Post by ella clarke on Apr 5, 2010 12:37:42 GMT -5
eleanor hope clarke
[/b][/color][/size] A Miss Eleanor Clarke at the dear age of seventeen has found herself upon the most curious of situations - entering into London's most tantalizing gossip. "[/i][/color][/font][/size][/ul][/blockquote]
- - - - - - - - - - - - - -
W R I T E R .
name: melinda
RP experience: too much, really
how did you find us?: i was born here
age: old enough to know better
gender: a lady
P O R T R A I T .
eye color: cerulean blue
hair color: dark blonde
height: 5'4"
body type:slender
distinguishing features: very pale skin from being kept indoors so often
fashion style:
M A N N E R S .
profession: n/a
adoration for:
distaste for:
dreams:
fears:
secrets:
main:
P A S T .
family:
Lady Katherine Horton - maternal grandmother
Eleanor Holt - biological mother
Daniel Holt - biological father - tailor
Lady Elsbeth Clarke
Lord Richard Clarke - father - barrister[/ul]
main:
With a sigh she made her way to the cot-like bed and sat on its edge, reaching for the spoon. They no longer allowed her to use knives and forks believing them to be hazardous given her fragile state of mind. Their perception of who she was never ceased to amuse Eleanor. Holding the spoon away from her, she leaned back, inspecting her appearance. She missed the simple luxury of a mirror – even the ancient one at her home that required silvering. If she had access to it now she knew she would never complain about its deficiencies. The spoon caused her cheeks to appear more sunken, her skin sallow. Her hair, once a soft coppery-blonde that had fallen in soft waves now lay limp and unwashed around her shoulders. There were small bald patches throughout from when she tore it out in her sleep, screaming for them to give her back her daughter. She absently ran her fingers through what remained wondering if perhaps they were right after all and she had gone mad. No matter how many times they told her that Emma was dead, she could not let her go – could not believe. She knew she was alive, that she had been taken from her. All she needed was to hold her daughter in her arms once more. How many years had passed? Dropping her spoon, she laughed as it clattered against the floor. Part of the enjoyment of people believing you were mad was that you no longer needed to apologize for your actions.
As she watched the nurse stoop to retrieve the utensil with a scowl, Eleanor wondered if part of her hadn’t actually succumbed to the madness they all accused her of.
- - - - -
Wainthrop Manor maintained was well known throughout the county. Thick ivy crept along the dark gray brick, disappearing into nooks and warming the formidable exterior. On warm, twilight evenings, the long winding path would be awash with the soft glow of paper lanterns, beckoning people to one of the many lavish balls the Horton family would hold over the summer season. Afternoons were spent strolling through the elaborate rose gardens, taking in the statues that were hidden in corners like lovers seeking to avoid detection. The sweet perfume lingered in the air both in and out of the manor. Margaret Horton, the lady of the house, insisted that the blossoms in the silver vases throughout the home be replenished before they ever appeared to wilt. It was a small detail but she derived great pleasure whenever a visitor commented to her about it.
Unlike her twin sister, Elsbeth, Eleanor looked forward to each summer spent along the shores of Dorset. She loved the simplicity of country life. The social obligations seemed to lessen here and she was free to spend hours ambling through their gardens without fear of being reprimanded. While Elsbeth would spend those weeks restless to return to London, Eleanor found them restorative. Such summers were drawing to a close. When they returned to London that autumn preparations for their season would commence and both girls would be expected to begin their walk within a society where they could no longer linger upon the edges. This was the moment that they had been prepared for and with each passing day, Eleanor felt her dread grow. It was all Elsbeth could talk of: the balls and the dashing young men she was certain would vie for their hands. They were, after all, Hortons and their family’s reach extended nearly as deeply as the royal family’s. Try as she might, Eleanor could not bring herself to feel the same excitement as her sister. She did not want to walk through the nauseating pace involved with a season. She had watched her cousins partake throughout the years and knew it was not keeping with her disposition. All she desired was simplicity – a quaint cottage filled with the laughter of her children and a good man to call her husband by her side.
It was the first time that she could recall herself and Elsbeth not agreeing on their future.
Eleanor often mused that this was how it was meant to be for them. They could not spend their lives as an extension of the other. Instead they would have to forge new lives as independents. She had once thought that separating from her sister would be like be similar to losing an appendage. As time passed she slowly came to realize that was more like gaining use of a limb you had previously not realized existed.
