Chapter Two

When an unfortunate turn of events occur, Gwen is forced to make a decision.

The next morning, when Gwen arrived downstairs, she was surprised to find it completely silent: no bustling of the servants readying the dining table for breakfast, no rustles as her father opened the newspaper to read with coffee and toast, nor the drone of her brother’s voice explaining to her mother about the discovery of pasteurization as she listened intently, carefully buttering a muffin.

            “Mother? Father? John Michael?” she called out, each in turn. Gwen awaited their answers but the silence only grew louder, pressing at her ears. Gwen chewed on her lip as she walked from room to room, searching for her family. At last, she returned to the sitting room and plopped herself down in a Mr. Darling’s old leather reading chair in a most unladylike manner. At that moment, the front door swung open violently, hitting the wall before bouncing back to close. However, before the door could fully close, a hand clasped the edges of the door and opened it more slowly this time, John Michael appeared, his usually neat and motionless hair disheveled, sticking up as if he had not yet combed his hair. The butler, Rodolphe, trailed in after him. Gwen walked quickly toward him.

            “Thank the Heavens!” she cried. “Where is everyone this morning? Why, I am even glad to see your face, John Michael.” But John Michael did not reply nor even look in Gwen’s direction. Instead he handed his grey jacket and hat to Rodolphe and mutter quiet instructions Gwen could not quite hear. He walked directly to the dining room, Gwen trailing behind, pulling out a chair at the head of the table and taking a seat. Gwen pulled out the chair next to him and sat down as well. They sat in silence.

            “That is Father’s seat, you know,” she pointed out, breaking the quiet, after it was clear her brother was not going to do so. Instead of a snide lecture about the state of her dress as she expected, John Michael propped his elbows on the table and sunk his head into his hands. Gwen stared at him, and once against noticed his unusually out of place hair. Trepidation started to rise in her, initiating a faster tempo of her heart beat.

            “John Michael, what’s wrong? What is happening?”

John Michael raised his head and finally, for the first time, looked at her. His deep brown eyes that matched hers, were filled with emotion"sadness, sorrow, and grief. Gwen’s heart beat grew even fast and now she could feel a bead of sweat forming at the back of her  neck.

“The Jolly Roger was overtaken last night by rogue pirates,” John Michael said in what Gwen thought was an unnecessarily tight voice. She furrowed her brows, relief flooding though her. John Michael was inordinately upset about a boat, she thought. And weren’t all pirates rogue? She waited for him to continue, but his mouth was firmly closed, which was very unlike him.

“You are speaking of the ship, correct?” Gwen finally asked, eyeing John Michael warily.

“Yes, of course I’m speaking of the ship. Are you acquainted with anyone christened ‘Jolly Roger’?” John Michael yelled, standing up and slamming his palms on the table, chair screeching backward. Gwen jolted back, narrowly missing getting her eye poked out.

“Calm yourself,” she snapped. Then in a calmer tone: “I do not understand your undue distress for this particular ship. Was this perhaps the location where you were first successful in not putting to sleep your companions?"”

John Michael sat back into the chair, his expression incredulous.

“You ignorant ninny! Mother and Father were on the Jolly Roger last night!”

Gwen froze in her chair, the blood in her veins turning to ice. Did she hear that correctly? Her mother and father were"

“No, it can’t be true,” Gwen said, her voice sounding far away, “They were at the Harland’s dinner party last night.”

“Yes, it was on the Jolly Roger.”

“No, no, it can’t be true,” she repeated. “It’s not possible. Mother and Father cannot be"”

“Dead,” John Michael finished for her. Gwen’s heart stopped at that word. Gwen looked into John Michael’s eyes, searching desperately for another explanation"any other explanation: he was playing a cruel joke, he had misheard, this was a dream"no, nightmare, but alas, only her pain was reflected in his yes. She noticed her vision blurring, John Michael an indistinguishable blob, before tears dropped in a rainstorm. In an uncharacteristic gesture, John Michael shifted closer and wrapped an arm around her shoulders, hugging her tightly to him. In her grief, Gwen wept into her brother, only vaguely realizing that the wetness in her hair was form John Michael’s tears. And together the two siblings grieved.

