Chapter 2
Hetty
They made the crossing from mainland Canada to Prince Edward Island on a bright and pleasant spring evening. Philippa was so delighted with the weather she insisted they stay a-deck. Despite the warm weather she flitted around Hetty, anxiously adjusting the quilt around her legs. Hetty quietly allowed her, though she was pleasantly warm with just her mantle.
After a while the burnt red cliffs of the island appeared on the horizon and Philippa nearly squealed with excitement. “I had not realised how I’d missed it,” she said, interlinking her arm with Hetty and walking toward the railing of the ship. The sun was setting, casting a golden glow on the fields, the red dust roads, the houses in the harbour and the railroad. Philippa placed her gloved hands on the railing, her feet up one rung, leaning forward so recklessly Hetty feared she’d plunge down into the depths below. Hetty grasped onto the back of her mantel, making her laugh. She studied her friend’s face, a soft smile blossoming at the carefree exhilaration she had not seen for decades. “Oh Hetty, I’m glad you’ve given me an excuse to come here,” declared Philippa, stepping down again and grasping both of Hetty’s hands in her own, “This will be good for us.”
Hetty gazed out at the island in front of her. It was beautiful and peaceful and as of yet unspoiled by her husband. None there would even know of him. She held onto Philippa’s hands, looking into her eyes so filled with childlike excitement. Too much had happened to imagine themselves back in girlhood - both their respective marriages had left certain scars unspoken of - but this was the closest they’d ever gotten to a resemblance of it. “It will be good,” she agreed, though usually the manor was the only quiet place she could abide by. Hetty preferred the bustling busy social life of the city; the theatres and operas, the balls and charity events, tea gatherings and suppers. She liked to be surrounded by peers, boasting of the money that lined their pockets - though not quite forthright. Phil was the only person who could satisfy her on her own. Phil who had been her entire world until she’d fallen in love with that gorgeous charming painter. Phil who had soon after gotten married, disappearing for a while, a void that seemed unfillable even with Hetty’s handsome beau. Phil whose touch seemed not to infringe upon Hetty’s personal space like other’s did.
As if her friend could sense the direction of her thoughts, she leaned her head on Hetty’s shoulder. “I’m glad to be here with you, Henrietta,” she whispered, “When I think of how close I came to losing you… It is insupportable. A world without my Hetty, unbearable.”
Hetty glanced at her from the corner of her eye. “I’m still here,” she responded soberly. What good would come of pondering on her near demise? Besides, when she thought of her illness, she was still struck with an odd melancholy she tried to avoid, a homesickness for the Paris of her delirium, the arms and dark eyes of her dream-lover. When she thought of how close she’d come to dying, a deep and dark, lonely and unhappy part of her, wished she had. Here, with a boisterously exuberant and vividly vibrant Philippa beside her, however, Hetty could bear that dark spirited part of her even less than she could at home absconded in her bedroom. There was much to live for, much that relied on her.
When Phil responded with nothing but a grateful smile, leaning forward to watch the ever growing shoreline, Hetty placed her hands on the railing in front of her. “Phil?” she asked softly, “If anything were to happen to me someday, would you see to it that my children are well cared for? That the Woodstone fortune is secure? You know how Elias is.”
Philippa did not take her eyes from the shoreline as she responded. “Nothing will happen to you, Hetty,” she solemnly responded as if it were something she could promise, “But if anything did happen, of course I would. As I’m sure you would for me.”
“Of course I would,” Hetty said, “Though I would be a terrible substitute mother to your children. Mine would be far better off.” She smiled wryly.
Phil shook her head. “You are doing your best, Hetty, that is all that matters.” She turned to Hetty, leaning backward against the railing, the soft fabric of her lilac skirts spilling over the edge. “I know that you love those children more than anything in the world and you would die for them if need be. They know that too.”
‘You would die for them if need be’. Hetty’s eyes fixed on the horizon. There was a pit in her stomach, a bad omen she just couldn’t shake at those words, and she shivered. ‘You would die for them if need be’. She grasped the balustrade with her gloved fingers, her rings pinching the flesh where her palm connected to her fingers. I will die for them, she thought ominously and shivered. Nevertheless Hetty forced herself to smile. “You’re right,” she said.
Philippa returned her smile, interlacing their arms. “Come on, let's go inside and prepare ourselves to disembark. We are almost there now.”
———
Phil’s ‘almost there’ apparently meant they had to catch the evening train and travel another two hours followed by an hour in a sleek black coach that swayed on the dusty red road. Neither of them said much as they watched the dimming countryside go past from the window until it had grown so dark they could see nothing but blackness pierced occasionally by distant lights. Sometimes the moon peeked from behind its veil of clouds to grant them a bit of silvery light that bounced off the sea and the lake they drove past.
At last the house came into view, lit from every window with an inviting golden glow. Even the porch had been lit up with candles, like a beacon to guide them, a lighthouse at the mouth of a harbour. The coach came to a standstill and a footman opened the door to help them out.