These were her thoughts as she made her way across the large, open expanse of lawn between the house and the gardens. The storm had come up abruptly and Eleanor could scarcely see in front of her. One moment the sky had been a brilliant azure, clouds a mere whisper of thought in pale white streaks. The next the sky had darkened, storm clouds greedily reclaiming the sun as they roiled into tall pillars. They cast the gardens into deep shadow and Eleanor had wished she had brought a wrap with her. The first drops of rain seared against her cheeks causing her to drop her basket as she raced to find protection from the storm. “Miss!” A voice cut through the storm, causing her to pause midstride. Raising her hand, Eleanor shielded her eyes as she peered into the steady stream of water and attempted to ascertain where the voice had come from. “Over ‘ere, miss! The stables!” She had not realized that she had wandered so far from her intended path. With a startled gasp she called back, “I cannot see you!”
“I’ll keep callin’ to ya! Jus’ follow m’voice.” His instructions had reminded her of the games she had her siblings had played as children and she moved blindly toward the sound of his voice. Relief coursed through her when her fingers brushed against the sodden cotton of his jacket, gripping his lapel for support. “Are you all right, miss?” he asked, his hands reaching around to steady her. She couldn’t keep from laughing as she had nodded, slowly disentangling herself from his arms. As she pulled back, she looked up at his face. Her intent had been to thank him only to discover that she had forgotten how to speak.
Daniel Holt was new to Wainthrop. His uncle had secured him the position for the summer so that he could earn the money required for him to apprentice in London at with a blacksmith who was acquainted with the family. It was a respectable career path – one that his entire family was proud of him earning. To tell them that he was apprehensive about it would be foolish. Instead Daniel had readily accepted the position and feigned excitement ever since. For him it seemed as though his life was being scripted in spite of him – that it was missing something he could not quite name. His father had once told him what it was like the moment he had first laid eyes on the woman he would marry. He claimed that the air had simultaneously stilled and thickened the way it did before a storm. Each pulse of his heart had echoed painfully in his ears, burning against his fingertips. At the time Daniel had scoffed and told his father that it was sentimental nonsense and that he hoped that he would never fall victim to it. As he stared at the rain-darkened blond hair that lay slick across Eleanor’s forehead, the brilliant sapphire of her eyes as she stared up at him, he understood what it meant to never want to look away again.
Swallowing the lump in his throat he beckoned her forward, following her into the stables. Eternity seemed to pass as they sat in silence, watching the world before them distort within a wall of water. Daniel wondered if she could hear the frantic rhythm of his heart each time their gazes met or if he were imagining it. She’ll think you’re mad! He silently cursed, say something! He wasn’t sure what the protocol was for speaking to one of the young ladies of the house – if it were permitted or frowned upon; which words were accepted and which were not. As he struggled with himself to form some witty statement to share with her, she spoke softly. “Thank you for your assistance, Mr.—” she trailed off, staring at him with a beseeching expression. “Holt,” he replied quickly. “Mr. Daniel Holt.”
The next hours were spent talking as easily as though they had always known one another. Dreams and fears entangled themselves with witticisms and laughter. As Daniel listened to her speak of the meticulously planned future she was to walk into, he found an unexpected kinship. The expectations placed on his shoulders differed from Eleanor’s but he understood her questions and doubts. He longed to be the one who could soothe them and comfort her. But he was nothing more than a poor stable hand and had it not been for the rain she never would have known he existed. In a different world he would be that man for her; the one who would do whatever he must to ensure her happiness – the one who would remain by her side forever. Their worlds were not meant to intersect and he knew her family would never accept him if he were attempt to court her. Despite this knowledge, Daniel could not keep himself from asking when he would be permitted to see her again. A soft blush had blossomed across her face as she smiled shyly at him. “Tomorrow?” she whispered.