* * *

The funeral took place the following Sunday, eight days after the Jolly Roger had been pirated. Gwen sat next to John Michael on the pew, dressed in swaths of black silk. Her dark hair was twisted tightly in a chignon, covered by a black hat, draping a veil over her face. It was a dreary affair to say the least; Gwen was grateful for the veil that shaded her puffy eyes and swollen face as well a the tears that continued to drop. The ceremony, while long, gave Gwen time to think. After the ceremony, friends of Mr. and Mrs. Darling marched up to the two siblings on after another, expressing their words of sympathy and grief. Gwen found herself wanting nothing more than to escape back home and lock herself in her room. However, she diligently nodded while John Michael conversed, and let the words of sympathy buzz in her ears.

“Oh, how terrible!” said one of their neighbors, Mrs. Collins, flapping a hand through the air. Her husband flinched, but stood silently. “Such good people they were… Certainly did not deserve to be killed in that manner"rogue pirates!” she exclaimed dramatically, patting Gwen’s cheek through her veil in what she clearly thought was a motherly gesture.

“We thank you for your condolences and kind words,” John Michael replied dutifully, while Gwen wrinkled her nose in disgust from behind her veil.

“Well, of course, my Darlings!” Mrs. Collis widened her eyes and clapped a pudgy gloved hand up to her hand. “Oho! Pun not intended my dears.” With that, Mrs. Collins waddled away, husband dragged along, chortling at her own joke. Gwen growled. To act in such a way at her parents’ funeral and right in front of her! Stupid, thoughtless woman, she thought savagely. She was still imagining murderous thoughts of Mrs. Collins while John Michael continued to receive more sympathies from guests, when she spotted a tall, thin figure with dull brown hair step in their direction. Immediately, Gwen tried to slip away into the sea of crowds around her, but John Michael, faster than she would have believed, snatched her elbow and pulled her back to his side.

“Where do you think you’re going?” he hissed in her ear. Gwen was still struggling desperately to get away. “Come on, just let me go. Bernard is com"”

“Hello, Mr. Clifton,” she said hastily as he arrived within earshot, wrenching her elbow out of John Michael’s grasp and placing it back at her side.

“Miss Darling,” said Bernard, bowing as he reached for her gloved hand. He placed a small kiss on the back of her hand and Gwen could have sworn her lace black gloves gleamed with spit where his mouth had been. Returning a tight smile, she gritted out, “Mr. Clifton, how nice to see you here,” as she curtsied.

“John Michael,” said Bernard extremely gravely as he straightened toward her brother. As soon as his attention was off her, Gwen discreetly wiped her hand on the back of John Michael’s coat. “I am terribly sorry for your loss. Do be assured I feel it as keenly as you must.” He shook his head slowly and mournfully. Although more than slightly annoyed, Gwen recalled something her mother had said the night of the eventful and disastrous dinner party.

“Mr. Clifton, were you not at the dinner party with our parents that horrible night?” she asked with real interest, ignoring the flurry of emotions in her stomach at the mention of her parents.

“Oh, yes, it was quite dreadful. The pirates jumped on board, appearing as if from nowhere. It was a massacre.” Bernard pursed his lips grimly, eyes slightly glazed as he envisioned the night in his mind’s eye. “They demanded that every piece of jewelry and every item of value be turned in. But they were an impatient lot and began slaughtering at an instant, they’re greedy hands pulling necklaces and rings from people before their bodies even hit the ground.” Bernard stopped there. His voice had dropped down into a whisper and Gwen found herself leaning closer to catch his words.

“Now, Gwen’s heart is quite delicate; we mustn’t fill her mind with these grotesque details"” said John Michael uncomfortably, but Gwen interrupted.

“How did you survive?”

“You must have heard! The people were saved by Miss Penelope Panberly and her companions.”

“Miss Penelope Panberly?” she said puzzled. Surely not a woman, thought Gwen. She turned her mind back to Bernard to hear his answer.

“Yes. While the pirates were gathering their goods, she was able to distract them long enough so that us survivors could sneak out to the lifeboats. Although, I musty say that it is most unladylike to behave in such a way, no matter the circumstance,” he added, sniffing disapprovingly.

“I fully agree with Bernard,” John Michael said.

“Astounding,” Gwen whispered softly to herself, almost reverently.

“Astounding, indeed! A woman using weapons? No doubt this Miss Panberly does not have a husband to control her outrageous fits,” said John Michael fervently, while Bernard nodded his affirmation vigorously. Gwen scowled at her older brother, but she wasn’t sure he could see it through her veil.

