Silver, p.25
Silver, page 25
“Tell me what it is, please,” he added.
“Okay, if you are intent on making this difficult as well as awkward. It is an acorn.”
“And when you plant it, Miss Greenwood, what will grow from this acorn.”
Elizabeth rolled her eyes before uttering in a sing song voice. “Great Oaks from Little Acorns Grow.”
“An oak tree! Correct.” Avery grew more animated. “So we are agreed that inside this little seed; in this tiny acorn are all of the elements to grow an oak tree?”
Elizabeth raised one eyebrow and was about to retort before Avery continued.
“So when I plant this acorn, the shoots will come from the ground and divide. Two leaves will grow and spread and slowly the sapling will take the form of an oak?” he earnestly held his arms aloft, stiff inside the pale grey dress. Elizabeth’s head hurt to watch him so attired. “But what if, when the leaves formed,” he continued, “instead of the familiar rounded seven eared oak leaf, instead they were more like my hand, like green fingers, like a chestnut tree? What would it be? Would it be an oak because it had come from an Acorn or would it simply be what it was?”
He looked at her with desperation, he was struggling to make himself plain and he willed her to understand.
“Would it be any less a chestnut because it had grown from an acorn?” he asked.
“Miss Silver, I hate to interrupt this riveting nature lesson but I am quite sure that what you are suggesting would never happen?”
“Why?”
“Because how trees grow is God’s divine will and what you are suggesting is to presume that God could make a mistake.”
“But what if He did?” Avery asked.
“Who? God?”
“Yes”
Elizabeth looked at Avery uncomfortably. It was clear she understood the implication of what he was suggesting and she needed time to think. Where before she had assumed that Avery’s disguise had been some elaborate trick, a wild joke played on unsuspecting girls, here was something else entirely. Elizabeth had not been prepared for this but she felt sure she knew what her sister, Agnes would do. In that moment, she was the only guide Elizabeth could summon.
“God doesn’t make mistakes,” she stated coldly before wheeling around and returning towards the house.
But Avery knew that He already had.
~o~
A perfunctory and cool dinner followed and it was breakfast the next day before Elizabeth was drawn to Avery again. Having retired to his room after breakfast, Georgina encouraged Elizabeth to invite Avery to accompany her with some studies. The weather was good and she fancied Miss Silver might find some interest in drawing. Unable to explain her reluctance to her aunt, Elizabeth knocked lightly on Avery's door and stood waiting. There were hushed tones from behind the door and Elizabeth could make out Avery's voice and that of a girl. Elizabeth froze for a moment. She wrinkled her nose in annoyance. She had wanted to speak with Avery directly and now she may have to wait. She listened and their conversation continued. The volume was low but a hissing urgency beckoned her to lean against the cool door, but she could make out nothing. The closer she pushed her ears to the wood, the less she was able to determine. She was about to knock again when she was startled by Avery’s sudden call.
“Come in.”
So her knock had been heard! Elizabeth’s initial fury rose again. The rudeness to have left her waiting! She gripped the door handle with renewed vigour and erupted into the room. Avery was seated at a desk and a girl, the serving maid he had brought with him, was stood close beside him. Too close. Elizabeth had not noticed the young girl before but was instantly struck by their proximity, the hushed rowing a moment before and now the look upon the girl’s face. Elizabeth could not place why, but the girl was uncomfortable and she immediately sensed an awkward tension in the room. The young girl did not look away as Elizabeth appraised her but, rather, she raised her chin slightly, proffering her best side for inspection.
She knew immediately that there was something unusual in the relationship between Avery and his young maid. The girl seemed uncomfortable with Elizabeth’s presence in Avery’s bedroom. Her gaze was direct. Elizabeth was amused by the sense of guarded jealousy that she could feel emanating from this young girl and her lips twitched at the corners, suppressing a smile.
“Miss Silver? I wonder if I might have a word with you.” Elizabeth did not break her gaze from the maid’s. “Alone,” she added after a pause.
