The Gaslight Journal Page 10

  too hard and will disappoint too many to allow otherwise. My heart is

  now resolute in the matter.

  Until tomorrow,

  John Audley, III.

  When she finished reading, she lay the book in her lap and stared at the window. She was trying to process all he had just said. The beginning of the passage was very positive; very introspective; very like her father. But the last paragraph was the one that troubled her most.

  She read the words again, out loud this time.

  “… .as it is my private hell… .”

  “What in the world was Father talking about?”

  “… .and will disappoint too many to allow otherwise… .”

  “He could never be a disappointment! Dear Lord, what is he on about?”

  She continued to the second entry and voraciously read, but again, it yielded no new information as to the previous entry. Further and further into the journal she went, a big cat on the tail of its prey, always just without reach. After each new passage, she felt more dissatisfied than before, until finally she took the book and hurled it against the bookcase, giving a wild cry as it went.

  Her actions disturbed the maids below to the point that a host of them gathered at the foot of the attic steps to inquire of her safety.

  “I am fine, just leave me in peace.” Her temples ached.

  As she moved toward the book to pick it up, she noticed that the back flap from the inside cover had come undone, and in doing so, yielded up a folded note, the sealing wax broken. She carefully unfolded it and felt her heart quicken as she began reading.

  So long has it been since holding you. I fear if we are to be parted for any more length of time, my arms will not recognize it when we are finally enjoined again. My days spent with you on the island were the happiest ones of my life, and, my precious, I am confident in knowing you feel the same. If you will but rip this torment from me and write me, all will be well, of that I can be sure. It will be another two months before I must return to my Lil, but I have discovered in this solitude, that my heart just does not function without you… .

  Sincerely,

  Your loving John’

  Isabella sat in a stupor for the longest time, unable to tear her hands away from the note that she held like a steel trap. As she slowly came back to herself, she could now feel hot tears scorching her cheeks; the ink from the paper mocking her; making the Queen fool out of her, and she could do nothing to stop it.

  “Well, naturally, there must be a rational explanation for this.”

  But her own logic, which had always held her in good stead, now failed her, for even she did not believe the justification. It could only mean one thing: Father had an affair.

  She paced as she lived out the drama unfolding before her. When? How? Why??

  But it seemed the more questions she posed, the more it would uncover, and at this point she was not sure she was ready for more. And so far, that acrimonious journal had yielded absolutely nothing of import on the matter. Or, perhaps she had merely given up too quickly. Brushing the tears from her cheeks and slowing her breathing, she walked back to the journal which still lay prone on the floor, and began reading where she left off, knowing that the worst would be more pain similar to the letter. But even though a part of her knew these were Father’s private thoughts and she should not intrude, still the better part of her knew that she was his daughter and she had full right to know.

  She turned another page.

  “… and would you mind handling that matter for me, Mr. Miller? I would appreciate it.”

  As the young clerk exited the office, Thomas Whentworth’s superior sat eye to eye with Thomas and continued where he had left off during the young clerk’s interruption.

  “Son, I must say you are doing a bang-up job. In my thirty-four years, I have never had anyone pick up on this job quite as quickly.”

  “Well sir, I appreciate your praise. This was my first choice, after all.”

  His superior smiled and said, “Glad to hear it. Do not let me down.” Then he exited the office.

  Thomas decided that with the well-earned silence, he would return to the stack of paperwork that would soon be overwhelming his small desk.

  Just then his eye caught a carriage going by his window through the town square. His heart leapt involuntarily as he mistakenly took the carriage for the Audley coach. This greatly disturbed him. As much as he did not want to admit it, the previous conversation with his mother and sister had been weighing heavily on his mind. What if they were right, and the only thing he had to offer a woman were his circumstances? Or worse, what if the only thing on the young lady’s mind was his fortune? This did not seem to be the case with one particular lady in mind. He hid his partial smile at the image of Isabella giving him a grand “what for” when she recognized him as the one who had mistakenly knocked her down in the snow-covered street on her first day home.

