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When she came by to see me, she must not have known of the true state she would find me in, but she came nonetheless. It was sweet of her, really, the wish to ask me how things truly were when it was just the two of us.
Without Bertha Russell, with whom I did not wish to share the last of my secrets - most of them she knew by then anyhow. Mamie Fish, who knew just as little as Bertha Russell did about what it meant to be routinely humiliated by your husband. And without Ada, too, who knew plenty about Agnes and myself, but had, thankfully, not experienced it in her own marriage either.
After tea had been served in my sitting room, I dismissed the staff.
"How are you, truly?" Agnes asked.
"Disappointed, of course," I sighed. "That he would use me and our friendship so..."
"A thoroughly disgusting individual," Agnes spit.
"I should have known better than to trust a man," I smiled wrily.
Agnes chuckled humourlessly, "Well, you are certainly right about that. I try to tell my niece everyday, but it is hopeless."
"Such is the mind of a young girl, full of romance and wishes of a fairytale wedding... It is inevitable, I am afraid."
"I don't believe I've ever had such an idealistic mind myself," she sniffed.
"Oh but didn't you?" I dared to wink at her.
"Well, certainly not where Arnold was concerned."
"I didn't mean him."
"Oh well, then I suppose I did. But it was always hopeless, wasn't it?"
"For a different world..." I went on.
"If such a thing exists. Do you really think that... in a different world it could be?" She entertained the thought then, much longer than she had in a very long time.
"I hope so. Who knows what will be 2000 years from now."
"Oh, so you do think it will take 2000 years," she teased.
I looked up into her eyes then - too captivating for my own good, really. Too much like a lake in Ontario in winter. Frozen, but with the promise of melting if treated gently for once.
"Or perhaps not," I smiled slightly, my voice a mere whisper now. "Perhaps it will happen a lot sooner than that."
"Is that an offer?" she asked, her voice crisp, but I could detect the hint of something else that hid behind it. I had certainly known her long enough.
"It is, if you wish for it to be. And if you do not wish for it to be, then I hope that you would take it as a compliment and remain my very best friend."
"Wouldn't that be Mamie, your very best friend?" She teased.
"As good a friend as anyone could be, who doesn't know these parts of me."
"Which parts?"
I could not believe that on this of all days she insisted.
"The part that has been obliged to cover up bruises. And the part of me that has never been normal."
"Lina," she sighed, but this time it was a sweet sigh - wondrous and soft. "I have always liked the part of you that is not normal the most."
There it was - an admission, as well as an offer on her part.
"You have?" I smiled and for a moment my voice was that of the 17-year-old girl I had been. For just a moment in time, we were back at my coming out party and I spent far too much time giggling with Agnes that I should have spent talking to boys. Her hair was blonde and radiant, and I forbid myself from pulling a strand out of her flower-bedecked updo and twirling it around my finger.
"Of course." She gave me a rare smile and I thought of times when her smiles had not been few and far between. Loving Agnes would always mean loving the innocent girl she had been alongside the strong, unbreakable woman she had become later.
And she could have easily been broken many, many times. It would have been valid, it would have been understandable. Most people would not have made it, and I admired her all the more for it.
Innocence was the time before we were both married. Innocence was when pale pink geegaws were worth our laughter and we fixed each other's hair bows as unspoken glances were exchanged. Innocence were excursions to art museums as unsuspecting governesses trailed behind and I wished I could take my grandmother's ring and slip it on her finger.
Had I been a boy, I would have been allowed. To ask Oma for the ring and she would have given it, too. A ruby framed in gold. I could have kneeled down in front of her favourite painting - the Vermeer - and she would have accepted, of that I was certain. She would have accepted, had I been a boy.
"What did that imbecile do to you?" she asked as the sun shone into my sitting room when we were much older. McAllister, she meant now, where usually she would have meant William.
I set down my teacup and looked up at her dear, concerned face. She should not have eyes like frozen lakes if she did not want me to drown in my feelings.
"He fought his way in here, ignoring my butler's protests and proceeded to inform me that William prefers showgirls over me."
My eyes filled with tears but I did not break our eyecontact, "As though I did not know, as though I need kind McAllister to tell me! As though I would care that he prefers showgirls!"