“Of course. Thank you Kate. That will be all,” he said simply.
The girl looked like she could spit and, for a moment, Elizabeth was afraid that a scene may break out. She neither moved nor spoke and it was Avery who began to look most afraid of a scene. After a few moments the young girl collected herself.
‘Of course, Miss Silver.’
She emphasised her address a little and Elizabeth saw Avery flinch at her words. The young girl scowled as she took her leave from the room, remembering only to nod her head courteously as she left. Elizabeth did not watch her leave but merely waited until the click at the door indicated they were alone.
“Elizabeth, I,” Avery stuttered.
“I haven’t come here to listen to any more of your explanations”
“But Elizabeth, I must explain. Please.”
“Please?” Elizabeth repeated, one eyebrow raised. Her tone was at last familiar and he was momentarily struck dumb. She stood with the same assured confidence that he recognized. It was only he who now differed from their meetings of a few weeks ago. His attire and his situation put him at a great disadvantage. He felt without wind to his sails, quite shipwrecked entirely. “I came to talk to you about my Aunt Georgina,” Elizabeth said.
For a moment, Avery looked as though he might continue with his protestations but, unable to find anything to say, he remained silent. Elizabeth walked over to the window, her back now to the room and to Avery, still sat at his desk. He was afraid to stand, ashamed to show the full length of himself before her. He wanted to remain small. He wanted the floor to open beneath him and swallow him whole.
“You know if this all wasn’t quite so absurd, it could be rather funny.” She turned. She was smiling. It was a strained expression. Avery’s face was confused.
“Oh for pity’s sake. You remember why I am here?”
He looked puzzled.
“What happened in London....I don’t want to talk about.” She held out her hands to stop Avery interrupting her. “I hardly understand what has happened myself but the extraordinary circumstances are that my Aunt has become engaged to your father. We are to be cousins Avery. Isn’t that wonderful news?” Her face was set with the same grim smile. It did not look like it was wonderful news to Avery. When Elizabeth had mentioned she did not want to discuss what had gone on in London, Avery looked crestfallen but Elizabeth pressed on.
“And if that in itself weren’t such marvellous news, I have gainful employment,’ she continued, a small laugh escaped her and she looked around, gesturing to the room as if the whole place amused her. “I am to be your mentor and guide!”
Avery looked up. He no longer looked confused. He was scowling. Of course he knew why he was here. His father and Mrs. Fearncott had already told him of their hopes for him this summer. He could find neither the words nor the expression to match the grimness of his mood.
“Now don’t look at me like that! The way I see it, you and I have much to gain from one another and you owe me.”
She continued to talk into the silence he was affording the room.
“Now, my aunt is expecting us to spend a good deal of time with one another in the hope that the best of our respective virtues,” here she counted on her fingers and looked at Avery.
“Clumsy, bookish, shy, modest, prim….’ She indicated to herself. ‘Graceful, charming, feminine, alluring...”
“Elizabeth,” he tried to interrupt.
“Whilst I am sure that much of your tutelage will be closely monitored here at the house, I am quite sure that in a week or so we can be trusted to venture into town together. We shall be each other’s chaperone.”
“Elizabeth,” he pressed.
“Whilst I have no wish at the moment to spend any more time with you, the diversion into more civilised company will be reward enough.”
“For God’s sake, Elizabeth!” Avery erupted. He could not understand such a cool reaction. If the shoe had been on the other foot, he was sure he would be furious. He had been waiting for an opportunity to speak with her and now they were alone again, she was refusing to acknowledge him or what had passed between them in London. He watched as she took a measure of him again. Her long gaze took in the drab dress, the sleeves of which he tugged at uncomfortably. He could see that it made her as uncomfortable as it did him and he sat down again behind the small desk to conceal some of himself. Whilst he hoped she would rather not see him dressed this way, he could see that she was not entirely unsympathetic to his discomfort. As if she could read his mind, she offered quietly.
