Chapter Text
“And where exactly did you find her?” Fiona’s voice is tired, dismissive; like there are dozens of other subjects that she’d rather devote her attention to, which is probably the truth.
“She was just outside town, the poor dear. Entirely alone! Imagine! She was feeding the birds. I asked what she was doing out so late, and she told me she had nowhere else to go! Homeless, no less. Well, you’d think it of drunks and ne’er-do-wells, but never one so young and pretty. Such a gentle soul, I couldn’t leave her there.”
Fiona stretches back in her chair, flexing her neck; her corset is tight and her day has been long and her patience is wearing thin.
“So you brought her back here? And what do you want me to do with her?”
Myrtle, wringing colourfully-gloved hands, gestures once more at the girl beside her.
“Take her in! She’s in need of a home and you have more than enough space! She’s a mere child, and I’m sure you could find use for her.”
The matriarch observes cynically, scanning the girl from head to toe.
“What can you do, girl? Why should I extend such courtesy?”
The girl glances briefly at the red head beside her, and receiving a nod, steps forward.
“I’m real good with plants, miss. I see ya have a pretty big garden; I’ll look after it. Ya needn’t pay me. That’s all I know, ya see…”
Fiona frowns at the girl’s accent.
“You are from the bayou?”
“Yes, miss.”
Fiona presses her lips together and sighs. Her brow furrows as she considers.
“You have no notable family?”
“My ma and pa weren’t poor, miss. We had a house and everythin’. I ain’t much but I was somethin’ before they died, I swear it.”
Fiona sighs and leans further back in her armchair, skirts rustling round her.
“Well, aside from your accent, your manner of speaking isn’t too abysmal, I suppose…How old are you?”
“I’m 20, miss.”
“Only two years younger than my Delia…” Fiona catches Myrtle’s equally knowing eye. Her daughter the recluse…so shy and sad…so alone. Perhaps this girl was the answer to all her problems…
Fiona pulls herself out of her seat and stands before the girl.
“Alright.” She sighs. “You shall live here, under my roof, and I shall provide you with whatever you need. You in return for my care shall tend my gardens, and keep my daughter company. I will educate you in whatever areas I consider fit. I will pay for your upkeep, your clothing, and anything else you require, or desire within reason. You shall be under my guardianship, and you shall stay out of my way wherever possible. Is that understood?”
The girl nods seriously, eagerly, and Myrtle bounces on the balls of her feet.
“Ms Snow here is my companion, as well as my daughter’s governess. She will see to your upkeep on a day-to-day basis. She will also show you to your room. You shall meet my daughter in the morning.”
The girl nods once more, ecstatic at the prospect of a proper bed.
Myrtle and the girl stand as Fiona moves gracefully towards the door, intending on retiring for the night. The clock ticks over to midnight, the fire is minutes from being extinguished, and the house creaks sleepily with the lethargic movement of the servants’ final duties.
Fiona turns back in the doorway to get another look at the house’s newest inhabitant.
“What is your name, girl?”
The girl smiles. “Misty. Misty Day.”
Fiona sighs like it’s something she expected to hear, but didn’t want to.
0-0-0
“A what?”
“A companion! Isn’t it marvellous?! At last, my dear, you shall have someone to entertain you. I know how solitary a life you have led, all shut up here alone, but this girl is close to your age and she’ll be perfectly satisfactory. She can certainly talk, and I don’t believe she is too intelligent, but I suppose that doesn’t matter concerning the two of you!”
The young woman subtly, subconsciously tilts her head slightly to alleviate the pain of her handmaid tugging her hair into its restraints. “A ‘companion’? You’ve trapped the poor girl here to entertain me? What a punishment!”
“She simply had no other option, Delia. Your mother was indeed generous to take her in. She will take care of the grounds. She has quite the affinity with nature, I believe.”
Once ghost blonde hair is securely tied back, the young woman stands with the effortless elegance of one raised to fear what would happen if she did not move in this fashion. She moves to observe herself in the looking-glass, biting her lip at the face looking back at her.
“I shall call for her. You two should really be introduced as a matter of urgency.” Myrtle asks a maid to fetch the latest resident, and a moment after her departure the door opens again.
“Cordelia dear, this is Misty Day.”
“Miss Day, this is Cordelia Goode.”
“I’m sure you two will be the best of friends.”
Cordelia, awkward in something as uncomfortable as the presence of a new acquaintance, shuffles forwards and extends a hand to the girl.
“Pleasure to meet you, Miss Day.”
The girl smiles in response, and Cordelia swears the sight is so bright she is momentarily startled. She takes her hand.
“Same ta you, Miss Cordelia…I mean Miss Goode.” She blushes superbly and Cordelia lets a tiny smile reflect in her own face at the girl’s accent. She can’t believe her mother let this girl on their grounds, let alone agreed to have her stay.
She’s rather wonderful to look at. She has the figure of a willow tree and the posture of a water reed, all clumsy charm and effortless grace in her stance. She has hair like tangled sunlight and eyes like the whole sky crammed into two puddles. Her dress is made of numerous thin materials all layered over the top of each other in the Cajun fashion that is not the style one would expect to see in Cordelia’s society. Misty Day stands like a blemish on a pure canvas. No, she stands like a daffodil in a field of clover.
“I’ll leave you two to become better acquainted. Cordelia, don’t forget your lesson later on. Bring your Latin work please.” And with that Myrtle Snow vanishes out of the door, followed by Cordelia’s handmaid and she’s left alone with this stranger.
“So…you’re to live with us?”
“That’s right, ma’am. Your mother’s real kind to give me a place to stay. I’m going to tend to your gardens.”
Cordelia frowns slightly, glancing out of the large window at the extensive grounds laid out behind the house. “That’s going to be rather a lot of work, it is not?”
“I suspect so, ma’am. I can’t wait.” And the lilt of her humble accent and the way she bites her bottom lip to stop the spread of her grin makes the strange statement sound stranger still in its evident sincerity.
