Chapter Text
Thank you, Connie.
Lady Chatterley's brother wandered through Wragby's park in the deepening violet of twilight, carrying his shoes and socks, dragging his feet across the wet lawn. With every slow step he took, blades of grass tickled his tender soles or slid against the tops of his feet, beading them with the cool dew. Though he knew they would be waiting for him in the dimly lit dining room, the long mahogany table illuminated with a dull gleam beneath the flickering candelabrum, he wanted to stay wrapped in the tranquility of the grounds a little while longer.
For the first time in seemingly forever, though only a week had passed from shocking beginning to sorry end of the affair, Elijah felt his being starting to unfurl from the tight knot of tension within and accusation without that had surrounded him. Thank the Lord for Connie, he thought for the thousandth time. If it hadn't been for her, he would have had to face the wrath of their father, and though he fervently believed that in time his father would acknowledge the injustice done to him and rally to overturn the ruling set against him, nevertheless he did not have the inner fortitude for that battle yet.
No, not yet. Instead, he would stay here with Connie and Clifford for the time being, perhaps not a completely welcome or comfortable guest but not an abject pariah, either. They were his family; or, at least, Connie was family, dearer than blood, and Clifford his brother by marriage. He would lay up here for a month or two and lick his wounds beneath the eaves of the dense forest that lay all round about the house.
The sheltering trees had beckoned to him the day before as they had driven from the station to the house through the sullen coal-blackened village streets, tasting grit in the air, with the even more sullen faces staring up at them with silent indifference. But ah! finally they had escaped from Tevershall and rattled down the road, with the trees looming dark and ever closer. Then the gates of Wragby Hall had opened silently and shut behind them with a comforting clang. He never did see who the gatekeeper was, though Field had nodded a curt thanks to someone before nosing the car carefully through the narrow opening. Elijah had turned round to see who their benefactor was, but he did not catch even a glimpse of him, though he assumed it had been a "he" and not a "she" who had admitted him to this refuge of luxuriant green grass and flowering rhododendrons and pheasants rustling in the undergrowth. But Elijah had not seen him, had seen only the quivering of leaves that had marked his silent passage.
Elijah's slow progress across the lawn now brought him to the edge of the wood, and he stopped and sniffed for a minute, turning his head this way and that, scenting and naming each elusive smell. Laurel. Yes, there must be laurel in bloom on the wood's edge and very close by. He could not mistake that heady scent. And beneath its sweetness, there was something deeper that spoke of moss and wet stone and the mulch of leaves fallen and pressed into the earth by heavy boots of thick leather. Clean earth. He breathed in that earth and did not want to ever go back inside.
The sharp crack of a breaking branch startled Elijah and he backed up a step, clutching his shoes tight in his hand, but he did not leave. Perhaps some woodland creature would reveal itself to him if he had the patience and silence to await it. It had happened before, in other woods and clearings when he sat with sketchbook and pencil on his lap, waiting for his unknown subject to appear and guide his hand with its unselfconscious beauty. And now the slow crunch of leaves told him his quarry was drawing closer, not fleeing, and he peered into the gathering gloom at a narrow gap between the trees, squinting a little, his heart beating fast but not in fear. Surely there was nothing that could frighten him or harm him here. Not now that he had left the grey stone forest of Cambridge's censorious towers behind.
After a minute, he apprehended the source of the sound and movement, and for a split second he was disappointed. He had wanted a stripe-headed badger or a bushy-tailed vixen or even a brace of pheasants. Instead, what revealed itself to him was just a man, a tall broad-shouldered man wearing a flat cap pulled down over his forehead and carrying a rifle slung low in his hands.
The man touched his cap. "Evenin', sir. Taking a little air, are ye?"
The stranger's voice was low and gravelly, rough as his hobnailed boots that had tramped so carelessly through the woods, sure of their everlasting mastery. For some reason the sound of that voice made Elijah clench his bare toes into the grass, and they dug hard and fast, breaking below turf to find soil. He did not know why the man's voice had that effect on him, and it was not pleasant. It annoyed him. He did not know why.
Elijah didn't say anything, trying instead to think of a suitably superior response to this arrogant brute who had dared to crash out of the woods with his roughshod ways and uneducated voice. But just as he had it on the tip of his tongue, that perfect withering phrase, he found it was too late for the man was already turning away, with another touch of his cap.
"Good evenin' to ye. You'd best be putting your shoes on, young sir. Don't want t' catch a cold now, do ye?"
Elijah clenched his fists in an unknowing match to his already clutching toes and shouted after the disappearing man, "How dare you! I shall tell ..."
