Beginning , Section I I
Jump to new as of October 2, 2000
Posted on Sunday, 3 September 2000,
Cassandra slid open the glass doors in her bedroom and walked out onto the balcony. She stood at the railing for a short while, looking out on the garden below, blooming with spring flowers. The scent of the roses below the balcony floated up to her, and she closed her eyes and inhaled softly, feeling the sun's rays warm on her face.
She smiled slowly, then turned and went back into her room. Nothing was planned for this afternoon, and she intended to take it easy. She had refused all offers of carriage rides in the park, even Jasper's. He had insisted, after all the guests were gone, and it was but her and him in the room, that it was in their best interest, to be seen together. They had to keep up an appearance, for the sake of society, of course. But she had still declined. She knew he had been confused and a bit hurt at her rebuff, but she hadn't been in the spirits to soften her answer. Her temper by then had been frayed to the bone.
On a whim, Cassandra went to the velvet rope and pulled it. Soon enough, her maid appeared, and Cassandra asked her to prepare a bath. Only ten minutes later, as she sunk into the warm water, she felt her muscles relax and the tension begin to seep out of her body. She sighed dreamily and closed her eyes.
As she lay in the water, she thought of the evening's plans: the duke, her father, and she were invited, along with Mrs. Gibbons, to dine with the Baroness Brocklehurst, a widow of seven years. She and the family were intimately related-not by blood, though Cassandra referred to her as "Aunt Clara," but by the proximity of their estates. She and her late husband had been the godparents of Jasper Stillman and, after the unexpected deaths of his parents, served as his guardians until he reached his majority.
She had been kind to all three of the children, Jasper, Cassandra, and Fredrick, and had never had a cross word for any of them. Cassandra smiled, thinking with fond reminiscence of the times she and her two friends would sneak into the Brocklehurst's kitchen and coax a slice or two or three of pie from Cook before supper. They were inevitably caught by Aunt Clara, who would chastise them, all the while smiling, and send them off on their merry way, no more repentant than a band of thieves. With those happy thoughts, she slowly drifted off to sleep.
It was quite a while later when she woke to find that the water had turned cold, and the sun's last rays were disappearing from her room. She quickly got out of the tub, shivering, and rang again for her maid, who came quickly and helped her dress. Cassandra gazed in the mirror at her vanity as her maid arranged her hair gracefully, running a string of pearls through her curls, and leaving soft brown tendrils to fall on her bare shoulders. She adjusted the bodice of the gown slightly, trying to cover a little more of her bosom.
"Have I grown, Meg, or was this always so low?" she fretted worriedly. "I feel almost naked."
The maid laughed. "It's perfect for you, my lady. After all, you only purchased that one a month ago!" She smiled and twitched at the crepe on one shoulder. "And it's a perfect colour, too. If I may say, Lady Cassie, you look quite the thing in that gown."
Cassandra smiled into the mirror. "I hope so, Meg." When her maid was finished, Cassie went to the full-length mirror that stood near her wardrobe and turned from side to side, judging her appearance. The gown was pale green, the colour an echo of the vivid green of her eyes. The sleeves of the dress fell off the shoulder, and were thin and nearly transparent-a light shimmery pale green lace-from the trimming at her shoulders to her wrists. The bodice was trimmed with crepe intermixed with tiny pearls, and the hem was cut in scallops and ornamented with fancy trimming and an embroidery of white crepe roses. A double-string of pearls her mother had left for her circled her throat, matching pearl drops in her ears, and pure white gloves covering her dainty hands.
She sighed slightly and turned to look at her maid, who had her hands clasped happily. "Oh, like a picture, my lady."
That was a good enough compliment, and Cassandra quickly gave her startled maid a hug, then took her fan and reticule and went out the door. She went down the stairs to find her father and Mrs. Gibbons already waiting for her in the foyer. "I was about to send someone up to remind you we were dining at the Brocklehursts' tonight," said the duke. "Lord Cullen will be around in a few moments with his coach."
