Love Engineered (21 page)

Everyone he met who knew Miss Thomas spoke so well of her. How could he have been so blind to her good qualities? Then, he remembered her forgiveness. She shook his hand that night, despite having every right to refuse.

But it was the workroom that was his undoing. Yet again he thought back to the contents of that room. He imagined her there at all hours, as she worked on experiments, watched the miniature engines, read journals, studied to further her mind. Reading his articles – she admitted to that herself. He liked the thought of her reading his work. It somehow made him feel closer to her, however strange it was.

Then there was the train journey from Axminster, and the old lady on the train. Did she always do such kind things to those who lived on her estate? He imagined her going around helping anyone she could. She did have a generous heart. She was unusual and independent and at first he had been unsettled by it. But now all he could do was admire her. All other women seemed ordinary compared to her.

The day Lucas, Ashton and Boyd departed from Axminster, Louise busied herself with estate matters, but on more than one occasion looked at the clock and wondered if they had gone yet, or if something could have delayed them.

“Surely they would have caught the 9.56 train to Exeter, because any later train would make the connection to Plymouth extremely vexing,” she told herself.

By the afternoon she had convinced herself that they must have left and went for a lonely walk to the coast to try to come to terms with her feelings, only to remember as she passed her workroom that this was the walk that Mr Lucas had taken the day before.

She entered the workroom and looked around the place she knew so well. She suddenly recalled Mr Boyd’s comments, and with an angry sweep of her hand knocked her engine models to the ground. She went across to another bench and smashed each chemical container one by one. There! She would never again have to endure such humiliation. Without a care for the shards of glass that littered the floor, she crouched down in front of the fireplace and struck match after match until the coals were properly aflame. Hot tears of self-pity and frustration rolled down her cheeks – she couldn't even light a fire competently!

“I shall always be a child to such men,” she thought sadly as she burnt each volume of the journals, and her painstaking notes.

She resolved to never see any of them again, in particular Mr Lucas. She would make sure that when in London, Jane would visit her and she would go out of her way to avoid him. What annoyed her most was that he had only apologised because of the revenue they were going to receive. She couldn't bear it that he was like those other men who courted her because of her money. Curse her money! Curse her estate! It was a millstone around her neck, pulling her down into an abyss of endless loneliness. She would much rather be poor and happy with a large family to cherish her and she them.

She watched the flames for a while, then stood up and saw on the wall the sketch of his bridge design. She reached out to rip it off, but her hand paused. She couldn't bring herself to burn it. She had drawn it that first day she had met him at the lecture, when he was so amiable. She had sat drinking in everything he said as he spoke to the crowded lecture hall. She remembered the smile on his face while she asked him awkward questions.

“Why could you not love me?” she said aloud.

No, she couldn't burn that memory, however much pain he had caused her since.

Eventually, she left the workroom and vowed never to return to it and have it razed to the ground.

She walked blindly on to the coast and sat down in her favourite spot, overlooking the sea. It was a rough day and the waves crashed in one after the other even though there was little wind. The crackle of the sea on the pebbles comforted her. There and then she decided when she returned to the house that she must do as she had said yesterday; she must get on with her life and never think about him again. She walked down to the beach and picked up a pebble, then threw it into a wave as it hit the beach.

“I wish you well, Charles Lucas,” she whispered.

She picked up another. “I will always love you,” she said as she threw it in. “But I can't let you control my thoughts forever.”

Shortly after, with sad determination, she made her way back to her house and the responsibilities she had earlier despised. How foolish she now felt in ever having believed that a man such as Mr Lucas could love her. What was she to such a man? She had nothing except her money to attract any gentleman, and he looked for something more than privilege and status. Such stupidity to think he could like her! His angry face flashed in front of her again as she remembered his disdain at the thought of marrying her.

But now she had to walk away from such irrational thoughts with a new determination. She loved him, she would always love him, and he couldn't stop her from loving him. But she would learn to move on to a new stage of her life, one that didn't contain such romantic thoughts.

Over the subsequent weeks, she threw herself into her estate work, was an attentive neighbour and was more benevolent than ever to the poor and needy. At night, whenever she was on her own, she sat reading books that would improve her mind, as well as novels and poetry. Jane's letters came fast and frequently, but she wrote little of her brother, and when she did mention him, Louise trained her mind not to dwell on the words.

The workroom she had desecrated was left standing despite her previous vow to have it knocked down. She entered it again and tidied it. She would not let Mr Lucas or My Boyd stop her from pursuing her most favourite pasttime.

It wasn't many weeks before she received the letter she had expected from her friend Lucy Potts.

My dearest Miss Thomas,

I cannot contain myself, I'm happy beyond words. I think you will guess when I say what has caused such delight. I'm engaged! Mr Francis visited me yesterday most unexpectedly, saying that you of all people had told him to do so. I'm so happy I could burst! I must thank you from the bottom of my heart.

It all happened so quickly. I was busy helping my mother rearrange her chamber furniture when the maid came in and said that Mr Francis was waiting for me downstairs.

Of course, at first I didn't believe her, but she assured me it was him.

I composed myself as best I could and we sat having tea with Mother and Father, until a little later he asked if I would like to walk out to show him the village. Well, I was more than happy to, and before we had even walked five minutes he asked! It was so romantic. He said that he had wanted to propose before but couldn't face asking my father without securing a position. Afterwards he went straight to speak to him, and he gave his permission.

He is still here, staying at the inn in the village, but alas, he must leave in two days' time for Manchester. We haven't yet fixed a date, but Mr Francis said that he hoped we could be wed within six months.

I should so like it if you would attend our wedding, but I understand if you cannot. Please write back soon and let me have your congratulations. I'm longing to be called Mrs Francis.

