Short Story: Not At All.

Short Story: Not At All.

Jessie Butler sits down in the armchair situated just inside her bedroom. She allows her nerves to calm. Her hands fiddle with the pink geraniums her daughter Margaret had given her earlier. She holds them against her breast as if they were her children in need of protection. Looking at the flowers, she thinks back to a few hours earlier when Margaret had given them to her as she sat with Mr Singer talking about art and music in the garden on that very warm summer afternoon.

"You would indeed make an excellent portrait," Mr Singer had said.

"But my husband would not think so, Mr Singer," Jessie had replied.

"Does he not like art?" Mr Singer had asked. Jessie had no idea if her husband liked art or not: they did not speak about such things. It did not appear on the horizon of their conversations. She now wonders if her husband, William, has no sense of what art or music is about. He never talks about such things, at least not to her.

Jessie lifts the geraniums to her long straight nose and sniffs. I have forgotten how lovely they smell, she muses, closing her eyes for a few moments, allowing herself to drift away to where her memory takes her. She recalls her mother taking her for walks across fields blanketed in flowers, the scent engulfing them as they past by. The warm sun, the white clouds, her innocent self brushing her small fingers against the flowers as they moved through them.

Jessie opens her eyes with a start. Was that Dobson on the stairs? William will wonder where she has got to and will have sent Dobson, the butler, to seek her out. She listens carefully. Her ears scan for every sound outside her room. Her eyes watch the doorknob. Nothing.

Mr Duncan and Mr Percy had come to dinner and had brought their wives, and Mr Wilton had arrived alone, his wife being, he said, unwell. How I loathe these dinners, Jessie muses sitting back in the armchair, letting the geraniums sit in her lap. Mrs Duncan and Mrs Percy were only permitted to accompany their husbands to these dinners because they were harmless souls whose intellect was not of sufficient ability to cause any harm or disquiet. Jessie found them both tedious and dreary. If only Mrs Wilton had come I could cope, because Mrs Wilton has at least some ability to converse with me over matters, which the other two ladies lack.

"I see the gardens are being well attended to," Mr Percy had said when they all sat down for dinner.

"The roses especially are cared for."

Mr Duncan nodded agreement.

And the next half hour was taken up with matters of the gardens and the gardeners employed and what was in season and what was not. Only Mr Wilton, it seemed, paid Jessie any attention. His eyes moved over her across the dining table and she was certain she detected a smile and a glimmer in his large brown eyes. His wife, Maud, a sickly woman, was one of the few, whom Jessie could, without much effort, like and enjoy being with for long periods.

Jessie rises from the armchair. She will have to return to the dinner party or William will send Dobson on his mission. She doesn't trust Dobson. He has that darkness of features, she thinks, that makes him appear in league with all that was of this world and all its evil and darkness. What did I see in William all those years ago to want to marry him? she asks herself going to the bedroom door. Now I am his and have given birth to four of his children as he terms them. Only Margaret seems to be mine in closeness. The others, cold and distant.

Jessie walks slowly along the passage, her white dress with its black and white bodice, disturbs the silence with its rustle as she moves. It is against her will to return to the dreary dinner party, but she has little nerve to face a row with William for disappearing.

"Are you all right?" William enquires as she sits down again at the table. His eyes scan her and she is aware of his stare.

"Yes," she replies, but looks away from William and lets her eyes move to those of Mr Wilton. He is smiling and his eyes are bright as if a light burns beyond them. William returns to his conversation with Mr Percy and Mr Duncan and his eyes move away from Jessie.

"You have returned to save me from boredom," Mr Wilton whispers to her, leaning towards her as he does so. Jessie studies him for a few moments. She doesn't know what to make of him. She smiles, but is not sure quite what to say in reply. "If Maud were here I would be in no need of such salvation," he added in another whisper.

"You think I am good enough to save you?"

"An angel concealed in human form," Mr Wilton replies softly.

