Countryside England 1796

||About 50 miles from central London, a large stately cottage home bordered a small grove, and beyond that, rolling hills upon hills that never seemed to end. On the backside, a small path through the lawn led to a road that wound around the hills.

It was a perfect house to reside for Henry, for there were little windows that were clean enough to let any light in. Veronica spent countless hours lighting the oil lamp fixtures and blowing them out on top of slaughtering deer, foxes, and other rodents for their blood.

At the turn of the century, tuberculosis ravaged England, killing thousands of people.

It was a beautiful summer day with the sun out for the first time in months. There were tiny little clouds thick with condensation and mass. They looked like they should fall right from the sky they were so heavy with contrasting shadows in each of their grooves.

After the spring's rain, everything was a vibrant green, and flowers smiled innocently from the grass they grew. Veronica, carrying lamb blood in a silver bowl on her golden tray, carefully walked down the dimly lit hallway to the master bedroom.

She dawned a simple, yet elegant, small mourning dress with tiny frills that rolled off her dress and a dominant ribbon that cinched her waist.

Veronica knew the light outside was bright and refreshing because she saw it peaking through the cracks of the gated and closed windows. Upon reaching the doorway, she lightly pushed it open with her elbow letting the heavy wooden door creak open. The lamp light filled in, covering a small square of space on the floor of the darkened room. A large bed with still but messy sheets eerily rested against the wall. Veronica let the wooden floor creak underneath her to signify her arrival.

Placing the tray neatly on the bedside table, she proceeded to light a couple of oil fixtures. The lumpy figure under the bedsheets slightly moved, turning over.

"Good morning, master, or should I say: good afternoon, master."

The lump expanded and then deflated, letting out a tired sigh.

"Today's the funeral, sir. Edward is going to be there."

After waiting for a response that didn't come, Veronica lifted the sheets back to uncover a groggy Henry. She huffed a sigh of disapproval.

"You're fully satiated, sir, I wouldn't be condemning yourself to the walls of a jail you've created when the sun is out on this beautiful day."

Henry sat up, grunting at the strain of his abdominal muscles lifting him. His head hung low as he took the bowl from Veronica and put it to his lips. The blood had stained them and his white, pristine, teeth, bubbling at his tongue.

"It's the exact reason why I want to stay in." He said through the thick liquid.

"Sir, please don't talk with your mouth full. You'll spill blood!" Veronica said tenderly.

Fastening a small shall over Henry's head, Veronica led him to the small entryway. He sat down heavily on a rickety chair at the coffee table. The back door was wide open to the sunny day, illuminating the path of small daisies to the gate where a man in a black tux waited patiently.

Veronica fixed her large hat onto her head, pinning it as fast as she could. "The carriage is out back, sir."

"Yes. . ." He dutifully noted. Veronica grabbed his arm and pulled him to his feet, fastening a black silken parasol between them. The house had shaded the small garden to the back gate, and when they reached its edge, Veronica opened the small sun umbrella swiftly.

"Let's not take the carriage, we can get there quicker if we cut through the small grove," Henry stated as he pulled Veronica past the horse-drawn carriage; the horses snorted.

"Hey, you there!" A relatively old man's (roughly the age of early sixties) head popped from the window.

Veronica turned, "We'll meet you there, Sir Albert." Henry and she stepped into the grass.

Sir Albert huffed, "Outrageous, simply outrageous! You young couple think it prudent to go out at one's accord with no inclination for telling anyone your plans and expect everyone to allow it! Well—I think not!" He rubbed his mustache with his cane, "Giles!" The coach driver at the front stood up straight.

"Yes, sir!"

"See to it we get there before they do!" 

"Yes, sir!"

Giles whipped the horses and they trotted off quickly down the road; dust from their feet kicked up into a cloud reflecting the afternoon sun.

At an easy pace—but faster than comfortable for a human—Veronica led Henry through the spaced trees. Their dark clothing contrasted the light new growth of summer, and it was hot, but a nice warmth that caressed the heart.

When they got to the edge of the grove, the thickness of the trees grew into a nice canopy of light green. There were several people already making their way to the site of Lucy's grave with her casket being carried along.

"Sir!" A man whispered to Henry, an almost hiss between his clenched teeth, "What on earth is your wife doing here?"

Henry eyed him suspiciously, and, a little louder than the man liked, defended Veronica, "I see Lucy's mother and close friends here, and besides she's keeping an eye on my health."

