ten
AFTER EDITH HAD run away from Perry with the strongest sense of embarrassment that had ever troubled her, she’d slid inside her bedroom through the window she’d left open, arriving home unnoticed.
Years ago, after Marianne got married, Edith had moved to a small bedroom on the ground floor, claiming she liked it more than her old bedroom upstairs. But in truth, the reason for her choice was that she could easily climb in and out of the ground-floor bedroom without being noticed if she timed her sneaking out and in carefully.
The ‘sneaking in’ part of the night had gone smoothly. The consequences of last night, both physical and emotional, were another matter, though. A headache drummed against her skull after the champagne, the scare in the swimming pool, and the shock of seeing Perry again.
She never drank a lot of alcohol because just one sip of champagne was enough to give her the temporary happiness she desperately needed and also a fierce wave of nausea. Father said she was particularly sensitive to spirits, which was fine with her. But she’d exaggerated last night. She didn’t fully remember whatshe’d done before the shock of the pool had made her come to her senses.
Her worry was monumental, so thick she could use it as a cloak around her shoulders.
She felt small enough to pass through the eye of a needle after having met Perry and not confessing her lies. To her defence, he’d caught her off guard.
His praise rang in her ears, tormenting her. He was proud of her. He admired her. Goodness, if he only knew. Like a coward, she hadn’t found the courage to tell him the truth. More than once, she’d tried to tell him everything, but staring at his kind blue eyes had destroyed her resolve. She hadn’t wanted to see his good opinion of her crumbling in a moment, not when she’d worn wet undergarments and his clothes.
As she dragged herself to the dining room for breakfast, she ignored the ache in her sore body and the headache she deserved.
“Good morning, Mother,” she said, controlling her voice.
Mother cast a glance over at her. “Good morning. The tea is growing cold.”
“Sorry.” She was so forlorn, her morning tea tasted like vinegar.
“You look so pale,” Mother said, buttering her toast.
“I didn’t sleep well.” Or enough. Barely two hours before the maid had come to light the fire in Edith’s bedroom.
“Are you going to the dispensary today?”
“It’s my free day.”
Mother pressed her lips hard. “Do you know what bothers me the most? The fact you believe I’m stupid.”
“I’ve never said that.” She sipped her tea, but it really had a bitter taste despite all the sugar she’d added.
“Tell me what you did.” Mother shot her a scorching glare. “Are you using opium again?”
“Mother, no. I told you. It happened only once.”
That was true; she’d tried and hadn’t liked it, but ironically, Mother was convinced her daughter abused it.
Edith forced herself to swallow the tea. If she refused to have breakfast, her mother would grow even more concerned.
“I blame myself and your father as well,” Mother said. “We should have been firmer with you. But no, I was sorry for what you went through, for what we all went through. We did everything you asked, and this is the result. And opium got the better of you.”
“Mother, please.”
Edith closed her eyes for a moment. The sunlight bothered her eyes, and her mother’s words stirred something ugly in her chest. She didn’t know what was worse, that her mother believed she was an opium addict or that she kept lying.
“I don’t have the symptoms of an opium addict,” she said. “No mood changes, chronic itching, or nausea. Do you think Father wouldn’t notice if I took opium?”
“I don’t know.” Mother was flustered. “You’re knowledgeable in medical science and work in a dispensary. You can easily find what you need to hide the symptoms.”
Goodness. That was extreme. Edith wasn’t that conniving.
“I’m all right, Mother. I simply didn’t sleep well.”
Sometimes the easiness with which she lied surprised herself.
