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Chapter 17
Julie walked along the corridor. It was dark and cold, and she had nothing on her except for her old nightgown. She looked down at her and wondered where she’d even gotten that nightgown from. She stepped farther down the hall, looking around. The house didn’t look like their townhouse, but it seemed eerily familiar. She saw that the door to her left was cracked open, and she saw a light flicker from inside the room as if from the lightning.
She walked towards the room slowly, carefully. The moment she entered, she stopped cold. Her mother was on the bed, writhing in agony.
“Mother?” Julie cried as she rushed closer to the bed. She placed her hands on her abdomen, but it was covered with blood. She looked at her hands closer, struck mute with horror. The next moment everything changed. The person on the bed was not her mother anymore, it was her, and the person by the bedside, frantic with worry, was Mary. Julie’s eyes widened in horror as she tried to scream.
With a muffled yelp, she sat up in bed. Everything was dark, but she was in Clydesdale townhouse in London, in her bed. Julie looked around and tried to regulate her breathing. All was well. She was home. Safe.
* * *
The next few days were the happiest of Julie’s life. Mary was getting better. She still tired easily; she hadn’t had a healthy appetite, but she was not hurting, and her mood was generally positive. Every morning the entire family breakfasted together, then went on to dress shops, museums, or a simple ride in the park. Robert accompanied them everywhere, not that Mary would allow otherwise, and the dowager followed not far behind. They really felt like a family.
After their outings, the women would spend some time quietly either embroidering or gossiping in a sitting room, drinking tea, while Robert worked. After supper, they went to a music room to hear Mary and Julie play or played games in a drawing room. They read together before bedtime, and then Julie adjourned to her room and her husband to his. The simple but happy family life. The one Julie dreamed about as early as she could remember.
Life seemed perfect. If not for several things.
For one thing, her nightmares were back. She chucked it all up to stress, to the worry that she might be with child, and to the constant dreaded feeling she had that every moment with Mary could be her last. She reserved not to think about it, but she couldn’t help herself. She tried to memorize Mary’s every smile. Etch into her mind’s eye their times together, all her new experiences.
And the second—Well, the second had something to do with the fact that her husband hadn’t come to her bedroom since their first time in London.
Nasty thoughts crept into Julie’s mind when she contemplated her husband’s absence from her bed. Perhaps he was spending his nights with his mistress. She tried to shove the traitorous thought away. He’d promised not to, and she should trust him enough to believe his words. He hadn’t deserved her mistrust. But the only other thought that occurred to her wasn’t pleasant either. He didn’twantto come to her. He’d suffered through one night with her at her insistence, and now he was avoiding her. Not willing to come to her more than he could endure.
She grimaced at the thought. She didn’t want to confront him about this again. Since she knew he would assent to her wishes, spend another night with her, and then what? Would she always come begging for him to bed her? Surely, she had a bit more pride than that. Besides, he was the one who wanted, nay needed, even demanded heirs. And she wasn’t at all looking forward to the birthing process. Bile rose in her throat, and she swallowed against it.
“Look!” Julie heard Mary’s voice beside her before she hurled herself at the window shop.
They were walking on Bond Street as was their custom every other afternoon. Julie started decorating their bare townhouse with new rugs, curtains, and even some furniture. She also bought paintings in art galleries and other frivolous things that she knew Robert found quite useless, making their house homier. Mary seemed to enjoy filling their home with anything in her favorite pink and white colors. Robert looked unperturbed, and Julie wanted to have as many reminders of Mary as possible in her new house.
“Pretty!” Mary intoned dreamily.
Julie, Robert, and the dowager all came closer and looked at what Mary was pointing at. She was looking into a small gallery shop filled with paintings. On the windowsill, there was a painting of a beautiful countryside at sunset, a cliff at the side of the picture, and a sea peeking out at a distance. The painting was bathed in the morning light, making it look almost magical.
“Come, Mary.” Julie tugged her on her arm, “let’s have a closer look, shall we?”
Mary nodded and bounced on her feet in delight. They entered a tiny but beautiful art shop filled with dreamy paintings, beautiful sunsets, and golden landscapes.
“Good day, My Lord, My Ladies.” The shopkeeper, a plump middle-aged man, came from behind the counter.
Mary walked straight to the painting she adored and pointed to it. “I want this,” she said, looking it over.
The shopkeeper chuckled and sauntered closer to Mary. “I am glad you like it,” he said. “My younger daughter is the one who painted it.”
“Really?” Julie stood beside Mary. “It’s beautiful.”
“Thank you,” the shopkeeper puffed out his chest in pride.
“Do you have more of her work? Can we see it?”
The shopkeeper then made a sweep around the shop, showing all his daughter’s works. They were beautiful. The brushstrokes, the colors, subjects, and everything was light and dreamy, like in a fairytale. Mary was wooed and wanted to have every painting there was, which was more than a dozen.
As Mary studied the paintings with Robert and the dowager, Julie moved to the little table at the back of the room. There were beautiful antiquities, the hand watches, old lockets, handheld looking glass, and other trinkets. She took the beautiful silver hand watch and opened it. Julie checked the clock on the mantle of the shop and looked back at the watch, frowning. It lagged by about ten minutes late. She was about to wind it to the correct time when the shopkeeper appeared by the shoulder.
“It’s always lagging, no matter how much you wind it. I really don’t know what to do with it,” he said with a shrug.
Julie studied the beautiful silver patterns on the cover of the watch, the beautiful mechanism, and smiled.
“I am afraid all of these paintings would not fit into your room,” she heard Robert’s voice addressing Mary.
