Young Writers Society

A/N: So, here I am again! I wrote this on an impulse, a sudden burst of inspiration that I had. You might notice there are some elements of gothic fiction (reason: because I've been so into the Brontë's lately).

I am going to re-write this soon, but I'd like to finish it first. I should tell you that Rose's and William's parts will be excerpts from their journals, journals that are found by Scarlet (remember that the story begun from Scarlet's POV?). And I will remove some scenes, add some, perhaps.

What are some scenes that are most definitory for the novel, and that I (in no way) should remove?

Well, anyway, I'll let you read the chapter now.
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The third of April found us, I – willing to forget that there was a world we had left behind one day before, and William – dedicated entirely to my own happiness, at the edge of paradise, or so it seemed. I was a sinner before, deserving to spend my afterlife punished, spinning through the air in darkness endlessly, among the souls of great lovers such as Helen and Cleopatra* but my life now was Heaven on Earth. I recalled having read a book in which love lifts the two lovers to Paradise, erasing their sins completely. So it was our case; the noble feelings that I nurtured towards William acquitted me from all previous mistakes, and whatever had happened in the past was now if not diminished, than at least buried somewhere where it could not harm us anymore.

I was fairly sure that this had happened to us, that our love had raised us to something less palpable, yet more substantial, for what else would you call a place where no harm could ever reach you, the state of pure bliss and ideal peace that comforts even the most pained of the hearts? No, this was no real place; it was the Garden of Eden itself, presenting before us every morning in the form of fresh green fields basking in the warm soothing sunlight.



We spent the first days on our own, took long strolls along the seashore and sailed over the Seine, musing ourselves with the thought that, should we let ourselves go with the waves, we would someday wake up in Paris. Every time I mentioned it, William asked me, in a dreamlike manner, but also very determined, if I would, one day, like to visit the capital of France. Sometimes he asked me with such seriousness, that it made me believe all it would've taken him to carry me to Paris was a single word of 'yes' spoken by my lips. However, in all cases, I offered him the same reply as answer: 'Why search for the Empyrean** when we have our own Paradise on Earth?'



But, since we were still mortals, and divine nature was one thing we could not claim, troubles were not slow in coming. Of course, there were small misunderstandings, insignificant arguments we had, that are not worth mentioning, but never did I think that I would ever witness another burst of jealousy after our marriage. I often tried to come up with a reason for it, and I eventually reached the conclusion that too much happiness would eventually turn into sorrow. When one lacks troubles, he makes up its own problems.

And just when I considered my past locked in a chapter of my life that had ended once for always, I happened to encounter a dear friend of mine who, unfortunately, was of the opposite sex, and that, apparently, was enough to trigger my dear William's suspicions and his mad imagination.

It all started one week after our arrival at our destination, when we decided to dine outside, at one of the finest restaurants in Le Havre. Unconsciously, William repeated the same mistake he had once done, trying to spoil me with the best food and wine in the city. I found no point in reminding him of our past fight on the matter, or in advising him not to waste his money unreasonably, and tried to convince myself that once in a while, it was all right to indulge ourselves in pretentious feasts.

We had just finished the first course in silence, and now decided to make conversation while we waited for the second, when, all of a sudden, I heard a voice behind me calling my name, and yet my maiden name! "Miss Rose! Rose Elinor Evans!"

Not little was my surprise when I turned around to behold the stranger, and even greater when, before my eyes, presented a very fine breed of man, very well dressed, and with a familiar figure, although I could not quite remember him at first. It did take me some time to match the image of him with the picture of the young boy I had in mind, but when I did, I couldn't help but exclaim joyously – perhaps a little too much than it was proper, "Albert! Is that you?"

"Long time no see, little star!" said he, "How come I meet you in France? Have you had your share of fame already or did you come to France to embrace the new – let me call them – artistic fashions***?"

"Oh, no, I am not an actress anymore, and in no way should you call me like that again! You see, I am no longer 'little' either; I've been through a lot, and I'm afraid that life has taken me my youth, but given me other beauties instead!" I noticed William's glance pointed to me with suspicious confusion, thus cleared my throat, and spoke, "Oh, but where are my manners! Albert, this is William Howsham, William, this is Albert Hutch, an old friend of mine."

"It is a pleasure to meet you, Mr. Howsham. I see, Miss Rose, that you've very much refined your taste in men," Albert said – a bold remark, not so bold to me, for I was accustomed with his ways, but perceived as impolite by William, who replied on that same note,

"Was this a compliment, Mr. Hutch, or an insult whose allusion I did not precisely understand?"

"It was a most intended compliment, Mr. Howsham; Miss Evans has certainly has the worst of matches when it comes to –"

"Now Albert, there is no need of bringing up my past on such a day." Then, turning to my husband, "I'm sure he meant no harm, William, Mr. Hutch has a rather particular sense of humour. Come, would you join our table?"