  His smile faded and was replaced with an affect more personal when he remembered just how lovely she looked in her blue evening gown; how girlish and almost vulnerable she had become when they were saying good-night beneath the street lamp in the blue of dusk; how tortured and then volatile when he had requested a time at which to see her. Thomas could never remember a time when he had met someone who moved him so; someone who contained the full spectrum of emotion and could run the gamut in tenths of a second. As much as he knew it would probably send his sister to her early grave, Isabella Audley excited him.

  But, he was not ready to call Royal Doulton and make the announcement just yet. There was one, tiny little problem.

  Isabella.

  She was still so angry with him, after all those years. And try as he might, there just did not appear to him to be a way back into her good graces. Especially now, after seeing him on the arm of Rachel last evening. What he had informed his mother and sister had been the truth: he had no professed attachments. But would Isabella be inclined to believe that? Thomas sat back in his chair and stretched. His truthful self had to answer a hearty “no.”

  But then an idea struck him. What did he have to lose (besides a possible body part this time), by extending another invitation to Isabella for dinner so they could really talk and square away these misunderstandings?

  He leaned forward in his chair. Reaching for the parchment with one hand and his quill in the other, he wrote as quickly as he could so as to get his note ready for that afternoon’s post.

  He could feel his heart leaping again… .

  Before she knew it, the morning had passed in a blur of history. After having put nearly five hours into the journal, the only truth to which she was closer in learning, were the depths of harsh despair that had plagued her father for so many years. Thinking back over time now, perhaps it was her skill at revisionist history that served to protect her, but she could detect no special behavior of Father’s in hindsight that would have betrayed any peril in his thinking.

  So lost in her own thinking was she now, that she neglected to hear Mother’s entrance downstairs upon her return for lunch. When Lilly called out, her breath caught in her throat and she felt as if her heart leapt out of her chest.

  As she gathered her wits, it suddenly struck her with force: Mother! How much of this did she already know? Had she been the one to break the seal on the letter from John to Victoria and make the decision to keep all of this from Isabella? The more Isabella thought of this, the more she could feel the anger from the pit of her stomach, for all evidence supported Isabella’s supposition. Her only mission was to derail Mother before giving her the chance to escape with more lies. Yes, Isabella was now convinced that Lilly knew exactly what had happened in this house before her arrival. And now she was about to hear it firsthand.

  “Sweetheart! Oh, there you are. The kitchen maids told me I would find you up here. What on Earth would you be do… ”

  “YOU! Just stop right there.”

  Lilly stopped at the foot of the attic steps, but only out
of shock at such an outrage from her daughter. As Izzy descended the stairs, she took in Isabella’s features. They were twisted in rage, and Lilly could see tracks of tears down both her cheeks. Slowly it dawned on her; Isabella was about to confront her and the truth would finally come out. She had been dreading and praying against this day for nearly 4 years, but knew there was not a thing she could do to stop it from unfolding, except brace herself for the coming onslaught.

  Chapter 12

  ...It Pours

  … It Pours (Chapter Twelve)

  “All of the pieces finally fit.”

  Izzy was having trouble controlling her shaking; the rage so prominent that her breathing was labored. She noticed how small Lilly looked at the foot of the staircase, staring upward like a child.

  “What are you on about, dearest?” said Lilly.

  Izzy was livid. “Do not try and deny this. All of it makes sense. The Peacock lady; the Hastings’s peculiar behavior; not having Capriolé decorated for Holiday; a chestnut vendor on the street; even you. I overheard you talking with the servants about how there would not be enough money for meat in the coming week. How could you keep something so important from me, Mother? All this time I gloried in the fact that we had a close, loving relationship that nothing could destroy, and now I find out, quite by accident, that the one person who created such security in me has done nothing but tear that down in her constant betrayals and cover ups. This is simply too much to be borne.”

