Everyone who knew Caroline Proust could tell that she was not average by any definition of the word. As the wife of the renowned captain of the ship called Atlantis, Alistair Proust, she stood tall above most persons that she met, and her beauty did not harm that status either. She went to the best places, drank the best wines, hung with the best people, and wore the best clothes. The well of her affluence never dried up, for not only was the business of her husband always profitable, but she also had a massive fortune endowed to her by her ancestors. It was not known where the fortune came from, but it hardly mattered. All that mattered was that she did not have to change her wasteful habits, nor did she have to find a modest job like the lowly women she looked down upon did. In all of Britain, she was regarded as a rather important person, and her company was a luxury.
Naturally, she was often invited to balls, tea parties and dinners, and she was never too proud to refuse an offer, especially when the invitation came from one of the bigger places in her country. With years of experience concerning the lives of the wealthy, she had learned all that they were wont to do and say, and it helped that most of them resembled her in a way. Rarely did they show their true selves to others, even those close to them, they loved to purchase expensive things and did not regret it for a single second, and gossiping about those they did not particularly like was something they did almost every day.
In fact, the last time they found yet another person to mock was not that long ago. If it had been any of them, their blood would have surely boiled with rage, but fortunately, the subject of their vile words, whom they did not even know, was miles away at the time. It allowed them to say everything they thought of him without restraint, as was the routine amongst these people. Caroline soaked in every word with a bright smile, for she had never heard of the person in question beforehand. While the servants were placing the food prepared for the first meal of the night on the table, they commenced their conversation.
"There is a good reason none of you has heard of Stephen Rochester before," said her best friend, Fanny Lovelace, whose hair was yellow as coin and whose eyes reminded her of emeralds. "You do not have to possess much intelligence to conclude that the way he came to have such a fortune is unsavoury."
Her smile was full of forced sweetness, which encapsulated her personality perfectly. Although she was glad to have her around whenever she needed assistance when it came to her schemes or simply wanted an informal and intimate conversation, her personality was so artificial that her own artificial self could not help but judge her at times. Deciding that the asides in her head were not important at all, she kept listening to the words that other people said, trying not to miss any.
A tall man with hair black as coal and deep chestnut eyes spoke next. "I have heard of that bloke before. Is he not the one who earned his wealth through gambling, which is an unbelievable stroke of luck when we take into consideration how precarious the whole business is?"
His voice was deep and his facial expression grave, establishing dominance. She had known him for years, talked to him in the streets, visited his store since it had the best jewellery she could find, and, most notably, been in his bedroom on many an occasion. That man, who everyone knew was called Matthew Sparks, was her favourite out of all the lovers she ever had. Just like her, he enjoyed seducing people more than anything, and his experience in the arts of love and lust was the only one in Britain that could compare to hers. Another thing he enjoyed very much was the careless spending of money, and his avarice, just like hers, was impressive in a way. He was the sole person that could fully understand her, and she never regretted knowing him.
"Well, it is certain that one day, he could very easily lose it all!" Fanny exclaimed, bursting into laughter.
The rest of the table burst into laughter as well, and their laughter, no matter how artificial it may have sounded to anyone who was not familiar with them, was all too specific to Caroline. It contained a strong sense of amusement, for sure, as laughter was supposed to, but there was also a tinge of unrepentant malice towards a man they hardly knew and also a tinge of superiority, for all of these people were more than aware about how tall they stood above the rest of the world, basking in the light of that fact like it was the light of the Sun. However, despite all of that, she joined them. After all, the chances she would meet him in person were infinitesimal.
After the laughter stopped, Fanny spoke again, this time with a sombre facial expression. "I just remembered a most terrible thing. That waste of a man is moving into our neighbourhood because there is an old mansion he wants to buy, and it is across the fence from our dear Caroline!"
Everyone apart from the two of them gasped, their furious complaints blending into one. She could not blame them at all, for she was herself affected by this grotesque information, placing a hand onto her trembling heart, her face becoming pale and her eyes becoming abnormally wide. After a few moments of focusing on her tense heartbeats, she reminded herself to close her eyes and take a deep breath, and it helped her to arrive at a reasonable conclusion, albeit with an overwhelming desire to roll her eyes, which she did not, knowing how inappropriate it would have been to do in front of all these well-mannered people, instead telling them her theory immediately with a blank gaze:
"Perhaps he might find the mansion less satisfactory than he had expected and buy another, preferably far, far away from my presence."