"With great pleasure."

"Meanwhile, you could tell what are you doing in France? Are you in holiday, as we are?"

"Oh, no, absolutely not; only if this 'holiday' is for a lifetime, then I suppose you could say so…" Soon, we engaged in a never-ending conversation, to my pleasure, for it had been a happy coincidence that brought us together, but much to William's vexation, because he was visibly stiff and possibly upset on me for ignoring him. Now that I think of it, I might've shown a trifle too much of my delight. Still, Albert had helped me a lot when I had been left alone on the streets, and I could not be ungrateful, and yet to him.

Now, I could fill pages, re-telling our conversation, but I see no point in doing so, therefore I must put an end to this particular scene here, and describe what followed when William and I had returned to our place.

He had not spoken to me much. I remained in the sitting room for a while, and then retired to the bedchamber. I felt relieved to see that William was already in the bed, apparently in slumber, and fortunately, I would not need to offer him an explanation to those things that had happened.

When I lay on the bed, however, and the sheets gave way under my weight, he turned on the other side and opened his eyes. "William? Are you not sleeping yet?"

"I would, if I could."

"What troubles your sleep then?" Silence. No audible answer came, but I knew the reply, anyway. "Did it bother you that I invited Mr. Hutch to join us?"

"It is not what bothered me the most. Why did you not tell him that I am your husband? Why did you let him call you 'Evans'? You bear my name now. Are you not proud of it – of me?"

"Of course I am, but I did not find any reason to tell him that I'm married. He would've laughed and made a fuss over it. I wished to avoid this awkward moment. But if this eases your mind, I will tell him next time we meet."

"If you meet again, that is. Do you intend to see him again?"

"I don't know. Should we come across again, I can't refuse his company and pretend I did not see him."

"You're not willing to avoid his company, either." Turning on one side, I wrapped the covers around me in an attempt to fall asleep. Most likely, this had been be the last time when I would meet Mr. Hutch, anyway and William will be as affectionate as he'd always been when I'd stop mentioning the former.

Moments later, William resumed his questionnaire, putting me through never-ending inquiries again, "Rose, who is this Albert Hutch anyway? What happened between you two in the past?"

"Won't you let me sleep, William? I am tired, and it is a long story, anyway."

"No matter, I want to hear it."

I breathed deeply, preparing myself for a possible interrogatory and all the outbursts that would follow, and decided to answer every question that he would articulate. I was too weak, too infatuated with him to hurt him, thus I was ready to tell him the truth. "He's an old acquaintance of mine… I met him three or four years ago, when we were only children. He's helped me a great deal after I was left alone, and my parents were gone. If it weren't for him, I would probably still be on the streets now, and would've never met Mr. Wright, or Scarlet… You see, this is why I couldn't be impolite to him; he's been a good friend, and I'm not used to turning my back on my friends."

"A friend… a friend whom you slept with as well?"

"No! By God, I swear I didn't –" I paused, flushing with shame, or anger – or a little bit of both. "Why are you so jealous all of a sudden on somebody whom I've had nothing to share with for years?"

"It is not jealousy, but barely disappointment, for you never told me a word about him. If you did, I would have no reason to be suspicious. I thought no secrets were to be kept between us."

"If I told you about all the men in my life who don't mean a thing to me now, nor did then, it would take me forever to remember them all. You didn't tell me about all of your affairs with other women, either. Why should I feel obliged to –?"

"Because there is too much of you that I don't know, yet I am your husband now, and we should erase any possible cause of misunderstanding."

"What misunderstandings? There will be none, as long as you don't create them, out of no solid ground!"

"If I tell you about my past affairs, will you do the same?"

"But I feel no need to become accustomed with your past female friends. I do trust you, and I wish you could trust me, too."

"Will you?" he insisted.

"Alright, I will, if it pleases you!" I said, not being able to resist his desperate need of self-confidence. And so, we spent the night talking over every insignificant woman or man in our past, bringing the dead and the forgotten into the light – for there were a few old men I had encountered in my life that I did not even have the certainty that they were still alive.

To me at least, the whole discussion we had made no sense. William started to cite a few names I did not care, nor wanted to know about, but when it was my turn, he listened so attentively, trying to memorise every name I mentioned, every detail of my life.

The difference between the way we loved was that, when I married him, I did not claim his yesterdays. On the other side, William has always proved to be interested in my past. Perhaps this was my mistake… that I never told him everything he wished to know. Although he had never asked me directly, for he did not wish to hurt me, I should've taken notice of this need of his to know everything about me, and take me as a whole – what I had been, and what I was right then.