“Please, there’s no need for ‘ma’am’. Only around mother. If we’re to be companions, you may use my name.”
“Of course, Miss Cordelia, that’s nice of you.”
Miss Cordelia. The elder girl didn’t expect this new version of her name to ever sound so amusing and endearing.
“Please, join me for breakfast. I wish to get to know all about you as quickly as possible.” Her brain feels slow and her skin feels hot and Cordelia so rarely has company and she is so painfully aware of how socially awkward she can be, merely through lack of practice. She speaks to the staff and her governess and her mother maybe once a day if she cannot avoid it, and rarely anyone else. This girl might help, she thinks, she seems as open and casual a companion as would be possible. Perhaps her bright attitude and confident aura will brush off on Cordelia a little.
Misty looks like she wants to devour the whole spread herself, and Cordelia isn’t surprised. Judging by her rather lacklustre curves, the girl doesn’t get much to eat. However, she appears to abruptly remember where she is and why she’s there and she waits patiently and thanks Cordelia politely and looks slightly floored by the extensive cutlery and almost intimidated by the choice of food, but she soon slips into it, regardless of whether or not she looks comfortable.
“So you grew up on the bayou?” Cordelia begins.
“That’s right.” Replies Misty after taking time and care to make sure she doesn’t speak with her mouth full. “Born and bred. I ain’t really one for the community, a bit tight if ya ask me, but the Cajuns are all I’ve ever known. I’m real sorry that it’s so obvious, I know it ain’t proper.”
Cordelia shakes her head dismissively. “Fretting about propriety is Myrtle’s job and fretting about image is my mother’s. I couldn’t care less if our backgrounds are different, that isn’t either of our doing.” Misty gives her a sideways glance and then smiles brightly, glancing humbly down at her lap as she calculatedly sips her tea.
“How did you end up here?”
Misty collects her thoughts for a moment. Cordelia is more than happy to wait, secretly relishing every second of interaction.
“Well, my Ma died and my Pa didn’t really want me around too much. So after he died a couple of years later it wasn’t that big a step from the bayou to the town. I needed money, but it’s not like I could really read or write nothing too well. I helped a local farmer with his deliveries while I taught myself better. Then he died too. His wife kicked me out and when Miss Myrtle found me, I was living off whatever I could find in a shack on the outskirts of the swamp. I was real nice of her to take pity on me. She passed that way a few times, then stopped to talk to me out of the blue one day. I remember lookin’ forward to her goin’ past ‘cause of that bright hair of hers.”
She finishes her tea then leans back happily on her chair. “And that’s how I’m here.”
You are fortunate you are attractive and interesting, else Myrtle would never have even considered stopping to help you.
“My…you have had a rather unpleasant life…”
Misty’s expression is passive, like she’d expect nothing else from her existence.
“It wasn’t so bad…”
“Why did your father not want you around, if you don’t mind me asking?”
Misty smiles and shakes her head at Cordelia’s tentativeness.
“My parents weren’t all that fond of me. I’m an only child and wasn’t the ideal one, as far as I could gather. I wouldn’t marry at 16, for a start. In fact I refused to marry at all. I didn’t like church. I got bored and tried to get out of it. I didn’t like my Pa tryin’ for hours to teach me verses of the Bible. I ain’t religious, see. Well, not in the way they wanted me to be. They marked me as a heathen. It wasn’t so bad. Before Ma died, they let me stay under their roof and fed me, but after that, Pa thought I was old enough to spread my wings a little so let me know he didn’t really like me hangin’ around. There ain’t anyone I miss from childhood. I’m alive, ain’t I? That’s the main thing.”
Cordelia sits in stunned silence and tries to follow the girl’s narration. Out of all of Louisiana she doesn’t think Myrtle could have found a companion more different to her.
“That sounds like quite an ordeal.”
Misty shrugs as she eats. “It’s in the past. A past I don’t particularly want to revisit.”
“Of course. I understand.”
Cordelia remembers her duties, having been sidetracked by this surprisingly interesting new acquaintance.
“I’d probably better tell you what to expect from life here.”
Misty nods eagerly and shifts in her seat to face the other woman, as Cordelia rises in a rustle of expensive fabric.
“Literacy is fairly essential in this house. Mother believes it gives a good impression. Therefore it is likely she will wish you to take lessons, probably with Myrtle. You will be taught how to read and write properly. I assume you will be given your gardening duties by Myrtle or another member of staff. You will need to be acquainted with our groundskeeper, Spalding, and Delphine the housekeeper. You will have your own room. It’s right next to mine so if you need anything I’m easily accessible. If you’re unsure about anything while you’re settling in, please ask me.”
Misty follows everything that’s said with a film over her eyes, but then shakes her head and nods.
“Got it.”
Cordelia lets her authoritative demeanour slide away as she smiles genuinely.
“I hope we’ll become good friends. I could do with some company.”
“Oh I’m certain of it, Miss Cordelia. I ain’t found nothing not to like about you so far.”
0-0-0
She doesn’t see much of Misty for the first week. The girl is under vigorous tutoring to make sure she can read and write to Fiona’s standards. However, every evening, just before dinner, they go for a walk together round the grounds. This is usually no longer than twenty minutes, but it allows conversation to ease up between them. Soon, the awkwardness dissipates a little.
She’s never met anyone like Misty Day. She’s an enigma and happily so. She picks up on Cordelia’s love of nature immediately and talks about the world around them like she’s fully aware of how much she owes to it, unlike everyone else with their unwavering belief in an Almighty Deity who created the world around them for decoration. She doesn’t conform to the fashion of the house; she keeps her loose clothes while Cordelia is packed into corsets and heavy skirts. Cordelia’s hair is always pulled out of the way in the current complicated up-do style, Misty’s is usually mostly loose, all mad curls and blonde boldness.
Cordelia likes her.
“Miss Myrtle said you’re ‘betrothed’?”
Cordelia glances at the ground they walk over in the way she often does. “Yes, that is correct.”