"I am sorry for keeping you waiting, Papa," Cassandra said in a dutifully repentant tone of voice.
"Yes, I'm sure you are," the duke said dismissively, then turned towards the door as the butler opened it and Jasper appeared on the threshold, his expression completely neutral. His eyes lit up slightly as his eyes strayed to Cassandra's, but otherwise, his features didn't change. As he met the duke's formidable gaze, he bowed.
The duke nodded in response, then said, "Shall we be on our way, then?"
Jasper helped Cassandra with her wrap then offered her his arm, and she took it hesitantly. He reached up, however, with a sharp glance at her, and covered her hand with his own. This quick byplay did not escape the notice of the duke, however, and his eyes narrowed as the couple walked ahead of him, out the door into the night. He offered his arm to Mrs. Gibbons, and they went out the door and down the stairs in Jasper and Cassandra's wake.
When they were all seated comfortably inside the spacious carriage, it began to roll steadily down the streets. Not one of the company said a word, though. The tension between Jasper and Cassandra was nearly palpable as they both carefully attempted to keep their knees from brushing as the carriage rocked to and fro over the cobblestones. Even Mrs. Gibbons was silent, unsure of what to say to break the silence. The duke was reclined against the lush cushions, regarding his daughter and her fiancé thoughtfully.
When the carriage stopped before the house, the duke stepped down first, then Jasper, who handed the two ladies down. The duke walked ahead, Mrs. Gibbons on his arm, and Cassandra was left to take Jasper's support. As she laid her hand atop his arm, he took it and quickly tucked it under instead, drawing her closer to him. When she looked up in surprise at him, she saw that he was looking at her, his expression slightly angry. "Is there something we have to talk about, Cassie?" he asked, the tension in his voice thick.
She hesitated, then nodded. His jaw clenched slightly, but he shook his head. "Later, then. In the meantime, we had best put on a good performance. So stop acting like we've just had a fight. I think your father is getting suspicious."
Cassandra didn't respond, and after a moment more, he turned his head towards the door and started up the steps. A footman was already holding the door open for them as they entered, and Jasper helped divest Cassandra of her wrap before they proceeded into the drawing room, where the duke and Mrs. Gibbons had already begun to mingle with the rest of the guests.
They stood on the threshold for a moment as a dozen pairs of eyes glanced surreptitiously at the couple. At last the tension was broken by the approach of the baroness, smiling brightly. "Well, and here you are, Jasper!" She leaned forward and allowed her godson to kiss her on either cheek. "We had almost given up hope...after all, we had thought you came in the same coach as the duke..." She trailed off, sizing them both up, but apparently finding nothing to fault in either of their appearances, shrugged and turned to guide them further into the room. She brought Jasper over to an elderly matron with whom he was already acquainted. She then led Cassandra away under the pretence of having to introduce her to someone else.
As they walked slowly across the room, she leaned over slightly and said in a low tone, "There's nothing wrong between you and Jasper, is there, my dear? I, as his godmother, ought to know."
Cassandra took a deep breath and expelled it slowly. "No, there is nothing, Aunt Clara."
The older woman shook her head with a smile, and gazed sideways at her young companion. "You never were very good at telling me fibs. I could always see straight through you. But perhaps it's because I know you so well." She smiled slightly, then sighed. "I must say, Cassandra, that I was slightly surprised to hear of your engagement. Anyone who knew the two of you would be, I think. I would never have guessed it."
Cassandra did not answer, and Lady Brocklehurst did not comment on it, for she turned to a gentleman who had been conversing with another lady and introduced Cassandra to him. The gentleman bowed and smiled and made some trite comment, and Cassandra responded as expected, but she hardly noticed his name, and had little idea what she said in conversation, for her mind was still on the Baroness' words.