I might not have noticed then, but I know now that he did not detest me – the way I hated myself –, for all the thoughtless decisions that I had taken long before I met him. William loved me with all my imperfections, and indeed, it was not jealousy at first that triggered his complaint, but the fact that I did not given myself completely to him and kept some aspects in my life away from him.



A week and a half after our arrival in France had passed, and I was already beginning to wish that we would've went to Sheffield instead. I trusted that Rose had been honest towards me, but now I was forced to believe that there were things that were still keeping us apart, preventing our souls from merging as one.

Of course, she feared that I would love her less if I knew her better for her sins. When, at my request, she retold me some events in her life, and I sketched no grimace, no frown while I listened to her listing several names and stories attached to them, I think she might have finally understand how irrational her concerns were.

Now, that there was nothing that remained unknown to me, we could have gone back to our usual life – hopefully, but since trust, once gone – even if not completely –, needs time to rebuild, the most proper ground for jealousy to take place of uncertainty had now been set.

Since the encounter with that Albert Hutch, something had been preserving a certain distance between Rose and I. Had I not met any reason to determine me to think that my scepticism was ill-founded, I wouldn't have been suspicious at all, but not only she did not offer me any reason to think so, but she also gave me all the possible reasons to doubt her honesty. I was certain, however, of the future and the present, and I knew Rose was not capable of betrayal, but the past was not something I was sure of.

There had been a few days in which I heard nothing of my – so to say – rival, but then it happened one day that we met once again and this time, our convergence finished with a clever invitation to the opera house that, not only it was very close to our hotel, but, apparently, it featured my wife's favourite production also. Obviously, the answer could not be but positive, and soon it became a habit. Every evening, it had been forced upon me to watch my wife while she dressed up, embellishing her neck and wrists with jewellery. The elaborate details of her toilet, the smell of her perfumed flesh released great amounts of desire, each of it being, in the end, quenched by the thought that it might've been somebody else she prepares for so attentively.

In truth, she never ceased to adorn herself in delicate fabrics and jewels, even though now not as expensive as before, but denoting a neat taste, nonetheless, and had preserved her fine style in appearance, even if I did not always notice it.

One day, though, I left her alone in our hotel, and went to a bar. I needed some moments by myself, a breath of fresh air… and a glass of good Calvados**** in order to drown my sorrows in drinking. Several hours later, when I returned, I noticed that Rose was not home. I whipped down the stairs, checking the surroundings… and stopped, as I beheld my dear wife with that man again, right in front of our hotel. I paused for a moment, but seeing her turning the corner, as she bid goodbye to her partner in conversation, I drew back, hiding behind the wall, and waited for her to climb the stairs, and then hurriedly followed her in our apartment.

I needed to, thus I could not help but express my anger. I entered the foyer with a slam of door. "William, is that you?" cried her voice from the other room. "Oh there you are, where have you been? 'Die Zauberflöte' will start without us this evening... if we don't hurry."

"There will be no opera for me today. Go by yourself if you wish."

"No, I could not do that."

"Still you did. You were not here, moments before, when I returned."

"I thought you'd come later. Prey, put on your frock, will you? It's getting late!" she said and, seeing me benumbed, proceeded to hand me the coat. "I am not coming; find somebody else to go with!" I shouted, on a voice as low as possible in that moment. I brushed her away, refusing to dress up and, instead, put her coat on her shoulders.

She continued to show opposition this time, too, and I, vexed by her nerves, raised my voice and fit her coat forcefully on her shoulders, handed her the fan, the shawl, and the hat, almost urging upon her my desire to see her leave the apartment. She refused, saying that if I were not to accompany her, she would not go alone at all.

"Alone? Hah!" I laughed with bitter irony. "Obviously you will not go by yourself, but with Mr. Hutch. It is him for which you made yourself so pretty, after all."

"Oh, so this was it!" she cried out, turning to face me. "You foolish man, don't you see it is you whom I'm trying to be pretty for? You've barely taken notice of my presence at all lately. "

"Then why were you with him? You ought to have been home, waiting for your husband, not spending your time with another man while I was absent."

"I did wait for you, for hours! I grew tired of it, so I went outside, and ran into Mr. Hutch on my way. I did not plan to see him!" With an indifferent manner, I showed her my back and sat in a chair, with a book in my hand, so as to pretend I would not listen to her anymore. "Is this what will become of our marriage? My God, William, were you spying on me? Do you not trust me anymore, after all we've been through?"

"I was merely worried, searching for you," added I with the same unaffected voice. I waited for her to take her leave, but did not hear any footsteps. She was still standing behind me, possibly with tears in her eyes; I could not know, for my eyes didn't rise from the pages I pretended to read. "Why are you still here? Did I not make my point clear? Go now! Leave me alone!"

"I shall do that! I hope to find you sane when I come back. Alcohol has taken your mind." And with those being said, she left me alone, finally.