"You flatter me, Mr Wilton; I am unable to save anyone."

"You underestimate yourself, Mrs Butler."

"Do I? Perhaps you do not know me well enough, Mr Wilton," Jessie says, her voice low, but warm.

"Maybe I know you better than you think," Mr Wilton utters gently as if he were conveying a secret. Jessie looks down at the table. She senses herself blush and a warm glow flows through her body.

"You were not the perfect hostess this evening," William states as he and Jessie undress for bed. "In fact you were quite rude. Mrs Duncan and Mrs Percy were very put out by your silence." Jessie is only half-listening, her mind is elsewhere, as she gazes at her reflection in the dressing-table mirror. "And thatWiltonfellow seemed to have gained what little attention there was to be had from you." Jessie wonders why it is she has not felt this way for so long. She feels like a young girl again, walking across vast fields of flowers with her mother. "I think it a bad reflection on me, when you are so utterly ill-mannered," William moans on catching his wife's reflection in the mirror, and her eyes staring at him strangely in a manner he has not noticed before.

"He was concerned for me. I felt unwell. And he was talking about his wife, Maud, who is herself unwell," Jessie says seeing her husband's eyes studying her in the mirror. He looks away and turns his back. She turns also and studies his naked form.

"That does not excuse your rudeness to my other guests," William says, not turning round, but speaking as if to the space before him.

"I was not rude."

"You were very rude. In fact, I was ashamed to have you at the table." William begins to put on his nightgown and only turns as he pulls back the bed covers ."Even the children find you an embarrassment to have as a mother," he adds coldly.

"That's not true," Jessie says angrily, staring at her husband.

"What do you know of truth, Jessie? You seem only concerned with yourself," William says staring at Jessie in her nakedness.

"I love my children, and they love me."

"Do they? Are you sure? And besides, they are our children, not yours," William says firmly. He stands by the bed looking Jessie up and down as if she some new maid entering his service.

"You are trying to poison my children's minds against me. You are pushing them away from me," Jessie murmurs.

"You are pushing them away. You rarely see them. Even Miss Phipps says you are rarely there in the nursery." William climbs into bed and pulls the covers up to his chin.

"It's all lies. I see them as often as I can." Jessie stands naked by the dressing table. She glares at her husband, feeling exposed, sensing his eyes upon her. She puts on her nightgown to cover herself. Yet, even now, standing there struggling into the gown, she feels so exposed. "Miss Phipps finds excuses for me not to see them. She is always saying they are doing this or are doing that and that you informed her that I am not to disturb them unnecessarily."

"Jessie, your imagination is getting the better of you. I have left no such instructions. It is you yourself who finds excuses not to see them." William gazes at his wife coolly. He studies her dark hair and those large dark eyes, tearful and set on him. Now she stands by the bed in her white nightgown. Her hands against her breast as if they were praying. She shakes her head, but no words come. Her eyes move over him, they are large and dark like a cow's. They scan him deeply. She says nothing, the words not coming. Only her eyes speak in their silent way. Darkly and coldly they move over him like black shadows.

"You think your husband and this Miss Phipps are up to something?" Mr Wilton asks while he and Jessie Butler are walking in the gardens.

"Yes. They are trying to be rid of me."

"Why?" Mr. Wilton asks, his head low staring at the path.

"He wants me committed," Jessie says anxiously.

"Committed to what?" Mr. Wilton enquires sensing her anxiety.

"To an asylum. A mental asylum," Jessie states bluntly.

"Surely not. Why?" Mr. Wilton says. He stops and turns towards her.

"He wants my children. My money. And maybe one day, her," Jessie utters grabbing hold of Mr. Wilton's hand.

"What? Miss Phipps? "Mr. Wilton shakes his head. "No, no, dear, Mrs Butler, you must be mistaken."

"It is true," she pauses. Her eyes search those of the man before her. "Don't you belief me, John?" John Wilton studies Jessie's eyes and her pale features.