“Now listen here; this young woman was brave"certainly braver than you lot,” she pointed at Bernard, “who were happy to stand by while innocent people, including my mother and father were murdered by pirates. And now look at you. Who are you to judge a woman who saved your life!” Gwen was absolutely spitting with rage, face flushed a bright red and her breathing heavy. John Michael was not pleased with her outburst; his face grew red as well, as if he were being filled with a pot of boiling water.

“Forgive me, Bernard. You know, Gwen. The death of Mother and Father has been an extremely emotional time for her and I do hope you will not take her hysterics seriously.” With that, John Michael steered Gwen through a sea of black, occasionally tipping his hat to an acquaintance. He slammed through the doors, dragging Gwen out of the stuffy church. On the street was a line of carriages. John Michael gestured with a flick of his fingers at their driver and called out, “Please ready the carriage. My sister is not feeling well and would like to return home.” The driver nodded and set off to work.

“Stop grabbing me,” Gwen said angrily, once again ripping her arm from his hand. Ignoring his glare, Gwen pretended to swipe invisible dust particles off her dress. John Michael sighed with impatience.

“Return home and I shall be back shortly. I have some more matters of business I must attend to,” he said through a clenched jaw. Gwen half-considered defying his orders to spite him, but her desire to escape from the funeral proved to be too great. Tilting her chin up high, Gwen entered the carriage, refusing the assistance of her brother’s hand. She settled into the seat and through the window, she met John Michael’s gaze, who looked more tired and worn that she could remember. The carriage jerked her back into the seat as it set off, leaving her brother in a cloud of dust.

 

As soon as Gwen arrived home, she stalked up to her room and ripped off her hat and veil. Next, she peeled off her lacy gloves, which were covered in dust and sweat. Gwen plopped down in front of the vanity and lifted her gaze to the mirror. Her hair, which had been so neatly arranged, was now falling apart, loose strands plastered onto her forehead with sweat. There was a knock on the door and her maid, Nanette, shuffled in.

“Miss Darling, let me get you out of that dress.” Gwen smiled gratefully and stood up so that Nan could unfasten the multitude of tiny buttons down her back.

“Is Mr. Darling still at the funeral, miss?” Nan asked, catching Gwen’s gaze through the mirror. Gwen sighed, which was much easier now that her dress had been loosened.

“Yes, though he said he would be back shortly. Apparently, he has got important business to attend to.” Nan smiled kindly, bright blue eyes crinkling slightly. The black dress pooled at her feet in ripples of silk. Gwen stepped out of them, careful not to trip over the fabric. Nan opened the closet and chose a simple gown of light green, lace bordering the neckline and hems of her sleeves sweetly. When she was finished dressing, Gwen sat down at her desk.

“Thank you, Nan.” Nan curtsied and left the room. Gwen’s gaze became unfocused as she slid into her jumble of thoughts. Who was Penelope Panberly? she wondered. Gwen propped an elbow onto the desk and leaned her head into her hand. How brave she was; if only she had been quick enough to save her parents. Her jaw tightened. If only Gwen had gone with her parents that night. Would it have changed anything? Or would she have ended up slaughtered by pirates as well? Would there have been anyway she could have helped them? Either way, Gwen had not gotten to say goodbye. Gwen folded her arms on her desk and rested her head on the coolly, glossy surface. She closed her eyes and let the slow pulse of her heart beat pound on her ears.

 

A knock on the door awakened Gwen from her slumber and she jolted her head away from the desk. To her dismay, Gwen found a small pool of drool collected on her desk and swiped at it vigorously with her sleeve as Nan entered.

“Mr. Darling has returned, Miss Darling, and he has asked to see you,” recited Nan.

“Thank you, Nan. I shall be right down.”

Gwen wiped some excess droll form her face, finding that she was a bit groggy form her unintended nap. She slumbered downstairs and into the sitting room where John Michael was waiting, his hat and jacket resting beside him. He rubbed his eyes wearily. He spotted Gwen.

            “Good, you’re here. I have some news to share with you, Gwen.” Gwen took a seat on the silk sofa across from John Michael, who was sitting in Mr. Darling’s reading chair.

            “Not more bad news, I hope,” she mumbled.

            “No, it is actually quite fantastic news: Bernard has made an offer of marriage and I have accepted,” John Michael announced grandly. Gwen blinked rapidly multiple times, now completely awake.