She doesn’t want to talk about it. Misty’s always been tactless.
“To whom?”
“Hank Foxx. His father owns quite a sizeable cotton plantation. They’re one of the wealthiest families in the state.”
“So it’s arranged?”
“Entirely, yes.”
“Have you ever met him?”
“Once or twice.”
“What’s he like?”
“He’s…” She presses her lips together. “He’s very masculine. We don’t have much in common but…I’m sure he’ll make a good husband.” The tension in her voice shows that she is choosing propriety over honesty, and Misty isn’t that oblivious.”
“I’m assumin’ you don’t have much choice.”
“No, not really.” Her tone is resigned and passive. It’s the voice of someone who gave up resisting a long time ago.
The first time she’d met him, she hadn’t spoken more than ten words to him. Her mother had been bargaining with Lord Foxx for weeks, speaking predominantly of her daughter’s ever-growing beauty and the pride she would bring as an addition to his family. Cordelia sat silently stewing in her own anger as her mother bartered for her best price like she was selling livestock. Cordelia was presented to Lord Foxx and his son. Her maids had spent much longer than usual pinning her hair back elaborately and tying her into a new gown bought especially for the occasion; tailored to emphasise her slender waist and neck and set off the paleness of her hair and skin and the darkness of her eyes. All she really remembers vividly was how uncomfortable it was.
And she was walked in by Myrtle and stood silently, complacently, as Lord Foxx circled her, observing every inch of her, and while her future husband simply stared blatantly. After agreeing that she was more than satisfactory to look at, Hank approached and greeted her, and she replied in the tame, alluring, subservient way she had been taught, and that was it. She was silent as the grave while her mother and Lord Foxx haggled some more over little issues, and Hank continued to stare.
“I don’t think that’s right, if that’s ok to say.”
Cordelia’s lips twist bitterly. “I’m not ecstatic about the whole arrangement, but there is very little I can do. I have no one but my mother. She’d disown me if I refused and then I’d have nowhere to go. It might not be so bad; it would means I would leave this house, would leave her. If my husband is kind, I may ever get to see the world a little.”
“Do you think you will ever love him?”
Cordelia considers for a moment, as they stroll down the apple tree avenue, hidden from the house by the trees.
“I haven’t really thought about it. I suppose someday I could, in a certain way. Like I said, I barely know him. It’s difficult to gauge his personality at this point.”
Misty frowns softly, and it’s an expression Cordelia has never before seen on her face.
“That don’t seem fair.”
“It isn’t too bad. At least I’ll be comfortable for the rest of my life. Even if I am likely to have to live on their estate…”
“What’s wrong with that?”
Cordelia sighs. She stops half way down the avenue and lowers herself delicately onto the stone bench she is so fond of, facing the rest of the grounds, her back to the house. Misty joins her.
“Harrison Foxx is a plantation owner. A successful one too. Which means his house, and his plantation…well…there’ll be…”
“Slaves.” Misty finishes bluntly for her.
Cordelia nods solemnly. “At least while I live here away from everything I can pretend it isn’t happening. With it right on my doorstep I won’t be able to ignore it, and I’ll likely do something to displease my new family.”
“I could have guessed you’d be against it.”
“I can’t see how anyone could be for it.”
“Nor I. People treat each other real bad. I always figured we got enough problems as a species as it is to condemn an entire people ‘cause of somethin’ stupid like the colour of their skin.”
Cordelia nods, the look in her eyes slightly haunted. “It’s horrendous. From what I’ve seen, it’s worse than I ever imagined before. It’s barbaric and I fear I will struggle to live somewhere where it’s going on just outside.”
Misty glances down at her feet, her mind wandering, her eyes sad like she’s just taken on the burden of all of humanity’s suffering, like she feels it innately and has allowed her guard to slip for a second.
“At least if I was surrounded by it I could help.” Cordelia ponders. “I could try to make their lives a little better. Then again, Lord Foxx is famed for a reason. He doesn’t strike me as a man who is kind to his slaves, or kind to anyone who shows them some humanity. I’d be disobeying him and my husband, but I don’t think I could stop myself.”
“That wouldn’t surprise me none. You’re too kind for your own good, you know that?”
Cordelia smiles and shakes her head. “And that’s coming from you? You who picked up that tiny bird off the lawn and took it home? You hid it in your room and fed it and nurtured it back to health until it could fly away. I have no idea how in this cold world I’ve been raised in, you have managed to slip through the cracks. You seem about the kindest being in the world, Misty Day.”
The girl blushes and shifts, unsure of how to react to one of the first sincere compliments she has ever received. “I don’t know about that, Miss Cordelia. It’s my responsibility to at least try though. The world ain’t half bad when you ain’t bad to it.”
Cordelia raises her hand like she’s going to take Misty’s, then changes her mind and stands, smoothing down her skirt.
“We’d better return. We’ve been out here longer than usual.”
Misty smiles softly up at her, her blue eyes becoming more familiar with every day that passes.
“As you wish.” She stands and accompanies her companion inside.
Yes, she likes Misty Day…a lot.
0-0-0
“She’s learning quickly. I’ve taught her to your exact request.”
“Good. Hopefully if I ever have to be seen with her she won’t be a total embarrassment.”
“I am certain of it. I cannot breed the accent out of her thought. I think it’s rather charming; humble and rustic.”
“Well at least one of us does. How is she getting along with Delia?”
“Like a house on fire. Whenever they’re not in lessons or otherwise engaged, they’re inseparable. However that might just be because there’s not really anyone else around to talk to.”
“Have her spirits risen?”
“There is a definite improvement. I assure you, Fiona, it was the right thing to do. The girl needed a friend.”
“Well you can tell the Cajun to convince Delia to shut up and marry Hank Foxx without complaint. If anyone can sway her she can.”
“If you ask me, Miss Day isn’t in full support of the marriage. I suspect Cordelia has put a rather negative spin on it.”