Try as she might, Elsbeth could not understand her sister’s fixation with the servant. When she looked at him, all she saw was the way his raven hair was always matted, the dark curls slick against his forehead. He smelled of horses and sawdust and there were times where his scent lingered on Eleanor. Elsbeth supposed that Daniel could be considered attractive if he were not so common. They were Hortons! There was a standard that was to be maintained! Her concerns fell upon deaf ears whenever she voiced them to Eleanor. Her pleas met with a tolerant smile and patronizing nod. “One day you will understand,” was the most Elsbeth was ever given as explanation. As time stretched before them, Elsbeth grew to hate Daniel for taking her sister from her. While she had always known that the day would come where they would have to walk separately, she had always believe the path would be the same. There was an entire world filled with balls and escorted walks through their gardens that they were meant to experience together. She had imagined them whispering into the night about the various young men who sought their hands in marriage. Elsbeth had always believed that this was a time they would share but Eleanor wanted no part of it. Instead she walked through the house as though she were in a dream and refused to divulge any information. Their mother worried that she was unwell while Elspbeth worried that she was lost forever.
For over a month Elsbeth kept her sisters’ romance a secret, convinced that with time Eleanor would come to view him as she did. Whatever Eleanor thought she felt was merely infatuation and would surely pass. When it didn’t, Elsbeth did the only thing she could think of to spare her sister and arranged for their father to discover Eleanor and Daniel alone in the stables.
The front door had slammed with such force that the windows in the parlor had shook. Footsteps, weighted with anger, stormed up the staircase as their father, Alistair Horton had bellowed, “Do not walk away from me, Eleanor!” A sharp pain shot through Elsbeth’s finger, a small bead of crimson slipping down her finger. She hadn’t realized how hard she had been gripping her needlework until that moment. The blood seeped into the white linen, spreading steadily through the fibers and ruining all that she had worked to create. Hot tears burned in her eyes as she stared at the damage knowing that she could never go back – she could either work with the stain or commence again but the image would forever be distorted and not what it was meant to be. Placing the circle on the ground, she had prepared to go to Eleanor when her mother had stopped her. “Leave them be, Ellie. They must sort this amongst themselves.” Nodding she had complied, allowing Eleanor to go while knowing that they could never go back.
The household fell into an uneasy silence following that night and no one dared speak of what had transpired. If Eleanor suspected her sister’s deception she never spoke of it – she did not speak to anyone. With each passing day, Elsbeth came to realize how loud silence could be. Neither girl was permitted to leave the house unless accompanied by either their father or one of their brothers. No one wanted to risk Eleanor further associating with Daniel.
For his part, his dismissal had been without incident. The moment Alistair Horton had discovered them embracing in the stables, Daniel knew that his time with the Horton family had drawn to a close. As a gesture of goodwill toward Daniel’s uncle, the reason for his discharge was kept a secret. As he listened to his aunt praise Mr. Horton’s generosity, Daniel was struck by how the seemingly most selfless actions found their roots within selfishness. He would be a fool to think that his family and what little reputation they had mattered to the illustrious Horton family. All that mattered was their name, their reputation. He and Eleanor were mere pawns in a game and neither knew all of the rules.
Those final days at Wainthrop passed in a flurry of preparation as their mother sought to prepare for an early return to London. Distance was the only assurance Alistair had of breaking the connection between his daughter and Daniel. Though he would never admit his worries to his wife, he had seen the look on his daughters’ face when he had separated them that afternoon and it had told him everything. Eleanor was in love. It was not the fleeting fancy of a young girl, but the sort that possessed and changed a person from within. Without Daniel’s presence in her life she seemed to wither like a plant. He could see the loss in the shadows that darkened her eyes and in the way she would stare wistfully at the stables whenever they passed. While the differences between his daughters had once been subtle: a chipped front tooth or scarred wrist, they were now glaring. Love, he knew, had the ability to alter a person. It was a slow renovation that exposed new rooms and removed old, unused ones. In the end, something beautiful was created and it erased all that had existed prior.
Alistair was not the only one to notice the differences within Eleanor. If Elsbeth had thought that her actions would bring her sister back to her, she quickly realized that it had only served to drive them further apart. Eleanor was a shell of who she had once been. There was no light to her now, and though physically they were close, the gulf that had grown between them was impossible to bridge.
“You miss him, don’t you?” she whispered one evening as she sidled next to Eleanor on the bed. Wrapping her arms around Eleanor’s lithe waist, Elsbeth had spooned her body against hers as they had done when they were children and rested her head on Eleanor’s slender shoulder. A ragged sigh escaped Eleanor’s pale lips as she nodded. Her fingers gripped the satin duvet tighter against her. “He is all I can think of. All I ever wish to think of.”