The Baroness excused herself and quickly arranged the couples just before the major-domo arrived and announced that dinner was ready. Cassandra was near the front, and smiled gracefully at her partner, though she truly detested the odd man, as he led her into the dining hall. She was still rather distracted as she sat down at the table to the right of Lady Brocklehurst, and it wasn't until all had been seated that her attention was quickly caught when the Baroness stood and made a toast to the "happy couple:" "I would like to take this opportunity to raise a toast to my godson and his fiancée, Lord Cullen and Lady Cassandra Falkland. May they have much happiness in store for them!"
All the party assembled raised their glasses in salute as Cassandra flushed brightly, shooting a glance across the table to where Jasper sat at his godmother's left. He was smiling genially, and affably nodding to a few gentlemen further down the table who made some felicitous comments. When his eyes turned to hers, however, they were filled with a maelstrom of emotions, and she knew that she was not alone in her quandary. So she pasted a smile on her face and suffered the rest of the congratulations in silent torture.
Dinner was soon over, and she withdrew with the rest of the ladies to the drawing room, where they had tea and talked desultorily about the gossip and other news. Cassandra sat quietly, for the most part, taking part in the conversation little, though occasionally offering a comment to keep herself from being thought unusually quiet, and therefore provoking suspicion.
The gentlemen came in after a decent interval of time, and began to mingle with the ladies. Jasper came over to where Cassandra was sitting and looked down at her. A worried expression flickered across his features. "Are you well, Cass? You seem pale."
She looked up at him, her green eyes wide in her face, then looked down at the teacup in her lap. "Yes, I suppose I need some fresh air," she said softly.
"Then come," he said, taking her cup and saucer and laying it on a nearby table, then offering her a hand to help her rise. They went together out the door and into a room a few doors down. He was careful to leave the door standing wide open, then went to open a window. Cool, fresh air began to flow into the room, and Cassandra breathed deeply as she sat in a large wingchair. The colour slowly began to fill her cheeks.
Jasper came and pulled a chair next to hers. He took her hand in his gently, and caressed the back of it with his other hand. She didn't pull back, yet he could feel the tension in her muscles. "There's something you wish to ask me, isn't there, Cassie?" She nodded, and so he prompted her, "Then ask it. I will answer truthfully-as much as I can, at least."
She looked up at him, her eyes bright and watery. "Tell me the truth about Fredrick-tell me why you hate Mr. Crawford."
The hands caressing Cassandra's stopped abruptly, and they withdrew suddenly, leaving it to drop limply to her side. She looked at him, waiting, but he avoided her gaze, shifting uncomfortably in his seat. At last he looked back at her. "I promised to tell you the truth, didn't I?" he asked in a quiet voice. She nodded, and he bit his lip. "Then I will tell you."
He sighed, then began: "I suppose this all has to do with what Miss Crawford said this afternoon, isn't it?" He nodded resignedly. "She was right, Cassie," he began slowly. "Fredrick and I were quite the pair when we came to London. It wasn't only because of our titles, and our wealth. It was because we were unattainable. We were somewhat of a mystery to the ton-we didn't act like all the other young swains, swaggering about, dandies that they were. We were confident together, cool. As you know, we were so diametrically opposed in both temperament and appearance; this intrigued everyone.
"It wasn't too long before we met Henry Crawford. I disliked him immediately. I couldn't tell you exactly why my first impression was so unfavourable; I can just say I hated him at first sight and knew he was trouble. But Fredrick, on the other hand, fell in well with him and his like. I tried to keep him out of harms way, for the most part; I curbed his gambling, kept him away from the more unsavoury aspects of the crowd, but there was little more I could do than watch as he was slowly sucked into their lifestyle.
"And so you blame Mr. Crawford for Frederick's death?" Cassandra asked softly.
He shook his head at this. "No, not directly. Freddie was in charge of his decision, but it was influenced by so many factors outside of simply his friends. Yes, Crawford was somewhat responsible for Frederick's downfall, but Lord Kilbourne was also a large factor." Jasper's jaw tightened, and a vein began to pulse in his neck. "His disinterest in his son's welfare...the stupid, drunken...lout! He could've saved him, if he had even showed one ounce of interest!"