“It gives me no pleasure to see you squirm so.”
“Then let me explain...”
“Oh, for pity’s sake. Please! No more seed stories.” She threw her arms to her sides and stalked across to the foot of the bed where she sat down, a little defeated. He waited whilst she closed her eyes. Her chin was thrust upwards and her neck was pale above her high collar. He tried to push the image of how, only a week or so ago, he had pressed his lips to that same flesh. Before he had time to consider his urges, he stood and was beside her in a few strides. He sat awkwardly beside her, the dress clinging about him in ungainly folds. Elizabeth opened her eyes.
“What the? What are you….?” she had a panicked look as Avery leant in to kiss her.
Elizabeth stood, pushing him away, and stepped to the side of the large bed frame. For the longest of minutes, there was nothing but the sound of Avery biting back his frustration in angry breaths and Elizabeth chewing her nails. She eventually stepped away from the bed and in two long strides was beside the door.
“I can see we will have to start with a lesson on personal space. My aunt wants to see you at eleven in the drawing room.” She opened the door as Avery said softly.
“Elizabeth. I truly am sorry.”
“So am I,” she muttered, closing the door.
Chapter Twenty - Imogen, 1911
When I arrived home a few hours later, I felt energised. Though I had slept little over the last few days and eaten even less, I felt that my real emotions were finally beginning to come to the fore. Where before I had only felt a shock that had numbed me, I now felt alive with indignation. Listening to Heston in that room and how he had shown such loyalty had made me cringe. I had watched as John shrank in embarrassment as the story unfolded. I was not ashamed of Heston and I was not ashamed of my father. I was angry at him. I was angry at him, not for deceiving me but for not trusting me. I was grateful that only Stokes was waiting for me upon my arrival home, and as I walked upstairs to my bedroom, I felt relieved that I had managed to avoid a confrontation with John. All the way home, I had rehearsed what I would say in response to any one of his, by now, predictable statements and, though fresh on my lips, I lacked the physical energy for an argument. I mounted the stairs and tiptoed cautiously past the bedroom in which he had been sleeping those last few nights. There was no light from beneath the door to his room and I hurried to our marital bedroom. It was empty and the last of the strength I had felt on the journey home dissipated with the sigh of relief, I exhaled as I slumped on the pillows.
“Immy?”
I started with surprise.
“Is that you?” John’s voice was slightly slurred and I gripped the sheets with stifled anger.
“I’m tired John. I just want to go to sleep.”
The form of his shadow loomed out of the dark from the chaise longue in the bay window from which he now roused himself.
“I hoped you would come home.” His voice was needy like Thomas when he could not sleep. “What time is it?” he added.
“It’s late John. Go to bed and let’s talk in the morning.”
There was a clump as he stood up and he stumbled a little.
“I hoped you would be home Immy.”
There was a rustling as the sheets lifted beside me and he slipped in between them. I rolled away from him, turning my shoulder towards him, hoping my back would signal my intent to sleep. Instead, he moved closer to me and propped his head on my shoulder. His heavy chin dug into my clavicle, the sharp fresh whiskers on his chin scratching my flesh.
“You’re cold Immy! Here, let me warm you up.” His voice was thick with a smile and he inelegantly ran his hands over my thighs, rubbing harshly. His breath was sour with alcohol and I tensed from his touch, trying in vain to prevent his large hands from pulling up my nightdress.
“John! Please!” I turned on to my stomach, hoping he would quit but he rolled along with me and I was suddenly pinned under his weight against the mattress. He moaned with delight and slurred once more into my ear.
“Oh Immy!”
With the indelicate hands of a stranger, he leaned on me and raised himself up to begin tugging at my nightclothes, drawing the fabric up to reveal my naked bottom, as he did so I could feel him grow hard against me and I cried out again.
“John! What are you doing? Stop!”
My pleas went unheard and unheeded, and he fumbled with the drawstring of his pyjamas, and his hot member fell firm against my buttocks where he rutted for a few moments, his fingers trying to prise my thighs apart.
