The following day, Caroline remained unaffected by what was happening in her life, as it was all quite normal to her. She casually sat on the armchair beside Rosemary the moment she entered the drawing room, surprised to see that there was a smile on her face. Her heart warmed with pride at how controlled the young lady's emotions seemed to be, and, not wanting to startle her, she studied her uncut nails until the other woman noticed her at last, turning to face her with eyes that gleamed with joy. Clasping her hands, Rosemary initiated the conversation without hesitation.
"Hello, Madam Proust," she chirped. "I am immensely glad to see that you are as full of mirth as I am. Tell me, what is there in the world that excites you so?"
"Many things, my dear, quite many things," Caroline muttered, hoping that Rosemary would not read too deep into that.
Rosemary stroked her chin. "Madame, I am very well aware that there are many things in the world that excite you. After all, you are a hedonist, which I think is rather beautiful. But what is there that excites you so much on this particular day above any other? I have not seen you be this excited in months."
Is my enjoyment of the memories of the previous night truly that visible? It must speak to the great passion of my love, which could lead to the discovery of my latest misdeeds. Thus, I must act natural, act natural the same way I have for decades every time I needed to cover something up. I suppose it really is that simple.
"Is that a crime?" she wept all of a sudden so as to not seem like she had wandered off to some remote lane of thought. "For months, I have tried my best not to get too excited about anything in my aim to respect the memory of my dead husband, and now that I am trying to crawl out of my miserable, profound pit of grief, you judge me for doing so? I merely think that today is a lovely day in a world full of opportunities because even though Alistair is not coming back, he would never want me to remain in a state of wretchedness for eternity. Will you stop judging me now?!"
For a while, Rosemary could not bring herself to speak out of utter shame. Caroline's imitation of despair was pretty convincing, what with all its wailing and choking on tears that she could conjure up on command. Even Caroline herself was impressed with the sheer believability of her acting for a moment.
Instead of looking at her, which made her heart burn with blame at the mere thought of it, Rosemary stared at the distance for a minute. The two cups of chamomile tea that were there still had steam emanating from them, and holding her own scorched her hand thanks to her skin being sensitive, which she always thought a rather peculiar coincidence. They were tiny and white, their surfaces full of pink flower patterns, fitting perfectly with the rest of the drawing room.
The burgundy walls had beautiful paintings all over them, paintings of landscapes that Rosemary could only dream of being a part of - enchanting purple sunsets, shining cerulean seas, lovely green hills, majestic mountains laced with snow. It was not as though there was anything significant lacking in her life, simply that fiction was always more romantic, and there was nothing that she admired more than all things romantic. There were also pretty golden candelabrums hanging everywhere above her, a white ceramic vase with white roses on the table, and a large bronze rug engulfing the entirety of the floor. Such great decorations were part of the reason why she had loved the room since she was a child.
It had never changed, as opposed to many other things in her life. Life itself had become oddly complicated, filled with obstacles that she never could have imagined years ago. It seemed that she was learning something new every day, something that she should have known a while ago but for some reason never did. According to the things she had learned, she tried to adjust her behaviour, but nothing ever seemed quite right.
She knew very well that the grief of another woman was a grave matter and that it was her duty to help mend it, but the woman sitting next to her made her feel uneasy at times. Although she saw kindness and empathy and joy in her heart, sometimes she could not help but wonder what it was that had caused the two of them to become so close.
Caroline thrived in all environments when it came to making friends, it was obvious, but why had Rosemary become so blase about hanging around an immoral woman, a woman who lied and cheated and drove people to do terrible things and ruined the lives of all those who came near her? She felt a little shameful for thinking such thoughts while the woman in question was crying, but when those thoughts came to her, she always let them stay until they were over, believing that they might just become important later.
When Caroline stopped crying, at last, those thoughts evaporated instantly.
"My dear Caroline," she gasped. "Are you well now? Are you furious with me for awakening your profound sorrow? Does Alistair still haunt you in your dreams, making you feel as though he were alive even though you are well aware that it is nothing but a lie? I have known that feeling, so it is only appropriate that I ask you about it. You should not be dealing with such emotions on your own."
Caroline laughed. "I am fine, Rosemary, trust me. It was nothing but a spur of the moment. Sometimes I have moods that are most unwanted, but they disappear as soon as they appear, the same way as this one. Really, you should have no concerns at all. I am not haunted by the death of my husband. In fact, I was going to talk about him with you right now."
