Winter Winds
Two
“Ms. Whitaker, are you alright?”
Jacques’ thick brown eyebrows were furrowed with concern as he helped her into the carriage.
“I’m fine,” she mumbled, hiding her tear-stained face from him with a gloved hand.
“Are you sure?” he asked, lifting the brim of his hat to gaze up at her with kind brown eyes.
“Thank you, Jacques,” she said, deflecting the question in the hopes of drawing attention away from her slightly disheveled state. “For everything,” she added meaningfully, and he smiled. He gave a low bow before he closed the door and lumbered back to his seat in the front of the carriage.
Jacques had been her family’s coachman for six years now, and although he could easily lose his job for going against Mrs. Whitaker’s strict instructions to keep Jessamine away from Thomas Morrison, Jacques had never once refused her passage to the Morrison’s bookshop.
The horses jerked to life and Jessamine instinctively scooted across the velvet seat, pulling back the purple curtain to peek out of the small window. She watched the light of a lantern behind one of the shop’s front windows as it approached then paused. Her lips curved upwards into a smile as she watched Thomas’s slender silhouette as he went through his nightly routine of locking up. The light then faded, and she imagined the tall boy slipping behind a concealed door and jogging up a narrow flight of stairs to the homely apartment he and his uncle shared.
Jessamine let the plum colored curtain fall closed, and she away from the window to lean her head back against the velvet cushions. She closed her eyes and tried her best to push away one of the numerous plans for her and Thomas’ escape that always seemed to lurk in the background of her mind. This particular plan involved hijacking a ferry and traveling across the Atlantic to America; Jessamine was forced to admit that this was not one of her best plots.
The light that faded in from behind the curtains began to dim as Jacques steered the carriage farther away from the inner city, and the gas lamps that lined the streets became fewer and farther in between. Jessamine jerked upright in her seat, cursing under her breath as she suddenly remembered the last letter she’d received from Mary before her departure from St. Ursula’s. She scrambled over to the window and groaned as her fears were confirmed.
Mary had hinted that her mother might host a party in honor of her return home, and the abundance of horses, carriages, and coachmen milling about the stables made Jessamine’s stomach twist with dread. She did her best to adjust her skirts, smoothing out the wrinkles with slightly shaking hands, and hoped the puffy redness had faded from her eyes during the half-hour long journey. She cursed her mother once more under her breath as Jacques pulled the carriage to a stop at the front of the house and Jane came rushing forward.
“Mrs. Whitaker has been expecting you, Miss,” the handmade said in a flustered tone as she shuffled nervously from one foot to the other. Jessamine could only scowl when she noticed the way Jane blushed and looked away shyly when Jacques smiled in her direction after helping Jessamine down from the carriage.
“I suppose this was all her doing?” Jessamine asked after taking a few moments to push down an envy so strong it bordered on hatred. She gestured towards the silhouettes of numerous guests who milled about behind the front window, their forms illuminated from behind by light from the numerous chandlers in the dining hall.
“Yes, Miss Whitaker. She thought your return was cause for celebration, and hoped you would enjoy the festivities she planned in your honor.” Jessamine snorted quietly, and it was clear from Jane’s tone that even the handmade didn’t believe a word of her clearly rehearsed response.
“I’m sure this has nothing to do with her desperate need to be noticed by London’s ‘best and brightest’,” Jessamine agreed sarcastically, raising the pitch of her voice by an octave to imitate the way her mother’s voice turned shrill whenever she lectured Jessamine on the ‘importance of keeping up good appearances.’ Jane chose not to reply, and instead led Jessamine through a side door and up a flight of stairs to her room.
Jessamine groaned loudly when she entered her chambers and caught sight of the dress spread out on the silk sheets of her four-poster bed.
“Mrs. Whitaker specifically asked that you wear this dress,” Jane said, and Jessamine nodded, reading the meaning behind the girl’s words. No matter how much she disliked dressing up and acting polite in front of the people her mother was so determined to impress, Jessamine was willing to play princess in order to keep any of the family’s employees away from her mother’s wrath.
“Alright,” she sighed, beckoning Jane closer but not tearing her disapproving gaze away from the gown. “Just don’t lace it up too tight—you know how much I hate those bloody ridiculous corsets.”
Jane nodded and stepped forward, helping Jessamine out of her frock with practiced and confident hands. Jessamine winced and twisted her face into a varied array of unpleasant expressions as the corset was tightly laced around her torso, but she managed not to make too much of a fuss in comparison to her past experiences with formal dresses.
“I honestly don’t see why you detest these gatherings, Jessie,” Jane huffed as she tugged at the strings, tightening the bindings that confined Jessamine in the tight space between layers of fabric and wire. “Well to start, they’re bloody uncomfortable,” Jessamine growled, and she heard Jane let out a huff of laughter.
“You’ve said that about every article of clothing I’ve dressed you in for the past seven years,” Jane told her, and Jessamine let out a winded sigh when the ladies-made finally stepped away from her.