Cassie put a hand gently on his arm. "Jasper," she said in a low, soothing voice. "We can't do anything about it now. There's no reason to become so upset." She looked down, removing her hand from his arm and clasping it in the other in her lap. "And so," she began glancing up at him shrewdly, "you dislike Mr. Crawford for what he did to Fredrick?"
Jasper hesitated, then nodded. "I suppose I do.
Neither spoke for some time, then Cassandra said quietly, "I think it's time we were back with the others, Jasper. The less said, the better."
"Perhaps in all respects," he replied in a voice just as pained as hers. And with not another word, they both stood and left the room.
Posted on Monday, 2 October 2000
The ride home was even more silent than it had been going to the dinner. Mrs. Gibbons had fallen asleep, so there was no hope from her quarter. The tension between Jasper and Cassandra was still high, and nearly unbearable for the two parties concerned. And the duke? The duke was content to simply sit back and watch his daughter and future son-in-law under hooded eyes deceivingly calm. At long last, the carriage stopped before the Falkland townhouse, and that party stepped down. Jasper walked them to the door, then stood for a moment on the stairs, his hand holding Cassandra back. She looked at him with curiosity in her eyes, and he pressed her hand gently. She smiled hesitantly, her eyes unhappy, and the hope in his eyes died. His face fell slightly, then he bowed to her and went back to his carriage. And Cassandra turned away and went into the house, even before the horses had pulled away from the curb.
The foyer was already deserted when she stepped inside, but for the servants. She stood in the middle of the floor for a few moments, her feelings roiling within her. Then slowly, steadily, she turned to the stairs and mounted them, one by one, until she reached the top. She turned and stood at the railing, looking down at the floor below, and for one fleeting moment, she recalled the first time she had come to London with her mother. They had stood at this same place, looking down on the floor below. She had been only fourteen at the time, and had been so excited to be in Town. They had gone shopping together for books, clothes, bonnets, paints, and anything else they could think of. She had felt so grown up as she stood beside her mother, looking down into the foyer below, watching the two boys come in...Fredrick and Jasper. As they caught sight of the pair above them, they waved with bright smiles, Frederick's mischievous twinkle ever-present in his eyes, then continued on towards the library, where they were meeting with her father.
Cassandra could almost see the two standing in the foyer below, now, Frederick's laughing eyes bright with some scheme, Jasper's an elder-brother smile, teasing, yet still reassuring. But those smiles had faded long ago, as had hers. And all were seemingly irretrievable.
She stood there a moment longer, her tapered fingers curled tightly around the carved wooden banister, her eyes gazing blindly at the story below. At last, she turned away and entered her chambers. A fire had been lit already by the maid, and Cassandra smiled slightly, sadly, at the comforting feeling of warmth. She approached the fireplace and chafed her suddenly cold hands before the flames.
As she stood before the blaze, she looked around at the nearly dark room, lit only by the light of the warm, flickering fire. The room was so familiar to her-it had been hers each time she came to Town. And yet, in the half-light, the shadows suddenly appeared to stretch longer, more melancholy than before. The drapery fluttered in the breeze coming from the half-opened glass doors. Cassandra walked slowly towards the balcony, her steps silent on the carpeted floor. As she stepped out onto the balcony, she lifted her eyes to the heavens, obscured by the trees in the yard and the lights from other houses. The sky was inky black, dotted with tiny diamonds, glittering in the darkness. The moon was a golden sliver, its pale rays casting only a dim glow over the town.
The dewy air kissed her cheeks as she put her hands to her lips, trying to hold back the tears that threatened to fall. Nothing seemed right; everything, within only a week, had seemed to collapse in upon itself. Her whole foundation was crumbling, and nothing she could do was sufficient to keep the walls from falling in on her. She didn't even recognise this life as hers; it seemed as if she were watching everything, as a spectator to this farce. For a farce it was-lies, upon lies, upon lies. Everyone playing their part, and everyone believing the other was telling the truth.