“Well I took her in when she had nowhere to go; she’s under my roof, and therefore under my rule. Tell her that, whenever suitable, she is to encourage the marriage and convince Delia that it is a good thing.”
“Of course. Is she to be present at the Spring Ball? Or would you rather keep her upstairs out of sight?”
“Hmm…no. Let her come. She’ll keep Delia happy and as long as we find her the right gown and she keeps her mouth shut, she’ll do us proud with a face like hers. Besides, people might see it as philanthropy.”
“As you wish. I shall tell her first thing tomorrow. Cordelia will be pleased.”
0-0-0
Friendship comes easy to those in need of it.
Within a month of Misty Day’s arrival, Cordelia had found the company she didn’t realise she has been desperately craving for as long as she can remember. Misty’s voice is filled with wonder and her speech is filled with warmth and there’s something new and refreshing about waking up every morning and being eager to address the day just to see her once more. It seems her novelty doesn’t wear off.
On Misty’s part, she adapts well. She isn’t used to regular baths and three large meals a day and, after not taking a liking to the clothes she is provided with, Myrtle sees no harm in allowing some of her own style to be purchased. Misty cannot believe she lives like this now. She’d never have thought she’d be so comfortable in a life so restrictive, but she is no longer alone.
Once Misty is sufficiently literate, her and Cordelia spend more and more time together. Walks in the grounds turn to afternoons spent on the bank of the lake or running childishly through the woods or spreading out on the grass and reading or cloud-watching or just sharing every bit of themselves that’s left hidden. Cordelia notices that, despite being casually open about most things, Misty keeps a lot close. She talks little of her childhood. Cordelia doesn’t want to pry.
This must be what having a sister is like. Despite their differences they flourish as a pair, and Myrtle seems truly thrilled, until Cordelia starts arriving late for lessons or being distracted from her work on account of the other girl.
Misty gardens as she promised. Spalding is glad of the help considering his advanced age and the size of the task. Misty spends hours in the sunken garden and the orchard and the maze, making sure nothing is overgrown and everything is blooming, as it should as spring approaches. Despite being just one person and how easily distracted she gets by the life around her as she works, the grounds have never looked better. Fiona is impressed, but slightly less so when Cordelia spends her spare time out there with Misty, talking to her as she works and learning eagerly about the various flora and fauna that surround her. Her pale skin occasionally turns pink from sun exposure, which Misty finds charming, but Fiona resents, and as a result, insists on her spending a day inside until she returns to her elegant porcelain colour.
“You have a way with nature.” Cordelia voices the obvious as Misty ties a struggling rose bush to a stick to aid its growth.
“It’s somethin’ I’ve always found enjoyable…and calmin’…”
“Where did you learn? From your parents?”
Misty laughs lightly; the sound of bells and the wind through water reeds. “No, they weren’t into that. Thought me workin’ in the swamp, plantin’ trees and growin’ flowers was a sign of witchcraft. No, I mostly learnt myself. I don’t know none of the fancy terms for things but I know how they work and what they like.”
“That much is clear.”
Cordelia watches intently, and Misty takes her hand and pulls her towards the plants, showing her how to tie them up and watching as she does so on her own. Something as simple as tending the roses causes Cordelia to smile a little wider than her mother would like. Misty smiles back.
0-0-0
Some days are cold. A slight lull in the blistering heat of the country stirs up a winter wind that freezes the house despite the sun blazing on. Cordelia stays inside. Misty gardens regardless of weather but trembles as the wind creeps into a frame that, despite all the food she consumes, remains thin and willowy. Cordelia is berated into reading, painting and playing the piano. All she can read is poetry and all she can paint are flowers and all she can play are scales in major that all sound like butterfly wings and rose petals. Her mother insists on her daughter painting landscapes and learning the classics. Cordelia’s mind drifts. It’s difficult to focus on the horror of Dante’s “Inferno” when there seems to be very little gloom left in the world.
Only for a little while, anyhow.
Because Misty, though asked to, never did voice her “support” of the marriage as arranged and Cordelia is firmly determined to be as stubborn as possible regarding its proceeding. Her mother speaks of it so casually that one day Cordelia snaps and raises her voice, asserting her hatred of the situation. It’s the first time she’s snapped and Fiona isn’t happy. Her tears cause the palm print on her cheek to sting as she locks herself in her bedroom.
This is your life, Delia, whether you like it or not. This is what you were raised to do, this is what you’ve been bred to do, so this is what you shall do. You have very little to recommend you, despite being my daughter, so you will count your fortunes that Lord Foxx and his son will have you, and you’ll keep your mouth shut and look pretty and smile your way through life. I’m not discussing options here; there is only one. You will do as you’re told without complaint or there will be no place for you under this roof. Lord knows I’m not gaining anything from your lack of talent and childishness.
Misty knocks and waits and Cordelia can see the shadow of her sitting against the locked door but she doesn’t want to open it. She isn’t in the least presentable; all blotchy, tear-stained cheeks and she’s being so silly but she’s a little scared about letting the girl see her like this.
“Please, Miss Cordelia, just let me in.”
‘I – I can’t Misty. I’m not respectable. I just…I just want to be alone.”
Although giving up on a lost cause isn’t Misty’s speciality, she knows when enough is enough. But there’s something in Cordelia’s voice that says she really doesn’t want to be alone, and Misty can only trust her instinct. An entire life of psychological abuse from the one person who should love her unconditionally has left its mark on the otherwise pristine purity of Cordelia Goode, and Misty mourns the lost potential of the part of Cordelia that died the second she was born to Fiona.
She waits for hours. Cordelia sobs. Neither moves for fear of startling the other.
“Cordelia, let me in please.”
Cordelia sighs. What’s the point? She’s never had someone like Misty around. Who knows what might change?
