Lady Rose's Education
Read Lady Rose's Education Online
Authors: Kate Milliner
Kate Milliner
Table of Contents
May, 1891
No two things go together worse than a sunny spring day and a horrifying shriek.
Lady Rose leaned her back against the cold stone wall. During her daily walks she nearly always stopped at the same spot. Erosion had caused a dent in the wall's stony surface, a half-seat that suited her form perfectly. It was a solid backbone for her airy contemplations. Lady Rose turned her face towards the sky and allowed the warm sun to caress her face. She took a deep breath, as deep as her undergarments allowed, and caught the scent of the daffodils. A gift from the winds to the deserving.
Some days were lovely enough to deceive one. On this spring afternoon it was hard to remember that life was a melancholy affair.
A lonesome dragonfly danced by and stayed to taunt her. It was green as envy. Dragonflies were partial to the same nooks of the park, near the river, as she was. She often saw them around here, though only one at a time. They did not travel in packs, though on a calm day they may fly near the water and flutter close enough to the surface to keep company with their own reflection.
Just before her walk Lady Rose had copied a poem into her notebook. This was something she did often. In her bookshelf at home she had a long row of notebooks filled with meaningful verses. Today's poem had been by a dear ally of her heart, Lord Byron. She closed her eyes and quietly recited to herself.
”She walks in beauty, like the night
Of cloudless climes and starry skies;
And all that's best of dark and bright
Meet in her aspect and her eyes.”
Lord Byron was her best friend. He was the man who spoke to her most private self in the dark deep night. His words filled her solitary moments. But hard as she might, Lady Rose could no longer hide the truth from herself. She had begun to feel that she might need a more substantial ally. Someone that was more than words on page, someone corporeal.
The words were enchanting, but Lady Rose had mixed feelings about the verse. She could not decide whether she truly wanted to be the muse and inspire this kind of rapture in a poet or to be the poet and
be
inspired. It seemed to her that eventually she would have to choose one or the other.
Her pondering this question was cut short when the air was pierced through with a woman's cry. The sound was so terrifying it might as well be from the underworld as from this one. There was something animal to it. No words could be distinguished from the gurgling scream, but it was clear that someone was in danger.
The southern side of the Abbey's park was framed by a small river, making the Abbey a moated castle. Usually the river flowed shallow and serene, but this spring it had flooded. Water had risen, and even the oldest servants could not remember it ever reaching as high before. The calm brook had become a violent stream.
Lady Rose hoisted herself up from her comfortable lean and ran towards the sound. Her pretty shoes had slippery soles. When she made the corner at the end of the stone wall, she might have fallen had she not corrected her balance by grabbing an obliging elder tree. It proved flimsy for a cane, but she managed to keep herself upright and continue to run.
The first thing that Lady Rose saw was her brother Charles laying on the river bank, and for a moment it appeared as though he was the one in trouble. Then Lady Rose's eye caught a strange twirl of black in the water. In the centre of the twirl there was a white face.
The face belonged to Elsie, Lady Rose's new lady's maid.
When Lady Rose took a few steps more and reached the midpoint of the bridge, she could see the whole scene in frightening detail.
Elsie's face was a mask of terror as she struggled in the water. Charles seemed to have gotten a hold of her sleeve, but the next moment she slipped out of his grasp. He yelled a wicked curse, worse than any that Lady Rose had heard from his lips. Usually Elsie had the calm gaze of a dove, but now her expression was horribly distorted. Her hands beat the water a few hopeless times and she disappeared.
In a blink of an eye it was all over. The muddy water had claimed Elsie in body and maybe in soul too.
***
Charles cursed again. He got up on his feet, took his shoes off with a few hasty movements and jumped into the cold water. He was a good swimmer, but he was no match to the powerful stream. He resurfaced a bit further down the river. He was forced to latch on to the shrubs growing out of the river bank, if he didn't want to follow Elsie to a watery grave.
Up until now Lady Rose had been standing on the bridge like a statue, but when Charles disappeared into the water and came back up, she jumped into action. She ran towards her brother.
”Charles!” she shouted. ”Stay where you are, I am coming!”
Charles clung to the weeds for dear life. He was panting heavily.
”I couldn't find her,” he said to Lady Rose, with his tears getting mixed together with the river water.
”We have to go and tell someone,” she said, but in truth she knew it was too late. Elsie had been out of sight for too long. Charles dived again.
