The People of Dewbrook

Chapter Nine

The following day, Caroline remained unaffected by what was happening in her life, as it was all quite normal to her. She casually sat on the armchair beside Rosemary the moment she entered the drawing room, surprised to see that there was a smile on her face. Her heart warmed with pride at how controlled the young lady's emotions seemed to be, and, not wanting to startle her, she studied her uncut nails until the other woman noticed her at last, turning to face her with eyes that gleamed with joy. Clasping her hands, Rosemary initiated the conversation without hesitation.

"Hello, Madam Proust," she chirped. "I am immensely glad to see that you are as full of mirth as I am. Tell me, what is there in the world that excites you so?"

"Many things, my dear, quite many things," Caroline muttered, hoping that Rosemary would not read too deep into that.

Rosemary stroked her chin. "Madame, I am very well aware that there are many things in the world that excite you. After all, you are a hedonist, which I think is rather beautiful. But what is there that excites you so much on this particular day above any other? I have not seen you be this excited in months."

Is my enjoyment of the memories of the previous night truly that visible? It must speak to the great passion of my love, which could lead to the discovery of my latest misdeeds. Thus, I must act natural, act natural the same way I have for decades every time I needed to cover something up. I suppose it really is that simple.

"Is that a crime?" she wept all of a sudden so as to not seem like she had wandered off to some remote lane of thought. "For months, I have tried my best not to get too excited about anything in my aim to respect the memory of my dead husband, and now that I am trying to crawl out of my miserable, profound pit of grief, you judge me for doing so? I merely think that today is a lovely day in a world full of opportunities because even though Alistair is not coming back, he would never want me to remain in a state of wretchedness for eternity. Will you stop judging me now?!"

For a while, Rosemary could not bring herself to speak out of utter shame. Caroline's imitation of despair was pretty convincing, what with all its wailing and choking on tears that she could conjure up on command. Even Caroline herself was impressed with the sheer believability of her acting for a moment.

Instead of looking at her, which made her heart burn with blame at the mere thought of it, Rosemary stared at the distance for a minute. The two cups of chamomile tea that were there still had steam emanating from them, and holding her own scorched her hand thanks to her skin being sensitive, which she always thought a rather peculiar coincidence. They were tiny and white, their surfaces full of pink flower patterns, fitting perfectly with the rest of the drawing room.

The burgundy walls had beautiful paintings all over them, paintings of landscapes that Rosemary could only dream of being a part of - enchanting purple sunsets, shining cerulean seas, lovely green hills, majestic mountains laced with snow. It was not as though there was anything significant lacking in her life, simply that fiction was always more romantic, and there was nothing that she admired more than all things romantic. There were also pretty golden candelabrums hanging everywhere above her, a white ceramic vase with white roses on the table, and a large bronze rug engulfing the entirety of the floor. Such great decorations were part of the reason why she had loved the room since she was a child.

It had never changed, as opposed to many other things in her life. Life itself had become oddly complicated, filled with obstacles that she never could have imagined years ago. It seemed that she was learning something new every day, something that she should have known a while ago but for some reason never did. According to the things she had learned, she tried to adjust her behaviour, but nothing ever seemed quite right.