Page 91 of Beyond Her Manner
The comment caught Gillian’s attention, striking a chord against the thoughts she’d been wrestling with. She had considered moving back in or at least spending a night there before they finalised the paperwork, but something held her back. She’d told herself she would wait until it was official and the estate was hers again. With that time finally arriving, something still didn’t feel right.
“Hmm,” she mumbled.
“You don’t sound keen.”
“So much has happened since I last slept there,” Gillian ruminated. “I’m not sure it will feel the same.”
“Did you expect it to, after almost a year away? A lot has changed. You’ve changed; there are probably more changes to come.” Bridget sat back in her seat and stirred her tea. “You know,” she said, setting her spoon on her saucer. “I’ve been thinking a lot lately; about life, I mean. How short it is. You blink, and Christmas is around the corner again, and suddenly you’re wondering if you’ve been living at all.”
Gillian looked up from her cup, her expression guarded but intrigued. “You’re not usually one for philosophical thoughts,” she remarked, trying to keep her voice steady. There was something in Bridget’s words that made her uncomfortable.
“I have my moments.” Bridget shrugged slightly. “You know I envy you. You have the manor back, a chance to start afresh, a whole new direction if you wish. We only get this one shot, don’t we? One life. Seems a waste not to live it honestly, don’t you think?”
Gillian’s smile faltered as a weight pressed on her chest. “I suppose we all make compromises,” she said, her tone more defensive than intended. “It’s part of life.”
Bridget tilted her head, watching her with a knowing look. “Compromises, yes, but not about the big stuff. Not about who we are at our core.” Her tone hardened. “That’s not something we should shrink away from. What’s the point of living if we spend it pretending? Doesn’t that rob us of any real happiness?”
Gillian tensed, crossing her arms, trying to shield herself from the conversation. “Not everything’s that simple. It’s not always about ‘living your truth.’ There are people involved. Expectations. Life is complicated.”
Bridget nodded, her voice softening. “It is. Life is messy, and people… they can be even messier. You can’t bury who you are forever. Not without it eating away at you.”
Gillian’s pulse raced. Was Bridget talking about her? Did she know? No, she couldn’t possibly. She swallowed hard, forcing herself to remain composed. “People don’t simply accept change,” she said quietly, uncertainty creeping into her words.
Bridget leaned forward, her tone steady and unyielding. “Just because you don’t accept change doesn’t mean others don’t.”
Gillian glared at her, speechless.
Bridget took a sip of tea and then started up again. “I know that hiding pieces of yourself, the most important pieces, will slowly break you down. You wake up one day wondering how you ended up living a life that doesn’t even feel like yours.” She paused. “I mean… that’s how I’m sure people would feel if they were living a lie.” Bridget stood and reached for the teapot. “I’ll fetch us some more tea.”
Living a lie. The words caught Gillian unawares, tightening her chest as Bridget left the room. Her gaze dropped to her lap, her fingers tracing the rim of her cup. She’d never consideredherself a liar, certainly not in the way she conducted herself. Was any part of her life not a lie? The thought lingered, unsettling her, as she replayed the moments where she’d tucked away her truth, piece by piece; hiding the part of herself that scared her most.
The past months with Viola had been when she felt most true to herself and happiest. Since Viola had left, she’d gone through the motions, keeping herself busy — anything to avoid the quiet moments when her thoughts crept in. She hoped the more noise she made, the less she’d hear her heart breaking. Yet no matter how many tasks she took on, no matter how loud her world became, it didn’t stop her from feeling it. The ache was always there, lingering beneath every distraction, reminding her some things couldn’t be drowned out.
Now she was alone, truly alone in her core. She’d felt alone most of her life; even if she never was — she was always surrounded by people — it was her choice to emotionally isolate herself. Choosing solitude was easier; it was a form of control. Now, with loneliness thrust upon her, it felt different. Stifling, even suffocating. There was always Bridget, her constant companion. Was that enough when someone who made her feel whole, visible, and complete was out there?
Viola was always unapologetically herself, and she thrived because of it. Gillian wondered what that kind of freedom must feel like — how liberating it would be to live without fear of judgement. Viola once feared that judgement, too, until she was outed. Her story was splashed across tabloids and dissected in the public eye, only to be forgotten a day or two later when some other scandal emerged to entertain the masses.
Her thoughts wandered back to the dressing room, to the moment she couldn’t resist and had kissed Viola. Tingles rushed through her as she let herself relive it — the feel of Viola’s softlips against hers, the taste, the undeniable pull of desire between them.
As quickly as she allowed it, she forced the memory away, and with it, a wave of nausea swept over her. The unsettled feeling lingered, leaving her unsteady. It was a sense of being out of sync with herself, as though something inside her was shifting and she wasn’t sure how to set it right again.
It was a feeling she’d only experienced twice before: when she lost Hen and the manor. She knew Hen would never return; the manor, however, was back in her hands. Viola’s words sank through her:You can have your material possessions back, and everything important to you — including your title. I hope they make you happy.She didn’t feel happy; only thoughts of Viola gave her any surge of happiness, and now she was on the other side of the world.
Although Gillian had regained her identity as lady of the manor, she wasn’t feeling the peace it once brought her. It didn’t give her the strength she once felt either. Did happiness not reside in bricks and mortar — or in her case sandstone and mortar — as she once thought?
The manor was now an empty shell full of echoes of happier times. If it wasn’t being enjoyed, having memories made inside it, what was the point of it? It wasn’t a family home anymore; it hadn’t been for decades. It was a meeting space and a good one at that. She needed to make something out of it, let it breathe, and let herself breathe. She recalled Viola saying Kingsford was suffocating her. Had they been suffocating each other? She loved it dearly. The estate was part of her; it ran through her blood. Maybe it was time for a different relationship with it.
Having walked back along the path to the manor, she didn’t feel she’d arrived at the place she had left. Was she walking along a new path to a previous destination, one that was unchanged,unlike her? Was she in fact not wilting without Kingsford, as she had once feared, and instead metamorphosing?
As much as she didn’t want to admit it, she had changed during her time in the lodge, and all her attempts to forget about Viola had failed too. The lodge and the manor were full of memories of her, as was her heart. She had fallen for the mezzo-soprano, and nothing felt right now that she was gone.
“Are you okay?” Bridget asked, as she re-entered the room and set the teapot down on the table.
“Yes. We have work to do, Bridget, you and I.”
Bridget’s eyes lit up instantly. “We do?”
“We’ll organise a New Year’s Eve party for the village, the first event of many to come for ‘Kingsford Manor Estate’. Now there are funds, I want to pay you for everything you do and give you a title. ‘Events manager’ suit you?”
