A Fateful Wind (13 page)

Jenna felt panic in her chest as they walked down the pathway toward Trystan’s cottage, her new home. She stopped outside the small, narrow door, unsure as to whether she could trust Trystan in his drunken state to carry her over the threshold. Before she had time to think about it, Trystan hoisted her up, stumbling across the rose petal laden doorstop. He tripped slightly. She clung onto his neck until finally, with a sigh of relief he put her down in the cold hallway.

“Home sweet home,” he slurred, his eyes drooping with the mixture of fatigue and alcohol. “Now, you go and get ready, my sweet. I shall be up to the bedroom in a moment. I must first use the outhouse.”

Jenna watched as he haphazardly made his way back through the kitchen and to the outhouse in the back garden. Hesitating, she climbed the stairs leading to the tiny bedroom. Opening the door, she saw the lace nightgown laid out on the bed surrounded by scatterings of red rose petals. She felt the panic once more arise in her breast as she began to remove her wedding gown. The lace nightgown felt cold and scratchy upon her skin. Unwillingly, she pulled back the rough woolen blanket from the bed and climbed inside. The bed felt strange and foreign. She shivered slightly as she pulled the blanket up around her chin and waited for Trystan to come and make love to her.

It seemed as though hours passed as she lay in the strange bed staring out of the small window, watching the lightning light up the night sky. The heavy rumbling of thunder gave a noisy prelude to the impending storm. Finally, beginning to feel worried at Trystan’s absence, she climbed out of bed and, wrapping her shawl around her, walked downstairs. She heard the heavy slow snoring, the interrupted breathing as she saw Trystan. He lay open mouthed in the fireside chair, fully clothed in his wedding groom finery, fast asleep in a drunken stupor. She stood hovering over him, unsure of whether to wake him. Nudging him, she realized his sleep would not be stirred. She took the shawl from her shoulders, draped it over her sleeping husband and retired to the matrimonial bed, relieved that at least for one more day she remained a virgin.

Chapter Eighteen

Jack opened the heavy wooden door, the smell of stale tobacco and ale wafting out into the street as he entered the pub. He caught a glimpse of himself in the walled mirror behind the bar, at first barely recognizing the disheveled man staring back at him. His once smooth face had been replaced by ruddy stubble, his normal fine set of whiskers now bushy and overgrown. His clothes were muddy, his nails filled with filth and his hair matted against his face. He shuddered with shock at the sight of himself. He spent the past week in London with a bottle of whiskey in one hand and a half-drank bottle of rum in the other. By night, he barely slept, roaming the foggy London streets in a drunken haze and banishing the wanton advances of the Soho street prostitutes with great disdain. By day, he sprawled out across the bed in his dismal hotel room, engulfed in a deep depression, which sapped his once unfathomable vitality and ambition. Thoughts of his enterprises in America vanished from existence. He cared little for what the future held. What future could he possibly have without Jenna?

Jack grimaced as he thought of her. Taking the pint of strong ale from the busty barmaid, he drank it down in one go, following it with a jigger of whiskey.

“Drowning your sorrows are we, Sir.” The Barmaid asked in a deep cockney accent.

“Aye,” he answered gruffly, in no mood for any engagement in conversation, especially with a vixen of a wench.

The barmaid smiled knowingly, pouring him another pint of ale. “Well, you just be careful around these parts of the world. There’s men who’d kill to get their hands on a nice bit of gold like that there pocket watch of yours.”

Jack looked down to where the pocket watch hung loosely from his grubby waistcoat.
They can have it for all I care
, he thought miserably.

“What brings you to Soho?”

“Heartache,” he replied bitterly, taking the time to look at her properly. Her auburn hair lay in a mess of curls around her shoulders, her face smattered with freckles that also covered the ample cleavage billowing from out of her blouse. Her face held the expression of a woman who had seen and experienced everything a common, working class life held to offer. Her smile indicated she would offer far more than a pint of ale should a gentleman and his wallet wish it. Jadedly, he laid a sixpence on the mahogany bar and made his way to leave. He was in no mood to talk and, quite frankly, he was fed up with women, with their wily and crafty agendas. He felt he found in Jenna a woman who seemed different than the others, innocent, untouched by selfish whims and desires.
How wrong I was
, he thought dismally,
to believe she actually loved me
.

