 | The young Miss Adeline Brighton was the perfect debutante. Young, polite and breathtakingly pretty, she was the apple of her wealthy father's eye and the unshakable best friend of Miss Elizabeth Phillips, her companion since childhood and a similar girl in similar - if mildly less affluent - circumstances. Of course, though young, she had the eye of many a young gentleman, several of whom went so far as to court her in hopes of the profitable marriage paired with so agreeable a girl. Needless to say, she had not settled on any one suitor, which sat well with her father, who hoped to enjoy her company for a short span of time yet. Her mother, sadly, was dead these many years, but Mr. Brighton found no small measure of joy in the blithe, girlish activities of his daughter and her friend.
Of course, he knew that she would soon leave the manor for that of some well-spoken young gentleman, and that many young girls might already be longing to do so by her age; and thus, knowing that a girl's favour is soon won and bitterly broken, he endeavoured to make available as many handsome and agreeable young options as he could in hopes that her eye be not caught by some swarthy gardener or the like. After all, while he loved his daughter dearly and would force no man upon her, Mr. Brighton was a traditional man who believed in a Proper Way to go about Things. Indeed, he shuddered to think of any improper things she might be going about!
With these thoughts in mind, Mr. Brighton regularly arranged for certain parties at the Brighton residence, in which the local families of repute might display their gentlemanly wares for his daughter's approval (as any gentleman invited to such a party had her father's approval already). These parties were well-liked by all the company, and the host spared no expense; indeed, he sometimes jested that he would spend twice her dowry merely in finding his daughter a mate! Nearly a fortnight before one of these engagements, Mr. Brighton received a letter from his dowager sister Margaret, a woman of some repute in London circles, relating that she had found simply the perfect suitor for young Adeline, a man whom they would simply adore, and might she send him with her blessing to the next of Richard's parties? -for Richard was Mr. Brighton's Christian name. The boy's name was Alexander Montclair, which made him at least worth a look by Mr. Brighton's standards, as the Montclairs were a good family, for all that they had some French blood in them. He thought that they had overcome this handicap rather admirably, mainly through interbreeding with good English stock and by clean living.
When Adeline made her entrance to this latest party, every eye turned to draw her image in. She was a vision; her creamy complexion and golden hair were the envy of every girl, as was her slim frame, admirably slight while pleasantly curvaceous in the proper areas. Her rose-pink gown alone might have cost as much as all the refreshments served that evening, with its flattering corset and blossom of petticoats. Adeline, however admired, returned only one gaze: that of the handsome young stranger who could only be Alexander Montclair. He was suitably tall, and though his clothes hung comfortably loose on his frame, he did not appear slight in the least, but instead lithely powerful. His trim hair matched his dark jacket, which set off his milky face. Unlike the mutton-chopped young men of flighty fashion, his smooth face would be deemed beautiful in any age. His skin was pale as the Moon, a thought encouraged by two eyes deep and dark as the ethereal Void itself; eyes that, even in a sombre face, seemed to be lit by dark laughter from a great depth.
"My," thought Adeline to herself, "Auntie was right."
One need not waste ink in saying that his speech and manner were similarly pleasing, if somewhat elevated, as if he thought himself more intelligent or cultured than those around him - which no doubt he was - or that young Adeline liked the boy so well that she was soon seeing him regularly. He would pick her up evenings in his magnificent carriage, drawn by two lovely black horses, which reminded Adeline delightfully of the improper Gothic romances so popular at the time. Alexander laughed at her fancy, but if their moonlit rides thus gained an added thrill, he did not complain.
The pair soon became the talk of their social circle; and when Mr. Brighton posted invitations to another party, it was generally assumed that a wedding announcement was to occur. This caused a bit more whispering than might usually be expected, and the cause was Mr. Montclair himself. Though agreed that the Montclairs were good folk, none could quite recall which branch of the family he represented. Any malicious speculations, however, were prevented when word spread that Miss Brighton had taken ill.
It seemed that the young lady had fallen ill some days after her nighttime rides began, perhaps suggesting a chill caught from the night breeze, and that her condition had thenceforth declined steadily. Her father begged her to consider the potential damage of her outings, but she refused to think them a detriment, declaring them the only thing keeping her in some wise healthy. She retired more and more to her chambers during the day, saving her strength for the evening - though at least once, Elizabeth had to aid her in walking for Adeline merely to reach the carriage. Seeing her friend thus afflicted so tore at Elizabeth's heart that she burst into tears as the couple sped away. She began pleading with Alexander, on those rare occasions that he spared a moment with the household, to abandon their nightly rides; but he apologized, saying that his dear Addy would never have it.
It was on one such occasion, after Alexander and Adeline were promised, that Mr. Brighton invited Alexander to Sunday service the next day. "After all," he said, "we so rarely see you, and it should be a fine way to begin bringing you into the family." Alexander thanked the man, but said that he could not; he was needed to help his ailing mother to chapel on Sunday mornings. Mr. Brighton agreed that of course we must care for our elders, but suggested that perhaps the Brightons could accompany the Montclairs to their chapel of choice. Alexander deferred politely, explaining that his church was too small and humble for such an audience, as his mother was somewhat infirm and required a smaller venue for her worship than the larger, draftier churches which might be worthy of their attendance. And with that, the subject was closed.
