The Letters of Rose Constance, Epistle IV
14th May
Sweetest Jemmy,
I had promised myself I would be more diligent in writing. I hope you can forgive me the long droughts but until this past fortnight it has been difficult to pierce the darkness. However, I feel the worst of the blackness is behind me at long last.
A deep sorrow overtook me in the first weeks of April. It grew, a black weed encircling my chest making breathing unbearable, until on the eve of the anniversary of Marguerite’s birth I found myself wandering out of doors in the midst of a violent storm. I am not a little ashamed to admit I railed at the heavens, challenging God himself to answer for His actions. However, as He is wont to do, He remained mysterious and inscrutable. The only answer forthcoming was in the form of a wet cough and ague.
I lay abed for a week, Mrs. Dandry by my side the whole time. Despite her ministrations my fever worsened, until Bealtaine Eve when she was joined by her two elderly sisters for what I was sure was my last night on this Earth. As delirium pulled a shroud over my senses, the sisters helped me from my chambers to your study where they had placed a featherbed on the floor. They lay me down with my head near the fire and pressed hot bricks against the soles of my feet as they applied foul-smelling poultices to my forehead.
Through the long night they prayed quietly to themselves, their heads bowed. My state was such that the snatches I heard were incomprehensible, sounding more like windchimes than language. Fatigue overtook me after many hours. Fatigue I mistook for Death’s grip. But I was ready, my darling. I had prepared myself and was ready to meet whatever fate Our Father had in store for me as long as I could just once more hold our babies in my arms.
As the fever let loose its grip, I slipped into a deep slumber and had the most peculiar dream. I dreamt I awoke near dawn alone in your study, my dressing gown clinging to my damp skin. I sat up, weak from lack of nourishment and days of inactivity, and heard voices drifting in from the garden. I pulled myself upright and walked to the door. Following the voices to the center of the garden, I espied a bonfire crackling in the predawn gloom surrounded by the village girls.
When I got closer, I saw that the girls were dancing in a circle about the bonfire with only their hair imperfectly concealing their nakedness. I glanced away, mortified, and saw Mrs. Dandry and her sisters in a heated exchange with the vicar. Mrs. Dandry saw me and opened her mouth, emitting a keening like the sound of a teapot shattering on a flagstone. The girls stopped dancing and everyone turned to face me. That was when, in my dream, I collapsed.
I finally awoke late in the morning to find Mrs. Dandry mopping my brow with a cool cloth. Her concern was touching and I decided not to burden her with my mysterious dream. When she inquired how I had slept I told her I had been dead to the world. The dear woman has been through more than enough these many months.
I lustfully attacked the shirred egg and pot of tea she brought me. It was the first meal I had eaten in days but it was also the first meal I had actually tasted in months. Since that morning I have been feeling stronger and have spent many hours sitting in your resurgent garden, lingering amidst the aromas: rich vegetable decay underfoot mixing with the intoxicating perfume of your roses, just coming into bloom. With each breath I draw, I feel the very cells of my body vibrating with renewed life.
I feel so energized, I have asked Mrs. Dandry to have her husband prepare the motorcar to take me to Kiftsgate Court on the morrow so I may walk along the garden paths where we stole our first kiss. It feels a lifetime ago, with all the loss we have endured. Do you still think of that hot summer evening, of eluding our chaperone in the maze? Of that moment, under the glow of the setting sun, when the blossoms became drops of liquid gold and our lips pressed together for the first time? During my darkest days, the memory of that moment was a lifebuoy in the roiling waves. In the days and months ahead, I will continue to hold it tight while I wait for your return.
Forever yours,
Rose
