Chapter Text
Blackwater was an interesting little town. Dynamic, rather modern, ideally located for the transport of goods or simply for taking the ferry to cross Flat Iron Lake to get to St Denis, the last large modern city before passing through the gates of the Wild West. If Eleanor had not met the mysterious man with the mustache, and if her luggage had not been stolen, she would probably have stayed in this town for a while to work, to have a little money before setting off again, in search of her ideal.
But if all adventure novels had taught her one thing, especially Homer's Odyssey, it was that journeys were punctuated by pitfalls and improbable encounters. She was living her own Odyssey, and like Ulysses seeking to reach Ithaca, braving monsters and storms, she had to brave the unexpected events that life could throw her way. Her grandfather had often told her that travel was an inexhaustible source of learning. And he was right. She felt like she had learned more in the last few weeks than in all those years spent in the Farware House library, reading poorly written or shallow books.
Unfortunately, they would soon have to leave Blackwater to flee the police who would be looking for them after the heist that Dutch was planning. What would be their next destination ? Eleanor didn't know it. She had heard of California or Oregon, but no one was sure. Only Dutch knew. And for the moment, he preferred to concentrate on planning the heist. But everyone kept repeating that they had to trust him, Mr Morgan first and foremost.
With the ferry arriving the next day, Miss Grimshaw had allowed the girls to go into town one last time to buy anything they might need for the trip. They had been kindly dropped off by their driver, Uncle, who had gone to relax at the saloon after all the hard work he had done at the camp. That is to say not much, apart from a nap, comfortably hidden behind one of the carts.
Tilly then insisted on taking Eleanor to one of the clothing stores to allow her to buy a wardrobe just for her. Until then, she had dressed in Mary-Beth's or Abigail's clothes, since she had nothing left to wear, apart from the slightly too warm dress she had on when she arrived in Blackwater. And with the money Hosea had given her, she could afford some purchases.
One hundred dollars. It was the tidy sum he had given her after their little excursion to Blackwater. He came to see her the next day, the bank notes carefully hidden in his jacket. When Eleanor asked him why he gave her the money, he replied with a smile:
"All work deserves pay, Miss Muldon."
Then he immediately turned away, probably to avoid further questions. Eleanor then stood there with the bank notes in her hands. Her first salary. And what a first salary ! One hundred dollars was almost the equivalent of two months' salary for a worker. Why give her such a sum when she had done nothing except denounce the theft of which she had been a victim ? The young woman suspected Hosea of having used the pretext of their mission to Blackwater to give her this money, with the sole aim of hiding his philanthropic intentions. She had already seen him show generosity to Abigail to help her buy clothes for Jack.
"Are you sure you're not taking this blouse ? It suits you so well !"
Eleanor looked at herself for a long time in the mirror, a perplexed pout on her face, studying the floral patterns printed on the cotton. It was… original. And too colorful for her. Green, red, yellow... She felt like she looked like one of those clowns you saw in traveling circuses.
And the balloon sleeves didn't help this feeling.
"That's not really what I'm wearing."
"Sometimes you have to know how to break out of your habits !" Mary-Beth insisted, looking at her in the mirror with an appreciative eye, her hands placed on her shoulders as if to hold her back. The green goes well with your hair and the cut highlights your figure. You will be irresistible. No one will be able to resist you at the camp."
"Are you kidding ? She puts that on and Dutch will kick her out immediately !" Tilly retorted from the other end of the small shop. "And he'll be right ! It looks like what our grandmothers wore in 1850 !"
"You sound like Karen," Mary-Beth complained with a rueful pout. "Dutch is a man of taste, he's sensitive to fashion. Just look at how he dresses."
"Dutch is not blind. If she comes in with that, he's going to throw up."
Staring at her reflection, hands on hips, Eleanor raised a perplexed eyebrow.
"Why do we talk about Dutch so insistently ?"
"Be careful that Molly doesn't hear you !" Jenny added, strolling nonchalantly between the shelves, letting her fingers touch the countless colorful fabrics. "She would be able to turn the store around if we dare to have views on Dutch."
Mary-Beth turned towards her with a pretty mischievous pout that highlighted her freckles.
"We can talk about Lenny otherwise. Right, Jenny ?"
The young woman's cheeks immediately colored at this remark. Her arm fell to her side and she turned completely towards Mary-Beth. For a moment, she seemed to be searching for words.
"Lenny is kind but nothing more will happen. He is not…"
"What ? What is he not ?" Tilly insisted. "Do you prefer brute force ? "Like Bill or Arthur ?"