  Lilly caught a glimpse of the book dangling from Isabella’s left hand, and immediately knew, but continued to keep her silence.

  “And do you know what thrilled me most? Fainting dead away and then sitting in a fool’s stupor two days ago, listening to Miss Whentworth describe to me at length how our family was now as poor as the mice that inhabit our church.”

  The tears streamed down Lilly’s face as realization hit her. “That is why you were so morose when you returned home from her afternoon call.”

  “Well, at least you are not daft as well as dumb,” said Izzy.

  For a moment, Lilly considered a protest, then thought better of it.

  “Well? Do you have any intent of defending yourself, or shall you entertain me with more intrigues and half-truths?” said Isabella.

  Lilly took a deep breath and then said a simple, “No.”

  Isabella, taken aback, could only stare.

  Lilly was calm. “Actually, I am rather glad the truth is now out in the open. I have borne it in solitude for so long, that I simply do not have the fortitude to continue.”

  Isabella snorted in disgust. “Really. For someone so exhausted at their own hand, you seemed to have fared rather well.”

  “Trust me when I tell you, I did not.”

  “And I suppose that is your attempt at creating sympathy for yourself and your plight? I tell you now, I refuse to do it.”

  “That is within your right, and I would never ask such a thing of you,” said Lilly.

  Isabella thought for a moment. “Perhaps you are now going to give me some cockamamie reason for your decision. Such as, you were just trying to protect me.”

  “As a matter of fact… ”

  “Do not insult my intelligence thus. I am not the shy, unassuming child that you knew when I departed for college. I have matured, and for you to treat me with such disrespect is unconscionable.”

  “Perhaps when you have a child of your own, then you will understand.”

  “I am not some porcelain doll!” Izzy screamed. “Do not feed me such tired platitudes!”

  “Are clichés not popular because they are true?” said Lilly.

  “And I have fallen for it, again,” Izzy said, as she flounced down the stairs and past Lilly.

  “Excuse me?”

  “You are good, Mother, I will give you that. You know how to push my buttons to the point that we can be off on a tangent and miles from the original conversation before I have even ascertained what has happened.”

  “That is not fair,” said Lilly.

  Izzy, her face contorted with rage, turned slowly to face her mother. “You have absolutely no right or experience to speak to me about what is fair.”

  “And you do not know the entire story,” said Lilly.

  “Oh, please! Am I now expected to listen to a fable about how you are a victim?”

  “Dearest, we were both victims,” said Lilly. “If you will try to calm yourself a bit, I will endeavor to share the truth with you as I know it.”

  At that moment, both women were interrupted by the sound of the door knocker. Mr. Wilhelm answered, and returned in haste with a look of fatherly concern.

  “What is it, Wilhelm?” said Lilly.

  “Mrs. Audley, there are some men here for you. They are sent by the Savings and Loan company.”

  Lilly’s face went pale, and for a moment, Izzy forgot their former quarrel and went to her mother’s side. “What is it? You know what this is regarding, Mother?”

  Lilly nodded. “I am afraid I do, Isabella.”

  Two men dressed in dark clothes with blue emblems on their sleeves that said, “Fairtown Collections” entered the parlor, and without acknowledging the ladies' existence, began clearing some of their furniture. The sofa was the first thing to go, then when they returned, they took the love seat, a Parisian tapestry and one of the antique silver tea services. This enraged Izzy even further, and before Lilly knew it, Izzy was fighting one of the men, tearing at his hands like a prize-fighter.

  “Mrs. Audley, would you kindly restrain your daughter? We have the proper paperwork.”

  Lilly moved swiftly and harnessed Isabella, who was still screaming obscenities and flinging herself in front of the larger of the two men. When Izzy had been fully extracted, Lilly walked her over to the fireplace out of the way of the men, and cooed to her in soft tones while Isabella continued to cry on her shoulder. “It will be all right, muffin. Please, calm down before you make yourself ill.”

