The Sound of Settling

I’d intended to change back into the clothes Nezeta had dressed me in upon my return home, but I hesitated at the gate when I caught sight of the young man from the road seated in the garden. My hat and shoes were placed beneath a tree only a few feet away from him, and I was sure I wouldn’t be able to change without drawing his attention.

I decided to head around the perimeter of the walled area and enter the house through the side door, but as I crossed the open area I couldn’t help but glance over at the man once again. He was lounging on a bench in the shade, and looked completely relaxed as he read from a small leather bound journal. I came to a halt the moment my eyes fell on the familiar book, and I felt rage bubble up in my stomach at his utter disregard for common courtesy.

“What on earth do you think you’re doing?” I cried furiously as I marched towards him. I came to a halt beside the bench, my hands set firmly on my hips in the stance Nezeta had often used when she’d admonished Alfonso during our youth. The man looked up at me in bewilderment, and I was pleased to see I’d startled him so much that he’d nearly fallen from the bench.

“I—I was told to sit here as I waited for an audience with the governor,” he said incredulously, and for the first time in my life I appreciated Nezeta’s insistence that I wear my petticoat over the thin chemise, as his gaze presumptuously flickered down to my rapidly rising and falling chest. He looked incredibly shocked to see me here in the governor’s garden, but I moved to snatch the book from his hand without even the faintest concern for his troubled nerves.

“Give that to me,” I demanded, and he frowned as he pulled the book out of my reach.

“I found it here on the bench,” he told me, his words innocent but his tone more than a little condescending; he acted as if the fact that he’d found the journal automatically entitled him to reading it, and I fought the urge to overturn the bench he lounged on.

“That doesn’t give you the right to invade the privacy of others,” I snapped, glaring fiercely at him when he stood and held the book close to his chest.

“It’s a rather good story and I’d very much appreciate it if you’d leave me to my reading,” he said, and I hesitated for a moment. He arched an eyebrow in response, and even had the gall to regard me with an amused smile.

“Would you like me to read it to you?” he asked in a sing-song voice, as if I was an illiterate child, and I very nearly slapped him across his clean shaven cheek.

“That wouldn’t do either of us very much good, seeing as I wrote it,” I told him matter-of-factly, smirking as his superior expression immediately disappeared. He gaped at me, his face twisting in confusion and his voice incredulous.

“You mean to say you wrote this?” he asked, waving the journal for emphasis as if he needed to ensure I understood exactly which book was in question.

“I do believe that’s what I’ve just told you,” I said, and his brow creased in a deep frown. He glanced down at the book and then up at me, then down at the book again.

“But you’re a woman,” he said finally, and I let out a laugh.

“You act as if it’s unheard of for women to write decent literature,” I cried, and his frown only deepened.

“Where I come from, it is rare for a woman born of high class to know how to write her own name,” he said, and all my mirth was immediately replaced with shock.

“Where on earth do you come from?” I asked incredulously, unable to wrap my mind around a culture where wealthy women were so uneducated; even the girls who lived in this village had a basic knowledge of scripture and could read and comprehend simple passages.

“Northern England,” he replied, and I nearly gasped aloud. The farthest from home I’d ever been was Florence, and that was only two day's ride away; I couldn’t imagine endeavoring on a voyage that required a journey across the sea as well as miles and miles of land. Plenty of men came to visit Papa from neighboring areas and kingdoms, but never before had a man from so far away set foot on our land.

“I have quite enjoyed reading your book so far, and with your permission I’d very much like to continue,” he said, jarring me from my thoughts. When I responded by folding my arms over my chest, he thumbed through the pages. “I’ve nearly finished it; I should only take a few more minutes,” he added, and I sighed.

“Very well, I suppose I’ll allow it,” I said, and watched as his lips quirked up in a small smile as if he wasn’t sure whether or not he was permitted to laugh. I sat down on the grass beside the bench, and he hesitated before returning to his seat. “I want to know what you think of the ending,” I offered in explanation, and my words seemed to set him at ease.

My words were, of course, entirely untrue. I’d already decided that his opinion of my writing meant nothing to me; after all, how knowledgeable could he possibly be if he came from a land of illiterate women? I was mainly interested in watching the man as he read, and needed an excuse to remain seated nearby him. I’d never really encountered any male near my own age other than Alfonso, and as he and I were forbidden to speak, I was sure I wouldn’t be given another chance to observe a young man at such close range for some time.