"Bill ? No, not even in a dream ! He spends more time drunk than sober !"
Mary-Beth uttered a sudden exclamation while clapping her hands, which attracted the annoyed attention of the store manager.
"Ah, you didn’t say anything about Arthur !"
Jenny couldn't have been redder, otherwise she would have caught fire. Taking advantage of Mary-Beth's attention on the young woman, Eleanor slipped into the cabin to remove that awful blouse as quickly as possible. Through the curtain, she heard him asking Jenny incessant questions about Mr. Morgan. She tried as best she could to articulate a response.
"I like Arthur, and he's a handsome man, but... Oh, damn ! I prefer Javier ! He gives off something that doesn't leave you indifferent. If you ever repeat that to him, I'll burn your tents, and you with it !"
The muffled sounds of Mary-Beth and Tilly's giggling reached Eleanor, who couldn't suppress a brief smile at this confession. Javier was a handsome man, yes, with his tanned skin, his long dark hair always tied in a ponytail, his almond-shaped eyes, and his carefully trimmed mustache. And his Spanish accent added a note of sunshine to his natural charm. Oh, and the music he played on the guitar was a real delight for the ears. Eleanor could spend hours just listening to him play, rekindling her musical flame.
But for her part, she had a preference for Mr Morgan, with his robust build, his hands forged by a life of work, his thick blond hair, and his oceanic blue-green eyes which seemed to shine a perpetual sadness that he tried to hide under his rustic and sullen appearance.
Hands frozen on the buttons of the blouse, Eleanor realized where her thoughts had taken her. Looking up at the mirror, she met her reflection with rosy cheeks and mouth parted in amazement. She heard Mary-Beth stirring behind the curtain, and the young woman hastened to lower her head towards the buttons she was trying to undo, letting her thick curly hair hide her face, for fear that her friend would enter the cabin and surprise her like this.
"And you, Eleanor, who would you prefer ?"
God, this conversation made her uncomfortable. She discreetly cleared her throat before responding in a voice a little too high for her liking:
"Oh you know, I don't pay attention to men."
"In any case, I know someone who is under your spell and who can’t stop praising your merits," Mary-Beth continued with a smile in her voice.
After struggling with the buttons, Eleanor finally removed the blouse, revealing her lace-edged camisole. She carefully put it down before putting her shirt back on and getting dressed.
"Oh, I want to know !" Tilly chirped excitedly.
"She means Mr Pearson, Tilly," Jenny replied, laughing. "He keeps talking about how Eleanor listens to him and helps him. If he continues like this, he will propose to her in the next few days."
Eleanor giggled before opening the curtain.
"And I would be unable to refuse such a proposal. Mr Pearson is so thoughtful."
Tilly looked at her and Mary-Beth in turn, as if they had gone mad.
"It's a shame Karen isn't here to hear your nonsense. She would have already jumped to the ceiling with the blouse, but to know that you would agree to marry Pearson because he's attentive, she would have had a stroke !"
"Yes, that’s a shame," Mary-Beth replied, her mouth pursed in disappointment.
"Karen could have accompanied us if she hadn't been caught putting soap in Miss Grimshaw's soup," Jenny remarked as she went to put away the discord blouse, under the outraged gaze of the store manager, not very pleased that they were openly criticizing his articles.
Going to the cash register to pay for what they took, Eleanor and Tilly giggled as they thought of the furious blush that had flushed Miss Grimshaw's face when she had caught Karen grating a little soap over her bowl of soup, in revenge for yet another unwarranted rebuke. For once they had all been allowed to leave the camp to do some shopping, it was really bad luck for Karen who had to watch them leave with a sullen face.
The manager packed their items with obvious bad grace, obviously reluctant to see them again in his store. And his wish was going to come true, Eleanor thought with a certain bitterness as she thought of the storm that would soon shake the little town.
Once everything was paid, their arms full of paper bags, the four young women went out onto the main street, which was rather lively at this late hour of the day. The heat was not suffocating but it was enough for Eleanor, accustomed to the cooler temperatures of England at this time of year.
Before returning to the cart, where Uncle was to be waiting for them - or not -, Eleanor made a quick trip to the grocery store to buy soap, toothpaste, and a toothbrush with what she had left, despite Jenny's offer to steal the products from under the salesman's nose. Since joining the gang, she had realized how much she missed the hygiene and care she had known at Farware House. It wasn't much but it was comforting to be able to take care of herself. And she was tired of borrowing girls' soap.
