library. It felt as if I was not alone after all, but accompanied by this wonderful sense of affection and appreciation. Despite all that has occurred, the both of them have been my closest and dearest friends. I appreciate them both for what they have been able to offer me, although I wish I could do half as much for them in return.

Pondering upon the two, my mind hesitated at the thought of the eldest and I did shed a tear, though the heaviness in the pit of my stomach was lightened by the laugh I emitted. I could not help but laugh at myself for being tearful. How silly I can be! And how lovesick.

I am rather love’s fool, even now. It occurred to me that it had been a year since we first met, since the moment I arrived at this house and was introduced to her. All that I felt then, I felt today and my heart was full, despite all that has occurred since.

Thinking of her, I was drawn upstairs to the room that Penny showed me, merely a few months ago. I remembered the path well, as if it were yesterday, and I soon arrived at the room where the likeness of my love sat within. There she was, as she had been last. In this likeness, she is never changeable nor capricious. She is forever young and peaceful, an enduring presence. I do not know what compelled me but I seated myself opposite her and began to talk, as if she were truly there.

Despite the various emotions I have experienced in her departure, the one true constant is that I miss her, deeply. I miss talking to her, hearing her opinion, her guidance. I even miss her criticisms. I miss her unwavering encouragement and belief that I could improve, that I could be better. So, I told her all. It was not her but it was the closest I could be to her. What was missing was the sound of her voice, the curve of her lips when she smiled, and the way her voice rose in her concern or her boastfulness. Despite it all, I was soothed by speaking to her, conceiving that she could hear me, including all that she could and would say if she were capable of responding.

Before I departed, I approached her and reached out, my fingers brushing against her cheekbones, her chin, her brow, and her lips. My thumb brushed the lower lip as I stared up at her, discerning the difference between how soft and warm her mouth had been, to the cool, hardened lips that I now touched. Months later, I can still recall the way her hands had felt on my waist, how feather-like her hair between my fingers, and the hotness of her breath as she breathed against me. I do not believe I could ever forget.

I could not prevent the words from tumbling out of my lips but I told her- I love you. I told her today as I had told her then, and I meant it the same. In my mind’s eye, I saw her tears, the tremble in her voice, the way she stared at me so miserably, and I could not help but love her more. She may not know it yet but she needs me. She needs someone to love her as deeply as I do, as truly as I do, and she will soon trust that this very person is I. It will become apparent that it was I who was willing to remain beside her all along. I live in hope that, one day, she will be able to return the sentiment aloud. I know today was not that day but I wait for her, nevertheless.