The door creaks as it opens. Misty scrambles to her feet and hesitates on the threshold, testing the water. She embraces Cordelia cautiously, but warmly as the other girl sinks against her in defeat. It’s the first time this kind of physical contact has blossomed, and it’s tainted slightly with Cordelia sobbing softly into Misty’s curls. But the Cajun supposes that’s what she’s here for; as a companion to Cordelia. She’ll try to be the strong one and let Cordelia cling to her as much as she needs to.
She leads Cordelia back to her bed and sits with her arms round her on the edge, unsure of what to do exactly. She thinks it best not to say anything, so simply brushes escaped locks of hair away from her face and holds her hand.
“I’ve never spent the night with someone before.”
Cordelia speaks suddenly into the silence. She isn’t crying now and she appears to be composed, but it’s muted, and the look in her eyes is distant to the point of detachment.
Misty sits and lets her talk.
“Of course, not in the matrimonial sense, but not in any other sense either. I have never shared a bed with someone. I have never spent the night sleeping beside another person. That never struck me as unusual up until this moment.”
She sniffles quietly and tilts her chin up. She doesn’t make eye contact with Misty at all.
“My mother wouldn’t allow it. My nurse would sleep in the next room and leave the door open. I hardly ever cried as a child according to Auntie Myrtle, but when I did my nurse would lull me back to sleep, then put me straight back to bed. Through years of thunder storms and nightmares and general fear of the big world and everything I didn’t understand, I have spent every night alone since birth. I never considered that out of the ordinary until just now, for some reason.”
“That is a little unusual. My Ma didn’t hold much fondness for me, even threatened to burn me as a heretic and I ain’t even sure that was an idle threat, but if I found a dead frog or mouse or I had bad dreams she’d let me sleep with her when I was little. It don’t surprise me though, Miss Cordelia. Your Ma don’t try. She ain’t no good to ya. Every child needs to be held sometimes I think.”
Cordelia shakes her head and silent tears slip down her cheeks.
“I’m – it’s so silly, Misty. I have nothing to complain about. I live in luxury.”
“What’s the point if ya don’t have anyone? It’s stupid to say you’re stupid. It ain’t your fault, Cordelia, it’s hers. You think you’re muddled up because you let yourself be but it’s her. I ain’t never heard her say a nice thing to you; her own daughter. It’s horrible. I can’t imagine what it must have been like havin’ her breathin’ down ya neck like that your entire life.”
Cordelia sighs shakily. “I think…I think it’s made me a mess…” And it’s like the self-loathing starts coming off her in waves.
“But there’s no point crying about it.” She brushes angrily at her cheeks. “She has the power. Father died before I was born, but I have never had reason to believe he was anything extraordinary or even decent. I’ve known nothing but her. She knows how much power there is in shaping my childhood. She knows that, even though she spends very little time with me, she still has the power because she’s my mother and the head of the house and I don’t know what I possibly could have done to make her hate me so much. I used to think I was just terrible, just a disappointment in every way a child could be. It took years until I realized she was perhaps the problem. But none of that matters, because soon I’ll be free of her, even if I do end up spending the rest of my life there.”
Something in the slight slant of her usually meticulous posture, or the edge of weariness in her voice implies that she still isn’t fully convinced that she is not the problem. Honesty saturates the scene and Misty is swept up in it.
“Myrtle asked me to encourage the marriage. I think it was on your Ma’s orders.”
“You haven’t mentioned it.”
“Of course not. I see how unhappy it’s making you. I don’t want to make you unhappy, but Madam Goode is keeping me safe and sheltered, so I can’t disobey her. I thought it would be best to just stay out of it but maybe it would be worth acceptin’ it if it means you can leave this poisonous house.”
“You don’t know Lord Foxx.” She whispers helplessly.
Misty can do nothing but watch as the rock and the hard place slowly close in on Cordelia as she trembles slightly.
0-0-0
“It’s an excuse for Fiona to invite all the wealthiest and most influential in the land and show off her house and parade me around in whatever cloth torture she manages to acquire. It isn’t fun, it’s never been.”
“Nevertheless, I ain’t never been to a ball before. I’m curious. It was real nice of your Ma to invite me.”
“It was…I’m suspicious.”
Misty rolls her eyes and smiles, leaning back on the blanket to look up at the sky. Cordelia watches how her hair spreads out around her placid face.
“It might be fun with you there.”
Misty glances up at her and sends one of her effortless, blinding smiles.
“I’ll help ya through it as much as I can.”
“I suppose my mother will be fitting you with a gown soon. Be warned; she seems to prefer the more painful end of fashion.”
Misty stretches out long legs and looks up at the sky. She seems to be comprised almost entirely of limbs and curls. She sighs like she’s content, and Cordelia feels ashamed. If Misty is content here, where Cordelia has never been truly happy, then what she suffered before must dwarf Cordelia’s past into insignificance.
Misty would definitely berate her for trying to quantify suffering.
She lies down next to her and watches the afternoon sky turn to evening while their discussion is as fleeting and enjoyable as the soft clouds overhead.
0-0-0
Fiona, as usual, makes Cordelia wait outside, twisting her hands together nervously in her gloves, until everyone is present and settled before “presenting” her daughter. The room is quiet and Cordelia hates it. She hates feeling the eyes crawling over her, the judgement, the murmuring. She doesn’t care if it’s slander or appraisal, she wishes to sink herself into the walls and disappear from view. Instead she must be greeted by everyone at the ball as her mother guides her around. The deceivingly maternal hand on her harm is gripping too tight.
Madison Montgomery introduces herself. She has a reputation in New Orleans for being bold. She has a small head and large eyes and her lips are painted a rather ostentatious shade of red. She grips Cordelia’s hand more tightly than Fiona when she shakes it, and her smile is pasted firmly onto her face until she turns away from the conversation. It is clear Fiona dislikes her, but she is up and coming in Louisiana society, and therefore had to receive an invitation.
Cordelia wishes to find Misty, but her mother has other ideas. Fiona looks both foreboding and magnificent in her dress of deep crimson satin, her age doing nothing to inhibit the looks of appreciation she receives. Her daughter looks like her polar opposite; her gown is light pink trimmed with black lace and white embroidery. Her hair is as usual pulled away from her face, cured and pinned to reveal her long slender neck. She looks demure and virginal, almost angelic, and while Fiona inspires desire, Cordelia inspires admiration.