Yours, etc.

Lucy Potts

P.S. He told me all about his dinner with you and the engineers. You're too kind for words to invite him, but it's so like you.

Louise smiled to herself. She was pleased Lucy had found happiness, but she wouldn't attend the wedding. She didn't plan to leave Devon within the six months Lucy stated and Bedfordshire was such an awkward distance that she couldn't travel for only one day. No, she was sure it was unlikely she could go. Only a few days earlier, Jane had entreated her to come to London; but again, she had had to disappoint her. Her diversions so far had worked and she was sure that, given time, she would conquer all feelings for her love.

She was interrupted by her assistant coming in with a large parcel.

“I opened it of course,” he said, handing her a box. Inside was some odd looking equipment: a piece of metal, a tube and a round solid base, a sort of plate and some pipe.

There was a slip of paper inside with the name of the contraption as well as written instructions. It read,

Mr Bunsen's natural gas burner, for the use in chemical experiments to heat liquids to very high temperatures. Patent pending and due for completion 1855.

She stared at her assistant.

“I didn't order any such an item. Who sent it?”

“There was no note, but the postmark was Plymouth,” the assistant replied.

There was no doubt. It had to be from Mr Boyd, by way of apology. Mr Lucas had obviously spoken to him and since Mr Lucas had been, by Jane's account, back in London for a good few weeks, she deduced it couldn't possibly be from him.

She sighed. She was still angry at Mr Boyd. She didn't know whether she should be pleased or not. But she admitted the equipment would come in useful for her experiments. She took it to the workroom herself.

. . .

A month later and Charles, back in London, was awoken in the early hours by his sister knocking loudly at his bedroom door.

“Charles. Charles, please come quick.”

He got up, put on his robe and opened the door. Jane's face was white and she was shaking. “It's Mother, they cannot wake her. I think she may be d-dead.”

They quickly entered their mother's bedchamber. He went straight to her and it only took a moment for him to see that she was indeed dead.

He looked at Jane, who, seeing his grave expression and shake of the head, slumped onto the floor. He held her as she sobbed uncontrollably for many minutes. It was only when the doctor arrived that she would move away.

. . .

It was a cold October evening and Charles returned from work to find his sister alone. Now, three months since their mother died, their period of mourning was drawing to a close.

“Charles, is that you?”

“Yes Jane,” he said as he entered the room and saw her standing near the fire.

“It's a cold night, there will be frost. I have asked for a fire in both our chambers.”

“Thank you.”

Charles stood next to his sister and warmed himself. She held a letter. He looked at it with an inquisitive gaze.

“I have just been re-reading a letter I received from Miss Thomas this morning.”

“Oh?” her brother replied. It was only a few minutes since he had thought of her.

“Yes. She has been most helpful in her advice in overcoming grief. It has been quite enlightening.”

“Really?” he said, trying to sound nonchalant, but was more than curious about what Miss Thomas had to say.

“Shall I read to you what she advises?”

Charles consented and Jane sat down to read an extract from the letter she held.

“It took years for me to get over the death of my father. I do not wish to make you sad or worry you about your own state of mind, but you must accept that it will take you a long time to get over the death of a dear parent. I tell you this because I believe it best to be honest. In those early days, I found myself frequently crying, and dreaded attending any event, informal or formal, without my father. But I got through each one, and I think that, once I accepted he was gone, the healing began. Remember though, retreat and grieve in private if that is what you need to do. Do not suppress the thought of her, or the wish that she was still alive. I still on occasion find my mind wandering to those precious times my father and I shared, and wishing he was still there to help me and guide me. Above all, I like to think that he is watching over me, and I remember that he is with our great Saviour now, and therefore must be happy and free from those worldly burdens we still have. I promise you, one day you will wake up and the pain will be less than the day before.”

Jane placed the letter down and looked at her brother.

“It's helpful, is it not?”

“Yes. Very.” He replied in a quiet voice, but the thought of Louise suffering did nothing to relieve him.

“She must have had a much more difficult time than us,” Jane said in a sad tone.

“What do you mean?”

“Well, only that I have you and Edward as support, but she had no-one. How lonely she must have been.”

He suddenly stood up and walked to the table to get a drink. “Yes, I suppose you're right. Any loneliness we feel must pale in comparison to hers.”

He then sat in an armchair by the fireplace, lost in thought, his drink untouched at his side. The reality of such isolation for any person must be a heavy weight indeed. He felt sorry that it was she of all people who had to bear such a state. A deep feeling of compassion welled up inside him. He couldn't think why he felt uneasy. Perhaps it was the chill of the night, or his own deep melancholy at the loss of his mother. But when he examined his feelings more deeply, he realised that his mother wasn't the reason.

He woke with a start a few hours later to find himself alone, with a blanket over him, the fire almost burnt out. He must have been more fatigued than usual by the day’s activities.

He made his way to his bedchamber, but saw a light glowing inside his mother's room.

“Jane?” he pushed the door open.

He found his sister sat on the bed surrounded by a pile of letters. She looked up, her eyes brimming with tears. “I came in here because I missed her and found this box of letters in her cupboard.”

“Who are they from?”

“Father. Most of them are dated before they were married.”

He sat next to his sister on the bed and picked up a few. He scanned the contents. “Are they interesting?”

“It seems most were written when they were engaged and Father had to go and work in Scotland for a few months. They didn't allow the distance to quell their love for one another,” she said.

“Oh?”

“There are several letters from Father, where he speaks of such love for her it's beautiful. No wonder she kept them. Here, read this one.”

Jane handed him a letter and he read its contents.

After, he looked up at Jane, his expression inscrutable. “They really loved one another, didn't they?”