His walked in a drunken stupor through the narrow alleys skirting around Soho and out to Covent Garden. The early morning fog swirled in front of him as he pushed aside the litter with his cane. The rancid smell of poverty and disease hung like a cloak in the still night air. Through the hazy mist, he could make out the entryways of the various brothels and whorehouses scattered around. He heard the cackling laughter of the harlots as he approached with beckoning words of enticement. He wanted little to do with them. Their advances filled him with repulsion. He searched wearily for the doorway of his hotel. He knew it had to be around here somewhere. The fog was becoming thick with mist, covering the street in a blanket of darkness.

Jack stopped, looking all around him. The streets familiar to him in the light of day now seemed like strangers – dark, cruel and precarious. He carried on. The tiredness of having little sleep over the past week combined with the vast amounts of alcohol he consumed gradually filled his body with weakness. Blindly, he continued placing one foot in front of other searching for the hotel until, in the foggy darkness, he tripped over the curbstone and fell hard on the wet, slimy, cold, cobble-stoned pavement.

“Jenna," he cried out in anger, pounding his fist against the pavement until the skin broke across his knuckles. “How could you do this to me? Why?” His cries rang out in the misty night air, greeted only by the sound of reckless frivolity coming from the distant whorehouses. He reached into his coat pocket and pulled out the flask of whiskey, feeling the warmth permeate through his body as he downed the contents. Pulling his coat tight around his body, he laid his head down on the cold pavement and closed his eyes.

Chapter Nineteen

Lady Emmeline awoke with a start. Lightning streaked across the sky, illuminating the moorland with a terrific show of lights. A loud clap of thunder rang out overhead. It felt as though it were right over Penrose House as the rain began to descend in squalls of stormy rage. She rolled over tiredly, willing herself to sleep. Closing her eyes, she once again saw Jenna lifting her wedding veil, the high cheek bones and aquiline nose so reminiscent of the aristocratic aura her brother held. Emmeline had entered the small church quietly and inconspicuously as the wedding ceremony neared the end. Without a sound she stood in the shadow of the door just long enough to see Trystan kiss his bride.

Emmeline left as silently as she entered and walked by herself for some time across the moorland, deep in thought and lost in her world of memories. She found herself at the site of Isabel’s death, quite by accident, as though something or someone had led her there. A bouquet of fresh flowers had been laid upon it. From Jenna, she gathered. She felt the sadness of history repeating itself. The seeds of heartache and unrequited love passed from mother to daughter. Throughout the years, she hoped she could turn back the hands of time, wished William had been strong enough to fight the disease that ravished his life. She wished Isabel would have been strong enough to fight the suicidal depression that led her to drown herself in that boggy pond that one dark and windy night.

So, that it is
, she supposed, rolling over in bed, comforted slightly by the pounding of the raindrops against the window pane. One chapter finished and another yet to begin.

She could not rid the feeling of anxiousness which overwhelmed her since the revelations of Jack’s affair with Jenna. She vowed to keep them secret, vowed never to bring them up to either Jenna or Jack, should she ever see him again.

The rain came down heavier now, pounding loudly against the window pane. Finding it useless to try and get back to sleep, she dressed and walked down to her study. Poking the logs in the marble fireplace, she seated herself in her velvet chair, sipping on a hot strong cup of sweet tea. She normally always enjoyed the summer thunder storms but glancing hesitantly out of the window even she felt frightened by the severity of this one. She heard a quiet knock at the door and turned to see Edwin standing there.

“Couldn’t sleep?” he asked, moving to where she sat and pouring himself a cup of tea.

“No,” she said quietly, beckoning for him to come and sit down by the fire. “This is quite a storm, isn’t it? I can’t remember such heavy rain.”

Edwin shook his head, a worried crease forming on his forehead. “Indeed. Neither can I. It’s a shame for I’ve a busy day at the mine today.”

“A busy day? Why it’s foolish for you to go out in weather like this. Best to wait until the rain subsides, don’t you think?”

Edwin walked over to the window and looked out at the darkened sky. “I fear this may be in for the day. I shall wait until midday to see if the rain slows.”

“I think that would be very wise." Emmeline looked at her husband as he seated himself on the chair next to her, rubbing his hands in front of the roaring fire. For the past two weeks since Jack’s departure, she had been pleasantly amazed by Edwin’s friendly and personable demeanor. She hoped some of Jack’s easygoing personality would have rubbed off on her quick-to-anger husband. Much to her amazement, she realized it had, although she suspected it would be only temporary.