She wished she could simply run away-go back to her old life, to the country, where she could be free of all of this. Freedom. That was what she wanted above all; the power to do what she chose, when she chose, and not worry about the constraints of society, of propriety. All she wanted was a little freedom, and a little peace. And yet, she knew within herself that her dream was a near impossibility. Her father would never consent, never allow such a thing. He needed her marriage. He needed legitimate heirs. He needed her to be a breeding mare.
And as she sank to the floor of the balcony, her skirts spreading out around her, she let the tears silently fall as she gazed up at the diamonds above. Her lips whispered mutely the words she had learned in childhood:
Star light, star bright,
First star I see tonight
I wish I may, I wish I might
Have the wish I wish tonight.
She bowed her head as she closed her eyes tightly, the tears flowing freely, and the empty night wrapped itself around her, comforting her with the soft promise of a morning to come.
The morning dawned bright, and Henry rolled over with a groan, shielding his eyes as the rays filtered in through the draperies. After a few minutes more of feeling sorry for himself, he pushed the bedclothes aside and stood up slowly, trying to adjust himself to a vertical position. He stretched his long, lean body, then looked over to where the clock stood on a mantle in his room. He stared at it for a while, trying to adjust his eyesight, then blinked a few times. "Blast, is it really eleven?"
"It is, sir," came the voice of his valet as he entered the room carrying warm water. "I would have woken you sooner, but since you didn't return until the early hours, I thought it better to sleep it off. Cook also sent up some disgusting remedy for your hangover, if you really wish it, sir."
Henry shook his head, then held it in both his hands, closing his eyes in sudden pain, as the pounding suddenly became worse. "Perhaps I will," he said in a weak voice. His valet set a glass down on the bedside table and Henry stared at it for a bit before picking it up and downing the contents in one large swig. He spluttered as the foul-tasting brew went down his throat, and set the glass back down. He shut his eyes and shook his head in disgust, trying to get the taste out of his mouth. When his valet laughed, Henry slanted an annoyed glance at him. "It's not funny, Baker. I wouldn't laugh if it were you forced to drink the putrid stuff."
"I highly doubt that, sir. And I don't recall forcing you to drink it."
Henry merely grunted in response and gave in to his valet's ministrations. In only a short while, he was dressed and on his way downstairs. He found his sister in the music room, playing her harp. She looked up with a smile as she finished the song. "You look a wreck, Henry," she said with a laugh.
He leaned against the doorframe and smiled at her. "I suppose I do. I guess I shouldn't have stayed out so late last night."
"This morning, you mean," she replied wryly as she stood and went to where her music was kept. As she began to look for another piece to play, she asked him curiously, "So, when did you finally return here? I must have been asleep."
He laughed in response. "I would expect you were. I don't ever recall you staying up until three-thirty in the morning, even for a good reason."
She only shook her head and went back to her harp. After a short pause, she began to play the piece. Henry came into the room further and sat down in a chair. Fairly soon, his eyelids were drooping, and his head fell to his chest. It wasn't until he began to snore that Mary looked up and realised her audience had fallen asleep. She pursed her lips in annoyance, then rolling up her music, walked over and slapped Henry in the back of the head with it. He jerked himself awake and looked up in surprise, rubbing his head. "What did you do that for?"
"You could have found a more subtle way of insulting me, Henry."
He rubbed his eyes and sighed. "I'm sorry, Mary. I didn't mean to fall asleep. I'm just really tired. I even missed my morning ride. I hope she wasn't expecting me..." He trailed off as he looked up at his sister and caught her glance. He then looked down at his hands, clasped tightly on his stomach, his cheeks flaming.
"Has she become that important to you, Henry? I can't imagine why! After all, how many times have you met with her?"
"Four...maybe five times," he replied hesitantly.
