Short Story / Grace: Part the Third
Later that day, Grace was sitting with her leg raised on a cushion on the footstool, when Fanny showed Emily into the parlour. She rushed over to Grace and threw her arms around her friend’s shoulders.
“Dearest Grace, whatever have you done to yourself, my goodness you are in terrible shape, you look very ill indeed!”
“Emily dearest, you are sweet, but don’t worry, it’s not serious, the doctor has been, my father called for him after breakfast, he has told me to keep my foot raised for a day or two and I’ll be perfectly fine. I fear, however, my mind is not fine. Are you able to stay for a while, I do so need to speak to someone, I fear there is something heavy weighing upon me and I must speak of it, I must.”
“Grace, I am your oldest and dearest friend, and you know that you can speak of anything, in me you have a most willing audience.”
“Well, it’s just that, I am greatly troubled, perturbed even, I know not what to do.”
“Grace, what is it, you have gone quite pale, should I call Fanny? Oh my, tell me what to do to help you?”
Grace took a deep breath and spoke. “You know that in 6 weeks I am to be married to Lord Wildsmith, and up until a few days ago I was perfectly satisfied in marrying a man twice my age and of little familiarity to myself. I know it is my duty as a daughter to follow my father’s wishes in all things, I truly do. But lately I have had, well, feelings. Feelings of a most disconcerting nature. I fear I am no longer content to perform my familial obligation and this very fact is enough to distress me greatly. But there is more, more of so grave a nature that I fear the telling of them, as if showing them the light of day makes them real.”
Grace hesitated, and Emily took both her friend’s hands in her own. This small act of kindness gave Grace the courage to continue her discourse.
“I fear that I am falling into the darkest hole from which there is no escape. I don’t know how to share what I am feeling, for surely there can be no words in our universe to describe such thoughts. Emily, the object of these most intense feelings is someone of our acquaintance, someone you yourself have met and indeed spoken to. He is Dick, our new stable hand.”
There was complete silence in the room. Emily’s face was difficult to read, and Grace was in no state to try to decipher it at just that moment. She had just shared the deepest part of her psyche with her best friend, and now had no idea what sort of reaction might be expected. If indeed any reaction at all was to be forthcoming from her dearest friend, for it seemed Emily was still digesting the tale which Grace had delivered. After what seemed like an eternity, Grace could hold her tongue no longer.
“For the love of God Emily, speak, please, say something, anything. Reprimand me if you must, tell me you hate me if you feel so compelled, but hold your silence no longer!”
Emily looked at her friend, a searching look which asked much and gave away little. She sighed, stood, and walked to the window, leaving Grace sitting with her foot on the pillow. “Grace, dear, as I have already said to you this very day, I am your dearest friend, and I always will be. And what you have shared with me today shows me that you trust me, beyond anything I could ever have asked of you. But I am still in a bit of shock over what you have told me. Oh, please don’t look so terrified, you needn’t worry, I won’t share one tiny bit of your secret with anyone, that I promise. You must, however, allow me to ask you one thing: are you absolutely sure of your feelings? Do you love him?”
While Grace was grateful for her friend’s discretion, she was rather thrown by the directness of the question. Did she love him? Was she sure? Could she be mistaken? She paused for a moment, only a moment, and, almost without thought, answered.
“Yes, I do.”
That evening, after the guests had arrived and dinner had been served, Grace helped her father set up the whist tables. Their group consisted of Grace and her father, Emily and her recently-returned brother Henry, Georgiana and Colonel Hatherley, Lord Wildsmith and Gertrude Boucher. Henry served as a Captain on the frigate Waterloo, and was in town for a week only. Emily was overjoyed at having her brother back, even if only for a short time. They corresponded regularly while he was at sea, but it was not the same as sharing thoughts and ideas in person, saying the words out loud as they invent themselves.
Georgiana and her Colonel spent most of dinner staring into each other’s eyes and making comments that only the other would understand. A stern look from Mr Burlington put an end to the inappropriate glances over the beef and the hushed remarks over the pudding.
Lord Oswald Wildsmith really did come into his own when confronted with a room of willing listeners. He had recently returned from a trip to the orient, and had many exotic tales with which to delight the enthralled group. During a break between tales, Lord Wildsmith discussed matters of business with Henry and Sir Burlington, a topic not for the involvement of women. Grace’s future husband had apparently decided to invest a large sum in the business of tea, and had procured a partner for this venture.
