25. Winn
November 15
Quite a number of things have occurred since the visit of the mysterious but kind-hearted Lord Carroway deCourt, which have all but prevented me from so much as lifting my pen. The foremost situation is that Dr. Radcliffe has returned to his grim home, but the circumstances surrounding this most miserable affair require far more explanation, which I shall get to shortly. I must first make mention of the improved relationship between myself and Evie, which, while a most wonderful thing indeed, isn't nearly as healed as I hoped it would be. Despite my profuse apologies for being so insensitive (who could have guessed that I, Winnifred Yulia Peterson, would be capable of something so base as insensitivity? It truly makes me question the sense in travelling from home to home. The effect on my nerves!), she maintained a pained, stiff sort of distance from me, not quite angry enough to forgo an embrace or a smile every now and then, but decidedly still hurt.
I'll ruin it if I write any more before the initial circumstance, so my narration after the unfortunate run-in with Atticus continues as such: My delivering the tea to the sitting room where Lord deCourt sat to rest his legs revealed that Evie had been summoned, no doubt by the sound of an unfamiliar voice, in the time Atticus had distracted me. By the grace of God alone was I able to keep my grip on the tray which held the cups and the kettle and the sugar, though my arms did quake most miserably at the shock.
"Ah, Winnifred." Evie inclined her head upon seeing my frame in the doorway, only to return her attentions to the smiling face of Lord deCourt. The pain in my heart at hearing her use my full name was likely just as crushing as she'd hoped it would be, to which I realised I fully deserved. Fortunately for my ruined state, the Lord turned his wonderful smile on me and beckoned me into the room.
Mortified, I focused on not tripping and sending the tea over our guest, whose white attire would no doubt suffer at the stain. Settled safely, I attempted to shake my hair loose, a natural veil, to pour our tea without having to look at how easily Evie ignored me.
"I was just telling the Lady of the state of my horse farm, Ms. Peterson!" Lord deCourt eagerly pulled a cup towards him and heaped several generous spoonfuls of sugar into it. "You both really must see it; I am afraid I am no great architect or visionary, but I trust I am well acquainted with more than a few to keep the place looking marvellous! And, of course, the horses are the finest Thoroughbreds you'll find in all of England. " I flashed a look towards Evie and blushed under the protection of my hair.
"I really couldn't, Sir. I'm afraid I'm of no standing to visit such a place as this!"
"Nonsense!" He lifted his cane and tapped it enthusiastically several times on the floor. "We aren't nearly as barbaric as you might think, and you are no serving girl. An acquaintance must go where her friends go; would the Lady not agree?" This last question was directed towards Evie, who had remained silent since I entered. She blinked in surprise at having been spoken to, only to bow her head slightly.
"If Winn would like to go, I see no reason she should not."
The answer was brief and on the whole, totally impersonal, but I still felt my heart trill not only at the use of my shortened name once more, but the invitation. From someone who had essentially banished me from her presence, this was a great improvement. Perhaps we would even be able to talk with one another in the safety of a new environment.
Having settled the matter already in his head, the Lord beamed and took in great mouthfuls of his tea (I was unaccustomed to the mannerisms of the upper class here, as I shall no doubt say a hundred times more, but was quite certain it was rather messy of him to do so), humming an indeterminate song in the midst of the uncomfortable pause in speech. Desperate not to feel so foolish, I poured Evie and myself a cup, pressed hers into her hands, and sat in a burning lump of awkward flesh. If only she would talk to me as a normal person, then apologising would be easy and we could get on like the best of friends once more. You will likely understand why this was not something I brought about on my own, though, and hopefully find it in your leathery pages to forgive this cowardice on my part.
Fortunately for my wounded sense of self, the Lord finished his tea (this included several refilled cups) an announced that we ought to get going if we were to see the horses before dark. At least in this, Evie and I were thinking along the same lines - neither of us had expected to go today! It did not take much convincing from Lord deCourt, however, for he was all full of charm and smiles and was quite enthusiastic in encouraging us to visit at his home. Even as we left him in the main hall, I nearly ran to my room to pull on a bonnet and a pair of shoes sturdy enough for a field, the excitement at the prospect of leaving the stuffy, cramped, miserable halls of this house giving me a burst of health like I had never known. Even Evie appeared enthusiastic about the whole affair, though her eyes still possessed a melancholic shadow. I took her hand in mine before we descended the stairs and pressed it firmly.
"I'm sorry," I whispered, hoping she wasn't still angry and felt the need to push me down the stairs. She gave me the saddest expression I've ever seen in my life, and indeed, I am sure I will never see its equal, and smiled slightly.
"Nothing to be sorry of," she replied, before patting my wrist and floating past me. As much as I didn't want her to experience so much of the moroseness that she seemed to pick up from everything, I will admit, the ghostly effects she took on suited her well.
Waiting for us downstairs was the pale and wobbling Lord, who looked like a ghost himself in the gloom of the limited light. To be sure, he was the most smiling ghost I had ever laid eyes on, but even the white in his hair gave him the appearance of having faded somewhat from his corporeal form. "Are we all ready, then?" All would have been well, if not for the sudden and surprising interruption of Atticus, who had appeared in the doorway to the left where the dining room lay. His smoldering eyes turned from each of us quickly, before settling on me and beckoning me with a flick of his chin.
"If it please you," he mumbled, not daring to turn his gaze on the Lord or the solemn Evie, "I must speak with Ms. Peterson before you leave." I was stunned. Never before had Atticus displayed anything close to respect for anyone, not even the doctor who owned him so. I had heard Atticus say a great number of things that would make a sailor blush, and yet, now he bowed his head and called me the way a gentleman might?