Rosemary raised an eyebrow. "You were? No, my friend, you should not do it if you-"
Caroline waved her right hand. "I told you to have no concerns. I am fine now. I have lived for so much longer than you have, my dear young lady, thus I have acquainted myself with so many more diverse situations and environments. I have seen everything that the world has to offer, which has prepared me for any possible event that might occur at any time in the future. I am more secure in my life than those who judge me because I have made myself a comfortable life, no matter what one might think of it.
I am certain that you feel as if you have learned everything that needs to be learned, but most of what is to come, you heard through mere hearsay, which is nowhere near enough, and you can never know if your life will follow the same route that you have been expecting for this long.
I never could have expected that my husband would die in a shipwreck, and I am still not over it, but I will be fine. It is nothing more than the pain that comes with the suddenness of the severance of the amicable relationship we have had with each other. That is why I am comfortable about talking about him at this very moment. He may not be here with us, but his memory will always live on."
Rosemary covered her face with her petite and slender hands so that Caroline would not fully see her ugly sobbing. "That was a beautiful speech, particularly the last part. I could not have found better words to express what you wanted to say even if I tried.
You are indeed in the right, and that is why I know that I should not be crying, but it reminds me of my mother.
She died when Harold was twelve, which means that I never knew her, but based on what he, Father, as well as everyone else has told me, she was a great woman. Still, her memory will live on, and that is what truly matters at the end of the day."
Caroline raised an eyebrow. "Oh, Eleanore? She was truly a great woman from what I knew of her. However, there are some gaps in my memory, especially around the time of her death, so please, I beseech you, tell me everything you have been told of that which matters the most."
"I shall, Madam Proust," Rosemary responded meekly, wiping her face with her bare hands. "Let me start right now.
My mother and father met each other at a young age. They were both of wealthy blood, which was rather convenient for them, and upon establishing their relationship, they married quickly. It all seemed to be quite ideal.
However, there is something about my father that most people do not know, and which you ought not to tell anyone. He was not always the man you know today, far from it. In his childhood, he was not raised properly, which would go on to affect him for years to come.
It was not a bad childhood by any means. In fact, it was quite the opposite. His parents coddled him and taught him to be a true patriarch, the 'man of the house', as people love to say. Over the years, his shy demeanour changed to one of arrogance, but Mother was not surprised by it at all because she had been raised like a normal woman, expected to respect and obey every command that was given to her.
It was nowhere near as bad as it could have been. I hear of what happens to women every day, and I am terrified by it. However, there was never proof that Father did anything that terrible to her, not even at his worst, thus I am pacified. Still, it left him with much guilt forevermore.
When she was revealed to have tuberculosis, which was exactly one year before her death, he was desperate for sure, but there was still hope in him, hope that she could survive even in a state of vast sickness for the rest of her life. The night she died, his heart vanished from his chest, as he claimed, and a new light, which was both tyrannical and helpful in its purpose, shone over his entire existence.
Without her, his life would never be the same, but it never meant that he would lose himself in grief. He knew that, although the pain seemed like it would never end, it would end with enough time and only traces of it would remain if he had hope, which was what ended up happening. After that terrible event, he said it was like he had suddenly turned into a completely new person, maturing significantly and learning to be humble and kind to others.
It was then that his now former friends began to disgust him. They were all the men of their houses, and he did not want to associate with such people anymore. He started to wonder how he ever could have behaved in such a way in the first place, and to this day, he still is not willing to forgive himself for his actions, but he says that it does not matter as long as he keeps trying his best to be a good man in her memory. It is wonderful what love can do to people, is it not?"
Caroline smiled warmly. "That is a much better experience with love than I have ever witnessed my whole life. It truly inspired me. I will brew us some tea, and then we can talk about my husband."
"That sounds brilliant, madam," Rosemary chirped, clasping her hands before commencing her staring at the ceiling, which she was wont to do while waiting for something.
She had to wait for Caroline to brew the tea for a suspiciously long amount of time, but she did not mind it at all. Her tea was delicious despite tasting a wee bit stranger than she had expected it to. However, the second she was over with her tea, the experience was ruined in a way that she could not have imagined even in her worst nightmares.
Her head and stomach both began to hurt severely. Her vision began to become blurry. She began to feel as if she was nearing the gates of Death, but luckily, that turned out not to be the case a minute later, even if the huge feeling of illness did not leave her. She could hear Caroline only mildly despite her letting out an ear-piercing scream when she saw what had happened to her. She did not know what it was, but she knew that it was the worst moment of her life.