‘Well, you are WRONG!’ Anne turned sharply and bellowed at Hannah, making her startle. Anne’s temper flared like that of a toddler who had been refused a second biscuit. Hannah was quite alarmed by the sudden shift.
Hannah had not been brought up in a household of yelling and, as a result, this sudden aggressive mood assaulted her senses as impactful as a fist to the head might. Her mother might scold and her father could be rather self-important, yet they seldom raised their voices. When they did – which was rare - it was usually between the two of them, normally when her mother had perhaps overindulged with her father’s money at the shops. When she was small, her governess would be instructed to whisk her away whilst they ‘talked’. In later years, she respectfully departed to allow them privacy. It had never been an issue to her and certainly, never been directed at her.
Here now was this woman – who Hannah hardly knew and whom she had treated only with due respect and deferential will – screeching into Hannah’s face accusations that Hannah felt were unjust and unwarranted. She tried her hardest not to cry. She would not allow this persecutor to believe she was weak.
‘I do not understand how my son could possibly believe that a girl such as you could be a decent or respectable Duchess.’ Anne was ranting and all her pent-up frustrations came flooding out.
‘You cannot dance; as you demonstrated the other evening at your debut. You confess you do not play the piano, nor do you sing. And when provided with a room in which to sew, you utterly misunderstand the generous offer and convert a perfectly grand parlour room into a filthy warehouse!’
Hannah was beginning to tremble as each of Anne’s vitriolic words assaulted her. The worst of it was that she knew everything she said was true.
‘I am sorry you are not happy with Caleb’s choice of bride, Your Grace…’ Hannah began.
‘He did not CHOOSE you! His father did and he hadn’t even met you – he based his decision on his business relations withyourfather. If hehadmet you I am quite sure he would never have arranged such a shambolic match! My husband was a fool. Caleb would be so much better off with a Duchess such as Lady Lucinda Fairfax.’
Hannah swallowed down a sob.
‘I did not ask for this union,…’ Hannah attempted to defend herself.
‘And now you dare to be ungrateful? This is a most fortunate arrangement for you! You have gained the title of Duchess and are charmed to live in this most splendid of abodes!’
‘I did not mean…’ Hannah stepped forward, extending her hand in offering, trying any method of placating the raging woman before her.
Emmeline appeared in the doorway very suddenly, looking alarmed and staring at her mother with accusation.
‘Mother, what is happening here?’
‘And well you might ask! Look at the state of the room! Hannah, here, has taken it upon herself to scandalize our beautiful home by introducing an art gallery to our parlour…!’ Anne screeched.
Emmeline’s eyes ran a quick assessment of the room and landed back on her mother.
‘I didn’t mean that…I meant to ask why you are yelling at the Duchess?’
Anne received this like a punch to the stomach.
‘I am not yelling!’ she yelled.
Emmeline took a long, slow breath in and looked away from her mother, stepping inside the room to survey all of the equipment Hannah had meticulously laid out.
Hannah and Anne remained quiet and still, watching her move gracefully around the room.
Emmeline’s presence introduced a calmness into the room and Hannah thought how brave she was, to interrupt this barbaric conflict with a composed harmony, taking her time. Hannah would have considered that Emmeline was oblivious to the tension that fizzed toxically in the air, but she knew that she was being tactical and she appreciated her methodical intervention.
‘Do you prefer to use oils, Hannah?’ Emmeline turned, smiling at her sister-in-law.
Hannah was too stunned by Emmeline’s kind gesture to respond and simply stood, her mouth open, watching Anne’s reaction to her daughter essentially siding with Hannah.
Anne huffed indignantly, stamped one foot loudly and promptly stomped out of the parlour room.
Hannah released a breath and sat herself weakly down on the nearest stool.
‘I should love to see some of your art…’ Emmeline smiled sweetly, then noticing how deflated Hannah was following the altercation, added ‘but perhaps another day?’
Hannah looked at Emmeline, trying to articulate her gratitude but no words would come to her. Anne had utterly wilted her enthusiasm and short-lived belief that perhaps she could make a happy home in the Montwood residence.
‘Do not be defeated, Hannah,’ Emmeline nodded with a sad smile and slowly left, closing the door behind her.
Usually, when Hannah felt conflicted, painting was her therapy, but following the unprecedented clash with her mother-in-law, her hands shook too much to even try.