Then Lord Foxx and his son enter the scene. Cordelia goes through the usual routine; a polite greeting then a modest blush at Hank’s compliments. Fiona offers to discuss business with Lord Foxx, now they are to become allies in economy as well as family, and Hank asks Cordelia to dance with him. She accepts graciously and he leads her to the middle of the ballroom among the other twirling couples.
She does not want to be there in the slightest. Something about the way he holds her waist like he already owns it makes her skin crawl. As they spin, he engages her in conversation.
“You grow more radiant by the day, Miss Goode.”
“Thank you, Mr Foxx.” She replies curtly.
“And you have the gift of silence; a great virtue in a woman nowadays.”
Her silence is mostly due to unwillingness to participate in social interaction in this setting, but she doesn’t say that.
“Hold you no opinion of me? By all means, be passive on other matters, but on your own betrothed you ought to believe something?”
She meets his gaze. She lets her eyes harden a little as he moves closer.
“I believe you are a good match. Your father is highly successful and you seem a gentleman.”
“It is a good match. One so delicate ought to have a man to protect her, and it must have been difficult growing up with only a mother to guide you. One never knows what may occur on a plantation.” He shakes his head and smiles. “That is not suitable talk for now.”
But Cordelia has seen an opportunity.
“You refer to your slaves?”
“I do.”
“You think them a threat?”
“Well,” he laughs as if Cordelia were stupid to ask. She dislikes being patronised by someone with little experience of her intellect. “Of course. They are dangerous, people often forget. You must remember, Miss Goode, as many do not, that they are…they are like animals, well they are animals in a way; they are ignorant and unpredictable, they could run wild like beasts, you must keep a close eye and firm discipline on them and they will be content with their lot, considering they know nothing else.”
His words, and his soft, smooth delivery, make her stomach turn. She thinks of the life that awaits her in her future home.
“Surely, slaves are people, Mr Foxx? Human beings.” She tries to hide the edge in her tone. He appears oblivious.
“Oh Miss Goode, your mother has done well to protect you in your ignorance of the world; it is the best way to live these days. No, slaves are more property than people, but of course you shall be taught all this when you live with me as my wife. There is no need for such education now. This is supposed to be a light-hearted affair.”
The room is suddenly too small and the air is suddenly too thin and her gown is suddenly too hot and she forces on a smile then steps away from him.
“Thank you for the dance, Mr Foxx, but my mother will wish me back at her side.”
He bows to her and she hurries to escape from his eyes.
He was not indecent to you. He was tactless and delusional and as utterly unlike you as possible, but he was not cruel or abusive. He may never treat you with respect, but he may treat you well none the less…
She reaches the door and stands against the frame, her breathing erratic and it’s difficult to force air into her lungs all of a sudden. She clutches at her waist as she drags in her breath.
“My dear, are you quite alright?”
Asks Lady So-And-So from Wherever, a hand on Cordelia’s shoulder. She tries to speak but cannot, so simply nods.
“You’ve gone awfully pale.” Voices another guest, and soon she has acquired the attention of a few noble men and women, all concerned, but unmoving in her aid.
“Excuse me, sorry, may I get through? Thank you. Hey, are you alright?”
The voice is familiar and warm and the panic starts to melt away a little. Cordelia turns her eyes on Misty as she pushes through the small group and takes her hand.
“Come on, Cordelia, give me a hint?”
Cordelia smiles a little and nods, her breathing evening out.
“She’s alright.” Misty says, and the crowd slowly goes back to their own conversations.
“Can ya breathe now? I was awful worried.”
Cordelia’s not sure she can breathe. Misty is…she’s…changed. She thinks perhaps Fiona has been more lenient in considering Misty’s choice of clothing. The deep green of the material sets off tones in Misty’s eyes that Cordelia didn’t even realise were there. Her dress is tight but not suffocating and the skirt flows rather than holding its shape. The embellishment on the bodice is black and gold and climbs across the fabric in intricate vines and flowers. The locks of her hair at the front that she’s constantly pushing out of her eyes have been pulled out of her face and this is a rare occasion in that she doesn’t have a fleck of mud on pale skin. Cordelia doesn’t know if it’s the lack of air or the lighting in the room, but she’s certain Misty is shimmering.
She’s a vision. Of what, Cordelia is not sure.
“Cordelia? Answer me, for heaven’s sake! Are you alright?” Her tone is light and relieved as she can see the colour returning to Cordelia’s cheeks.
Cordelia opens her mouth to form a response, then it dies on her lips. The only word in the English language she can remember is “beautiful” and it goes round and round in her head, blinding her like a perfumed miasma.
Misty frowns slightly, biting her bottom lip as she sees what looks like awe swimming in her friend’s eyes.
“…Cordelia?” She asks softly.
“Hmm? Yes! Sorry. I’m fine, Misty, there’s no need to worry.” A nervous smile flutters across her lips.
“Ya sure?”
“Yes. Thank you.” She realises that she’s staring. The lack lace, the green colour and the flowers, the messy curls that look less messy than usual, and slightly restrained as well. The image is the perfect combination of Misty and Cordelia, their respective worlds, and it’s like she’s seeing her companion under entirely different circumstances.
“Misty…”
Misty follows her eyeline and laughs nervously.
“Yeah, it’s odd. I’m awful uncomfortable.”
“You’re beautiful.”
There’s a moment of awkwardness while they try to out-blush each other, but Cordelia does not look away, conviction in her stance.
“I mean…I’ve never seen…your dress and…you’re rather…magnificent…”
“Thank you…as are you actually. Well, you never aren’t, but tonight especially.”
A compliment from Misty rings different to every other she’s received that night. Maybe it’s because of the girl’s unwavering honesty.