Realization tugged gently upon the edges of Elsbeth’s consciousness – she and her sister no longer existed in a realm where they could complete each others thoughts with a mere nod or smile. Eleanor had moved on. Daniel was the person who held her heart – the person she wanted to go to with her fears and triumphs. By trying to hold her close, Elsbeth had only pushed Eleanor further away. “Perhaps it is for the best? Father only wishes us to be happy…” Elsbeth whispered, tightening her grasp on her sister before she slipped completely from between her fingers.
“No,” Eleanor snapped, “it is not me they are concerned for. They worry only for themselves and their precious standing amongst their friends. I do not matter. You do not matter. We are meant to be sorted and placed wherever they see fit. You would do well to remember that.”
“But he is a servant, Nora.”
“He is more than his station, Ellie. He is everything I ever dreamed. Remember the prince from the stories we loved as girls?”
“He is your prince,” Elsbeth whispered in understanding.
“No,” Eleanor corrected, “he is my world.”
Silence claimed the pair once more. Unspoken sentiments wove themselves into a tapestry around them, binding the girls together in a way that the rest of their lives had been unable to. The change was palpable and chilled Elsbeth as she slowly accepted what was to happen. “I shall miss you,” she whispered, her voice thick. Eleanor turned, breaking her sisters grasp. “How did you know?”
“Because I know you. Perhaps if I had been paying better attention all along I would have been able to prevent all of this.”
“No,” Eleanor soothed, reaching our to wipe the tears from Elsbeth’s face. “It would have always been thus. Father never would have accepted Daniel’s suit and I could never accept another’s hand. What else am I to do?”
“When?” Elsbeth managed to breathe. Sighing, Eleanor had turned to face the window once more and Elsbeth knew: her sister was already gone.
Morning dawned to reveal the truth: Eleanor had run away with Daniel. No one was able to console Elsbeth and the grief she expressed about Eleanor’s disappearance was all the proof they required to believe that she had no previous knowledge of Eleanor’s intentions. As their brother and father scoured the countryside in search of anything that would lead them to Eleanor, Elsbeth sat unmoving on the window seat and tried to envision her sister’s form returning rather that the image of it disappearing into the night. Though she knew they would not find Eleanor, Elsbeth couldn’t keep herself from hoping that somehow there would be a way for them to all be reunited and all to be forgiven. While the search continued, no one but family was permitted into the girls’ room under the premise that they had both fallen ill and that they must remain quarantined to keep their illness from spreading throughout the household.
Elsbeth spent those days as a ghost, moving through a world without her shadow. Their room was haunted with a lifetime of memories – a doll sitting upon a shelf or violet pressed between the pages of a novel. It was not their simplistic childhood she found herself missing, it was her sisters’ companionship. When she was left alone, her time was spent writing to Eleanor and telling her all that had happened in her absence. Their entire lives Eleanor had been the planner – the one who could lay reason to whatever schemes Elsbeth dreamed up and this had been no exception. Daniel had a cousin in London who worked as a governess for a family that the Hortons were already acquainted with. She had agreed to facilitate correspondence between the two girls – transporting letters so that the twins’ parents were never made aware that they were maintaining contact. It was of little comfort to Elsbeth. Letters did not carry the sound of her sister’s laugh or the warmth of her hand pressed against her own. There was a hole where her sister had once been and Elsbeth felt as though she were being made to learn the steps to a dance that had once required a partner.
Eventually the search was called off. Even if Eleanor was found the scandal of her elopement would taint the entire family. There would be no saving her tainted reputation and their mother lamented on more than one occasion that it was for the best that she never be found now. Word was sent that she had been unable to recover from the illness that had plagued both girls and had passed away in her sleep.
The funeral was an elaborate affair and no expense was spared. Weeper’s were hired, black sashes of silk distributed. On more than one occasion Elsbeth was struck with the thought that their mother was compensating for the marriage she would never be able to plan or attend. Throughout all of the rites, people marveled at the strength Elsbeth demonstrated, her father even taking her aside to commend her for not given into the bouts of female sentimentality. The entire affair seemed ridiculous and she found great pleasure in detailing the events to Eleanor.
