Storm and Silence(232)

‘Say it isn’t so, Ella, my love!’

‘Alas, I cannot, Edmund. For we are indeed invited to Lady Metcalf’s ball, which is tonight…’

‘And…?’

‘…and Sir Wilkins is taking us.’

‘Taking you, you mean to say.’

‘We will all go. I, Aunt, Gertrude, Lisbeth…’

Edmund’s eyes were aflame. ‘But it is you he wants there. You he wants with him!’

Ella shuddered, her hands slipping from his.

‘Don’t you think I know this?’ she asked. ‘Don’t you think I wish every waking moment it weren’t so? But I cannot wish him away!’

Edmund’s freed hands balled into fists. ‘Neither can I. I have tried often enough.’

‘But…’ Ella hesitated.

‘But what, Ella, my love?’

‘But maybe I can wish myself away.’

He looked confused. Ella hesitated again, then suddenly set her small chin and looked up at him.

‘Take me with you,’ she said, her voice trembling, her eyes two shining pleas. ‘I do not wish to go to this ball. I do not wish to dance with Sir Philip. I do not wish to be in any man’s arms but yours. Take me away from the place, just as you said you would.’

‘Tonight? Now? But Ella, the preparations…’

‘I don't care about preparations! I only care that I love you, and that I want to be with you. Take me away, Edmund, please!’

Edmund closed his eyes.

‘I am sorry, my love, but I cannot,’ he whispered. ‘I could not yet procure a marriage license. And I will not soil your honour by taking you without the knowledge that I can make you my wife, to love and to hold.’

There were tears in Ella’s eyes.

‘Then, it is adieu for us, Edmund. I shall go to the ball. You will procure a license as quickly as you can, I know that. Just… just don't take too long. And know that whatever might happen, my heart will always be yours.’

‘Whatever might happen?’ His eyes snapped open, hearing the weight of her words. ‘You don't mean to say that… Ella, you don't think Sir Philip will chose tonight to ask you to… oh, I cannot even say the words! Tell me, darling! Tell me that it will not be tonight!’

Ella remained silent. I had spent enough time around Mr Ambrose to be able to distinguish different kinds of silence. Hers was the silence of someone who wished to speak, but could not.

‘Ella!’ With both hands, Edmund reached through the bars, attempting to grasp her shoulders. But she retreated a step, out of his reach. ‘Ella, at least tell me that if he asks you tonight, you will not say yes! Please! I beg you!’

Ella’s tears were rivulets now, streaming down both her cheeks.

‘I… I cannot,’ she whispered.

‘Ella!’

‘G-goodbye, Edmund. Goodbye, my love.’

‘Ellaaa!’

His cry echoed through an empty garden.

*~*~**~*~*

On my way into the house I actually had to blow my nose. Had the scene in the garden moved me to tears? Or was I getting a cold? The latter possibility seemed much more likely to me.

I slipped quietly inside and made my way up to our room. As I entered, Ella, who was sitting in front of the mirror, jumped and tried to conceal her tear-stained face - until she saw it was me. Then she didn’t bother. Our eyes met, brown to blue. There was a silent agreement in hers, which, I was sure, was mirrored in mine. She didn’t ask where I had been all day, and I didn’t ask why tears were running down her cheeks.

Without saying a word, I took my handkerchief out of my pocket and handed it to her. Hers was already too wet to be of any use. She took it with a thankful expression. Having dried her cheeks, she proceeded to help me out of my dress and into my ball gown.

Another kind of silence, I mused. The silence of love, where no words need to be spoken, because the eyes say enough.

My little sister had hardly finished tying up the laces of my dress when we heard a familiar screech from below:

‘Come! Quick, girls, come! He is here! Sir Philip has arrived, I see his coach!’

Ella’s knees nearly buckled. I whirled and caught her at her elbows just in time to steady her.

‘I can go down alone, if you want,’ I offered. ‘I can tell them that you can’t attend the ball because you are sick.’ You definitely look like it.

‘No.’ Ella shook her head sadly. ‘Aunt would never believe it, or she would insist that I go, regardless.’

That was probably true. Our aunt’s world order was very clear and structured: social duties came first, sick girls second. Or maybe twenty-second.

Lifting the skirt of her ball gown, Ella took a deep breath and opened the door. ‘Let’s go, Lilly. Let’s face this.’