Through a Glass Darkly: A Novel (47 page)

   Thérèse, whose hands had been gripping the sheets under the covers, relaxed. Thank you, Holy Mother, she thought. The pain had been bad, much worse than any menstrual cramps. And there had been much blood, which she had managed to clean up, even though she had to crawl on her hands and knees. Even now, the bloody sheet was wadded under the bed. Her gown was just as bloody. She would burn it. But the sheet under the bed…that she would bury. The blood on it was not much different, perhaps a little more clotted, but she would bury it and pray over it. And she would go and light a candle for its tiny soul. It was not damned, as hers was, until the day she died. But now she must rest. Rest and drink wine and broth over the next days, as Mother Marie—Thérèse shuddered at the thought of her—had said. The old woman had hurt her; the pain had been dreadful. But then what had she expected? She closed her eyes and said her rosary again. She would need its strength in the next few days.

   In her blue damasked private room, Barbara was pressing her seal to the hot sealing wax. Hyacinthe was already sleeping in the little trundle bed. She stretched her arms. She was tired. Should she wait up for Roger, or go on to bed? He would not be in for hours yet, and he would more than likely be drunk. Richelieu and St. Michel and Marie–Victorie were coming to dinner, the first time that some of her own friends would sit at her table with Roger. She could study the architecture books White had brought. Columns and pilasters and porticos, the elements combining to make something elegant and beautiful. She had begun to copy some of the sketches. White said her sketches were good, but White would say that. She had not yet shown them to Roger, fearing his reaction. She patted the letter. No, she had not written everything to her grandmother.

   For, instance, there was no child growing in her yet. Her flux had begun yesterday, as if her rage at her father had churned up her body and caused the blood to flow. But life was still good. Very, very good.

Chapter Thirteen

Jane Ashford stood still as two of her sisters tied lacy ribbons to hold sprigs of rosemary in her hair. It was her wedding morning. Last night she had dreamed a strange dream. She sat in a meadow with other girls weaving wildflower garlands, garlands of primroses, daisies, hawthorn, and bluebells. Far off, she could see a maypole, its ribbons and wreaths of flowers waving in the breeze. The sun warmed her. The meadow grass was high and sprinkled with daisies and buttercups. The bees and butterflies zigzagged in the sky, dizzy drunk with the pleasure of the May flowers. Everywhere the hawthorn, or May, as it was called, was blooming, the white, the pale pink, the red. Its fragrance filled the air. Her cheeks were wet with the dew from the pink May, for it was the custom for maidens to rise at dawn on May Day and wash their cheeks with the May dew. Around the maypole, boys and girls were dancing, One of them was Harry. He smiled and waved to her, and she rose, taking her May garland to him. But when she went to the maypole, with the sound of fiddles playing and people laughing loud in her ears, she could not find him. Someone grabbed her, and she began to dance around the maypole, telling her partner that she was looking for Harry. The circle was huge; the blue and red and yellow ribbons from the maypole twisted as everyone danced. Sometimes she caught a glimpse of Harry; he always smiled at her, but she was never able to get to him; he disappeared, in and out in the dancing circle, others took his place. When she woke, she still had the curious, disoriented feeling of looking for Harry. She lay in the darkness under the covers, wedged between two of her sisters, watching the dawn filter through the window slats. This morning she was to marry Gussy.

   The wedding was to have been at Tamworth church, the reception afterward at her home, Ladybeth Farm, but there was smallpox in the village, and her parents decided it was safer to travel to London, even if it was winter, and celebrate the wedding there. The smallpox was a frightening thing, like a snake hidden in summer grass; no one ever knew when or whom it would strike. Her father said he thought some of the Duchess of Tamworth's grandchildren might have it. So the Ashfords had loaded up their traveling coach and come to London, her mother and her Aunt Maude falling on each other like children, crying and laughing, while her father and Uncle Edgemont stared at each other glumly.

   Her wedding was smaller as a consequence. Aunt Maude did not have the room to put everyone up, as they would have done at Ladybeth, setting cousins and uncles and aunts among the attics and halls like stored fruit. There would be only her immediate family, a friend or two of Aunt Maude's, and Gussy's friends and family. They were packed together at Aunt Maude's like fish in a barrel. She and Gussy were to spend their wedding night here, and the last two days had been spent clearing out the storeroom that would be their wedding bedroom, setting up the great bed that was a wedding present from Gussy's parents. The bed filled the entire room. They would have to crawl into it from the door.

   In fact, she and Gussy were going to live with her Aunt Maude until he should find a living or suitable lodgings. Gussy was living at Oxford, where he was a fellow at one of the colleges. It was agreed he would continue to live there while Jane stayed with her aunt. Her mother and her younger brothers and sisters were going to stay awhile, camped out in Aunt Maude's precious parlor, while her father, who had had smallpox when he was a child, would return to the farm and write them when it was safe to return.

