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She nodded, and they went on in silence for the last few steps to the door to Maggie’s rooms. In his mind, though, he raged at himself, afraid – had Maggie meant it? Would his sister truly try to harm his wife to such a degree? Was Iris’ life in danger, if they stayed here? He could not answer the questions, but their very existence terrified him. How could he protect both his wife, and his sister?
They tapped at the door to the small parlour, and Mrs Withercombe admitted them. The doors between the bedchamber and the parlour were closed.
Mrs Withercombe leant close and whispered to them.
“I thought it best to leave the doors shut until you start playing, my Lady, that way she’ll hear the music before she has a chance to get upset.”
“Very wise.”
As Mrs Withercombe closed the outer door, Maggie called from the bedchamber.
“Mrs Withercombe, is that Leon? Open the doors!”
Leon led Iris forward and settled her on the bench, standing behind her, with his hand on her shoulder. She began to play, a piece which he had suggested as one that Maggie liked. After a few bars, Mrs Withercombe went and opened the double doors to the bedchamber. Leon met Maggie’s eyes, where she sat in her bed, as if daring her to complain.
What he saw there was shock, and defiance. Maggie opened her mouth, and Leon shook his head.
“What…?”
He shook his head again, harder, and Maggie actually lapsed back into silence, listening, watching Iris play. Leon prayed more intensely than he ever had before in his life, in that moment, begging God to help Maggie see that Iris was no threat.
Iris tensed ever so slightly under his hand, but kept playing, a smooth, uninterrupted flow of music filling the room. Maggie slumped back onto her pillows, and watched, eyes wide, as if debating whether she should stay there or leap up and push Iris away.
It took two hours, but eventually, Maggie slumped into sleep, not having spoken again. Mrs Withercombe slipped in to close the windows and the drapes, and to make sure that Maggie truly slept, before coming back to them and closing the doors between the bedchamber and the parlour. She gave him a nod, confirming that all was well.
“Iris…” the music flowed on, and he squeezed her shoulder gently, “you can stop playing now.”
The notes died away, and she looked up at him, as if waking from a dream. Then her eyes cleared, and she gave him a tremulous smile. He helped her to her feet, nodded to Mrs Withercombe, then led Iris from the room. Neither of them spoke until they stood in their own suite, with the door to the hall locked behind them.
>>>
Iris discovered that she was shaking. Whilst she had played, she had allowed the music to claim her, and had intentionally blocked out all awareness of anything else. But now, as the lock of their door clicked home, and Leon came to her, she felt unsteady on her feet. He pulled her into his arms, simply cradling her against him, and pressed a soft kiss to her forehead.
“Thank you, Iris. That went far better than I had any right to expect.”
She looked up at him then, and smiled.
“How do you do it? My hands ache, from playing that long with no break at all!”
“I have had rather a lot of practice.”
“I suspect that I am about to get a lot of practice too – for that is the only way to take advantage of this beginning, isn’t it? For me to play for her on other nights?”
“Yes, I believe so. That is, after all, the first time she has been in the same room with you, without either a verbal or physical attack. And I would prefer that to be the usual way of things, rather than the exception. Her health may be waning, yet when she is agitated, she seems to develop a kind of hysterical strength – I would not have her hurt you, or herself.”
Iris shuddered, despite her best effort not to.
“I would also prefer that neither of us be harmed. Leon… that room – the one glance I had into her bedchamber, all I could see was green. I know that you said that she was obsessed with the colour, but truly, until that moment, I had not fully understood the scale of that obsession.”
“It is absolute. It is why she spends so little time in the rest of the house – I, and my father before me, refused to make the entire house green for her. Her own chambers are one thing, but the entire house – no. Equally, she will not go to live in the Dower House with Mother, for that is not green either, and Mother refused to make it so. In truth, I think that all of us – the staff included, have seen enough of green to last a lifetime.”
Iris shuddered again, unable to imagine what it would be like to be so utterly fixated on one thing.
“I am very glad, then, that I own no green gowns. The colour has never suited me.”
“I am also most grateful for that fact. I have no wish to be the kind of husband who is dictatorial, but green might have made me so.”
Iris regarded him, wondering what kind of husband he truly wished to be to her – she knew that he cared for her, even that he seemed to desire her – but could he love her? Could they reach that point? She knew that she loved him, that she had from the start, but she had never told him so, was, indeed, afraid to do so, lest his response disappoint her. She would rather have hope, than know for certain that she would never have love.
