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Chapter 32
It was early August. Marta had been away from Austria throughout the entire summer, so long that her memories of Austria flickered in and out of her mind, becoming increasingly inarticulate and foggy. When would she see her mountains again? When would she speak to someone besides Laura in German? When would she understand the world and all its faults and beauty in just the same way?
Over the previous few days, Marta had noticed a strange shift within Laura. She seemed morose and pouty, apt to several days spent in bed in a row. This wasn’t like the Laura Marta had known for years. Even Malcolm and Walter seemed at a loss. When they whispered to one another in German at the dinner table, without Laura present, Marta heard them say, “I don’t know what’s got into her. She seems so terribly sad. Should we do something for her? Do you think we should get her new chocolate?”
Their clear love for her made Marta’s heart ache. Still, she wondered if it was high time that Laura returned to Austria.
One afternoon, Marta asked her this very question: if she wished to return. At that moment, all the colour, of which there wasn’t much, drained from Laura’s face. She smacked both palms to her cheeks and whispered, “Have I done something wrong, Marta? I wish nothing of the sort. Please, don’t make me do it. I want to remain here. I want to be an Englishwoman. Oh, I curse my status every day as a handmaiden. How can I rise above it all?”
This puzzled Marta. Laura had never been one for such fits, and she’d never shown herself to be anything but grateful for her position as handmaiden. She pressed her hand against her stomach and let out a low sigh.
“Have things progressed with the man in the village?” Marta asked.
Laura snarled, “That ended what seems like years ago. I know you to be too entirely entranced with your own gossip, your own world of pain, but the vegetable man dumped me so completely that I was void of promise or hope. Until I found a new man, a man who comprehends the weight of my existence and answers in kind…”
“He sounds remarkable, Laura,” Marta said. She made her voice sound urgent, vibrant. “Please, tell me more about him! Where did you meet?”
It was a funny thing, in Marta’s mind, that Laura had this separate romantic life. As much as Marta cared for her and considered her a friend, she was, after all, only a handmaid on an English adventure.
“It doesn’t matter. I know things between us can never be the way I wish them to be,” Laura responded, worrying her lip. “He is from a far different world than I. Some moments, I perceive him to care, truly care, truly see, but then others, he seems monstrous and volatile, ready to blame me for all of it.”
Marta arched her brow. “I dare say you won’t give me any specifics, will you?”
Laura shook her head violently. Marta wasn’t prepared to spend the rest of her afternoon beating around the bush. Thus, she made an excuse and patted down the hallway towards the garden. To her surprise, Baldwin awaited her in the garden, both her horse and his already in their saddles and reins. The sight of him made her heart jump. He looked especially handsome on this day, as well: his eyes darker, his smile secretive, caught somewhere behind his lips.
“What on earth are you doing here?” she asked, breathless. Already, her lips felt hungry to kiss his.
“I couldn’t stay away for long,” Baldwin said with a laugh. “I packed us a bit of a picnic. I hope you’re hungry.”
“You know that I’m the sort of woman who can always eat,” Marta said.
Baldwin assisted her into her saddle. She splayed her feet to one side, the skirts arranged beautifully. Baldwin’s eyes skated across her shoulders, her breasts. She could see him through his eyes: her youth, her vitality, the wind lifting her yellow curls gently and tossing them.
“You look like a painting,” he told her.
They rode their familiar route: across the moors, skating along the edge of the forest line until a clearing burst forth just beside a creek. Baldwin slowed his horse and pulled it around. His grin broadened.
“Are you ready for that picnic?” he asked her.
The thing Marta liked especially about this, their sacred space in the woods, was the fact that the nearest person was several miles away. She slipped off her saddle and blinked out, her eyes scanning as far as the eye could see. Only far-away mansions, wide open-fields, enormous trees that seemed in competition to reach the sky. In her haze, Baldwin reached her and pressed his hand at her lower back. She lifted her chin and gazed into his eyes. He kissed her softly, gently.
“I missed you,” she whispered.
“It’s only been a day, Marta,” Baldwin affirmed.
“I know. But I require a sort of non-stop affair,” Marta returned.
They kissed again, this time more deeply. Then, Baldwin set about presenting the picnic. He splayed a blanket across the ground and placed a basket towards the corner. As he prepared, Marta spoke, giggling.
“Laura’s confessed that she’s fallen in love again,” she said.
“The man from the village?” Baldwin asked.
“Actually, no!” Marta said. “Apparently, she’s found someone else. Someone of a higher station. She seems quite frustrated by it all. I have a horrible sense that he’s treating her badly because an affair with her might alter his status…”
“What a dreadful thing,” Baldwin said.
“I had assumed she would want to return to Austria by now,” Marta said. “But she seems adamant that she wishes to become an Englishwoman.”