Given the tragedy that had befallen the family the decision to postpone Elsbeth’s season was made. She would be ill company for any suitor given her grieving state. Instead she watched from a distance as her friends were courted and married, feigning proper reactions over engagement rings and bridal gown patterns. She hated that she was excluded because of a lie. The world felt like a novel she was made to read – no matter how desperately she wished she could immerse herself within the world of the beloved characters she remained detached and at a distance. Each letter sent from Eleanor was devoured instantly. She longed to see her sister and visit the small flat she and Daniel had called home. He had earned an apprenticeship at a tailors and made a modest income, though Eleanor assured her that there was excellent prospects for him to one day inherit the business as the owner had no sons of his own. Elsbeth read of Eleanor’s first pregnancy and wished she could be there to watch her sister ripen like a melon. She read of the delivery and how she thought their first son, James, looked exactly like Daniel. Once she had committed the words to memory, Elsbeth would burn the letters so that her parents would never discover that truth.
Spring was a warm embrace after the weariness of winter and Elsbeth fell into it wholeheartedly. The somber mood of the Horton’s London home had been replaced in a flurry of activity as they prepared for Elsbeth’s debut. Her mother had commandeered her father’s study as their headquarters. Elsbeth found the transformation comical. Bolts of silk and satin were draped across his leather ottoman and green velvet wingback chair. His desk, once a series of neatly arranged crystal inkwells and papers, was now covered in small glass jars containing bead and sequins; envelopes of feathers and spools of ribbon. The excitement was laced with an unspoken sadness. This was supposed to be their time and Eleanor’s absence was more potent as Elsbeth followed her mother’s orders.
She had never expected that she would understand the way love could grip someone as swiftly as she did. It was the evening of her first ball and all of Eleanor’s descriptions drifted to mind as she gazed into the soft gray eyes of Richard Clarke. He was everything the Hortons had hoped their daughter would find in a husband and their blessing over the union was swift. He came from a long, reputable line of barristers whose list of connections and clients extended across all of London’s most notable families. Still young, Richard had earned himself a reputation as a keen businessman and even Alistair Horton had taken notice of the young man. None of this mattered to Elsbeth and she often remarked in her letters to Eleanor how wrong she had been about love until she had met Richard. She mused that if their fates had been reversed and Richard had been the penniless, nameless stable hand she would have followed in Eleanor’s footsteps without question. In his arms she felt as though she could lose herself. There she felt safe and protected. He listened to her, cared for her. Elsbeth found that she eagerly anticipated balls so that they could exchange private conversation and a press of his hand against hers without question. It was soon widely accepted that the young couple were committed to one another and by the fall their engagement had been announced to the delight of both families. Yet despite the happiness Elsbeth felt at her impending marriage it was tainted by the knowledge of her deception.
“I must speak to you,” Elsbeth whispered one evening after their family’s had dined together. Keeping his eyes on their parents as they retired to the parlor Richard had smiled, “Surely it can wait, my love.”
“Surely it cannot,” Elsbeth urged. Richard paused, staring down at her. Her brow was creased with worry and her bright eyes darker than he could recall. “Father, if I may,” he called out, “I do believe Miss Horton should like to take a tour of the gardens before it is too late.”
“Do not go far,” was the only instruction given to the pair. With the marriage arranged the young couple took advantage of the liberties their families now permitted. While in public the young couple were chaperoned closely but here, in the privacy of the Clarke residence, they were allowed to take private strolls through the gardens and took advantage of this newfound freedom as often as possible. They walked in silence, Elsbeth nervously wringing her hands within her wrap as she stared straight ahead. “Elsbeth, please,” Richard finally pled, “You must tell me what troubles you before I fear the worst. Tell me that you are not reconsidering. I could not bear to lose your affection to another.”
“No, it is nothing like that,” Elsbeth said softly. “Though I am afraid that once you learn the truth of me and my family that you will no longer wish me to be your wife.”
“Nothing could ever lessen my attachment to you.”
“You cannot say that until you know the truth. We have deceived you—”
“It does not matter,” Richard insisted, interrupting her. Elsbeth shook her head, staring at the pebbled pathway rather than meet his worried gaze. “It is concerning my sister,” she whispered, scared that if she were to give too much strength to her words now that they would destroy them both. “The one that died?” Richard asked. Elsbeth nodded, then shook her head. “Eleanor is not dead, she eloped with a servant. My parents were certain the scandal of it would ruin us all and when they could not find her…”
“They thought it best to pronounce her dead?”