“So what was that about? Why did you panic like that?” Misty continues, and her cheeks are still a little pink and she nervously tugs at her skirts.
“Oh, it was nothing. I was…well I was dancing with Mr Foxx and I suppose I just had a bit of a moment.”
But the feeble excuse isn’t enough. “Did he say somethin’ to ya? Somethin’ ya didn’t like?” Misty leaps to her defence as always and Cordelia can’t stop the small smile at the gesture.
“He was talking about his father’s slaves and then he said something that just made me suddenly realise where I’m going to have to live when I leave this place.”
Misty looks round like Hank’s going to materialise and attack Cordelia. Cordelia places a hand on Misty’s arm. Her skin is warner than she expected.
“It’s alright. I was being silly.”
“Come on, let’s step outside for a minute.”
Misty takes her hand and leads her steadily through the gathered gentry. Cordelia notices the curious glances thrown their way and where Fiona is looked at with desire and Cordelia with admiration, Misty is looked at with something akin to wonder. She looks wild and enigmatic; a mystery, like a gazelle in a field of sheep. Cordelia doesn’t blame them.
The night is cloudy and hot, and while Cordelia leans thankfully against the cool, sturdy stone wall of the house, Misty glides over to the hedges and flower beds, trailing her fingers along the leaves, feeling the life humming through green stems and petals. The final vestiges of Cordelia’s unease flee with the sight.
“I’m so sorry you’ve got to marry him, Cordelia.”
Cordelia sighs. “There’s nothing either of us can do about it.”
“We could run away.”
Cordelia laughs bitterly. “We wouldn’t get five miles. Mother would be on us from the second we left and we’d be defenceless and poor.”
“I’d protect ya. I know about livin’ wild.”
“I don’t doubt that.” Cordelia smiles pensively and looks down at the stone beneath her. She looks up on Misty’s approach. Her posture is less easy than it usually is; due to the dress perhaps.
“I told you it isn’t any fun.”
Misty takes her hands absentmindedly and runs her thumbs over the back of them. “It’s getting better.” She says.
There’s something so easy about being with Misty. Cordelia is surprised that after all these years in isolation, she isn’t painfully unnatural when it comes to interaction, but it’s like all of a sudden, conversation is second nature. Around others, around people her mother tells her she is to impress, she recites phrases of politeness and avoids conflict, but it always feels rigid and forced. Back when the Bensons were a family of note, they used be invited to all Fiona’s events, and Cordelia used to talk to Zoe whenever they came. Zoe was different to Cordelia; she was unintelligent and sociable and valued, and interested in personal relationships; the trait that eventually led to her downfall, as her elopement with the family’s stable boy, Kyle as Cordelia remembers, caused the scandal that her family would never fully recover from. Zoe was perhaps more than an acquaintance, but less than a friend, and Cordelia hasn’t spoke to her since; something she misses.
Misty, however, is different to Cordelia as well, but in ways that are complimentary. She listens intently when Cordelia speaks (something she isn’t used to) and she makes minutes fly by and silences comfortable and she sees Cordelia as intellectual and fascinating and worth more than her face and her figure and her name. Perhaps it comes from their shared gender. Perhaps it’s the warmth that flows from Misty’s every movement and gesture that’s impossible to block out. Perhaps it’s her compassion or her conviction, or her opinions or tone or history. Whatever it is, Cordelia is thankful, and she can’t believe that the strange Cajun girl who was thrust abruptly into her company a few months ago is a part of her life she doesn’t ever want to live without.
It’s a friendship she thought only existed in fairy stories.
Perhaps it’s the setting or the glow of the party or the cut of the dress, but Cordelia feels something that isn’t envy when she looks at Misty. The girl is good-looking, something she never would have denied, but since she’s never cared that much about the appearance of those around her, up until now she feels she’s been oblivious. Myrtle always did like to collect beautiful things, and she’s found a diamond in the rough with this girl.
“Are ya sure you’re ok? You seem a little distracted.”
“I am quite alright, Misty, I assure you.”
A grin slowly spreads across Misty’s face. “Then what are ya lookin’ at?”
Cordelia shrugs. “You.”
Misty lets out a soft flutter of laughter. “You don’t have to go back in there if ya don’t want to.”
“I don’t want to. I want to stay here.”
“Good. I’ll leave you to it.” She says with a teasing grin, then turns to leave, fully expecting it when Cordelia reaches out to take her arm and hold her there.
“You must stay with me.” Cordelia laughs.
“I shall, don’t worry yourself. As if I am going to have any fun in there anyway. I suppose I am presentable, but as soon as someone wants to talk, I get a social grillin’. I’d rather stay here away from all that.”
“Come on.” Says Cordelia, pushing herself off the wall. “Let’s go into the maze. I bet it’s wonderfully eerie at night.”
Misty hesitates only for a moment, before being drawn into the bold, mischievous glint in Cordelia’s eyes.
“Sounds thrilling.” She follows Cordelia over the lawn towards the maze, looming like a fortress in the dark.
There’s a playfulness in Cordelia’s face that Misty has never seen, and Cordelia thinks her tolerance for wine must be atrocious considering she only had two glasses but suddenly feels like she could disappear into the very trees themselves and sustain this night forever if she tried.
“You go in that way. I’ll take the other. We’ll race to the centre!”
Misty nods and hurries off. Cordelia lifts her skirts and runs into the maze. Locks of hair wriggle loose from restraints and curl around her face, eyes alight and heart pounding as she darts between tall hedges and slides round corners. Her blood pumps like a machine, but there’s nothing mechanical about this. She thinks of how angry her mother will be if she realises she’s left the ball to run around outside like a child. The thought thrills her. She thinks is she runs fast enough, the still air turning into a gale around her as she streams past, she can run herself back to childhood when everything was a little simpler and there were no slaves to bleed for and no men to marry.