I took a deep breath. "You know I do not care. It would be much worse if I still had to put up with him in my bedroom. Or anywhere in this house! As long as he is not here, he cannot berate me or worse... And I can raise the girls as I see fit. Not that I did a very good job with Charlotte, I will freely admit that."
"I do not for one minute believe that it is your fault what happened with Charlotte," she insisted.
"Whose is it then?"
"Her father's perhaps. Or perhaps it is not anyone's... You even let her marry for love, what more could you have done?"
"And what does that solve?"
"Sometimes it solves quite a lot, don't you think?" she smiled. "And then sometimes, it does not seem to solve anything at all..."
"I suppose it does solve things for people such as Mamie..."
"It rather does, doesn't it? The lucky one."
"Are you jealous, dear?" I teased.
"Of the situation? Of course, but not in the sense that I would wish any worse on her. Rather, in an ideal world, it should be what every woman deserves, shouldn't it... But for now, I shall be content if I can get Marian a husband worthy of her."
"And Larry Russell is not?"
"You must be joking."
"I did not mean in terms of predigree, obviously, but in terms of money and if he takes after the father in devotion to his wife?"
"I would not call Larry Russell devoted to Marian, exactly..."
"A pity. And still she is keen on him?"
"Not keen as much perhaps, yet crying over him day and night..."
"The poor girl!"
"That is where love leads most girls. Unfortunately."
"But not all, I hope?"
"Of course not all."
"But so the Russell boy did not take after the father after all."
"Perhaps we do not know all about the father, though I will admit that he has always given quite a different impression. But then no one fully ever knows what goes on within a marriage, except for the two people in it."
"Well, McAllister seems to have known plenty of what went on within every marriage! Though of course, he never included his own, which includes a wife in a different state with his children, while he has all the fun one could possibly imagine. And more."
"What did he write about the Russell marriage?" Agnes asked, suddenly intrigued.
"So you are interested in the inner working's of Bertha Russell's life after all!" I giggled and proceeded to reach for a raspberry jam sandwich. At least my appetite, previously destroyed by McAllister's viciousness, was returned. In a strange way, I thought the Russell story was sweet, even though Bertha Russell would certainly prefer not to have it out there for everyone to read.
"Well, one could accuse the woman of many things, but certainly not of being boring!"
"True that," I giggled. "So, her former lady's maid... went to George Russell's room one night... in the middle of the night! And laid down in bed next to him... completely naked!"
"My goodness!" Agnes gasped. "Do you mean to imply that it was the now Enid Winterton who did such a thing? Not that that would be a surprise at this point."
"Precisely - Enid! Back then still Turner. So anyhow, George Russell apparently woke up in the middle of the night, to the naked lady's maid!"
"In the end, not so devoted after all... Though could any man resist? If she was already unclothed in his bed... And she is beautiful, I will admit."
"No, but that is quite the point, Agnes! He did resist!"
Agnes gasped. "Are you quite certain?"
"McAllister would have no reason to make him out any better, would he? The opposite is true, it would make for a more salacious story if he had bedded her..."
"Can you believe the nerve of that woman?"
"Enid? No, I cannot. Who would dare do such a thing - and as a servant in his wife's employ!"
"So you mean to say that George Russell is the exception?"
"Apparently so," I gave a small shrug - unladylike.
"The question is really," I continued. "How did Bertha Russell win the gamble of marriage so entirely? The richest, the most faithful and the most good looking man?"
"You think George Russell is the most good looking man, Lina?"
"Well, my dear Agnes, you know I prefer... someone else entirely. But for a man, I do think he is the most good looking one.
"Do not let Bertha Russell hear you," Agnes laughed. "Then she will well and truly come for you and claw out your eyes."
"There is no reason for her to come for me, as I said, I prefer someone else entirely..."
"Hmm and these are not dangerous waters?"
"They are, but also so very worth having. And we have spent a very long time not doing anything about it. I rather think I should like to try before my time on this Earth is over..."
"No one can catch us."
"Of course not. But does that mean... you would be willing?"
"Oh so very willing, Lina... In moments like these it crushes over me like a wave and I quite forget the reasons why we should not.'
"Will you regret it tomorrow then?"
"Not unless we end up institutionalized," she chuckled darkly. And then she leant in.