”Charles! It won't help her if you drown too!” Lady Rose shouted.
***
This time Charles was gone for a long time, and Lady Rose felt a fresh wave of panic. She could not swim, so there was nothing she could do to help Charles while he was under water.
Finally he resurfaced. There was a mercifully calmer part in the river, where water had to funnel through a narrow passage. In that spot Charles was able to climb up onto the riverbank. Lady Rose reached out her hand to help him, but he didn't take it. He grabbed the weeds and crawled up on his own like an injured beetle. Once he was on dry land, he collapsed on the ground.
Lady Rose stood by her beaten brother. Neither of them spoke.
They walked towards home in silence. Charles's wet clothes clung onto his body, and his face was the picture of angry defeat. There was not a drop of water on Lady Rose, as if she had not been touched by the event.
Elsie's ghost walked next to them. Her hair had turned into green moss, but her posture was as rigidly straight as it had been while she was alive. There was no false humility in her. Though Elsie had only been in the house for about a week, Lady Rose had been planning to make the girl her confidant.
Lady Rose tried to take her brother's hand, but he ripped it off of her reach. She longed to comfort him in some way, to feel even for a moment that they were in this together.
”Please, let me be,” Charles said.
”It was not your fault,” Lady Rose said.
Charles did not reply. Elsie's ghost looked straight ahead and didn't flinch.
”Tell me how it happened,” Lady Rose ventured again.
”We will reach the house soon enough and I will be held accountable for my sins. I do not want to speak right now,” Charles said and stomped ahead.
Charles had made his position clear, and Lady Rose bit her tongue, but she couldn't stay silent for long.
”Charles, please allow me –”
”Excuse me,” Charles said and bolted away. His departure scared an umbrella of sparrows that had a small poplar weighed down. The birds spread their skirts and flew off to all directions. It was a thoughtless reminder of life's tendency to go on.
***
Lady Rose did not try to stop Charles or call after him. He ran with his head hung like a little boy and disappeared into the woods. She would have to break the news about Elsie alone. She wondered whom she would meet first at home. The first footman would open the door for her, but she wouldn't need to tell him anything. Behind him she might see Mrs. Motley, if she happened to have some business that required her to walk through the hall. Mrs. Motley would be a good place to start. She would know exactly what to do. She would get someone to send a telegram to Elsie's parents and offer Lady Rose some comforting words, which she could scarcely expect from anyone else.
The Countess might say it was a terrible tragedy, and the Earl would add, especially
these days
, when finding good staff was such an unhappy task. Lady Rose might do better to look for compassion from the servants. After all, they had known Elsie, and some of them had known Lady Rose since she was a little girl. Mr. Cartwright, the butler, had always been there, but he was almost as distant a character as her father. Mrs. Motley was her best bet. She understood the comfort that lays in action, and she would give Lady Rose some concrete task for the funeral, maybe writing a eulogy for Elsie.
Elsie's ghost stopped and stood still. Her gaze was fixed over the path before them. Under Lady Rose's inspection she seemed to fade.
”Elsie,” Lady Rose said. She could see she was being ridiculous, but she needed to say something. ”I wanted to make you my friend. Why...” She couldn't finish the sentence. It would have sounded like an accusation.
”Please don't go. Please.” She wanted to reach out and grab Elsie's hand, but swinging at the empty air would have been desperately sad, so she resisted the urge.
The rest of Elsie faded from sight, and tears clouded Lady Rose's eyes. She had trouble advancing on her path. She looked at her feet and ordered them to take a step and then another, but each obeyed with a long delay or not at all. An eerie calm had possessed Lady Rose after the accident, but now it abandoned her. Her heart pounded in her throat, her head ached and the aggressive greens were closing in on her. She took a few unsteady steps towards the open field, to breath better, but it seemed to make things worse. She was gasping for air, and her vision got blurred. The meadow in front of her became a watercolour painting with blotches of red for poppies and a bigger yellow for a butterfly. She passed out.
When Lady Rose opened her eyes, the yellow smudge was leaning over her and it was not a butterfly after all. It was a nervously fluttering young woman in a yellow cotton dress. She was a slight thing, and the concerned expression made her look more mature than her years. Her cheeks had a healthy-looking glow to them and her eyes were bright. She pushed aside a curl of dark hair, which had escaped from under her bonnet.
”Are you quite alright, Your Ladyship?” she asked, looking frightened.