Alas, I was the only one who noticed this change, and the Lord merely inclined his head and replied that I need only go onto the street when I was finished and meet with them there. Once I was left alone in the hall with Atticus, I turned and scowled fiercely at him. "Well then?"
"In here," he snapped, all respect gone from his voice. He pulled me by the arm and pressed me against the wall, an action I would have loudly protested had he not held a finger to my lips and given me a new look, one of desperation and sternness. "Don't bite me, woman! Listen!" Reluctantly curious about what brought this feverish desire to speak to me about, I stilled my mouth from opening and clamping down on the finger that pressed itself so rudely to my lips and raised an eyebrow. "Good," he sighed, moving the finger and taking a step back. "Now, here me well, Winnifred - you cannot trust that man."
"What?" Convinced he wanted to ruin a perfectly good moment, I made to move, but he held me fast.
"Listen! He is not your kind, he is not our kind. I've been an ass, yes, I'll admit it, but you must be careful around people like this Lord." Atticus raised his eyebrows as if to draw some agreement out of me.
"Our kind? What is our kind, Atticus?"
"We're not noblemen, don't play stupid." He glanced feverishly at the door at then back at me, fighting the urge to restrain me and make me listen to reason with force. "You're a friend, you hear me? A friend and nothing more. I'm the son of someone too stupid to get out of this house while he could. We're trapped here, you and I, and the damn puppets of the rich. You have no idea what they'll do with you just for being you."
"What do you want?" I said forcefully, confused. His mannerisms were growing steadily more agitated, as though this sudden paranoia would manifest in the Lord coming back in to cane me to death in a sudden fit of rage.
"I... I want... Fine then. Go, but promise me this: keep your damn eyes open and don't let Evelyn out of your sight."
"Evelyn, is it? No Mrs. Radcliffe for you?" Ducking out of the way of his fist, which he had raised in the farce of a threat, I scowled and inclined my head. "Very well, I'll promise you that. You must swear to explain yourself in return, yes?" Acquiescing with a nod of his head, he scowled at me and jutted his chin towards the front door.
"I don't trust the lot of them," he grumbled, in reference to the upper class he would never have the misfortune to be a part of. Feeling his untrusting eyes on my back the whole way out of the house filled me with a peculiar sense of shame, as though I were embarking on a trip whose sole intention was to make a fool of me, a sensation which I reasoned must be completely untrue. Lord and Ladies visited one another, and invited as many people as they could from one place to the next, did they not? Being a guest was no great condemnation in this society - why should I not be invited about the country?
Still, it should be no stretch of one's imagination to understand why I was now perturbed and decidedly uneasy. Even as I stepped into the carriage that had been waiting on Lord deCourt, taking the Lord's vaguely papery hand in my own and settling beside him, I looked to the Radcliffe house with a sense that perhaps I was not right in leaving its oppressive walls. The house, even if filled with horrid statues and cobwebs in every corner and grotesque paintings and even surly staff, was something I could understand, something I could expect to be the same. Leaving the house now filled me with the notion that not all would be well, or misfortune would settle on the inhabitants of the carriage, even as it rumbled to a stop in front of a grand, nearly crystalline mansion which belonged to the apparently royal Lord deCourt, given the nature of this grandiose estate.
Fortunately, no such assaults on our safety occurred, aside from the nibbling of hair by way of a horse, but I was yet unable to fully appreciate being outdoors, even with the sun shining so majestically over the emerald grounds. A quaint gazebo, not too far from the grazing pastures of the demure horses and overlooking a modest pond, provided an excellent place to look out and reflect on the stern nature of Atticus' warning.
The sun had begun to set by the time Lord deCourt had finished showing off his horses (all of which loved him dearly and were quite happy to perform tricks for him or eat carrots and apples from his hands). Flushed bright pink with the exertion of limping around the grass, he soon made his way up to me where he leaned against one of the wooden arms of the gazebo.
"And you, my lady, how do you like it all here?" He swung his arms around and gazed with such fondness at the fields that I couldn't help but smile back at him. "You've been so taken with your reflections that I fear you haven't much voiced them aloud!" I followed his gaze and nodded serenely.
"I confess, I am distracted somewhat, but you needn't fear, you have an impeccable home, my lord." He beamed at this, and turned his attentions to the nearest horse. The pink tinge in his cheek caught with the fading sunlight charmingly, and I felt myself more at ease because of it. Surely, there was no way such a character of such simple and pleasant mannerisms could be capable of deceit or ill will.
Satisfied with my commendation, Lord deCourt left me to prepare for our return home, or to wrangle together a carriage before the sunset. Even as we were driven to the dramatically darker house of Radcliffe, our guest-turned-host chattered with us and extracted promises to continue our meetings. I picked up on a sense of loneliness in his manner, as though he had no friends or acquaintances to take up his time, but resolved to be one for him. God knows I have experienced my share of isolation and longing for company - if only to convince Atticus of the man's safety. Anyone living under the roof of Igor Radcliffe would no doubt be disillusioned to the manner of the upper class, though I did wonder at this how on Earth the doctor had risen to a state of ownership and respect. It was not a usual position for a doctor, and coupled with Atticus' attitude, I wondered at what had occurred in the succession of the Radcliffe house before my friend was so suddenly married to him.
The messy events after my first meeting the Lord deCourt continue tomorrow; in the details I shall later cover, it will become apparent the depths of my exhaustion and how very much energy writing all of this out requires.
Until tomorrow, Winn
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