"Looks like Miss O'Shea has finished her turn too," Jenny remarked, pointing to the slender figure of Molly who was strolling nonchalantly on the sidewalk opposite, a small box under her arm.
She too seemed to be returning to the cart, parked a few blocks away.
"We could ask her to join us to return to the cart," Eleanor said, stopping to observe her.
Tilly made a sound that expressed her disapproval.
"Madam thinks too highly of herself to travel part of the way with us. If you approach her, she will bite."
"That's good, I bite too," Eleanor replied before crossing the street while paying attention to the horsemen and stagecoaches who lined the sidewalks.
No one followed her. Molly continued walking, looking at each window she passed. Her beautiful red hair was let loose in a wavy, flamboyant cascade.
"Miss O’Shea," Eleanor called out to her, catching up with her, her paper bags shaking noisily to the rhythm of her steps.
Molly turned, visibly surprised to be called. When she recognized Eleanor, her face took on a haughty expression, very familiar to the young woman. Arriving at Molly's level, Eleanor brushed away an unwelcome strand of hair that fell in front of her eyes.
"How about walking with me ?"
"If I had wanted to, I would have gone with you without you asking me to do so," Molly replied in a sharp tone that revealed her Irish accent.
Eleanor took it and she finally understood how others might feel when she responded with that same stinging tone. Her mouth stretched into a thin smile. Molly's eyebrows furrowed slightly.
"Well, I want to walk with you. Since I arrived, we haven't had a chance to talk, you and I. And I think, you will tell me if I'm wrong, that we have more in common than you seem to think."
And before Molly could protest, she slipped her arm through her and they began walking down the sidewalk toward the cart. Eventually, Molly was a little more inclined to follow her and they exchanged a few words, nothing really friendly but it was a start.
"I have already had the opportunity to go to Ireland, to Dublin to be more precise. Are you from there ?"
"Yes. I lived there all my life, before…"
Molly paused, before glancing sideways at Eleanor, suddenly wary.
"What does it matter to you ? Why are you interested in me ? Is it better to make fun of me behind my back ?"
"Not at all. I'm not one of those who like gossip," Eleanor replied calmly.
But Molly didn't seem to hear her, obviously convinced that Eleanor wasn't interested in her. She quickly released her arm from Eleanor's.
"No, I see clearly in your game. You are the new one, it's easier for you to gain my trust to better report to others what I tell you, isn't it ? The better to make fun of me ! But you won't be fooled as easily as you seem to think !"
Sure enough, Molly O’Shea bit. And she bit hard. So hard that even Eleanor, although incisive in her words, found herself dazed.
"You want me to tell you, Miss Muldon," Molly continued in a confessional tone, while the cart was about ten meters away from them, where the girls had taken their seats and were looking at them curiously. I think you're hiding something. You claim to be a governess, but I have seen your manners. I had a governess and she didn't have all those manners. As you said when you approached me, we have more in common than I think. You are right. I come from a family that has money and a reputation. And I think you too."
With that, she left Eleanor standing there as she climbed into the cart.
It was almost dusk when the group finally returned to camp. The meal was ready, Mr Pearson had managed to prepare everything alone and welcomed everyone's return with a big smile. Eleanor didn't miss Jenny and Mary-Beth's knowing look towards her and she rolled her eyes while holding back a smile.
After dropping off their purchases in their tents, they all sat around the campfire to eat, delighted with this well-deserved day off. Jack wasted no time circling them, like a moth irremediably attracted to the light, eager to know what they had brought back from this last outing. Smiling, apparently expecting the young boy to show curiosity, Jenny took out a bar of chocolate from behind her back.
"Oh, Aunt Jenny ! he exclaimed, his eyes sparkling with greed. "You're a magician !"
"You can thank Eleanor and her toothbrush," Jenny said, winking at the young woman. "I must admit that she is perfect for distraction."
"I was used against my will," the latter replied to the snickers of the others.
With great restraint, Jack took the tablet before eagerly tearing off the packaging. Then he began to look in turn at what he held in his hands and at each face that observed him. An idea seemed to form in his head. With a slightly clumsy gesture, he broke off a piece and handed it to Jenny. Then he walked around the campfire, handing out a square of chocolate to everyone present. Abigail watched him with immense pride to see her son showing so much generosity. Even John, who did everything to avoid interacting with his son, took a piece and muttered a discreet "thank you", his face hidden by his long black hair.
Arriving in front of Javier, who was opening a new pack of cigarettes, Jack also handed him a square of chocolate. Javier examined the piece before looking down at his pack of cigarettes.