“It was not a lie. At least not to them. But… I’ve been keeping the most dreadful secret. Eleanor and I have continued our contact. She is here, in London. Oh, Richard, if you will still have me after this, I should like very much for you to meet her.”
Smiling, Richard drew her to him. “Oh, my darling Elsbeth, if this is the worst of your secrets, you may never fear my leaving you.” With those words, Elsbeth felt as though all was right in her world once more.
- - - - -
“Surely there must be something that can be done,” Richard urged the young doctor. His eyes drifted back to the now-familiar sight of his wife’s crumpled form as she lay listless in their bed. Her dressing gown had slipped from her right shoulder giving her arm the appearance of a broken wing. The once-soft ringlets of her hair were now clumped together, limp and dull. The warm afternoon sun slipped through the cracks in the heavy drapery, making her appear as fragile as a porcelain doll. Rubbing his hands over his face, Richard turned back to the doctor, imploring. He no longer recognized his wife. Since she had delivered a stillborn nearly a year ago she had sunk into a depression that steadily stole her from him. She spent her days cocooned within the thick blankets. The death of their son had drained her of all the vitality and youth that had first endeared her to him. What remained was this sallow creature he could scarcely recognize and he feared for the day when she would become a complete stranger to him. A soft moan broke his thoughts as Elsbeth turned from them, staring toward the window with unseeing eyes. She had insisted that they close out all the sunlight as penance for her wickedness – for the lie she had kept for her family. The weak cry tore through him, leaving him feeling exposed and useless. “Please. I cannot do nothing,” he petitioned the doctor.
“I’m afraid there is nothing that can be done, Mr. Clarke. Your wife’s inability to conceive has caused her depression, and her depression has rendered unable to conceive.”
“I thank you for your council,” Richard murmured, his eyes falling on his wife’s form once more. “I trust you’ll forgive me for not showing you out. I have other matters to attend to.”
“Yes, of course,” the young doctor replied. His brown eyes warmed with unspoken compassion for the young couple. He could tell that when she had been well, Mrs. Clarke had been an attractive woman. With a curt nod he turned and made his way down the stairs, leaving Richard alone with Elsbeth once more.
He had assured her in every way he could imagine that he did not care if she ever bore him a child; that she was his sole desire. She seemed to be incapable of believing him. Instead she stared up at him, her cerulean eyes shadowed and dull, and murmured that he need not deceive her and that she could sense his disappointment. She would tell him that if she died he would be free to find a suitable wife, one who could produce a son to continue in his footsteps. Nothing he said could placate her and the letters she received from her sister, Eleanor, only made her condition worse. Richard knew that if there was a way for him to keep her from reading Eleanor’s news he would without hesitation. He wanted his wife back and had no idea how to find her again.
The solution startled him with its simplicity. Elsbeth desired a child of her own more than anything else. Late at night he would wake to find her gone from their bed. One night he had searched for her only to discover her sitting in the nursery, rocking back and forth and humming a lullaby. In her arms was a pillow, wrapped in a small patchwork quilt. His breath had stilled, his heart stopping at the sight. If this continued someone would discover her madness – someone would fight to have her committed to Bethlem. He had crept back to their room without a word. Time ceased to exist as he stared at the ceiling wondering what to do to remedy the situation. He had been raised to believe that it was his duty as a husband to provide for his wife and protect her from harm – but how was he to save her from the torments that existed solely within her mind. Though he often mused that he knew his wife better than himself, Richard knew that there was one person who knew Elsbeth better – her sister.
Since their marriage, Elsbeth no longer felt the need to destroy the letters her sister frequently composed. He had watched her on more than one occasion as she had slipped them into a bundle in the top drawer of her bedside table. If there was an answer to be had, Richard was certain that it would be found within one of those letters. Crawling across the bed he lay on his stomach and opened the drawer, retrieving the letters. The next hours were spent devouring every piece of information, no matter how trivial, in pursuit of a remedy. He found it in the news of Eleanor’s sixth child, a beautiful little girl named Emma.
