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“I am beginning to think that hope is unwise. Much though I would like to continue from where we were when the pounding on the door began, I do not think that I could. I am not sure that I will ever be able to relax enough to be intimate when we are in the same house as Maggie.”
Leon sighed, and she could see the misery in him, but after a moment he simply nodded.
“You are wiser than I. Let us, then, content ourselves with the solace of music, until such time as we can take a few days in London, alone. And let us try to get Maggie to accept you, at least a little.”
Iris went to him then, and rose on her toes to press her lips to his for a moment, then stepped back.
“We had best sleep now, if we are to be fit to deal with the morning.”
>>>
Days passed, and the time of mourning for the King ended. Outside as Spring moved towards summer, the gardens blossomed, the trees attained full leaf, and the world was generally beautiful.
Had it not been for Maggie, and her impact on the entire household, Iris would have been happy. Wistfully, she thought of her family in London, where no doubt her mother was bringing the force of her expectations to bear on Thorne. With all of the girls married, he would no longer be able to escape their mother’s focus on seeing all of her children well matched.
The gardens and greenhouses at Elbury House would also all be in bloom, and perhaps some of the rarer tropical plants might have been coaxed into flower for the first time. But she would not see them. After long discussion with Leon, they had agreed that before they could go to London, before they could have time to themselves, it was critical that Maggie be convinced to accept Iris.
That was, unfortunately, a project which had so far been almost completely unsuccessful.
Faced with that fact, they found shared solace in music, and persisted, with his mother’s, and Mrs Withercombe’s, help. That very morning, when they had come down to break their fast, Maggie had taken a knife from the table, and flung it at Iris, shouting ‘go away, witch’. Iris had flinched aside just in time, and the knife had gone on to quiver in the heart of a pheasant in the painting which graced the breakfast room wall. Such moments were becoming more common, not less.
At this moment, she sat in the music room with Leon, the sound of their playing fading away into silence as they both looked out through the floor to ceiling windows at the gardens below. Down there, Maggie could be seen, walking about, a small basket on her arm, as she randomly picked flowers and small branches of greenery. Mrs Withercombe trailed her, watchful as always.
“When she is out there, like that, she looks so quiet, so innocent of all strong emotions.”
Leon twined his fingers with hers, and sighed at her words.
“Would that it were so. But it is not. No matter how we try, nothing seems to bring her any closer to accepting you. Although… yesterday, when I left you here, playing, and stepped out to order a tea tray for us, I found her in the hallway. She looked at me as if I must be a ghost, her eyes round, and her gaze flicking back towards the room behind me. I suspect that it was the first time she had realised that you also played the pianoforte. She stood like that for a moment, listening, then turned and hurried away, back up to her rooms. But perhaps that way lies hope…”
Iris considered what he had said, her eyes still following Maggie in the gardens below. Was there hope that way? Was music the path to Maggie?
“Should we… should I…?”
“I think so. I think that, perhaps, you should come up to her rooms with me tonight, and play for her, as I normally do. If she will accept the soothing of music from you, as well as from me, then that will be a very good beginning.”
“Let us try that, then, for I confess that I do not know what else we might attempt.”
Chapter Nine
Leon felt more trapped than he ever had before. It was his own fault – he had allowed impulse to overrule sense, and brought about the series of events which saw him now married. But, just as he had always feared would happen if he took a wife, Maggie’s rejection of Iris was intractable. There seemed nothing he could do to change that, nothing he could do to allow them to have even the faintest shadow of a true marriage – and he wanted a true marriage.
He had discovered that he loved his wife – impossibly, utterly, desperately. And the more that circumstances forced them to behave as little more than friends, the deeper that love became, and the greater his desperation. He had not professed that love to her, not in so many words, for he found himself afraid that, if he did, he would discover that her feelings for him were not of equal strength. He was quite certain that Iris cared for him – but did she love him?
He did not know.
As Maggie’s health faded, so the ferocity of her madness seemed to grow – there were more outbursts of temper, more wild imaginings, and wild accusations. Music remained the only thing which could soothe her for any length of time, and he was grateful that he had that ability – and grateful also that he could share music with Iris, for that gave him music which was not tainted by the association with Maggie’s illness.
Now, as he walked along the upper hall with Iris by his side, his admiration for her grew yet again. He could tell that she was worried, yet she had chosen to come with him, to play for Maggie. Her quiet courage and determination impressed him at every turn. Her voice, when she spoke, was barely a whisper, and a little shaky.
“I pray that Maggie accepts me, that she allows me to play for her, with you. But after this afternoon… I am doubtful.”
Leon wanted to pull Iris into his arms, to kiss her, to somehow protect her from all of this – yet what could he do? Maggie was his sister.
“Mrs Withercombe will be more watchful, after that. I did not expect Maggie to attack you so.”
“Did she truly intend me to fall down the stairs, Leon? Or did she simply push at me because I was there, and she wants me to go away?”
“I do not know. But you did not fall, thank the good Lord.”