She ducks round a corner and reaches a dead end. The night is still and silent and she is entirely lost. The moon is wonderfully bright, washing her surroundings in silvery splendour and every ounce of instinct in her is screaming that she should be scared; of the dark, of the night, of the maze and of the consequences. She isn’t, though; she’s exhilarated and alive and all she can think is that she is going to get to the centre before Misty.
They arrive at the exact same time, bursting into the little clearing on opposite sides, out of breath, cheeks flushed, dresses rumpled and hair wild. They’ve never looked more alike.
“That’s a draw.” Pants Cordelia. Misty grins happily and ambles over to shake her hand.
“I was going deliberately slowly. I didn’t want you to be more upset with a defeat.”
Cordelia rolls her eyes. “I don’t believe you.”
Misty just smiles back, and the silence is thick with something like magic as they pant and stare and smile.
The clearing has a small pond, a stone bench and a few tall trees, branches drooping and heavy with soft leaves. Cordelia hasn’t been here for a while. Misty has never been here before.
“I should really garden in here, but I don’t think I want to.” Says Misty, and Cordelia understands. There is a charm to its overgrown nature, like a fairy glade; all fertility and secrets. Cordelia seats herself on the bench to catch her breath and Misty observes the bright orange fish darting around in the pond with endless enthusiasm.
She doesn’t have anything to say, which makes a change when she’s with Misty. She can’t think of anything that would be worth breaking the silence. She’s lulled into an atmosphere of calm, of potential.
Misty moves over and walks among the trees, sliding in and out of shadow, her skirt trailing behind her slightly. Cordelia rises, having regained her composure a little, and moves closer to her, resting against the cool bark of one of the trees. Misty reaches up to touch a low-hanging fruit. She feels its texture, then leaves it be, and the way she caresses the branch as if it were conscious is mesmerising and confusing for Cordelia.
Then Misty turns to look at her, and she’s so enchanting in the moonlight that Cordelia thinks she may have to avert her eyes. Misty herself looks at Cordelia with wide eyes, but something changes in the air, and Cordelia’s stomach drops in anticipation of what Misty is about to say.
“Myrtle is leavin’. Only for a few months. She wishes to travel, I think even to leave the state. She has friends that need visiting and she’s been writing books that need publishing.”
Cordelia nods, vaguely aware of this fact, and unaware of where this is going.
Misty walks closer to her.
“I am to go with her.”
And there it is; the punch that her stomach prepared itself for.
“Why?” She manages through the mild haze of panic.
“To help her. To assist her on her journey and to keep her company at events. Fiona wouldn’t let her take you, but she has some sort of claim to me.”
Cordelia swallows hard, and takes several deep breaths.
“I leave tomorrow. I’m sorry. I didn’t want to tell you. I couldn’t face it. It won’t be forever. It will be three months at the most, and then I’ll be back and everything will be as it was. You needn’t worry, Cordelia. I’ll write to you every day, and I’ll think of you always…”
“It is an experience I’m sure you will enjoy…” Cordelia chokes out, thinking primarily of Misty and making her feel guilty. Cordelia’s vision narrows to her life before Misty, only worse, because she knows what it’s like to have her present, and now it will be taken from her and she will be left here in this prison without Misty or even Myrtle to quell her mother’s hatred. She knew things were going too well to last.
“Cordelia…” Misty approaches, but Cordelia moves away, leaning heavily against a tree. “Cordelia it won’t be for long. I’m sorry. I don’t have a choice. If I did I wouldn’t dream of leaving you. I don’t want to leave you. Not now, especially.”
“You should have an opportunity to see some of the country. It will be enjoyable for you, I’m sure.” Her voice is tight. “I assure you I will be quite alright. I survived without you before and I can do so again.”
But Misty notices the tears in her eyes that she’s trying to hide and immense sadness fills her own.
“Cordelia…you are unhappy…please tell me why exactly…I’ve told you, I shall be back before you know it…”
“I suppose…I suppose I just don’t see that happening. I’ve had nurses and maids and friends and family come and go; always in that order. I’ve never had someone other than my mother and Myrtle to engage with for more than half a year. My father died, I have no siblings, any childhood friends left before I was ten, and despite the years I’m not used to living alone in this massive house. I don’t think I ever will be.” Cordelia looks at the ground. “I suppose I am unhappy because I can see you experiencing life outside. And who wouldn’t choose the world out there over this Hellhole? I am unhappy because I cannot see you coming back. And that scares me.”
“Cordelia, it isn’t going to be like that. Three months maximum. I will return. I intend to never leave you alone again. My time here has been blissful; and it certainly isn’t due to your mother and her lifestyle. Look, please don’t be unhappy…” Moonlight glints off silent tears streaming down Cordelia’s face. “Please, I don’t want to make you unhappy. But I had to tell you, or else you would have been even less happy. Please, Cordelia, tell me what you want me to do to make you better.”
Cordelia brushes at her eyes and sighs, looking at Misty’s imploring expression.
“What do I want you to do? I want you to come over here. I want you to look me in the eyes. I want you to kiss me goodbye and promise me you will come back.”
Misty has tears in her eyes as she moves towards Cordelia. She walks slowly, but without fear or reluctance. Her expression is serious, almost powerful. She is a good few inches taller, so has to look down to meet her eyes.
She stares openly into dark eyes, her gaze unwavering in its sincerity. Through her mild horror, Cordelia’s heart rate picks up.
Misty holds her face as she presses her lips to each of Cordelia’s cheeks. Something between affection and desperate sadness stirs in the bottom of her stomach, and it is both painful and wonderful. Misty holds her gaze again, before pressing her lips to Cordelia’s in a chaste, brief kiss, no more than a peck, which leaves Cordelia’s lips humming.
She pushes Cordelia’s hair behind her ear, her hand at her jaw, and looks deeply into her eyes once more. Cordelia feels the life of her crackle across the space between them and into her.
“I promise with every essence of me that I will come back. I will never abandon you; I swear it. I will be back at your side as quickly as possible.”
And in the magical, silvery glow of the moon with the ghost of her kiss on her skin, part of Cordelia believes her.