"A card for a second square," he finally suggested, slipping a cigarette into the corner of his lips.
"It's not fair, Uncle Javier ! You always give me the cards for nothing in return."
A smile stretched Javier's lips as he struck a match against the sole of his boot. A small flame unfolded its orange petals and Javier carefully directed it towards the end of the cigarette which briefly lit up.
"Except when I have the opportunity to have a little more chocolate, pequeño. So, do you accept the barter ? This will give you a new card for your collection."
Jack seemed hesitant. He waddled for a few moments while he thought. He ended up handing the extra square to Javier who gave him the card. Jack immediately looked at what it represented. His face creased into a disappointed pout.
"Oh no ! I already have the bald man."
He wanted to give the card back to Javier but the latter shook his head and backed away.
"No, no ! A barter is a barter, pequeño. The card is yours now and the chocolate is mine. You have no right to go back on your word."
Jack stared at him, speechless. He looked down at the card. Eleanor took pity to see him so distraught at having been tricked.
"Come on, Jack. We're going to barter too. I'll exchange my square of chocolate for your card."
He looked up at Eleanor, skipped over to her, and gave her the card with an adorable smile.
"Here Aunt Eleanor. You can make a collection, like me."
"That's nice, Jack. Thank you," she smiled, grabbing the card with her fingertips.
Her smile faded when she met Leviticus Cornwall's cold gaze fixed on the small trading card. He looked like a conqueror looking down on the future businesses that would fall under his rule. In the background, pump jacks tirelessly extracted the precious black gold which enriched him, making him richer than any human could ever be and extremely influential with the most powerful people in the country. A formidable man who was best not upset.
"Well ! You look like you've seen a ghost," Lenny remarked, sitting next to her, not missing anything from her change of expression
Surprised, Eleanor placed the small card against her skirt and looked up at the young man.
"I have read some things about this man, which don't give me the impression that he is a man who deserves my sympathy," she replied as her nails dug into the card, leaving marks and small creases. "Rather hungry for money and power. The kind of people we try to avoid."
"These are the kind of people Dutch would be very interested in if you ask me."
"I don't doubt it for a moment, Mr Summers," she whispered, her gaze boring into the flames of the campfire. "But going after him would be one of the worst ideas Dutch could have."
At this warning, Eleanor excused herself and got up, claiming she was having a headache caused by the heat, before heading towards her tent, the card still in her hands.
"By the way, you can call me Lenny," he called out to her. "Mr Summers, this is much too formal."
Eleanor didn't answer him, preferring to disappear behind the sides of her tent, her heart beating. There, she collapsed onto her little bed, suddenly tired. Swallowing hard, she turned the card over. Her gaze lingered briefly on the name Leviticus Cornwall which seemed to taunt her, to show her that no matter where she went, he would pursue her relentlessly, and she was soon seized with a vague feeling of nausea. For several minutes, she was unable to take her eyes off the card. It was only when Mary-Beth came in to check that she was okay that Eleanor managed to tear herself away from this contemplation. Wanting not to be questioned by her friend, she pretended to go to bed with her back to him, even though she was still dressed.
She forced herself to close her eyes and tried to fall asleep, despite the turmoil that invaded and overwhelmed her.
The atmosphere in the living room was heavy and tinged with sickening pretenses. Eleanor had never been so tense. She had experienced several moments like this, forced to be introduced to a man of a good family for a potential arranged marriage. So far, she had always managed to scare away those who were interested.
But today, an inner conviction whispered to her in a terrified voice that it would be much more difficult. And that scared her.
Her mother made her sit down facing their guest with a big smile. But the young woman knew her well enough to know that this smile hid her nervousness. She must have feared Eleanor's new schemes to make this meeting fail.
Her father brought her a cup of tea which Eleanor hastened to grab to occupy her hands and hide her anxiety which was spreading inexorably from her heart to the tips of her fingers which began to tingle.
From time to time, Eleanor's gaze met that of the man in front of her, sitting on the sofa as if he were the undisputed master of the place. He was dressed very elegantly, making it easy to guess that he had money. A lot of money. Probably more than her family had owned, even in their heyday.
"Eleanor, I'm sure you know Mr Cornwall," her father began, taking a seat next to her mother. "He is the owner of many successful businesses in the United States."
"I thought you didn't have Americans in your heart, Father," the young woman replied before raising her cup to her lips. "That they were stupid pigs, ungrateful for having forced their independence from the monarchy."