“Exactly! That statement perfectly answers your question, Janet.” When the girl didn’t reply, Jessamine turned to see her staring lovingly at the forest green gown, cradling it gently in her arms like an infant. Jane had often expressed her longing to be in Jessamine’s place, to live the life of the daughter of two high-society figures. Watching the adoration that shone in Jane’s eyes, Jessamine wished now more than ever that their roles could somehow be reversed—she was sure no one would mind if a maid fell in love with a bookkeeper’s nephew. Jane blushed when she noticed Jessamine’s stare, and she hurried to lift the dress over Jessamine’s head.
“I’m sorry,” Jessamine told her as the shiny silk slid over her arms and the maid adjusted the sleeves so that Jessamine’s shoulders were exposed.
“Don’t be,” Jane replied, smoothing down Jessamine’s skirts. “None of us chooses our class.”
“But we can change it,” Jessamine said softly to herself, not even realizing that she’d spoken aloud until Jane was suddenly standing directly in front of her.
“Jessie, there’s something you need to understand,” she said, face stern and voice harsh. “You cannot let your feelings for that boy dictate your decisions, or even affect them at all.” Jessamine opened her mouth to respond but Jane held up a hand for silence.
“Your actions and words, Jessie, are constantly under scrutiny; you are always being judged, analyzed, critiqued. They,” she gestured towards the closed door of the bedroom, “would never forgive you if they knew, if they even suspected, that you ever entertained the idea that a shopkeeper’s nephew was more important than all of this. This secret could ruin you, Jessamine; choices made with him in mind, decisions made when blinded by first love, could be your demise. Don’t let your infatuation with a boy destroy your family name and ultimately destroy you as well.”
Jessamine stared at her for a full minute, staying her speech for fear of screaming insults so foul even Mary would feel violated. Seized by the sudden desire to be as far away from the handmaid as possible, Jessamine stalked over to her vanity and sat down, staring straight ahead at her reflection in the mirror.
“You may begin arranging my hair now,” Jessamine said, doing her best to drain all emotion from her voice and face.
“Yes, Miss,” Jane said quietly after a pause, loosening Jessamine’s yellow curls and picking up the ivory brush without further comment. Jessamine flinched at the dull politeness of Jane’s tone, hating the knowledge that an irrevocable and terrible event had just occurred between she and Jane. A rift had been created between them, and an uncomfortable tension that hadn’t existed since Jane’s arrival at the Whitaker property now clouded the air. While she was sure that her feelings for Thomas would never fade, Jessamine couldn’t help but wonder how much she was willing to sacrifice in the name of the freedom of love.
Jacques’ thick brown eyebrows were furrowed with concern as he helped her into the carriage.
“I’m fine,” she mumbled, hiding her tear-stained face from him with a gloved hand.
“Are you sure?” he asked, lifting the brim of his hat to gaze up at her with kind brown eyes.
“Thank you, Jacques,” she said, deflecting the question in the hopes of drawing attention away from her slightly disheveled state. “For everything,” she added meaningfully, and he smiled. He gave a low bow before he closed the door and lumbered back to his seat in the front of the carriage.
Jacques had been her family’s coachman for six years now, and although he could easily lose his job for going against Mrs. Whitaker’s strict instructions to keep Jessamine away from Thomas Morrison, Jacques had never once refused her passage to the Morrison’s bookshop.
The horses jerked to life and Jessamine instinctively scooted across the velvet seat, pulling back the purple curtain to peek out of the small window. She watched the light of a lantern behind one of the shop’s front windows as it approached then paused. Her lips curved upwards into a smile as she watched Thomas’s slender silhouette as he went through his nightly routine of locking up. The light then faded, and she imagined the tall boy slipping behind a concealed door and jogging up a narrow flight of stairs to the homely apartment he and his uncle shared.
Jessamine let the plum colored curtain fall closed, and she away from the window to lean her head back against the velvet cushions. She closed her eyes and tried her best to push away one of the numerous plans for her and Thomas’ escape that always seemed to lurk in the background of her mind. This particular plan involved hijacking a ferry and traveling across the Atlantic to America; Jessamine was forced to admit that this was not one of her best plots.
The light that faded in from behind the curtains began to dim as Jacques steered the carriage farther away from the inner city, and the gas lamps that lined the streets became fewer and farther in between. Jessamine jerked upright in her seat, cursing under her breath as she suddenly remembered the last letter she’d received from Mary before her departure from St. Ursula’s. She scrambled over to the window and groaned as her fears were confirmed.
Mary had hinted that her mother might host a party in honor of her return home, and the abundance of horses, carriages, and coachmen milling about the stables made Jessamine’s stomach twist with dread. She did her best to adjust her skirts, smoothing out the wrinkles with slightly shaking hands, and hoped the puffy redness had faded from her eyes during the half-hour long journey. She cursed her mother once more under her breath as Jacques pulled the carriage to a stop at the front of the house and Jane came rushing forward.