By late morning the rain eased, slowing off into a steady pelting of drops, relieving them of the squalls they witnessed earlier. Emmeline peered out at her rose garden, the bushes battered and bruised by the high winds and heavy downpour. She glanced to the driveway where Edwin mounted his white mare, the stable hand holding a large umbrella over him. Sighing impatiently, she sat back down, trying to concentrate on her tapestry, hoping to ignore the ever increasing feeling of anxiousness.

* * * *

Jenna rubbed her eyes and glanced around the room, sitting up in fright as she took in the unfamiliar surroundings.
Where am I
? she thought drowsily. The realization she was in Trystan’s cottage suddenly hit her. She reached over to the other side of the bed, remembering she slept alone. Trystan had passed out in a drunken stupor downstairs. She supposed she should go and make sure he was awake, knowing full well Sir Edwin expected him at the mines.

She stretched her legs out of bed, covering up the scanty lace nightdress that barely concealed her. As she reached the bottom of the stairs, she was surprised to see Trystan already left without so much as a goodbye.
Perhaps he didn’t want to wake me
, she thought, trying to find something optimistic about the situation. Absentmindedly, she made a mental note to ask Karenza whether remaining a virgin past your wedding night was normal. In her heart she already knew the answer.

Seating herself in a small chair, she surveyed the small cottage that was now her home. It needed a woman’s touch. The furnishings were sparse and the tiny cottage lacked little in warmth and color. Her gaze rested on each corner, assessing what could be done to brighten her new home, to make it comforting and homely, a pleasant retreat from Penrose House and the lecherous Lord Edwin. Upon the thought of Penrose House, she became pensive. The memories, especially the scathing letter from Jack, still fresh on her mind. She found it hard to believe Tamzin didn't tell him how very ill their father was, explained the reason why Jenna broke things off. Had Jack taken Tamzin’s words lightly? That was the only answer she could find to reason Jack’s emotional tirade.

His words had indeed been malicious and, feeling herself bristle once more at the memory of them, Jenna decided to focus her attention on the present and the future she would have with Trystan. She dressed in a plain woolen dress, tied her hair back from her eyes and set about cleaning the small cottage. The sooner she got it done, the sooner she could go back to the comforting surroundings of her father’s with the excuse of seeing whether he was recovering nicely. She barely finished cleaning and organizing the kitchen when she heard a knock at the door. Tamzin and Karenza entered, their faces pale and tired, removing their rain soaked cloaks at the door.

“Oh, it’s awful out there.” Tamzin pushed back the soaking hair from her face. “I’ve never seen rain like it! Jenna, put the kettle on. I’m freezing!”

“What is it?” Jenna asked. “Why are you both looking so pale and tired?”

“It’s called too much revelry and fun little sister. Something by the looks of you, you knew little of last night.” Tamzin picked up the mop and looked at her sister, a quizzical expression on her face. “Please don’t tell me you have been up cleaning when you should be in bed with your new husband nursing a terrible head!”

Jenna shook her head. “Trystan was expected back to work today and, well, I wanted to get my new home organized.”

“See, I told you, Karenza. Scarcely in here for five minutes and already she’s busy turning it into a little palace. To think you were all worried about her.”

“I wasn’t worried.” Karenza's cheeks turned pink. “I just thought she may have been otherwise preoccupied, if you know what I mean.”

“Oh, I know full well what you mean. Honestly! Just because you spent the day after your wedding reveling in the new found pleasures of being a taken woman, does not mean our little sister holds the art of making love in such high esteem. Do you, Jenna?”

They both turned and looked at her. Her cheeks burned with embarrassment. She buried her head in cleaning out the old embers in the fire.

“Do you, Jenna?” Karenza asked

“I…er…I…um….it was lovely,” she stuttered, curious as to why her sisters seemed so anxious to talk about such a normally closed subject.

“Lovely!” Tamzin laughed. “There’s nothing lovely about it – passionate or heavenly maybe, but lovely?”

“You may even say it’s downright rude. Some of it anyway,” Karenza added. “In fact, I’ve known some girls who don’t care for it at all.”

“Don’t care for it?” Tamzin repeated, a startled look on her chubby face. “Whatever is there not to care for?”

“Well, some girls prefer other activities.”

“Like sewing for instance?” Tamzin giggled.

“Or taking long walks in the country!” Karenza giggled back.

“Are you one of those girls?” they both asked Jenna in unison.