Her mother gave her a sharp look full of warning. As for her father, he discreetly cleared his throat, suddenly uncomfortable. He gave Cornwall a sheepish smile.
"Eleanor always had…"
"A strong character ?" Cornwall cut him off abruptly. "Yes, I heard about it. As I have heard of many other things. I know I'm not the first you've introduced her to, Lord Richard."
If he was offended by this state of affairs, Cornwall showed nothing of it. His face was hard and closed to all emotion. A real rock. He looked at her for a long time, without saying anything, as if he were trying to decipher all her secrets. Eleanor tried to focus on the light illuminating the top of his bald head so as not to droop. After a moment, he raised his glass to his lips and casually sipped his brandy before continuing:
"Is it true that you rejected the advances of Prince George during your presentation at the Debutantes Ball ?"
"You have what ?" Lady Catherine choked, jumping before staring at Eleanor with a stunned look.
"How did you…" the young woman stammered, destabilized that Cornwall knew of this personal anecdote that she had only confided to Sybil, who would never have spoken about it to anyone, including their grandfather, as much as they even adored him.
"I have ears everywhere," he smiles. "I heard that you didn't let the prince remain insensible to your charm. I found this very interesting. This intrigued me greatly about you when I investigated you, Lady Eleanor. You successfully rejected all the young suitors that were presented to you. And you rejected a member of the royal family, you could have propelled your family into the upper echelons of nobility and monarchy."
His silver mustache twitched while the corner of his mouth quirked into a sarcastic pout.
"When we consider today that Prince George will be king in a few years. And you said no. Any young woman of your rank would be damned to have the attention of a member of the royal family."
"I never liked princesses and fairy tales. I prefer reality," Eleanor replied disdainfully, her hands clenched around the porcelain saucer which trembled imperceptibly under her fingers.
Her bite and her coldness were her means of defense. So far, this had proven to be formidable and devilishly effective. All the other men who had been introduced to her had become frightened and had preferred to marry another woman, gentler and more docile. But clearly, Cornwall wasn't the man to be afraid of a young woman of twenty-two.
On the contrary, he seemed amused by her words.
"You're a difficult woman to reach and I like a challenge. If you think you're scaring me, Lady Eleanor, you're seriously mistaken, quite the contrary. I spent my life with a dull and unresponsive woman, without the slightest charm, without the slightest wit. In business, you have to know what you want and stop at nothing to get it. And I want you, Eleanor."
The whole room seemed to spin around her, as if a crazy and colorful whirlwind had just descended on Farware House. The young woman's body was paralyzed and a wave of disgust overwhelmed her. Leviticus Cornwall was a good forty years older than her. And his reputation as a ruthless and arrogant man preceded him. She had read articles about him, and controversies over the treatment of people who worked on his sugar plantations on the island of Guarma in the Caribbean. As well as the treatment of Native American tribes who were herded into reservations, just above oil fields. This disgusting man had built his wealth on poverty and hardly seemed to care.
"Is she a virgin ?" Cornwall asked abruptly, placing his empty glass on the table with a loud bang.
This question, sudden and incongruous, froze Eleanor and her parents. Her father opened his mouth before closing it, visibly uncomfortable. As for her mother, her eyes widened imperceptibly before resting them briefly on Eleanor.
"Of course !" she replied immediately with an emotionless smile. "Our daughters have been educated to follow etiquette. A young girl from a good family is saving herself for marriage."
Cornwall's gaze probed Eleanor as if trying to read her thoughts, to guess if she had followed the etiquette. The young woman had never felt so much emptiness inside her, like a feeling of free fall.
"I asked a friend, Dr Barrow, to verify your statement," he replied with disdain, making it very clear that it was he who was leading the discussion. "After all, with the money I'm willing to invest to save your family, Lady Catherine, it's only natural that what I have been guaranteed is intact."
It was as if a huge waterfall of icy water had descended on Eleanor. Cattle, that's what she had been reduced to. She had become a heifer that was sold to the highest bidder. A membrane that greedy men wanted to tear apart to establish their supremacy.
Acrid, burning bile slowly rose in her throat and tears began to appear in the corners of her eyes. She hastened to chase them away, blinking her eyelids sharply.
"He has an office in London. You have an appointment with him in three days, time for you to make the journey."
"But... We have to prepare our house in Kensington," her father stammered, glancing at her mother who nodded vigorously.
"Oh, I'm not as boorish as you seem to think, Lord and Lady Cordell," Cornwall sneered, sinking back into the sofa. "Besides, I thought you sold this house to replenish your funds. You're welcome to my home in Chelsea. Everything is already ready to welcome you during your stay."