”Her Ladyship is my mother,” Lady Rose said. She sat up, still blinking away the veil that covered her eyes. ”I am Lady Rose Travers. Could you please help me on my feet? I feel more steady now.”
”I am sorry, Lady Rose,” the young woman said and pulled her up with an unexpected ease. She was a good, strong country girl, Lady Rose thought. ”I was not brought up around here. Sometimes I get hazy about the titles.”
”Indeed?” Lady Rose said and looked at the woman more carefully. ”You are right, I don't remember seeing you before. What is your name?”
”Norah, Lady Rose. Norah McKinnon. I am staying with my aunt and uncle in the Barrington cottage,” Norah said.
”Have you not visited them before?” Lady Rose asked. She wanted to keep the conversation alive, since it gave her something else to think about than Elsie with her aquamarine face lingering nearby.
”No, My Lady. Me and my mother lived too far for visits, in North Cumberland. When my mother passed away a few weeks ago, I came to live with my aunt and uncle.”
”What about your father, if you don't mind me asking?” Lady Rose said.
”He died when I was very young. I never remembered him,” Norah said.
”So you are an orphan, poor child,” Lady Rose said, her voice faltering and her face wrinkling with sorrow.
”Please, do not cry,” Norah said, looking alarmed. ”I work hard not to pity myself, and most days I succeed.” She put down the wicker basket that she was carrying, and Lady Rose noticed that the basket was empty. It must be reserved for some other errand, and the collecting of poppies had been a mere side-track.
Norah dug into the folds of her voluble skirt and produced a simple but clean handkerchief. She offered it to Lady Rose, who accepted the kindness gracefully.
”I am not crying because of your mother,” Lady Rose said, wiping her eyes with the handkerchief, ”although I am dreadfully sorry that you lost her so young,” she hastened to add. ”I am out of sorts because I witnessed a tragic, tragic thing just moments ago. I saw my maid drown in the river.”
”Just now?” Norah asked and pressed her hand against her chest. ”How horrible!”
She digested the information for a while. The air was heavy with things that were too trivial to be said after announcing someone's death.
Norah took Lady Rose's hand between her own hands. There was such warmth and sincerity in her gesture that Lady Rose felt like she couldn't take it. She pressed the handkerchief against her eyes, and it got drenched with her tears. Norah let her cry for a long time, patting her hand until Lady Rose had to withdraw it and blow her nose.
”Let us pray for her soul,” Norah finally said. Lady Rose was caught by surprise, but she consented to the suggestion. Norah bowed her head and clasped her hands. Lady Rose did the same. She closed her eyes tight and wished Elsie mercy and peace on her journey to the other side.
Lady Rose opened her eyes and saw that Norah still had hers closed. They kept the silence going for a few moments longer, as a sign of respect for the poor dead girl.
Lady Rose glanced quickly at her side, and Elsie's ghost was gone. There were only leaves and vines and slim tree trunks where she had stood.
”I hope you don't mind about the flowers,” Norah said.
”I peg you pardon?” Lady Rose asked.
”I should not have collected so many. I quite forgot myself,” the young woman said, and Lady Rose realized she was talking about the bunch of poppies on her arm.
”Never mind that,” Lady Rose said. ”We do not pretend to reign over the wildflowers. Stay out of the rose garden though, or the gardener will not be your friend.”
”I would not dream of it,” Norah said, appalled. ”Roses are a different thing altogether.”
Lady Rose took a deep breath and pulled her shoulders back, as if putting her harness back on.
”Thank you for your assistance. You knew just what to do,” she said to Norah. ”I feel much calmer now.”
She dabbed her cheeks with the handkerchief one last time and handed it back.
”I hope my mother doesn't see me like this. She is always saying that a few tears make eyes clearer, but one must avoid a swollen face at any cost.”
Norah smiled noncommittally.
”I ought to tell her that I don't in fact cry to improve my appearance,” Lady Rose said. She touched her hair and felt ready to face what would await at home.
One more thing occurred to her, and she turned and asked Norah, ”How old are you?”
”I am sixteen,” Norah said.
”Are you trying to find some form of employment for yourself?”
”Yes, Lady Rose. My aunt has sent out some enquiries to find me work as a governess or a house-maid. I do not have grand expectations, since I have not had any training.”
”You never know,” Lady Rose said thoughtfully. ”As Master Shakespeare wrote, the web of life is of a mingled yarn, good and ill together.”
She walked away, and this time her feet did exactly as told.