'Ah! So she figured it out… that I have been drinking to rest my nerves, and failed to ease them. No matter, I would keep on drinking until I lost my conscience!' I said to myself. Placing the book on its shelf, I took one bottle of brandy, and drank it down to the last drop. I hoped to lose my conscience and be asleep when Rose would come, afraid of the pain I could cause to her if she found me awake.

In spite of all my desperate attempts, though, I could not close my eyes no matter how much I wished to. I was still wide-awake and conscious of everything that had happened, and, as if all these were not enough, I also gained a horrible headache.

I lay down in bed for a while and remained there until the door opened – one or two hours later. I watched Rose come inside through heavy eyelashes. Obviously, she thought that I was sleeping, for she startled upon hearing my voice. "Did you have a fine time, Mrs. Howsham? Or should I say Miss Evans?" She did not reply, and I – the brute that I was right then – stood up and shook her by the shoulders, shouting, "Mrs. Hutch would sound fairly good, as well, do you not think so?"

"I refuse to answer your silly questions, William. Let me go! You're drunk, even more drunk than before."

"I am! Do you not love me with all my imperfections? Don't tell me that Albert Hutch has never been drunk?" True to her word, Rose did not answer my stupid questions – none of them, and ignored my last remark. But, alas! I had to go on, and cause my head to hurt even more. "Your rouge has been taken off. Did he kiss you passionately enough?"

"William, I've had enough!" she cried out, with a jolt. "Can't you see… I am almost soaked to the bone? I have been out there in the rain! Alone! I did not even go to the opera." Taking the coat she had discarded on a stool, she threw it in my arms. The fabric was, indeed, wet, and outside it was still pouring, but I could not have noticed, half-drunk and mad as I was then. "There now, are you glad? I hope I get some serious illness and at least then you would trust me! I'd rather die than have you think me a liar!"

Her words struck me like a stab in my heart. Irrational as I was in that moment, I did not consider the possibility that I might hurt her too much. "You should not say that. Come to sleep, we'll have plenty of time tomorrow..." Apparently, she ignored me, and retired to the other room. "Where are you going? But of course, leaving me here alone… with this damn headache! I have no right to ask you to stay!" Meanwhile, I returned to the bed, ready to sleep by myself this night, and the nights after… Our honeymoon was ruined, or could've been so – were it not for my dear wife's benevolence and forgiveness, for, in truth, she only went to the other room to change in her night garments, and came back with a cold compress and applied it to my forehead.

"Hold this on your head, it will alleviate the pain. You see… that's what you get from drinking too much. Don't ever do this again in the future." I took her hand in mine as a token of gratefulness and as a promise that I would never repeat my mistake, but she withdrew it quickly and climbed in the bed next to me. In such state that I was, only a mad wife would have dared to approach me… either mad, or perhaps overly devoted to her husband.

Needless to say that I regretted my behaviour that night all of my life since then. The next day, I barely found the courage to meet her eyes. I woke up late that morning, around three o'clock, and found her in the dining room, already dressed for the day. In the most ashamed manner, with the most cautious delicacy, I sat at the table and spoke, "I wish to express my repentance regarding those happened last night. I promise, you will never see me in such state again, nor will I ever doubt your honest –"

"What's done is done," she cut me off. "I've forgiven you already."

"Still, I think –"

"I don't want to hear for your excuses, William. If you are truly sorry, then please pretend that it never happened and never bring the subject again. I have told Albert that I will leave Le Havre in a few days, and he said he would do so, too. He's going to Paris for a full month, thus we will never meet again. We said farewell to each other already. This is the last time I mention his name."

"I… I know not what to say… to thank you."

"Then don't say anything at all. You could show me the Seine instead… if you're feeling better, that is," she said, with a slight smile.

"I am!" I shouted with joy, kissing her hands in acknowledgement of her commitment to me. "I would if I were not, anyway!" What had all these been – our fight, my jealousy? I could not know. It had come and gone so fast, that I almost believed that none of these had happened. It had been a sort of nightmare, one that I never wish to encounter ever again.

Thank God, it had all been gone now! This was the last spark of doubt that shone upon our happiness. I never questioned her love and devotion to me ever again, nor manifested any outburst of jealousy. Right then, I thought nothing could have ever stood between us, but there are, as I've come to learn, some forces controlled by nature – and by God's arbitrary will and justice, that not even love can overcome – at least not on Earth. Perhaps this might be possible in Heaven, but I do not know, since I have not yet been blessed to go there and find out.

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* allusion to Dante's Inferno, where all the humans that gave more importance to lust, and not to the love of God, resided;

** the highest reaches of heaven, believed by the ancients to be a realm of pure fire or light;

*** naturalism, parnassianism and other artistic movements that were prominent in France;

**** French brandy made from apples.