He turned his head towards Eleanor who carefully avoided looking directly at him.
"I'm sure you'll enjoy this house, Eleanor. You will have a lot of fun decorating it to your liking."
The three days following Cornwall's visit passed as quickly as the blink of an eye. Eleanor and her mother had barely had time to take up residence in Cornwall's house, which Eleanor hated even more than Farware House, and they already had to go to their planned appointment with the doctor commissioned by Cornwall to examine the young woman. The journey was similar to a condemned man's last journey to the gallows. Eleanor had never felt so empty and mortified, with this hint of cold terror constantly enveloping her.
While the horse-drawn carriage was slightly shaken by the cobblestones, Eleanor looked at her mother who remained desperately impassive, her eyes closed and her hands clasped in front of her in a contemplative attitude which exacerbated the young woman's nerves.
"How do you stay so calm ?"
"Because fussing won't achieve anything, Eleanor," her mother replied, keeping her eyelids closed. "We have no choice but to weather this storm. And staying calm is the best thing to do."
"Why should I pay for Father's mistakes ? It was his choices that brought the field to the edge of the precipice."
"Because that’s how it is, Eleanor !" Lady Catherine replied scathingly, opening her eyes, her blue irises radiating coldness. "We women must make up for the mistakes of men. It's been this way for hundreds of years and it will be this way for hundreds of years. We're paying the price for their mistakes. Your grandmother paid the price for your grandfather's mistakes. I paid the price for your grandfather's mistakes. And we're paying the price for your father's mistakes."
"I'm the one paying the high price. You're not really to be pitied."
Her mother glared at her, her mouth pursed.
"It saddened me to have to lay off some of our staff. They too paid a high price. They find themselves unemployed to feed their families."
Eleanor's heart sank. At no time had she thought of all those who had lost their jobs with the increasingly obvious lack of money to pay their salaries. She had selfishly immersed herself in her misfortune, without taking into consideration that of others.
"Don't think it pleases me that you are forced to be subjected to this disgusting examination"
"You hide your reluctance well."
Her mother's eyes burned.
"So stop being provocative, young lady. It's also your fault that you find yourself in this situation."
Eleanor made a sound that conveyed her astonishment.
"Excuse me ?"
"Perfectly. You have rejected all the suitors your age and your bad temper has spread all over England. Who would want a mare who can't be ridden ?"
A false and provocative smile stretched the young woman's mouth.
"Thank you for the compliment. Horses and I have a lot in common."
Her mother sighed and glanced outside. Suddenly she seemed ten or fifteen years older. As if all the burden she carried in silence had become too much to bear. Looking more closely, the young woman could make out the reflection of the rare gray hairs that dotted her mother's hair. As well as the wrinkles that traced all the trials, all the anguish, and all the sorrows that Lady Catherine Cordell had gone through to become the woman and mother she was today.
"Why do you always have to conflict with us, Eleanor ?"
Eleanor remained silent. Her mother didn't understand her, and she didn't understand her mother. This was nothing new. As far back as she could remember, she had always felt like her parents' disappointment. She was their last daughter, arriving ten years after Sybil. Her parents had hoped for a boy to carry on the Cordell line on the Farware House estate and the county. And now after all these months of waiting, hope and projects, another girl showed up, taking with her all the expectations based on a potential heir. Never again had her mother managed to carry life after her.
Eleanor had therefore grown up with the certainty that her parents would have preferred a boy in her place, and instead of lamenting, she had decided to rebel against this unfair convention which gave all the advantages to boys. Then little by little, her feeling of revolt had encompassed within it the contempt she had for the pompous nobility who lived for luxury and salon gossip. She had always felt more interest and admiration for people who were not concerned with the value of social rank and who knew how to see beyond the surface. Like her grandfather.
Her grandfather... Another subject of discord within the family. Her mother carried deep anger towards him in her heart, but never could Eleanor or her sisters have an answer as to the reason for this bad feeling. Even their grandfather, Jean de Beauclaire, kept silent on the subject, preferring to divert attention as he knew how to do so well.
Everything had degenerated after the death of their grandmother, Apolline de Beauclaire. Eleanor had just turned sixteen. Never again was she able to set foot in her grandfather's small Norman estate, as if her mother wanted to definitively cut the ties that united them both. They were able to continue to exchange letters and see each other, almost in secret, when Eleanor was doing her season in London in May. Rose and Sybil had enjoyed more freedoms, being married and away from Lady Catherine's cup.