The rest of the table collectively let out a long sigh of relief, and with that, the conversation shifted into one that was even more mundane, nothing more than a bunch of people talking about the weather and their dreams and their expensive travels and what they did with their families in the last couple days, all those nice, nonchalant matters. At that moment, Caroline could not express her gratitude enough, for even people like her knew to become tired of artificiality and callousness.
She was even more grateful when the dinner ended. At last, she could go outside and take her daily walk through the city streets while the sky was darkening. There would be no more gossip, no more pretending, and no more shocking news, only her and nature. It was everything she could ask for at that moment, and thus she calmly dismissed Fanny's offer to go into her carriage and stay inside her home at night, extremely glad that the other woman was not offended.
The sunset was as beautiful as always. The tranquil blue sky was not so plainly blue anymore, filling itself with deep shades of pink and purple, the blue within accepting the darkness of the night, the colours spread out in an uneven yet pretty way, like the flowers on a meadow or paint on a canvas. Something about it never failed to awaken an unfamiliar part of her heart, one that was enchanted by the poetry her environment held, weeping at the splendour that could not be replaced by jewels or gold. The birds soon flew nearby, singing a song of innocence and wonder, hiding in trees, far above land, their gentle figures and heads incapable of thought safe from the terrors below.
It was all completely different to the world she knew. Amidst the cold riches and cold hearts, it brought a warmth that did not sear her skin, welcoming her to another plane of existence. There, she thought many thoughts that did not occur to her during the rest of the day. When she would walk over a field full of plants and life, she would often halt her movement at random points, the winds of cold blowing at her back and caressing the long skirt of the white summer dress she wore that day, as well as her hair, reminding her of her childhood. Back then, her hair was stuck in a dull cap all day long, but now that she was wealthy, she wore her hair in fancy hats with peacock feathers or false flowers or something similar, eternally thankful that most of her hair was visible beneath them.
However, it was the least of the differences between her former life and her current one. She used to be quite the curious and thoughtful young lady, playing with other children, exploring the streets and the woods for hours on end, reading profound works written in prose and poetry and trying to create her own, saving money any way she could whenever her parents lacked in it and happy to get a gift when they did not. When she grew up, she changed completely, and only those walks and memories and some literature remained. Still, she regretted nothing, and would not trade her hollow life for anything in the world, for what would a woman like her be without luxury and seduction all around her?
Only the threat of death could change her life at this point, which to her seemed rather far away. Countless people feared death, which made her feel more special and better than them. Whenever she thought of it, she did not see an afterlife engulfed with suffering, nor herself painfully withering and eventually rotting, becoming food for maggots beneath the ground, nor people she loved crying on her tombstone with unbearable grief. She imagined falling into a deep sleep, which she enjoyed doing every night, looking back at her dreams as something surreal and captivating. It also helped that everyone had to go there and that, although people did not live long and often had their lives ended by tuberculosis, she was forty-five and thus not that old, and also a healthy woman who did not seem as though she could be struck with such an illness.
Her profound thoughts were shortly interrupted by the arrival of a man she did not particularly admire. She would never fail to recognise that stern facial expression that was worn by age not that younger than hers, the age of forty, although age affected his appearance way more than it did hers. Other recognisable parts of his appearance were his blond hair and hazel eyes, his barely visible moustache, as well as his black suit with white buttons and tie. This time, he was even more sombre than usual, and given his history of being sombre thanks to her behaviour, she glared at him the moment he came face to face with her, crossing her hands. After that, he pouted, which, although surprising, did not move her much. She stood there with visible anger for several minutes while he was sighing, waiting for him to say whatever he had on his mind. She had had enough of it when the night fell, asking him the following question:
"Would you be so kind to open your mouth in front of me, Mister Wells, or did you come here to interrupt my solemn evening with your incessant sighs?"
Harold turned his head away from her. "My apologies, Mrs Proust, but what I have to say hurts my heart beyond belief."
"I am certain it will hurt less when you say it," she grumbled.
He sighed again. "If you insist it will, then so be it. A respectable member of the community passed away, and you knew him too. The ship called Atlantis was wrecked in the last night's storm, and many members of the crew did not make it, including your husband. I believe that his time in the afterlife is good and that he would not want us to indulge in sorrow, but it is hard not to mourn a man as kind as he used to be. May he rest in peace."
Caroline took her handkerchief out of a pocket in her dress, crying in a way that was not that noble, her heart pierced with the utmost agony imaginable. She felt like she was being punished for her arrogant belief that death would not come near her any time soon, and she wished that she had been on that ship as if she could have done something about it when dozens of people who had lots of experience when it came to ships could not. Not only was her reputation ruined now, as she became a widow with no further earnings to look forward to, but her life was also ruined, as her future held countless pitiful stares and days without the man she respected even when she fell out of love with him and began to pursue others. It was painfully ironic that a person with a heart of gold had to die in a random storm, and that a person with a heart of sin was nowhere near her demise, free to blunder furthermore. At least she was not the one who ended up in the accident, and with numerous prospects in front of her, she was sure that her pain would pass quickly.