Similarly, Alexander was forced to decline most of the Brightons' invitations. It seemed that business and family absorbed most of the young man's time; and while Mr. Brighton admired industriousness, he worried for the attention his daughter might expect during their marriage. Alexander soothed his concern, however, explicating that he worked now harder than ever in order to ensure a life in which he need leave her side as little as possible. This seemed to satisfy Mr. Brighton, who left the conversation entirely satisfied and thenceforth accepted Alexander's humble and conscientious demeanour as genuine, though he later had difficulty recalling exactly where or into what field the young man directed his industriousness.
Adeline and Elizabeth spent most of their days together in Adeline's chambers, often discussing Alexander or the upcoming wedding. "I sometimes quite wish that my auntie had discovered him first," Elizabeth sometimes remarked, "though I suppose that with love, it doesn't matter whose aunt discovers whom, the two will meet nonetheless." Adeline said nothing, but smiled as she did at any mention of her fiancée, whom she seemed to love most genuinely. Though Elizabeth treasured their time together, she mourned daily as she saw her beloved companion waste away interminably, recovering slightly only to worsen once more. Elizabeth began silently to fear that her friend might continue unto death, but hoped fervently that marriage would put some flush back into her cheeks.
That listless cheek had at last regained a touch of blush by the evening of the wedding announcement, to which Elizabeth credited Alexander's absence over the past three nights. Adeline, though physically more fit than in several weeks, fretted most dreadfully over his absence, which reaction the household took as a sign of recovery in that she was able to muster a complaint at all.
The evening of the announcement arrived at long last, and the Brighton residence quickly filled with exited houseguests and disappointed suitors. Adeline, however, was nowhere to be seen, remaining in her room until Alexander's arrival. At last, the maidservant to whom she had administered the task declared that he had arrived. Filled with joy and a delightful enthusiasm after being denied her lover for three days, she set out to discover him. This proved to be something of a daunting task, however, as he was not among the guests; her father eventually revealed that Alexander had gone upstairs to seek her - accompanied, of course, by Elizabeth, in order to avoid any semblance of impropriety. Adeline thus made her way immediately upstairs, determined to locate the young gentleman and secure him in her presence for the remainder of the evening. Upon reaching her room, whither she expected them to have gone, she heard the voices of her two beloved friends within and burst open the doors in the greatest of good spirits.
As Adeline opened those doors and entered, her welcoming arms spread wide, she witnessed a single photographic instant which slew mercilessly her good humours. Though her friends immediately looked up with welcome, she saw in the moment previous a look pass between them such as never passed between mere friendly companions. She saw the lust in Alexander's eye before it turned to her; she saw her childhood companion turn bashfully to hide a button left undone. Though from that instant the two appeared as any friends might be, what Adeline saw in that one glimpse shattered the sweet, thin shell that guards young lovers' innocence from the casual cruelty of life.
Adeline bit back her tears, determined not to shed them before Elizabeth; but she coolly asked whether she might have a private word with Alexander in the library. Of course, they acquiesced, and Alexander followed her obediently from the room.
She began to weep even as he closed the library door. "How could you, Alexander," she cried, "how could you betray me thus, and with Elizabeth, my most trusted friend?"
He stepped towards her as if approaching a cornered animal, voice soothing and calmly submissive. "Betray you, my love? In what way can I have betrayed you, the girl for whom my every heart beat sounds? If my attentions to Elizabeth have seemed other than companionable, I must apologize; but is it so unseemly that those who love a person best should also desire some confidence in each other?"
Her tears came unhindered now by self-control as she cried out in maudlin fury, never a thought to who might overhear. "How can you speak such things?" she demanded. "Is your heart as cold as the pallid hand I have held, that you can lie to me when you know I have seen the truth? I saw the look that passed between you two! It is the way you look at me!"
"My love," he placated, "please believe that the only thing uniting me with Elizabeth is our common love for you!"
She shuddered and turned away from him, gazing back through her haloed hair with eyes veiled in anger. "You don't truly love either of us, do you?" she accused through her tears. "I was simply another girl for you, another means to slake your foul thirst."
Shaking his head softly, he met her lachrymose eyes. "Do you truly believe these awful words, my love? You are the only girl, my only love. Let me prove it to you."
"No," she moaned, still weeping despairingly even as he took her in his arms. "No, not this. Please, Alex, not again," she sobbed quietly as he softly began to kiss her neck.
Some short time after the guests had begun to whisper over the absence of the couple and their friend, Alexander and Elizabeth appeared on the main stairwell, sending a stir through the gathered crowd. Elizabeth sobbed wretchedly, her body wracked with cries as she clung to Alexander, who stood stoically as a pillar of stone. It was later spoken that he held his tears most admirably, though a melancholy deeper than any watery lamentation seemed to have infused his visage. All talk ceased at this sight, and the crowd parted as the pair approached Mr. Brighton. "My dear sir, and quite nearly my father," said Alexander in low and mournful tones that somehow carried above Elizabeth's sobbing to each corner of the room, "I grieve that I must bear such tidings, on this of all days, but there can be no wedding - for Adeline has succumbed at last to her long illness, and is no longer among the living."
Adeline's pale corpse was interred in the Brighton crypts soon after, and a respectable time after the funeral, word spread that the pair united in grief might eventually be united in marriage, a partnership that Mr. Brighton encouraged. Thus it was that Alexander began calling at Miss Elizabeth Phillips' residence, and began taking her on evening excursions in his magnificent Gothic carriage.
A few days after these rides began, Miss Elizabeth's colour became notably wan, and it was said that her health had begun to decline.
| |