But Eleanor had held a grudge over this deprivation. And had decided to become even more insolent, more freedom-loving. Why should she pay the price for anger that had nothing to do with her ? Why should she accept without flinching being taken away from one of the only people who had always shown love towards her ?
"Leviticus Cornwall isn't the match I imagined for you, but he is the only one who has not been cooled by your character. And he's very wealthy. Marrying him is our last chance to save our family, Eleanor. To save Farware House from ruin."
Eleanor didn't answer. She just looked away towards the street the car had just turned into. She recognized Chester Square, located south of Belgravia. In the distance, the recognizable tone of Big Ben could be heard, striking three o'clock.
The carriage didn't take long to stop and the driver soon appeared to open the door. Lady Catherine was the first to come down, taking care that her hat didn't hit the doorpost. Eleanor felt like her legs were made of lead as she struggled to get up. But with all the strength she could muster, she managed to touch the sidewalk without staggering.
The street was noisy and invaded by a thick, grayish, and oppressive fog, which burned her throat and eyes. She hated London when the fog snaked through every thoroughfare. It was like a ghostly monster that took pleasure in suffocating its victims.
Eleanor looked up at the Victorian-style brick house and her gaze rested on the golden plaque hanging on the facade. The black letters seemed to taunt her.
Dr Peter Barrow
Gynecologist
"Let's go," her mother muttered, raising her head very smugly. "Let's get this over with."
She tilted her head to look at Eleanor.
"It’s going to go well," she added softly, in an uncharacteristic tone. "I know you can overcome this, Eleanor. You're strong."
The young woman looked up at her mother. What exactly was she talking about ? From this exam ? Or her marriage to Cornwall ? Both maybe. But her words - her mother's words, words she had always missed - reignited a small flame of courage in her chest.
Lady Catherine pushed the door open and Eleanor was forced to follow her. Sitting behind a small and cramped desk, a woman greeted them before sitting them down in a small and soberly decorated waiting room. Eleanor's gaze didn't linger on any of the small paintings hanging on the walls. This was considered rude and contrary to etiquette. She then focused on her breathing and the painful sensation in her stomach, making her feel like she might vomit at any moment.
The wait wasn't long. Dr Barrow entered the small room and greeted them with a certain coldness which he tried to conceal with respect due to the rank of the Cordell family in good English society. He was a rather tall, thin man, his black hair graying at the temples. His eyes were hidden behind a small pair of round glasses that slid down his aquiline nose.
"Lady Cordell."
His gaze fell on Eleanor.
"Lady Eleanor. I'm Dr Barrow, I'm the one responsible for examining you. Please follow me."
Eleanor glanced at her mother, with the slight hope that she would end up refusing this examination. But she didn't move, her hands crossed on her knees, in a placid attitude. A thin worried wrinkle crossed her forehead but it was difficult to know if it was due to the fear that the examination wouldn't be conclusive, with the risk that Cornwall would withdraw, or if it was due to maternal worry. Lady Catherine Cordell had never been the maternal type with her three daughters.
Eleanor therefore followed Dr Barrow. He stopped in front of an open door and politely invited the young woman to enter first. The chair was the first thing she noticed when she entered. Horrible, made in a red quilted fabric, with gold pompoms all around the frame. It almost looked like an armchair we might find in a tastefully decorated living room, if we didn't pay attention to the little crank on the left side. A torture machine that we were trying to disguise.
Dr Barrow closed the door behind him.
"Will you lie down on the armchair, Lady Eleanor ?"
Swallowing the acidic bile that rose in her throat, Eleanor reclined in the cushioned chair, her skirt and petticoats still covering her legs. She heard Dr Barrow walk around the armchair. A small creak was heard and Eleanor guessed that he was turning the crank. At the same time, she felt the backrest gradually position itself horizontally, while the seat rose. The young woman stood up with fear and saw two footrests unfold, coming out of nowhere, like a frightening insect spreading its mandibles to devour its prey.
"Lie back, Lady Eleanor," Dr Barrow said, ceasing to turn the crank.
Eleanor did so as he got closer, and her muscles tensed when she felt him carefully lift her skirt. The young woman's breathing became more ragged. Air struggled to enter her lungs. Icy chills ran through the skin of her legs, even though they were covered by her pantalettes. Was it because of the opening at her crotch that let air through ? Or was it fear ?
"Try not to move, Lady Eleanor. And stay calm. It won't take very long."