“Welcome to Lavender House,” Philippa said as she waited for Hetty to ascent the steps up to the porch. A young butler stood at the door next to a beaming old housekeeper to welcome them. Phil greeted them before leading Hetty into the grand entranceway of the house. It was warm and inviting, if a bit outdated, with a great staircase leading to the first floor, the crowning piece. “The house was gifted by my great aunt Alice’s father to her mother after they had her. Alice received it upon her marriage and spent most of the time here while her husband worked in Toronto.”
Hetty looked around her at the cavernous room. It was no larger than the manor in Ulster County, but Hetty had never known that to be populated by less than two people of the Woodstone family. Her grandfather had first shared the place with his wife and seven children, later with his eldest son - Hetty’s father - and his family: two daughters and a wife. After Hetty’s marriage her father had moved out and left the house to Hetty and Elias. With Elias gone often, the house had been lonely for a while - too big for just one person and her servants - until their children had come along, with their own household. “Did she never get lonely?” she wondered, surprising even herself by doing so aloud.
Phil shrugged. “I don’t believe so. She hosted a lot of friends from the city and lived nearly permanently with a friend of hers who had not been fortunate enough to make a good marriage arrangement.” Phil went up ahead on the stairs, the wood creaking beneath the weight of her. “Come on, let me show you to your room.”
The room Hetty was shown into was spacious and cozy with windows that faced the garden and sea beyond; In the distance a lighthouse cast off a soft glow. Hetty walked over to the windows to peer out into the darkness beyond. The moon had emerged completely now and cast a pallid, silver glow over the churning waves of the sea. Hetty opened the window to let in the salt air and the sound of the crashing waves. She inhaled deeply. “I like that sound,” said Phil, approaching Hetty to lean on the sill, “It is very soothing to one’s nerves.” Hetty smiled and closed her eyes to listen, though the calming effect was rather spoiled by the two huffing footmen dragging part of Hetty’s luggage upstairs - she had brought nine traveling trunks along with her. Hetty and Phil turned in sync, Hetty stern, Phil bursting out in peals of laughter. “I told you, you needn’t bring so much, Hetty,” she giggled, “My poor footmen might have been much quieter if you had.”
Hetty had already shifted her attention from her friend to the servants. “Careful with that!” she warned her lady’s maid who had opened one trunk to swiftly put her dresses away, while the footmen went back downstairs to fetch the rest. “That perfume is worth more than your yearly wage.”
Where Phil had been quietly laughing before, she was now reduced to helpless peals of unladylike laughter at the thinly veiled threat - you break it, you pay it. “Carson will manage just fine without your warnings, Hetty dearest,” she said, casting an eye on the luggage in the room. By now the two footmen had brought everything upstairs - with the help of the butler and a stablehand. Phil gently shook her head. “Why don’t you get settled for bed now, Hetty? The maids can finish up tomorrow while we break our fast. You need your rest.”
Hetty followed her gaze to the luggage. It would take hours to properly unpack and a whole day of traveling had tired Hetyy. She nodded and signalled her maid to stop with a single flick of her wrist. “Carson, I wish to get changed for bed now. You may finish unpacking in the morning.” As her maid hurried to find a nightgown, Hetty kissed Philippa’s cheeks. “Goodnight, Phil. Thank you for opening your lovely home to me.”
“Goodnight my darling Henrietta,” Phil replied in that charming drawl of hers. She was the only one who could ever use Hetty’s full name and make it sound like a term of endearment. Before leaving the room, Phil turned around, leaning against the doorframe. “Call me or Mrs Blythe if you need anything!”
After Phil had gone, Hetty got settled for bed with the help of Carson. Her lady’s maid seated her by the window, instead of the vanity as she combed out her hair. “It is very lovely here, madam,” she said softly, wary of Hetty’s reaction before continuing - Hetty did not particularly talk much to her staff, “You will surely feel much better soon. My sister who suffers from ill health relocated to the seaside and has been much sturdier since.” Hetty nodded curtly. She did not like to encourage her servants to talk much about their personal lives. Nevertheless, she responded: “I hope my time here will prove as restorative as your sister’s. Though I do not plan on moving here permanently. So don’t go finding any local boys you take a fancy to.” Hetty turned to her lady’s maids and raised her brows meaningfully, “I hate to lose my maids to matrimony.”
The girl coloured, turning almost as red as Hetty’s hair. “Of course not, madam,” she blurted, lowering the gilded hairbrush and smoothing her plain skirt. “You’re all set for bed.”
Hetty raised from her chair and padded toward the bed, dismissing her maid with a flick of her wrist. “Good. You may leave now.” She lay down on the soft mattress, sinking into the expensive pillows and listening to the sound of the sea. For the first time in a long time, Hetty soon fell into a deep and dreamless sleep and slept all through the night, soothed by the lullaby of the sea.