She just stared at him, waiting for more. When it wasn't forthcoming, she sighed and sat down in a chair next to him. "This is so unlike you, Henry. I'm not sure what it is, but there's something distinctly wrong here. I had thought that you were simply trying to fool me-that this was some game you were playing. But now I'm not so sure." She looked away for a moment, then turned her eyes to him once more. "Why are you so infatuated with this woman, Henry? She's not even that pretty."
"Not pretty!" he exclaimed in surprise, his eyes jerking to hers. "You must be joking! She is exquisite! And it's not simply her beauty, but her personality, as well-"
"But what do you know about her personality, Henry? What? You've only met her five times, at most! How could you know what she's like?"
He shrugged, his expression falling into its previous state of distraction. Mary shook her head again. "I don't believe in this balderdash about love at first sight, so don't even bother fobbing me off on that lie. And furthermore, she's engaged! She's as good as married-wait, is that it? She's a challenge, isn't she? Just like Maria. You think to dally with Lady Cassandra as you did with Maria."
Henry's jaw clenched, and he shot his sister a scathing glance. "I did not dally with Maria. That's a complete and utter lie, and well you know it. Sure, I trifled with her feelings a bit, but I was not the pursuer in the other case. Maria made her own downfall. I was the one blamed for it, though, because I was the one she chose to chase." He stood up and began to pace. "Even if that were what had happened, I wouldn't dream of doing the same with Lady Cassandra. She deserves much better than that. She deserves to be happy, to have a husband who cares for her, who'll treat her like the beautiful, passionate woman she truly is. And that stiff is not the man."
"And you think you are?" Mary shot back. "Besides, what is this enmity between you and Lord Cullen?"
Henry paused in his pacing and looked at his sister. "Do you remember Fredrick?"
"Fredrick Botsworth?" Mary said in surprise. "Why, of course I do-I was just talking with Lady Cassandra a few days ago about the two of you."
He nodded. "I can only imagine that Jasper's already taken advantage of it to poison Lady Cassandra's mind against me. He blames me, you see, for Frederick's death."
"Death?" Mary repeated again. "I hadn't realised-"
"He died a few years ago. Shot himself. He was heavily in debt; he had played too hard at the tables. He had also gotten a girl pregnant, and she was demanding money from him. He had none to give her. And his father-the lazy, drunken scum, wouldn't help him. Help his own son! But Lord Kilbourne wouldn't do anything. He was so hypocritical; he himself had to have been paying off gambling debts and his dozens of mistresses pregnant with his children. And yet he declared that his son was a wastrel and a poor excuse for a future marquess."
Henry sat down again in his chair, leaning his elbows on his knees and his forehead in his hands. He didn't speak for a few moments, but when he did, his voice was quiet, nearly devoid of emotion. "Fredrick couldn't handle it all. But he never told anyone. Not even Jasper. I saw what was happening, though, and I tried to stop it. I even offered him to lend him money-" he broke off and looked at his sister. "I could have stopped it, Mary. But he wouldn't accept my help. I could have spared him the money easily, but he wouldn't take it. That was when we left for Northampton. While we were at Mansfield Park, Fredrick shot himself. I didn't even find out until I returned to London. And by then, he was already buried. I couldn't do anything, not even make amends to his friends. Jasper believes that what happened was because of me, because of the lifestyle I introduced Fredrick to."
"You are guilty of that, Henry," Mary said softly.
He nodded. "I know I am. But it would have happened sooner or later. Fredrick was bound to gamble some time. I just gave him the opportunity. And the affair with that woman-I didn't teach him that, Mary." He shook his head slowly. "But it doesn't matter now." He laughed humourlessly. "It's happening all over again. Don't you see Mary? I ruined my chances with Fanny because of my previous conduct with her cousin. This time, the only difference is that it's not a cousin, but an old friend."
"Then give up, Henry. You can't be too far into this-whatever it is."
Henry shook his head, his lips tightened. "I'm already too far in, Mary. I have no choice anymore but to get her out of my system, one way or another. Leaving London would accomplish nothing, just as leaving Mansfield did nothing. This time, it's even worse."