   "Your visit will be wonderful, Nell," her Aunt Maude had told her mother, waving her scarves to punctuate her enthusiasm. "We shall shop every day and buy gowns and gloves and bring you back into style. John keeps you buried on that farm, you poor thing, but I shall resurrect you. I shall!"

   Her father had pursed his lips and frowned, but her mother had laughed. Jane was glad her mother was staying, though last night, her mother had stumbled over a confusing speech about her marital duties to Gussy and how she must submit.

   Jane had really not understood what she meant. She knew she must be dutiful to Gussy, and she was prepared to be. Harry's memory was something to be folded up like an old letter and put away in a box of precious memories. Gussy was real life.

   Which was not to say that she was completely over Harry. But she was not crying every day. And she did not think about him all the time. The excitement of preparing for the wedding had helped. She had to open wed ding presents and buy gloves as gifts for the bridesmaids and bridesmen and try on her wedding gown and go with Aunt Maude to select the food that would be served at the reception afterward. Her kitchen was too small to deal with the amount of food needed, Aunt Maude had declared. She was buying it all.

   Jane's father had been shocked.

   "City ways," he said to her mother. "Lazy, slothful city woman." But then he had never had to spend days in a kitchen baking and roasting and boiling.

   Her sisters handed her her bridal bouquet of gilded rosemary, ginger, and wheat stalks tied with silver ribbons. It was almost time to leave for the church. She could hear her Aunt Maude shrieking in the other room about a lost ribbon. Jane felt calm; she was calmer than both her mother and her aunt, hovering and clucking over her like mother birds over an egg that has fallen out of the nest. She remained calm, waiting as her sisters strewed herbs and flowers in the aisle of the church. Her father, at one side, fidgeted nervously and kept glancing at her. They walked down the aisle to Gussy, tall and thin, in his new suit, his elbows sticking out. She was calmer than Gussy, who mumbled his replies and almost dropped her ring. The posy in her ring read "Two made one by God alone." She was calm as she recited her vows, even though she could hear her mother and her aunt crying, especially her aunt.

   "Those whom God hath joined together, let no man put asunder," intoned the vicar, and she shivered. It was done. She glanced up at Gussy as the vicar began the blessing and psalms. Gussy smiled at her; all she could think of was how bad his teeth looked. He should not smile.

   It was raining as they left the church, and they all scurried like rats to her aunt's. Her brothers carried her over the threshold, and the guests threw wheat (symbolizing fecundity) at her and Gussy's mother gave her a kiss and called her "daughter," and gave her a pot of butter, symbol of plenty and abundance of good things. Aunt Maude had set up a long trestle board in her parlor, and it creaked with food: barley cakes called brides' cakes, which would be cut into tiny pieces and passed through her wedding ring, macaroons, candied fruits, savoy biscuits, jelly molds, shoulders of beef and lamb, pigeon pie, ale and wine to drink, plus a huge bowl of punch, which her father and Uncle Edgemont were worrying over, arguing as to whether to add more or less rum with more vehemence than they did politics. Her Aunt Maude had hired a fiddler, though where they would dance later was anyone's guess.

   Jane sat in a chair and received the homage of the guests. Her brothers and Gussy brought her plate after plate of food, which she did little but pick at. Her small sisters played with the wheat that had been thrown at her, making it into bridal bouquets and pretending they were brides. Her father, after six cups of punch, asked Aunt Maude to dance. It was quite a sight, guests edged against the wall, her Aunt Maude as tall as her father, all arms and legs, as they capered around the room. Soon everyone was dancing the country jigs with their leaps and intricate twists, which made everyone thirsty, and more ale or punch had to be drunk. The food on the trestle table began to disappear. Hearing the noise, neighbors peered into the front windows and were invited in. The young Duke of Tamworth made a surprise appearance. (He had been invited; it was a move on her aunt's part to secure Gussy a living, but no one had expected him.)

   He entered the parlor, looking tall and fat and bashful. He bowed over Jane's hand and stammered something she could not understand, but her Aunt Maude grabbed him by the arm and pulled him around the room, introducing him as if he were the King of England. You could mark his progress by the bobs and curtsies. Her father brought him a cup of punch, and after two of them, the young duke danced with Jane, to everyone's delight, and then with her mother.

   "Came for Barbara's sake," he told her as he led her around the floor in a promenade. "Wrote me to come if I could. Sent you her best wishes. A letter coming soon. About Gussy…I will see what I can do. Good man, Gussy. That is a fine punch. I will have another cup."