"Jessie, my dear, I have no reason not to believe you. But it all seems so unlike William. He adores you I'm sure."

"He hates me. He wants rid of me," Jessie says tearfully, clutching at John's hands. "He thinks you are..." she pauses.

"He thinks I am what?" John asks slowly.

"He thinks there is something going on between us?"

"Then the man's a fool," John states. "Why does he think that?"

"He wants to have reasons against me."

"You've told him there is nothing going on between us?" John asks anxiously, moving his hands from Jessie's.

"Yes, of course. He thinks I'm lying. He thinks me mad," Jessie says. John Wilton gazes at Jessie, at her large dark eyes, at her dark hair and watches as her lips move, pink and soft.

"You're not mad, Jessie," John says suddenly, "in fact you're more sane than most people I know." He turns and looks across the gardens. "Maud thinks you are, too." He pauses. "She's dying you know," he says suddenly, not turning around, but searching the far end of the gardens as if for an answer.

"Dying?" Jessie says.

John nods and relates to Jessie all about his wife's illness and her near death. She senses a hollow from within herself, which seems to grow larger and larger. He feels as if something was falling from him. Her hands touch his arm drawing him closer. His hand covers hers as if to be saved. They close their eyes and he senses all things falling from him and she that the hollow will swallow her up and she disappear into some vast emptiness within herself and neither of them be saved.

Mrs Wilton had died. Jessie and her daughter, Margaret, were at the funeral. John Wilton now some months after his wife's death is talking to Jessie in the library in his own house.

"You are quite free to come here and choose whatever books you wish, Jessie. I would welcome it."

"So many books. If I lived to be ninety I'd not have time to read them all."

"Then read what you can," John says smiling. "And maybe, later, when you are free, you can..." He pauses.

"My husband is divorcing me quite soon. He can't wait to have that Miss Phipps as his second Mrs Butler," Jessie says touching a book cover with her slim fingers. "His money can buy him most things, even a divorce."

"And your children?" John asks gently.

"Margaret wants to be with me. The others he has poisoned against me and the lawyer you provided has enabled me to have Margaret with me." Jessie turns and looks into John's eyes. "William will never forgive you for standing by me. He thought he could have me committed, but he knew you would never permit such a thing, you being what you are."

"Forget William. It is your future and that of Margaret’s that is of importance now, "John says. He reaches for a book and takes it down. "Shelley. Do you like Shelley?

"Yes, read me something, John."

John Wilton opens the book and scans along the pages. Then he stops.

"Innocent is the heart's devotion with which I worship thine." He looks up from the book and stares at Jessie. Closing the book gently he leans forward and kisses her. He has not kissed her before. He has not kissed anyone since Maud died. He senses her soft lips on his. He feels the warmth again he thought he'd never feel.

"You have saved me from madness," Jessie whispers.

"You have saved me from despair. The dark pit was looming and you saved me," John whispers in return. Jessie remembers John at the dinner party a year before and what he said about her saving him. It all seems so unreal, she thinks, holding John close to her, as if she were doomed and have been drawn back to safety.

She opens her eyes and there is no John Wilton, but only herself walking along a passage kissing her hand and whispering to shadows. The windows are barred and there is a strong smell of urine all about her and the voices of others crowding in on her. The dark passage echoes and sounds of laughter chase her, torment her. The faces of her children peer from corners pointing and jeering with that coldness flowing from their distant eyes.

"Are you all right?" John Wilton asks. "You seem so suddenly anxious." Jessie stares at the man before her. Her hands touch his face softly as if she were blind and needed to know he was there.

"You are real. You are really here? Jessie asks anxiously.

"Yes, Jessie, I am real, and will always be here if you need me." And he holds her close feeling her heart thud wildly against his own. She feels his arms about her and the dark passages, the voices and her children's faces have gone as if waking from a dark dark dream.