…she is the most delightful of all my children. A pleasant disposition and her father’s dark hair. Daniel says that she has my eyes; not just in coloring but in intelligence as well. He knows just what to say to me to illicit a blush after all these years. Oh Ellie, we are both truly blessed to have men who love us as they do. I do hope these words will find you well, the tone of your last letter did concern me…
- - - - -
The night was still, only the soft song of crickets breaking through the silence. A wooden bucket that had been broken into two pieces lay on its side by the front door, the well-used broom resting in a puddle beside it. Richard paused, setting the broom right and placing the splintered pieces of the bucket in a neat pile as he debated abandoning his plan. Moving toward the door, he trailed his fingers over the velvet petals of the daisies that had been planted in a small box outside a bottled-glass window. Taking a deep breath he placed his hand on the handle of the door, gently pushing the lever down, wincing as it groaned open. His nerve fled as he stood on the threshold, peering into the dark room. As he turned to leave, the soft gurgle of an infant stopped him. Richard’s eyes darted across the room, searching for the source of the noise. There, in the pale blue light of the moon, he saw the crudely made wooden cradle. A rough heart had been cut out of the headboard, its frame rocking with the child’s slight movements. Before he could think better of his actions he tiptoed to the cradle, lifted the infant, and stole away into the night.
“Elsbeth?” Richard murmured, stepping into the nursery where she sat with an imagined child. The scene was no longer unfamiliar. Every night Richard would lay in bed and pretend to fall asleep. Once she was certain that he would not notice her absence, Elsbeth would steal away to the nursery and spend the evening alternating between crying for their lost child and nurturing the imagined one in her arms. “I’ve a surprise for you.”
“Mmm?” Elsbeth mumbled, turning to face her. “You mustn’t speak so loud. You’ll wake the baby.”
“I assure you, my love, the child is still asleep.”
“The child,” Elsbeth repeated with a wistful sigh, staring at the small bundle of rags in her arms. “He is so still…:
“She,” Richard corrected, moving to her side. “She is the answer to all of our prayers.” Each of his movements were slow, deliberate as he reached forward and removed the imagined child from his wife’s arms. She stared up at him in wonder as he gently placed the slumbering infant in her arms. A surprised gasp escaped Elbeth as the weight of the child settled around her, warmth spreading steadily against her arms. “Oh, Richard,” she cooed, “How is this possible?”
The truth of what he had done burned in his throat, turning his tongue leaden. For the first time in nearly a year Elsbeth’s eyes shone in wonder, a soft pink slowly reclaiming her pallid complexion. He would die if it would bring her a measure of happiness or keep the vile truth from her. “Did you not hear the door?” he asked, his voice thick and rasping. They had selected this room as the nursery because it was so secluded and quiet. Elsbeth had been convinced that it would be a tranquil retreat for both her and their child. “No,” she replied, gently tracing the child’s cheek with her finger. “My thoughts must have kept me too occupied to notice.”
“Indeed,” he said, steeling himself for the lie he was about to tell her. Elsbeth could never know the truth. It would destroy them all. “There was a knock. When I arrived there was nothing but the child. God must have delivered her to us himself. He took our first only to bless us with a second.”
“How could anyone abandon such a sweet child?”
“I do not know. But their misfortune is our blessing.”
- - - - -
The sun did not rise that morning. Clouds, thick and inky darkened the sky. Eleanor was awakened by the sound of rain against the tin roof rather than her daughter’s cries. For a moment she lay quietly, relishing in the warm weight of Daniel’s arm around her. The day felt different and she could not place what the change was. As the fog of slumber slowly cleared from her mind a sickening dread pooled in her veins – the house was too quiet. Staggering forward, Eleanor made her way to her daughter’s cradle. Closing her eyes, she took a deep breath, afraid to see the lifeless body of her daughter. Their neighbor, Mrs. Mooreland, had lost a son in the night a month prior. Eleanor could still hear the kind woman’s voice wavering as she told of how still and stiff the baby had been when she had discovered him. Please God, Eleanor prayed as she reached into the cradle blindly, please let Emma be all right.
Her fingers gripped the thin blanket s, patting the cradle until her eyes flew open with horror. Emma was gone. She raced to the loft where her older girls often brought their sister to play They were still asleep, as were their brothers. Grabbing her shawl, Eleanor raced into the streets, screaming her daughter’s name in a blind panic. But it was too late, Emma was already gone.
