Lady in Rags

Chapter Twenty-Six: The Unforgiving Weight of the Ocean

After she heard Neil leave the room, Verity turned on her back and stared at the ceiling. She was not sleeping. She could not sleep.

And she did not, until dawn began to seep greyishly through the sky, and birds began to sing. Some few hours later, she was woken by a knock at her door. Neil.

"Verity," he said softly. "I'm leaving in an hour. Are you awake?"

For a moment, she froze, horror stricken in bed. She could not forget the sight she had seen last night.

"Don't come in," she said haltingly. "Don't."

And before he could, she fumbled her way out of bed and twisted the key in the lock.

"Verity? What's wrong? Let me in – please."

"No!"

"Verity? What on earth is wrong – please, I must speak with you. I cannot leave before I speak to you."

"I'm tired," she snapped. "I don't want to talk." And she was tired. The betrayal she had witnessed and the sleepless night that had come of it seemed to have leached the energy from her bones. She sagged against the door, and slid down it until she was sitting on the floor in her nightdress, her hands still clinging to the doorknob. After a moment, they too dropped lifelessly to her knees.

"My carriage leaves in an hour! Verity, please, tell me what is wrong."

And then, because she thought he might never be quiet if she didn't, she said bitterly, "I saw you kiss Jane last night."

From outside the door there was silence for a moment.

"It was a goodbye kiss," he said flatly. "I don't believe I will ever see her again. I'm sorry. I should never have done so."

"It's just," Verity said bitterly, "That I never expected you to fall in love with me. You are no longer capable of love, aren't you? That is what you once told me. I think you believed it. But I wonder now if you are capable of it – but not with me. And if you are... I must be in your way. And I should apologise. But I cannot."

"Verity – no. That's not true. It's my fault. I'm sorry. I'm so sorry. Please, let me in so I can apologize properly."

"I'm tired," she repeated. "I want to go to bed."

She knew, at that moment, that she could not bear to see his face. Outside the door, he swore softly.

"Verity – Verity, come with me to France. I can't leave you like this."

"We are not married, Sir," Verity said archly. "It would be improper."

"Damn impropriety! Verity – I must talk to you. For god's sake, open the door. It was just a kiss – a foul kiss – and I will regret it every moment of my life. Let me see you, please."

"No."

He went away then. But he came back, an hour later, when she had managed to crawl back into bed.

"Verity, please, please let me see you before I go. Please. We can't say goodbye like this."

Verity, lying flat on her bed, staring at the ceiling, saw the plaster fresco blur with tears.

"I'm tired, Neil. Let me sleep."

"For god's sake – open the door. There's something I must tell you before I go – many things. But I can't do this through a wooden door. I can't."

"It cannot be urgent," Verity said dully. "You can write me a letter from France. I feel tired. And ill. I do not wish to converse with you."

She heard a thump. She rather thought it was forehead, and not his fist, against the door.