“John! No!” I screamed out. The pitch was high and it shocked even me. Had anyone within the house heard, I expected them to immediately rush to my aid. Whilst time would prove that no-one would spring to my defence, it had reached inside John’s foggy head and he appealed to me one more time.
“Imogen! I am trying to help you!” he slurred angrily.
He had lifted himself off me to examine my face, evidently surprised that I was not submissive to his advances. It was enough and I rolled out from underneath him, landing indecorously in a heap beside the bed. He leaned over and his expression was of great amusement.
“What are you doing, Imogen? Come back to bed.”
He pulled back the covers, his pyjama bottoms loose around his thighs and his eyes danced over my half naked form. He smiled at me and held out his hand to pull me back to bed. I took his hand and drew myself back up and slipped beside him whilst he caressed me clumsily.
“I’m sorry Immy. I’ve not been gentle have I?”
“No,” I agreed, not tonight, nor this week. As he slipped an arm beneath my head and drew himself above me, I cast around for a recent memory of John being gentle or supportive. The night my father’s death had been announced hadn’t he been protective, hadn’t he held me close? But that was before the scandal. Since then, he had treated me like a problem, like a conspirator, like a foe. The man, who eased himself between my legs and slipped inside me so intimately, was like a stranger to me, and I felt ashamed of him. The effects of the drink wore quickly and he was finished much sooner than was normal, and I breathed a sigh of relief, as he rolled his weight from me and fell into a deep stupor. Despite my relief, I found I could not move and remained, as he had finished with me, legs spread wide, a wet slick forming on the sheets where I lay; his scent upon me like an animal.
As I lay there in that way, the image of my father swam before me and then without warning, my mother in the same position. I frowned and drew my legs up towards my chest, turning on to my side, away from John. Had my mother lain beneath my father in the same way? How could she have? How could they have shared what John and I had just experienced? Surely, they were never Man and Wife if they had not? Again, I thought of how my mother’s role in all of this was diminished and yet surely she was just as much, if not more, guilty? They had always seemed to me to be a paragon of happiness and, with John, I had tried to emulate them. The fact was, they had never been able to share such intimacies and surely as a result, they could never have been truly intimate. Or had they been? I wondered where their intimacy came from. Did they experience one another’s bodies like John and I had done once? The thought confused me and I could not imagine ever feeling desire for someone who had a woman’s body, no matter how much I loved him. Against my wishes, my mind lingered on an image of my own mother lying stiff under the body of my father as he laboured above her but I could not imagine it. I screwed up my eyes and tried to shake the thought from my head. Eventually, a troubled sleep came over me and I thought only of my mother and I could not see her anything but content, happy and whole.
~o~
Breakfast the following morning was awkward. John avoided looking at me and spoke monosyllabically. It was not only inconvenient, it was almost impossible and I eventually abandoned any attempt to talk to him about what I had thought after leaving Heston yesterday evening. As he quit the table for work, folding his newspaper as he did so, he leant down from habit to plant a kiss on the top of my head but as his lips came close he was unable to make contact. Instead he rose stiffly and left the room without a word. I was unaccustomed to considering the staff around me but the abruptness of his departure left me feeling embarrassed in front of Stokes and I, too, rose and left the room.
“Ready a cab for me, Stokes. I will be downstairs in ten minutes.”
“Yes Ma’am. Where to?”
I hesitated. Stokes was a good twenty years younger than Heston and of a different generation. I had never considered whose man he was, as John and I were always of one accord. Though he had shown some discretion with Mrs. Evesham in recent days, I felt I wanted to have some space to myself.
“I haven’t quite decided yet. Have him available for a few hours and I will decide en route.”
“Very good Mrs. Bancroft.”
If he thought it unusual, his expression did not betray him and, as I left a short while afterwards, he saw me out of the front door with no discernible opinion. As the cabbie saw me into the cab, I offered him our destination.