All her thoughts vanished at once when he lifted each of her legs and placed them on the footrests, forcing her to spread her legs to access the most private place of her being. Tears slowly fell down Eleanor's cheeks but she found herself strangely unable to wipe them away, her body having become limp, devoid of strength and will. The doctor's fingers began their intrusion, touching her, feeling her, trying to find what Cornwall wanted more than anything.
Eleanor's head slid limply to the side and her vacant gaze rested on a slight crack in the white paint. It resembled the bed of a river dug over millennia by an impetuous current. A river nestled in the heart of a vast wild and unexplored forest, far from the civilized world.
The young woman ended up taking refuge in her mind, where she was safest. She thought of her dreams, of her hopes. The memory of a discussion she had had with Sybil came back to her. She must have been sixteen or seventeen.
"I have this dream often. I live in a house. A real house. Not a mansion or a castle. A house, all made of wood, as you can see in certain books that talk about gold prospectors in the American West. I would love to have a house like this. A ranch. With horses. Lots of horses I could take care of."
Sybil had one of her smiles of which only she had the secret. Those smiles made it seem like she already knew.
"It's a very nice dream, Eli. And you must always believe in your dreams."
Eleanor sighed as she sat down on one of the stone benches that lined the paths that wound through the vast gardens of Farware House. Gardens that Eleanor and her sisters knew by heart having hidden there on numerous occasions to escape their horrible governess.
"Dreaming is one thing. But realizing what you believe in is another. To buy a ranch, you need money. To have money, you have to work and..."
She met her sister's attentive gaze.
"And to work, you have to know how to do things. And apart from sewing or playing the piano, I don't know how to do anything."
Sybil then took a seat next to her and took her hands to shake them affectionately.
"Eleanor, you can do a lot more than you seem to think. You just haven't had the chance to express these skills yet. For money, you know I can help you."
"No !" the young girl replied quickly. "Sybil, I... this dream... I want to make it come true by myself, without having to depend on you. I want to make you proud of what I can do."
And Sybil had the most beautiful smile. Her blue eyes began to sparkle with emotion.
"Eli, I'm already proud to have you as a sister."
Sybil… It’s about time, isn’t it ? Time to go. Leave. Far. Write her life. To live her dream. Live freely. Forget the conventions. Forgetting the obligations of a young woman of her rank. Change name. To change life. Write her life the way she wanted.
The New World. America. Vast untamed America where it was easy to disappear and be reborn. The land of opportunity and freedom. New lives. Many people had started their lives again in this very young country. The country hated by her parents. This was her chance to escape Cornwall, to escape this life she hated, which was not hers. To finally be her. The real Eleanor. Not the doll we wanted her to be. Not the doll they wanted to sell in Cornwall so he could show off with a very young wife.
She barely heard Dr Barrow call to her as he stood up. Slowly, Eleanor pulled her skirt down over her legs, trying to chase away the horrible feeling that persisted in her private area, as if Dr Barrow's fingers continued to touch her. He was now sitting behind his desk and writing something. The sound of the tip of the pen on the paper was strangely disturbing, similar to the sound of the judge's gavel condemning her to an irrevocable sentence.
When he raised his head to look at her, he asked:
"Wasn't that painful ?"
Eleanor bit her lip to keep from screaming all the disgust that wanted to run out of her mouth. She just nodded stiffly, her eyes burning. Dr Barrow then resumed what he had been writing. Then when he had put his signature at the bottom of the paper, he folded it carefully before slipping it into an envelope.
"You can get up. We finished."
Returning to the waiting room, Eleanor wanted to both run into her mother's arms for comfort and scream her anger at her for letting her undergo this sickening examination. Lady Catherine stood up when she saw them enter. Her gaze rested briefly on her daughter before turning to Dr Barrow.
"So ?"
He looked at her over his little round glasses.
"The hymen is intact."
Her mother's chest deflated slightly with relief.
"I have written the certificate of virginity which I will give to Mr Cornwall tomorrow."
Eleanor listened to all this with absent-mindedness. Her head was buzzing and she just wanted to get out of here. Even the smog of London was more breathable than the air there. Without even saying a word, she left the waiting room, vaguely hearing her mother calling her name. She pushed open the front door of the office and was greeted with the acrid London air, through which the sun was trying to break through.
She didn't pay attention to the onlookers who passed all around her, elegantly dressed and with a snobbish look plastered on their faces. She let her fingers play with Sybil's signet ring as if trying to feel her presence through this last memory that linked her to her. Her decision was made. No matter what it cost her, America was her escape.