“I…um…” Jenna flustered. “Er…I’m not really sure this conversation is appropriate.”

“Yes it is!” Tamzin seated herself, her cheeks red from laughing. “We have been waiting all these years for you to get married so we could all talk and laugh about it together. Please don’t tell me the prudish upper-class manners of Lady Emmeline have rubbed off on you. It is a perfectly fine subject to talk about with your sisters.”

They both turned and looked at Jenna anxiously. She couldn't wiggle out of her sisters prying questions. “Um, it never really happened.”

Karenza's eyes widened with shock. “Never really happened?”

Jenna shook her head and sighed. “I’m not bothered about it.”

“Not bothered about it?” Karenza asked.

“Will you stop repeating me? No, it never happened! Trystan drank too much and fell asleep in the chair. So, for all intents and purposes, I am still a virgin.”

“I knew it!” Karenza slapped her thigh, chuckling loudly. “Did I not say to you that boy would be no good to her last night?”

“You did. You know more about men then I gave you credit for!”

Karenza beamed proudly. “I do know much about the workings of the male mind. They are transparent creatures, to say the least. But, getting back to the subject, Jenna, are you not sad it didn’t happen?”

“No, not at all,” she replied honestly.

“See, Tamzin, I told you she wasn’t over Sir Jack Bartholomew.”

At the sound of Jack’s name, Jenna felt her heart quicken, the feeling of sadness once more returning. “I can assure you sisters, I am quite over Jack Bartholomew.”

Karenza shook her head in disbelief. “I don’t think you are and I don’t think you will be either for quite some time.”

Tamzin coughed, the look in her eyes willing Karenza to forget the subject.

“Is father well this morning?” Jenna asked, relieved to find something else to talk about.

“He is in fine spirits and is spending the day finishing the small kitchen table he is making for you. Now that we can’t pry any details of an illicit nature from you, there is a real reason we are here. We thought it might be nice to visit mother’s grave together tomorrow, hopefully when the weather has calmed.”

“That would be lovely. Shall I just go and put some crumpets on for you?”

“Umm, I am starting to regain my appetite!” Karenza said.

“Oh, then you must get dinner on the table now that you’re an old married woman!” Tamzin laughed, pushing her sister up the stairs.

* * * *

Trystan returned home from the mines earlier than expected. “The rain forced us to leave early.” He beamed with happiness. “But it gives me more time to spend with my beautiful wife!” He turned and looked around the tiny cottage, the warmth of the fire blazing in the hearth, together with the vases of fresh flowers and the hearty smell of Cornish pasties coming from the kitchen, filled him with a comforting desire. “You’ve been a busy girl.” He took Jenna in his arms and kissed her passionately. “Whatever did I do to deserve such a wonderful wife as you?”

Jenna smiled, handing him the fresh clothes she left warming by the fire. “You’ll catch a chill if you don’t get out of those wet rags.”

“I have more than a chill. I have an apology to give to you.” He lifted her hand to his lips. “I’m sorry I drank so much last night. My nerves at getting married got the better of me and I’m afraid I got carried away with it all.”

Jenna nodded “I was tired anyway.”

“But I’ll make it up to you. I promise. Tonight will be the best night ever.”

She smiled uneasily. “You look tired.”

“Well, I didn’t have too sound a sleep. But I’m famished!” He finished dressing himself in the clean warm clothes, leaving the wet ones in a heap by the fire. Ignoring them, he made his way into the kitchen where he poured a large jug of ale and heartily dove into the plate of steaming hot pasties.

* * * *

Jenna bent to pick up the wet clothing and sighed.
So, this is married life
? she thought as she watched her husband guzzle down yet another tankard of ale, his mouth bursting with pastie.

Later that night, seated in front of the fire, she tried to think of something to say, some conversation starter, but it seemed easier to sit in the awkward silence. She remembered the effortless way Jack talked to her, his tales of America amusing her and filling her with such curiosity that she asked question after question, eager to gleam more insight into the unfamiliarity of Jack’s life. She admired the way he could talk about anything, the intelligence with which he spoke of geography, history and literature. She could barely get one sentence out of Trystan, let alone start a conversation.

“I think it’s time for bed,” Trystan announced, finishing yet another tankard of ale and belching loudly. He smiled at her and, stifling a yawn, kissed her on the forehead. “Come along.” He closed the book she had been reading. “I’ve to make up for last night.”