“Mrs. Whitaker has been expecting you, Miss,” the handmade said in a flustered tone as she shuffled nervously from one foot to the other. Jessamine could only scowl when she noticed the way Jane blushed and looked away shyly when Jacques smiled in her direction after helping Jessamine down from the carriage.
“I suppose this was all her doing?” Jessamine asked after taking a few moments to push down an envy so strong it bordered on hatred. She gestured towards the silhouettes of numerous guests who milled about behind the front window, their forms illuminated from behind by light from the numerous chandlers in the dining hall.
“Yes, Miss Whitaker. She thought your return was cause for celebration, and hoped you would enjoy the festivities she planned in your honor.” Jessamine snorted quietly, and it was clear from Jane’s tone that even the handmade didn’t believe a word of her clearly rehearsed response.
“I’m sure this has nothing to do with her desperate need to be noticed by London’s ‘best and brightest’,” Jessamine agreed sarcastically, raising the pitch of her voice by an octave to imitate the way her mother’s voice turned shrill whenever she lectured Jessamine on the ‘importance of keeping up good appearances.’ Jane chose not to reply, and instead led Jessamine through a side door and up a flight of stairs to her room.
Jessamine groaned loudly when she entered her chambers and caught sight of the dress spread out on the silk sheets of her four-poster bed.
“Mrs. Whitaker specifically asked that you wear this dress,” Jane said, and Jessamine nodded, reading the meaning behind the girl’s words. No matter how much she disliked dressing up and acting polite in front of the people her mother was so determined to impress, Jessamine was willing to play princess in order to keep any of the family’s employees away from her mother’s wrath.
“Alright,” she sighed, beckoning Jane closer but not tearing her disapproving gaze away from the gown. “Just don’t lace it up too tight—you know how much I hate those bloody ridiculous corsets.”
Jane nodded and stepped forward, helping Jessamine out of her frock with practiced and confident hands. Jessamine winced and twisted her face into a varied array of unpleasant expressions as the corset was tightly laced around her torso, but she managed not to make too much of a fuss in comparison to her past experiences with formal dresses.
“I honestly don’t see why you detest these gatherings, Jessie,” Jane huffed as she tugged at the strings, tightening the bindings that confined Jessamine in the tight space between layers of fabric and wire. “Well to start, they’re bloody uncomfortable,” Jessamine growled, and she heard Jane let out a huff of laughter.
“You’ve said that about every article of clothing I’ve dressed you in for the past seven years,” Jane told her, and Jessamine let out a winded sigh when the ladies-made finally stepped away from her.
“Exactly! That statement perfectly answers your question, Janet.” When the girl didn’t reply, Jessamine turned to see her staring lovingly at the forest green gown, cradling it gently in her arms like an infant. Jane had often expressed her longing to be in Jessamine’s place, to live the life of the daughter of two high-society figures. Watching the adoration that shone in Jane’s eyes, Jessamine wished now more than ever that their roles could somehow be reversed—she was sure no one would mind if a maid fell in love with a bookkeeper’s nephew. Jane blushed when she noticed Jessamine’s stare, and she hurried to lift the dress over Jessamine’s head.
“I’m sorry,” Jessamine told her as the shiny silk slid over her arms and the maid adjusted the sleeves so that Jessamine’s shoulders were exposed.
“Don’t be,” Jane replied, smoothing down Jessamine’s skirts. “None of us chooses our class.”
“But we can change it,” Jessamine said softly to herself, not even realizing that she’d spoken aloud until Jane was suddenly standing directly in front of her.
“Jessie, there’s something you need to understand,” she said, face stern and voice harsh. “You cannot let your feelings for that boy dictate your decisions, or even affect them at all.” Jessamine opened her mouth to respond but Jane held up a hand for silence.
“Your actions and words, Jessie, are constantly under scrutiny; you are always being judged, analyzed, critiqued. They,” she gestured towards the closed door of the bedroom, “would never forgive you if they knew, if they even suspected, that you ever entertained the idea that a shopkeeper’s nephew was more important than all of this. This secret could ruin you, Jessamine; choices made with him in mind, decisions made when blinded by first love, could be your demise. Don’t let your infatuation with a boy destroy your family name and ultimately destroy you as well.”
Jessamine stared at her for a full minute, staying her speech for fear of screaming insults so foul even Mary would feel violated. Seized by the sudden desire to be as far away from the handmaid as possible, Jessamine stalked over to her vanity and sat down, staring straight ahead at her reflection in the mirror.
“You may begin arranging my hair now,” Jessamine said, doing her best to drain all emotion from her voice and face.
“Yes, Miss,” Jane said quietly after a pause, loosening Jessamine’s yellow curls and picking up the ivory brush without further comment. Jessamine flinched at the dull politeness of Jane’s tone, hating the knowledge that an irrevocable and terrible event had just occurred between she and Jane. A rift had been created between them, and an uncomfortable tension that hadn’t existed since Jane’s arrival at the Whitaker property now clouded the air. While she was sure that her feelings for Thomas would never fade, Jessamine couldn’t help but wonder how much she was willing to sacrifice in the name of the freedom of love.