   Now it was evening. The rooms in the town house were bursting with people. Gussy's mother, a tall, quiet woman, was dancing with Jane's father, who had put one of Aunt Maude's caps on his head. The lace lappets dangled over his wig. Her mother sat in a chair watching, her lace cap crooked, her face mutinous, as if she were ready to quarrel. Uncle Edgemont was talking as if there were no tomorrow to the young duke; they were comparing punch recipes. Time to pull off the bride's garters and dress her for bed, her Aunt Maude announced in ringing tones. A ragged cheer rose. Jane stood up on her chair, while her mother hurriedly loosened her ribbon garters so that they were now down on her knees. (Young gentlemen with a liberal amount of punch inside them were known to reach too far up the bride's leg in search of the garter knot. And they were also known to take too long, causing jealousy and more than likely drunken bridegrooms to become angry.) A wedding was no place for a duel, though Jane could not in her wildest dreams imagine Gussy fighting a duel. He was too even–tempered, too sweet. Duels were fought by hot–tempered, high–blooded young men…like Harry. She turned her thoughts from Harry.

   She was married to Gussy now. She had promised to love, honor, and obey him, and she meant to. Harry was nothing to her; she would forget him as easily as he had forgotten her. She squealed as the young Duke of Tamworth untied one of her garters. Everyone clapped while he tied it around the sleeve of his velvet coat. Some friend of Gussy's untied the other one. Now it was time for her to be led away and undressed and put into bed. The men were leading Gussy away to another room, where he, too, would be undressed and led to bed in his nightgown.

   She stood in the little hall between the kitchen and storeroom. Her aunt, her mother, her sisters, her aunt's friends and female neighbors were all chattering and laughing. Her mother and aunt kept crying in the midst of the laughter, shaking their heads and saying, "Where did the time go?" Her sisters were unfastening her gown, being careful to find every pin and throw it away. There would be no luck if one remained in her gown or petticoats, though Jane did not really believe that. She shivered as they pulled her nightgown over her head. She stepped through the doorway and crawled across the bed. Her mother and aunt stood at the door, looking at her and crying. Suddenly, there was a shout.

   "The bridegroom comes!"

   Gussy now stood awkwardly in the doorway. She giggled at the way he looked in his nightcap. He climbed across the bed. Now they sat side by side, covers drawn up to their chins as they stared at the guests and family members crowded one upon another in the hallway. Gussy's friend sat down on the bed's edge in the doorway and threw one of Gussy's wedding stockings over his head. It landed by Jane, but not on her. Everyone groaned. It meant he would not be married soon. Jane's sister did the same thing, but Jane's wedding stocking landed on Gussy's nightcap. Jane laughed with everyone else at the sight of the stocking hanging down his face. Word traveled quickly to those crowded about who could not see. Jane's sister would be married soon.

   "The caudle! The caudle!" shrieked her aunt.

   Those in the doorway parted, and Uncle Edgemont appeared with a huge cup, steam issuing up into his face. It was the bridal caudle, made of milk and wine and egg yolks and sugar and cinnamon. She and Gussy both had to drink.

   "You will need it for strength, Gussy!" shouted someone.

   "Lift up his nightgown," called a woman, "and let us see if Jane has anything to fear!"

   Everyone loved that. Laughter filled the hallway. Gussy concentrated on drinking the caudle.

   "I helped undress him," said Gussy's friend. "Jane had better begin her prayers!"

   Another laugh.

   "He is built like a bull."

   "Drink the caudle, Janie, drink the caudle. You will need the strength!"

   "We will see who is more tired in the morning, Jane or Augustus."

   They finished the caudle. The laughter and the joking continued for a while, but it was too crowded in the hallway, and Jane's father wanted to make up a last bowl of punch. He led Jane's mother away; she was sobbing. With contrary admonitions to do their duty and to behave themselves, the young couple was left alone. The storeroom was dark; the only light was from the kitchen fire, which could be seen as a faint glow which just reached the doorway.

   "Jane," Gussy said hesitantly beside her.

   "Yes?"

   He reached for and found her hand and squeezed it. "I want to be a good husband."

   "And I a good wife."

   But she was not prepared for how it felt to be kissed by him. It was all right while he was kissing her face and neck, but when he kissed her mouth, when he opened it, and for the first time she felt his tongue inside her mouth, she had to hold on to herself not to push him away. Her body stiffened. It was not like Harry; Harry, whose mouth had been like honey, whose tongue made her want to melt inside. She began to feel panicked, she turned her mouth away, but now Gussy was lifting her nightgown. He was mumbling her name and pushing against her, between her naked thighs. She had a moment of paralyzing shock when he entered her; the pain as he broke her hymen was sharp and vivid. She could feel her entire body quivering with the aftershock. He thrust himself in and out of her, kissing her neck, murmuring her name, groaning, "Oh, oh, oh–h–h." She kept her mouth turned away. Her hands gripped the bed sheets as she tried not to cry. It was not the hurt, though it did hurt; it was just such an…intrusion. Just when she was beginning to think she would scream, he cried out and sagged against her. Now his body lay on top of her like a rock.