Those next months were a challenge for Daniel as he fought to regain his wife’s sanity. She would sit for hours, staring out into the street and murmuring Emma’s name. Their children were frightened by their mother’s actions and would no longer crawl into her lap to hear a story of a song. All he could do was keep the deteriorating state of Eleanor’s mind from the neighbors. He had recently been bequeathed the small tailors that he had apprenticed at and knew this was his only chance to change his family’s lot. No one would bring business to a man whose wife had lost her mind. No one would marry his daughters if they knew the truth. But the thought of sending her away was enough to make his heart stop. She was his entire world and he would be lost without her.
In the end it was Eleanor who forced his hand. He had returned home one evening to find her fanatical about the house. In her hand was a letter from Elsbeth detailing the child that had been left on their doorstep in the dead of night. “My own sister!” Eleanor ranted, knocking over pots and herbs in the kitchen. “How could she betray me so!”
“Elsbeth? Whatever do you mean?”
“She has our Emma, Daniel! Look at this! She wrote me to gloat about it!” With a trembling hand she had pressed the letter against his face. Daniel gently reached out and clasped her wrist, taking the letter so he could read. Elsbeth detailed the child’s sweet disposition and how the entire household had fallen in love with her. She wrote of the divine providence in them being given her and how she had named the child after her beloved sister. “Elsbeth has never been to our home,” Daniel said softly, keeping the horror from his voice. The Clarke’s had money and name behind them. Even if Eleanor was right and they had somehow taken Emma from them, there was no recourse. They all knew the sway money had. The truth did not set a person free, a deep pocketbook did. “They could not have taken Emma from us.”
“Then how do you explain this!” Eleanor demanded. Her fingers gripped her hair, pulling out a small fistful as she paced away from him. “I cannot,” Daniel replied simply. “Then what if I am correct?”
“It is between them and God,” Daniel insisted. “You must let it be.”
“She is our daughter!”
“Emma is dead, Eleanor. You must accept that. Nothing we can do will ever bring her back. She is lost to us forever.”
“No!”
- - - - -
It had been the hardest letter of his life to compose. How does one go about telling a sister-in-law that their twin had lost their mind? Daniel kept the correspondence brief, explaining the loss of their youngest and how Eleanor had not been able to come to terms with her grief. He told her that he had sent her to Bethlem so that they could help her regain her senses but feared that she would remain lost to them all. I visit with my wife every Saturday but fear she is not the woman either of us can recall with fondness. There is a deep sadness to her now. She believes we have taken Emma from her and are lying about her whereabouts. I must implore you to keep your distance, Mrs. Clarke, as I am afraid the sight of her will be most frightful. I truly believe that somewhere, trapped deep in her mind, is the Eleanor we both remember. I can see it sometimes when she accepts the daisies I bring to her. For a brief moment it as though the Eleanor I saved from the rain all those years ago returns to me. The moment always passes, my dear sister, and it comes lesser now. I do not know if Eleanor will ever return to me and I fear that she does not wish to.
Tears shone in Elsbeth’s eyes as she read the letter aloud to Richard. “Richard, I must go to her. Please. Surely there is something we can do.”
“He has recommended that you do not, Elsbeth.”
“He does not understand the attachment we have for one another. Perhaps if Eleanor was to see me she would realize that she is not alone. Please. I cannot sit idly by with the knowledge that she is alone at Bethlem. How frightened she must be!”
Richard knew better than to argue with his wife. In the weeks leading up to her visit, he tried to fill her mind with the knowledge that Eleanor was not the girl she remembered. The mad would accuse the sane of all sorts of misdeeds and that Elsbeth must take nothing to heart. He promised that no matter the outcome of the visit that he would help Daniel with all of Eleanor’s medical expenses. They were family, after all, and he would never be able to allow her sister to suffer when they had plenty.
- - - - -
“Did you bring my daughter?” Eleanor demanded as Elsbeth stepped into the small parlor.
“Your daughter?”
“Yes,” Eleanor said, her voice unwavering. “The one you stole from me.”
- - - - -
The truth can free one person and trap another. It can bring life and death. It protects some and destroys others. Perhaps the greatest aspect of the truth is in its ability to distort. For one person’s truth is another’s deception.
Eleanor Hope Clarke’s story is one written upon a past that she knows nothing of; her future resting upon the deceptions of a family whose sole desire is to protect her and keep her close. The tighter you hold onto something, the quicker it will slip from your grasp. All Eleanor desires is to experience the world beyond the tall walls of her family estate and finally be able to tell her own story.
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play-by: madisyn ritter
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no Michelin tire for you! [/blockquote][/size]