“Yes, an Earl, no less, William, Earl of Peebles, nice chap, had a bit of a nervous disposition, made me wonder if the old fellow should be in such a risky business as that of the tea trade, but no matter. He’s got money and I’ve got brains. And by jove, with a little hard work and luck, we’ll make our fortunes!” Lord Wildsmith was enthusiastic about his work, to say the least, and Grace couldn’t help but eavesdrop on the continuing conversation. “…imagine, a fellow of his rank, not to say his age, clambering into the field with the workers and getting his hands dirty. Astounding! But according to him, it’s the only way to understand the business of tea properly. Tried to convince everyone we met of this. Teaching his son to think the same way. Incredible.”
Grace’s attention started to wane, and she focussed instead on the discussion on the other side of the table, where Gertrude was monopolising much of the conversation. A widow who made herself available for such occasions as weddings, funerals, village fetes and whist parties, Gertrude kept the entire group entertained with amusing anecdotes about the residents of Cowden, their comings and their goings. She also made up the last of the second set of players.
But the gods play cards with the lives of mere mortals, and sometimes the best plans, no matter the dedication and effort with which arranged, go awry. In the case of the Burlington’s whist party, the agent of discord was Grace’s father. He decided at the latest possible moment that he did not wish, after all, to join the others in their game, choosing instead to look over some business papers which had arrived that day from his solicitors in London. Which left the others with a dilemma: there were now only 7 players. After much discussion and deliberation, a decision was reached: Georgiana and Colonel Hatherley, Gertie and Lord Wildsmith would play, Emily, Grace and Henry would amuse themselves until the card players decided they needed a break. And so the evening progressed.
As the players started their first rubber, and Henry had taken leave of the ladies temporarily to check on a matter concerning his coachman, Emily took Grace aside and quietly, casually enquired after her well-being. Grace gave her friend a look that suggested that she knew exactly what her friend meant, sighed and said “Emily dear, there is no need for you to hide your true thoughts from me, I can detect their hidden meaning well. My feelings are set and quite unchanged. Everyday I accompany my father to the stables where we are given a full report of the new foal by our stable hand, and everyday my heart soars a thousand miles to hear him speak a single word. I find myself delirious one moment, then without rhyme or reason saddened nearly to the point of making an exhibit of myself the next. I know not what to do, or indeed if I want to do anything, for I am sure that I shall never know such agonising happiness or exquisite misery as I feel now.”
Grace had finished her dialogue when Henry re-joined them and desired of Grace to know everything that she had been up to and involved in since last they met. Grace cast a sideways glance at Emily, and received one back which contained just enough information to assure her that her dearest friend had not shared anything of Grace’s current unusual situation with her brother. Grace described a few books which she had read, and the balls which both she and Emily had attended, with perhaps a bit more enthusiasm about the dresses and hats of the other attendees than she felt. But she knew that she had succeeded in keeping her true feelings hidden from Henry when he started to make fun of her, referring to both her impending nuptials and her future husband’s character by nicknaming her “Lady Tea”. Mortified, she shushed Henry, but not without rewarding him with a hug for making her forget her turbulent emotions for a very short time.
When the evening finally came to a close, and the coaches had departed, Grace was even more convinced that her earlier feelings were, indeed, true. She was more sure than ever before that she loved Dick. And that she could not, under any circumstances, marry Lord Wildsmith.
To be continued…
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I liked the first one very much, but I admit I wondered how continuing it would work. It seems a great farce for a short, but hard to keep the want to keep reading up for a longer piece.
And, when Grace found her attention waning, I couldn’t help but find mine, too.
But, okay, I started over, cleared my mind. Once again, the dialogue works and the sugary langauge fits your intentions. The dinner and Whist game is a great device to prolong the conflict and it works. It could use some rewrites, but it’s following the path you want it, and I can often not say the same for my own work.
But, I do ask the question, if I read all three parts in a row, would I want to continue? A farce keeps our attention by having a bit of Dada sensibility to it. Could this be stranger, wilder?
Once again, I really like the idea, just wonder if it’s sustainable when sung so close to the melody.
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Interesting piece, it needs a bit more sarcasm perhaps but nicely done.
January 09, 2007
Deleted User
The elegance of the text standsout as a easy paces story but does bring in a curious and provoking thought pattern.
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