"But it's strictly forbidden—" he harshly whispered under his breath.

"And I see you were convinced otherwise for those women over there."

The man fell behind Henry to where Veronica was strolling, "You're much too delicate for something like this!"

She held her chin up as she pointed her nose down at him, "I would bet on my entire extended family's grave that I've seen much more horror and death than you have, good sir, I know what blood tastes like!"

The man's mouth fell open, and he suddenly stopped, letting people walk past him. Standing at the edge of the dense trees, a young Englishman held onto some papers of his and watched the sunset.

"How are you holding up, Edward?" He let in a shaky breath.

"I-I'm fine." He sighed. Edward looked down at his notes as Veronica laid her hand on his shoulder. "These—these are some poems I have for her." The paper crinkled under his clamped grasp.

Veronica curiously glanced at them as he began to read:

"Death has parted you from me sooner than I had gotten to know you, and it cradled your young body heavenly." He breathed between his sobs. "But instead, it put you in a cast so you could forever be young—"

Veronica looked at Edward's face, realizing the poem wasn't about Lucy at all.

"Never aging, never changing, yet others from then on had claimed your love, fixing you to a certain way of life. Tell me, my dear, can love ever be free? Did you truly ever love me?"

Edward dropped his papers into the wet grass.

"Edward," Veronica murmured. Edward tensed at the warm feeling in him from the sound of his name pressed against Veronica's lips. "Of course she had."

Edward slumped into the tall grass and crawled up to a tree, curling next to its roots. "I don't know how I'll go on."

"You'll go on." Veronica choked up, remembering all the pain she'd felt from close friends dying. "You'll go on." She said again more to herself.

In the shadows of the trees, Henry watched Veronica and Edward carefully. A man walked by and Henry stopped him suddenly by the arm. "What do you make of that?" He nodded to Edward and Veronica by the tree.

"I'd say she's finally getting what she wanted."

"How do you mean?" Henry turned to him.

"To put it blatantly, sir, a blind man could see she's a mistress!" 

Henry stood his ground, watching, waiting. Waiting for something to happen so that he could let society rip them apart—so that he'd have a reason to tear them apart without going against what the oracle had said.

I mustn't show any softness.

The sight of Edward with Veronica made him sick.

"I don't know how I'll go on." Veronica sat down beside Edward, taking the edge of her fingers to his cheek. She wiped away his tears.

"You'll go on. Day by day. Night by night. Like a bloodstain, you can't get out, but over time it'll fade." Edward got up and rested his head on her shoulders.

Henry stiffened at the sight.

"I'll go on. . ." Edward said weakly. "I'll go on. . ."

For several minutes, they lay there together in the grass, watching as the sun slowly disappeared behind the bright green hills. Veronica knew the moment it dropped and became nightfall, she and Edward were no longer safe from Henry's company. Walking back into the grove, they passed Henry who eyed them with a stern yet paranoid look. "

"What could possibly have caused you to have such a scowl?" Veronica asked, insinuating he'd drop it.

"I've been waiting." He simply said.

"Well—you could have left a while ago since the sun set."

Edward was too wrapped up in his wife's passing that he wasn't listening to anything that was being exchanged between Veronica and Henry.

"And have me wander back all by myself! I need someone to monitor my health if I get trapped in the sun without any protection!"

Veronica hissed, "Oh, grow up!" She turned to Edward changing her tone rather abruptly—an impressive feat, "Are you well enough to be alone?"

"Hmm? Pardon?" He looked up from the ground.

"Master, I don't think he's well enough to be alone. He needs to stay with us!"

Henry came between them, walking in front and blocking their way. "Oh no you don't!" He put his hands on their arms. "I will not be housing a grieving widower in my cottage!"

"Why don't we let him have the city estate for the night?"

"Are you out of your mind, woman!?! Did you not hear what I just said? I will not be housing a widower, end of story!"

Henry huffed before pivoting on his heels, fuming with rage and mumbled his way through the trees.

Veronica turned to Edward. "I'll stay at your place with you then. You can't be alone for tonight at least—and tomorrow we'll have a huge brunch while Master is still sleeping."

Without any emotion, Edward answered: "Oh, yes. Thank you very much." His mind was stained with Henry's voice and warm aura that seeped into his swollen heart. Thinking through her mind, Veronica was planning how to break the news to Henry.