  Izzy obeyed and continued to watch in horror as the men carried out the Waterford Crystal, her grandmother’s antique silver flatware, books, paintings, and even some of Mrs. Audley’s antique jewelry.

  “Mother, I do not understand! Please. What is happening?” wailed Izzy. “Why are these men destroying our home?”

  “Bella, now is not the time. I promise, I will keep nothing from you any longer. Let these men do their job and then I will reveal all.”

  But just as she said this, one of the men was seen carrying some of Izzy’s most prized gowns to the front door. That is when Izzy lost control again and went after the man, yelling at him as she went. Again, Lilly was able to intercept and drag her crying daughter away from the most grateful man, and back to the fireplace.

  Izzy could not bear silence on the matter any longer. “Mother, in earnest! Share with me what has happened, now!”

  Lilly sighed, and said, “Isabella, the bank has foreclosed upon our home. They are taking some of our things to sell in order to reduce our debt. I wish I had better news, and that this did not hurt so much, but, there it is. Remember the call we received last evening after tea, and I told you it had been the postman with a misplaced letter?”

  Izzy intercepted. “It was about the foreclosure.”

  “Yes,” Lilly whispered. “I just did not know how to tell you.”

  By now, Izzy had pulled away from her mother’s grasp and was heading up the stairs to her room.

  Lilly called after her. “Where are you going?”

  Izzy ignored the question, grabbed her journal and a wrap, and headed toward the front door, all while Lilly was left alone in the parlor to watch her world being removed one memory at a time.

  Outside on the street, Rachel Hastings happened by just as the Collections men were loading up the furniture and personal household items. This piqued her interest, and she made herself inconspicuous as she continued to spy on the activity within and without the house. Rachel, not being a stupid woman, was easily able to fit the pieces
of this intrigue together and ascertain the situation. Just then, she noticed the postman making his deliveries, and before he could approach the house, Rachel intercepted, stating that she was a friend of the family, that she was on her way for a visit, and would be happy to deliver their mail. This appeased the postman; he gave a tip of his hat to her, got onto his carriage, and left.

  Before she drew close to the house to do as she promised, however, she inspected the Audley mail, and noticed a letter of particular interest, addressed to Isabella. She turned over the letter to inspect the crest, hoping it would yield some clue as to its giver, when she noticed that it belonged to the Whentworth family. Knowing full well the history between Mr. Whentworth and Isabella, and knowing, too, that Mr. Whentworth was obviously enamored of Isabella—afraid that a proposal might be forthcoming any day—as sly as she could, Rachel tucked the personal letter into her reticule. She did so just as Izzy was exiting her house.

  The friends caught each other’s eyes, and before Rachel could feign her sympathy at Isabella’s situation, Izzy, awash in embarrassment, fled without her footman in the direction of town, too swift for Rachel to catch her.

  Thankfully, there were not that many patrons at the Café during this hour of the day, so Izzy ordered her usual scone, took the empty seat near the picture window, and slumped into it. Today’s visit was not for mere pleasure, but rather, escape, and try as she might to relax and enjoy it, that did not happen. Her mind was twisting at the day’s events—so much had already taken place, and it was not yet half-three. Her muscles began to ache, joining her chorus of throbbing temples. Could this actually be real, or was it some sick prank someone had decided to play upon her? But that made no sense, for why would her mother, of all people, join in that caper when there was nothing to be gained by it?

  A group of acquaintances in the corner booth giggled and sniggered, but with decorum, like all good society members should. And as soon as Izzy turned to catch the noise, they stopped looking in her direction so as not to be conspicuous. But Izzy knew in her heart that this is the way things would progress from now on. People would no longer stare at the oncoming Audley coach with wonderment and jealousy; they would now talk behind gloved hands and join neighbors in choruses of, “Poor dears,” in between their fits of laughter and mockery. Her face burned at the imagery. How could she now bear it? She was certain she would die of embarrassment.