            “Am I to understand a congratulations is in order? You and Bernard Clifton are to be wed? Gwen said, quirking an eyebrow, thought she prayed wildly that what she thought was happening was wrong. John Michael gave her a pointed look, leaning back into the chair.

            “No, you and Bernard are to be married.” Her worst thoughts had been confirmed. Gwen fisted her hands in the skirt of her dress.

            “That is very odd,” she said in a forced calm voice, “I do not recall Bernard asking for my hand, nor I accepting.”

            “Bernard, knowing that we are in a dire situation, asked for you hand after you left the funeral earlier this afternoon, and I accepted his proposal.” Gwen’s blood pumped faster, her cheeks glowing bright.

            “Brother dear, you seem to have forgotten that I have not accepted.” Gwen snarled.

            “With Mother and Father dead, I am your guardian and I will do what is best for you and this family.”

            “It is not your right! I am not a possession to be given away freely in order to fulfill your needs!”

            “How can you be so selfish, Gwen? I am doing what is best for you. Bernard is a good man and he will be able to take of you.”

            “I do not need to be take care of!” she shrieked, standing up from the sofa.

            “I am the master of this household and your guardian and you will do as I tell you!” John Michael roared, also standing. “And I am telling you that you will marry Bernard Clifton.” Rage and fury swirled inside Gwen, whipping chaotically against each other. She stepped toward her brother and unleashed her anger: Gwen shoved John Michael roughly in the chest and sent him sprawling back into the chair.

            “I will not marry Bernard and that is final,” Gwen growled into his face. Then she whipped around, stormed up stairs, and slammed the door. She leaned her back against the door, eyes closed. She noticed her breathing was still heavy and made a conscious effort to slow it down. Breath in breath out… How could John Michael do this to her? Yes, he had always been bossy and pompous, but this? Against her will, Gwen’s chest began to wrack with sobs. Tears poured down her face for what felt like the umpteenth time this past week. Gwen slid down the length of the door, dropping to the floor in a puddle of her dress. Her heart ached painfully"longing, frustration, anger, sadness pent up inside her. Gwen placed her head in her hands and let herself weep. After what seemed like an hour, Gwen gasped one last shuddering breath and raised her head, feeling calmer and much more in control. Gwen noticed her sleeves were wet with tears and there were deep wrinkles in her dress from where her fingernails had clawed at the skirt. Brushing stray hairs out of her face, she stood up. She knew what she had to do. If she didn’t want to marry Bernard, this was her only option. Gwen felt her strength and resolve grow stronger with each stride she took to her desk. She sat down and before she really knew what she was doing, she pulled out a sheet of paper, ink, and a quill. Gwen wrote with a cold and fierce determination. She would not marry Bernard and there was nothing John Michael could do about. She scribbled away furiously, ink splattering occasionally on to her hands and face, but she did not stop. She came to the last line of the letter and signed her name with a grand flourish. Gwen set down her quill then carefully picked up the letter and flapped it gently, drying the ink. Once she was assured it would not smudge, Gwen set it back down on the desk and read over what she had written.

            April 17, 1876

            To the Lost Young Women’s Society,

Hello, I recently saw your ad in the papers and was interested in your services, if they would be available. With my parents recently deceased, my brother has determined that the best course of action for me is marriage. Although I have no desire in marrying this particularly man my brother has set up for me (and I have told him my opinions very frankly), he has insisted upon my marriage. Therefore, I am requesting your help. I am afraid I have few options left and would gratefully accept any aid that can be give. I do hope to hear back soon. Thank you.

Sincerely,

Gwendolyn Darling

 

Satisfied with what she had written, Gwen quickly folded the letter and placed it in an envelope. Running to the closet, she grabbed her petticoat, hat, fresh white gloves, and a parasol. Holding her letter close, she carefully opened the door. Sneaking down quietly for fear John Michael would be there, Gwen made her way downstairs. Seeing John Michael nowhere in sight, she rushed toward the door before anyone could stop her. Gwen stepped out onto the streets and headed in the direction of the post office, using her parasol to shield her from the hot sun or to nudge the busy crowd away as needed. There was a jingle of bells as she entered the post office. Before she could second guess her actions, Gwen walked assertively to the counter where a squat, bald man stood. Head lifted confidently, back straightened to its’ fullest, Gwen said, “I’d like to mail a letter please.”