Page 10 of Lady for a Season
Maggie stopped, confused. “Done? He has done nothing. I only asked him if he wanted to feed Daisy an apple, but he seemed vexed.”
Agnes glanced both ways and dropped her voice to a whisper. “He’s afraid of horses.”
“Afraid of them? Why?”
“I don’t know. But when he first come here, Walter brought Daisy round to the door, like he always does, and Edward was coming out of the parlour and Daisy whinnied at him and he screamed, not just a bit surprised like but terrified. He went back into the parlour and slammed the door shut and he won’t never go near the door if there’s the sound of hooves or he knows Walter’s about. I expect it is the lunacy,” she pronounced. “Being afraid of things one ought not to be. You’ve heard his nightmares. They ain’t normal for a grown man, neither is fearing horses. It’s all part of his affliction. That’s why the doctor must come and treat him, in the third room.”
“The third room?”
“Upstairs.”
Of course. The third room. Maggie had dismissed it in her mind, thought it was perhaps a storeroom. Curious, she climbed the stairs and opened the door.
Nothing. A chair in the shadowy corner of the room. Another chair. A small table with a drawer to one side. A large ceiling hook, perhaps from usage as a storeroom in the past. Otherwise, it was clean and empty. Edward had spoken of a male companion before Bridget, who might have been put to sleep in this room, for it would not have been appropriate for him toshare a room with two women. Just a disused bedroom, nothing more interesting.
In February it snowed. Maggie woke to a blueish light and saw the garden changed to a white blanket. Eliza muttered about delays to Walter’s deliveries and Agnes tutted about trying to bring in water and wood, but Maggie hurried out in the garden without even waiting for breakfast or Edward to open the door. He followed her.
“At the Hospital, if it snowed, they’d let us out to play in the snow if we were good,” she said, turning to him with a smile.
“To play?”
Her face was bright with excitement. Those days were her happiest memories, the short but glorious wild freedom of being allowed out to play in the snow, let loose from the monotonous routine of each day. Snapping icicles from low-hanging rooftops, throwing snowballs, sledging on whatever they could find, including broken shovels or old sacks.
He shivered. “It is very cold, would you not prefer –” He broke off as she scooped up a handful of snow and threw it at him, hitting him squarely in the chest.
Edward gasped and stepped back, then tentatively scooped up a handful himself, at which she picked up her skirts and ran down the garden, his first attempt missing her by inches. “You will have to try harder than that!” she called to him, still running.
For a moment he stood, the cold snow in his hands, staring at her, then laughed and ran after her, stumbling over hidden molehills and fallen branches, but gaining on her, his second shot catching her shoulder.
She turned to face him, laughing, a ball already flying towards his face, but he ducked just in time, and it sailed over his shoulder. “So you do know how to play,” she called, both of themquickly stooping for more snow, aiming, both missiles landing at the same time, on her skirts and his arm.
By the time they returned to the house, their clothes were wet through and both of them had to change before returning to the parlour. Maggie took longer and Edward found himself alone in the parlour, before the roaring fire Agnes had set when she had seen the state of them, and the hot tea and ginger-cakes Eliza had made. He needed none of them. There was a warmth inside that did not come from fires or tea, but from running, which he had not done for many years, from hurling snowballs and making them as fast as he could, from ducking and chasing. From laughing. His heart still beat fast, as though he had suddenly been brought back to life from the dead, life itself racing through his body. How many years had it been since he had laughed so much? Since he had been so happy? Had he ever? He could not recall.
Maggie returned to the parlour, hair still damp but in dry clothes and smiled at the sight of Edward’s face. He greeted her with a warm smile, but his cheeks, always so pale, were flushed with a rosy glow.
“I have not laughed so much in years,” he told her and there was wonderment in his voice.
She chuckled as she poured the tea. “Then prepare yourself to laugh a great deal more over the coming days, for Eliza says the cold is staying and there may be more snow tomorrow.”
The days that followed were some of the happiest either of them had ever known, for the snow fell again and again, until they were almost up to their knees in the garden, their change of clothes always hanging up in the kitchen to dry, despite Eliza’s tutting at the space they took up and Agnes’ amazement that they should enjoy being out in the cold so much. Maggie worried that their play might make Edward’s spirits what DoctorMorrison had called “recklessly high,” but he was so much happier, running and laughing, more animated than she had seen him thus far. It must surely be good for him.
When the sparkling snowy weather turned wet and muddy by the end of February, forcing them to stay indoors on most days or risk Agnes’ wrath at their muddy footprints, Maggie sought other entertainment. She found a pack of cards in the drawer of the table and Edward asked her if she knew how to play a game called vingt-un.
“No, will you teach me?”
“You must get to twenty-one points with the cards you are dealt, one card at a time. No higher, or you lose.”
They played for hours, exclaiming over wins and losses, but other distractions were needed for the long, wet days.
“Can you play?” asked Maggie, looking at the pianoforte.
He shrugged. “A little.”
“I have never heard you play.”
“I was not encouraged to do so.”
“Will you play for me?”
