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Iris stood at the window of the room which had been Maggie’s and watched the first cart rumble away down the lane, past the stables and off towards the village, and beyond. That cart contained the last of the furniture and furnishings which had been in this room, and the second cart held the last of the rubble – the stripped wallpaper, the torn away green painted wainscotting – every last trace of what had been, every last touch of green.
Around her, the room was clean, fresh, the walls cleaned back to bare timber and plaster and simply whitewashed, the floor newly ground back and polished. No green dust remained to tarnish it, no strange scent of rodents and illness. The only scent was the floor polish, and that was a pleasant smell. Tomorrow, the men would come to install new wainscotting, in the palest of timbers, to reinforce the lightness of the room. After that, there would be furniture, and drapes – all pale, all soft colours – nothing bright or harsh.
They had decided that these rooms would become a guest suite – rarely used, but pleasant to be in. There were too many memories here, even with the green gone, for anyone in the household to wish to live in these rooms.
Down the hall, not far from the rooms she shared with Leon, was another newly redecorated room – a room designed to be a nursery, when that time came.
She was happy – happier than she had ever been in her life, and she felt clearer of mind than she had since she first came to Greenleigh Park, as if all that had happened was a distant dark dream. Everyone seemed happier – and healthier – Mrs Withercombe, now well rested, and without the stress of daily dealing with Maggie, seemed ten years younger, and declared herself healthier than she had been for years. Iris couldn’t help but wonder if that was at least in part due to no longer having to go into that green miasma for part of each day.
The carts disappeared from sight, and Iris turned away from the window. She would go down to the music room, and play, would let the music speak of her happiness in ways that words could not. Perhaps Leon would join her, once he was back from his weekly check on the tenant farmers.
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As Leon strode from the stables to the house, the sound of music drifted to him on the summer air. Iris was in the music room, playing. He smiled, and looked down at himself – was he too dusty from his riding to go straight to her? He thought not, as he brushed away what dust he could see.
A few minutes later, he slipped quietly into the music room, and went to sit beside her on the pianoforte bench. She kept playing, but turned her head to grant him a smile. Effortlessly, as he moved his hands to the keys, she changed the pattern of her playing to allow him to take up the second strand of melody in the piece.
Peace filled him, and a sense of wholeness, as the music wrapped around them, binding them ever tighter together, soul to soul. They played for some time, until the light through the windows changed to the gold of late afternoon, then, reluctantly, he drew his hands back. Iris played the last poignant notes of the pieces, and stopped also.
She turned her sky-blue eyes to him as the sound faded away, and he bent to kiss her, happier than he had ever been in his life. She returned the kiss with passion, and he contemplated the idea of simply carrying her off upstairs, but then he stopped – that, desirable as it was, could wait – he had things to tell her.
“Iris… I have something to ask you.”
His tone was light, almost teasing.
“Oh? And what would that be?”
“Would you like to join me on a journey? For it occurred to me that we did not have a wedding trip, as so many do.”
“A journey… that could be pleasant – but where would we go?”
He lifted his hand to stroke her cheek gently.
“I thought that, whatever we might do, it should involve music. Does the idea of a few weeks in Bath, and a visit to Mr Loder’s Music Warehouse appeal to you?”
Her smile was as bright as the summer sun.
“I should very much enjoy that. But… what would we buy when there? For surely we couldn’t visit such a place without buying something….”
He laughed softly, amused at her expression.
“I agree – we couldn’t. Which is why I thought that we might order a new pianoforte, of the latest design, and perhaps a harp to accompany it?”
She clapped her hands together in delight, then pulled him to her for another kiss, before declaring that delight.
“You, Leon, are truly the most wonderful man.”
“And you, the most wonderful woman. I must thank you, as I think I have never done so before, for slipping into the music room at Lady Gillieston’s that day, so long ago – for had you not done so, I would not have ever had you as wife, and had the happiness I now have.”
She laughed, an infectious giggle of delight, before finally managing to stop it long enough to speak again.
“Oh dear – that is so very funny – that after all of those years of being taught to be proper, and always behave with propriety, the thing which has brought most happiness into my life was the one time that I did everything I shouldn’t have.”
He joined her in the laughter at that, then pulled her to her feet to twirl her around the room in a waltz to silent music. Soon, dizzy, they stopped, and simply stood, holding each other. He grinned at her again.
“Shall we leave tomorrow? Grandmother is here, and she can keep Mother company, as well as Mrs Withercombe – there is no need for us.”