A few of the man’s light brown curls hung over his furrowed brow, and his face was the picture of concentration as he studied the handwritten book. I noticed that his lips, pink and full, moved slightly as he read, and one of his long fingers traced slowly along the page. It took him longer than it should have to read each paragraph, and I realized after a few minutes that as English was probably his first language, he might not even fully comprehend some of the more complex plot developments written in Italian.

I thought about offering to help him through it, but a moment later he let out a gasp as his eyes widened. Despite my claim of indifference as far as his opinion was concerned, I smiled at the thought of him being so shocked by the conclusion of my tale. His eyes quickly scanned the last few lines, and after he’d read the last sentence he sat motionless as he continued to stare at the page.

“Did you like the ending?” I asked with a smile, and he slowly looked over at me.

“That was…that was incredible,” he said, the breathlessness of his voice stirring up an unfamiliar fluttering feeling in my stomach. Rather than looking away quickly as he had before, the man’s eyes now studied my face as if truly seeing it for the first time.

“Where did you learn to write like this?” he asked, swinging his legs over the bench so that he faced me directly. He leaned his elbows on his knees, and I wished his searching gaze made me feel uncomfortable rather than exhilarated. However, my body didn’t seem to be in the mood for direction, and my heart began to beat a little faster.

“Well I learned the alphabet quite a while ago, so putting the letters together wasn’t all that difficult,” I told him, and he smiled without hesitation this time.

“I mean how did you come up with such an engaging story line?” he clarified, and I shrugged.

“It was quite rainy one day during winter and as I couldn’t go outside, I decided to try my hand at writing. I conjured up a character and created a conflict, and lo and behold, I’d given myself quite a wonderful platform for a novel. The story sort of took on a life of its own after that,” I told him, and he opened his mouth to respond only to be interrupted by a shout from across the garden.

“Philippa, your father says to bring his guest inside and then come and get ready for dinner,” I heard Nezeta call from my bedroom window, and I held back a frustrated sigh as I heard the book fall from the man’s hands. He looked terribly confused as I rose to my feet, and I offered him another smile.

“You…sorry, did she just say your father? As in the governor? You’re the governor’s daughter?” he asked, his voice rising in pitch as he spoke, and I tried to hold back a laugh at his rather comical reaction.

“I am,” I told him, and motioned for him to stand. He did so rather unsteadily, staring at me as if he could better understand exactly what was going on by further studying my face. I honestly didn’t understand why he was so upset; it wasn’t as if I was the queen of Sheba or even anyone of particular importance. Papa was in charge of keeping the peace in our town, nothing more; what did it matter if this man had unknowingly held a conversation with the daughter of a relatively non-influential man?

“Why didn’t you mention this fact earlier?” he asked as he followed me along the path towards the house’s main entrance, his voice still reflecting his disorientation but now containing a twinge of annoyance.

“I didn’t think it was particularly important,” I said with a shrug as we stepped through the large oak doors and into the courtyard. The tiles were cool beneath my feet as I led him around the stone fountain and up the staircase.

“Well I would consider it highly important,” he said, now undoubtedly vexed, and I turned to face him once we’d entered the second story hallway.

“What was I supposed to have done, observed your pathetic whimpering in the dust before commenting, ‘oh and by the way my father is the governor’?” I asked, now quite riled up myself. The man glared in response to my mocking tone.

“Perhaps you should consider dressing more like the daughter of a man of power rather than a common tramp; I’m sure then you’d be less likely to mislead visitors,” he sneered, and I forced myself to let out my rage in the form of a cry of indignation rather than punching him squarely in the jaw.

“How dare you,” I hissed, my voice taking on a tone far more venomous than any I’d ever used before as the man stepped closer to me.

“How do I dare, you ask, Miss Philippa?” he said, lowering his voice to a pitch that caused goose bumps to sprout up on my arms despite the warm weather. His face was incredibly close to mine, and I was sure I could feel the faint huff of his breath when he exhaled. I was so focused on watching his mouth, my eyes fixed on those lips that looked so soft and were just a few inches away, that I nearly missed his next words. “I’ll kindly inform you that I dare however I damn well please,” he spat, then quickly sidestepped me and stalked off down the hall.

I stood dumbfounded for a moment, then turned to see him knock on the partially open door to my father’s study.

“Enter,” I heard Papa’s voice call, and the man glanced in my direction for just a heartbeat before stepping over the threshold. I was sure my eyes deceived me as I caught sight of something in his gaze other than mere hateful rage—a flicker of an expression I couldn’t quite place but that sent my skin tingling all the same. The sound of the door closing behind him jarred me from my trance-like state, and I rapidly blinked away my confusion before angrily stomping off down the hall.