And it did. The first week was the worst, with its fresh emotions and constant visits from sympathetic strangers and preparations for the funeral, but she was adamant about no one seeing her vulnerability, which was why, in front of everyone, she appeared to be bereft of the passions of life, leading them to believe that nothing too strange was happening inside her head and leave her alone. She could not allow herself to enjoy the first moments of a life without her husband too much either, so during the first month, she hardly ever left her house, reading stacks of books from her personal library, which had accumulated over the years, destroying the concept of time in her mind for many hours of her day, only halting to perform the basic functions every human had to do.
She had thought about teaching herself to play the piano, but after thinking about it for a while, she came to the conclusion that it would have been too much of a distraction when she returned to her previous life. The books she had read were mostly good, and they all meant to her at least a little, and while she was cleaning up her house and searching for every book within, she found dusty piles of unread books, wondering how she came to have that much of them.
The initial phase of mourning her husband was more idyllic than she had expected, but that idyll had to end someday. It happened on a morning that seemed like any other. The first rays of the sun, which entered Caroline's bedroom through the curtains, woke her up not only because of their light but also because she had commenced her slumber at ten the night before, unable to stay up any longer due to the fear of thinking about Alistair for a long time again. Someone was knocking on her door at five in the morning like an insane person, which caused her to groan and bury her head in her pillow, her maid still able to hear her order to let them in.
The person appeared to have brought another one with them, the voices of the guests both old and male and female respectively, which was all she could recognise about them at the moment. The maid offered them tea, but the man said that the two of them were not in the mood for it and that they wanted nothing more than to talk to Caroline at once. It motivated her to jump out of her bed, slightly brush her hair and put some shoes on, greeting them in her nightgown, which was a bit embarrassing to her, but at least she did not leave them waiting for too long. When she closed her eyes and opened them again from her sleepiness, she knew exactly who had come to her door.
The man was as stiff as a statue, holding the tip of his cane in his right hand like he was strangling someone, his face bald except for the minimal remains of his brown hair, his thick moustache and grown beard, his grey eyes and thin, light brown lips bereft of emotion, his tight grey suit with a golden badge that resembled a rose causing him to seem a bit heavier than he was in reality. The woman, while not too lively, had more life inside her than he did, standing haughtily with her tall figure and pointed nose, but not so much as to demean herself, her brown eyes gleaming and her raspberry lips forming a smile that showed her appreciation for the wonders of the world while the sun was shining near her, her purple dress light and loose, matching her lovely hat full of false violets. Those people, known as her parents, entered the living room the moment they got her permission, the three of them sitting on the divan right after she dismissed her maid, the mother's face becoming sullen all of a sudden. Her own face becoming sullen, Caroline asked the following shortly after:
"I have not gone out much for the last month. Has there been a new occurrence that upset you?"
The mother, Ophelia, sighed. "You tell her, Richard. I am too weak of heart to do it."
Richard shook his head. "We are in debt, Caroline. I apologise if this made you upset, but it was my obligation to tell you this. Now that your husband has passed away and that you have nowhere to collect riches from but your ancestors and that fortune will disappear soon as well due to your wasteful ways, you must marry another wealthy man to return to your former glory or sell the luxuries you have and not be a spender any longer, which I doubt you would be able to live with."
Caroline gasped. "Whom am I to marry then and in what span of time? Surely this will be my doom! I cannot live if removed from the position I thrive in. There is not another life for me."
Richard shrugged. "If that presents you with such horror, then you will either find someone or die trying. I have attempted to force you away from this type of living on many an occasion, but it appears to have absorbed you, and there is nothing that can be done about it. Farewell and live your life in health."
After everyone greeted everyone, Caroline was left alone in her bedroom to think without a sound in her vicinity. She did not read nor eat nor prepare herself for the rest of the day for several hours, too deep in thought to care about small things. She considered her options when it came to marriage, and no one seemed suitable enough. She had almost resigned when she remembered that there was a well-off bachelor near her who would surely be kind enough to accept her with time. It would take a while to seduce him, but in her hubris, she believed that she could seduce anyone with enough effort, which prompted her to take her first step. In less than an hour, her maid helped her dress the best she could and greeted her on her way to his house, sweeping the dust while she was walking towards that mansion like she owned the world, already imagining how the conversation would go.