But his voice was swallowed up and muffled by the waiting trees and the only answer he received was the additional impertinence of laughter, rich and full-throated.
"My dear, I fully understand your protective instincts toward him and applaud you for your sisterly devotion. But even you must admit that the evidence is convincing ... damned convincing."
Elijah stopped just out of sight of the wide open dining room door and pressed his slight body against the wall, sharing his hiding place with a rather extravagant brass-potted rubber plant, holding back one leathery green leaf from his face. After a moment, during which he slowed his breathing quite consciously, his heart lifted at the sound of his sister's voice raised in his defense. Dearest Connie!
"Convincing or not, I believe him."
"But how? The slut was found naked in bed with him in his rooms. His scout was quite clear about that."
"Elijah doesn't lie. I believe him when he says he has no recollection of how this ... person ... came to be found in his bed in such a compromising position. And Clifford, you promised me that you would be welcoming to him."
"And so I shall, darling. So I shall. After all, is he not the brother of my wife? Believe me, I shall enjoy having the young pup around the place. After all, it's about time I got to know him a little better."
"Thank you. I knew I could depend on your discretion and understanding." The muffled thud of crystal against wood interrupted Connie's flow of words and started Elijah thinking of how he might make his entrance without being discovered as a lurker. And his appearance, or nonappearance it was more correct to say, was also starting to prey on Connie's mind, as her next words attested. "But where is he?"
"Walking in the park, I believe. Probably meditating on his sins ..."
"Clifford!"
"Sorry, my dear. Shall we start without him?"
As Connie and Clifford dithered a bit longer, Elijah slid down the hall away from the dining room, his back always to the wall to keep out of their sight. After he retreated far enough not to be seen (at least by Connie and Clifford—he was not bothered about a stray servant spying him, he had a right to go where he pleased in the house), he knelt and put his shoes and socks back on. Damnation! He wished he had time to change into more appropriate attire, or at least to put on different trousers since his cuffs were sodden from the dew. Too late. Better this one time to appear at the table dressed too informally than to continue to delay Connie and Clifford. Walking quickly back down the hallway to join them, he made sure to make a clatter on the polished wood floor.
"There you are!" Connie said, half rising from her chair as he entered the room and seated himself across the table from her and on Clifford's left. "I was beginning to worry about you." She pressed the push bell at her right hand, caressing its smooth rounded jade with her long, elegant fingers. Though the kitchens were not terribly far from the dining room, Bess must have been poised just inside the passageway, soup tureen in hand, for she entered almost immediately.
"I'm sorry," Elijah said, smiling across at Connie. "The twilight was so glorious I didn't want to come inside at all."
"Well, you're here now." Clifford drew his wheelchair a little closer to the table and spread his napkin on his lap. "And the soup smells wonderful. Shall we begin?"
"What are you reading ... your beloved Ruskin? Or is it Walter Pater tonight?"
Elijah looked up from his book. Connie stood at the open bedroom door, her silk robe with sash knotted tightly around her slim waist and her fair hair loose about her shoulders. She held two thick china mugs in her hands, and Elijah could smell the aroma of hot chocolate even all the way across the room. If she'd knocked, he hadn't heard. Of course she hadn't knocked. She never did. He smiled and held up his book. "The Mysterious Affair at Styles."
"Ah! So you're the one who stole it from the library. And I was planning on reading it tonight myself. I've heard good things about her, this Agatha Christie." Connie set the mugs on the bedside table and sat on the edge of the mattress. "Is it good?"
"Yes. So far."
"Oh." Connie frowned in a little moue of feigned disappointment. "Well then, am I disturbing you?"
Though she made as if to get up and leave, Elijah knew she would do no such thing, not when there were the juicy details of his little contretemps to be dug out of him. Truth to tell, even if she did try to get up and leave, he wouldn't let her. Oh, he'd absolutely counted the hours until he could be here alone with her and unburden his heart! Completely. And she hers if she needed it. As they always did, even before their mother died too young. Sometimes Elijah thought they were a complete world unto themselves. Too bad he hadn't stayed safe inside its snug warmth. If he had, he wouldn't have made that mess at Cambridge. Or better to say he wouldn't have fallen into the trap set for him. For it had been a trap. He just didn't understand who had laid the snare and, even more, why. And he didn't think he wanted to know. Not really. Not yet.
Elijah set his book face down on his lap and reached for Connie's wrist, encircling it lightly. "You never disturb me. Stay. I was waiting for you, actually. And the hot chocolate."
"Were you?" Connie leaned forward and kissed the tip of Elijah's nose. "And did you want me to tuck you in?"
"Well, yes, that would be nice. Though ..."
"Though what?"
"I'd rather we have one of our talks first. Yes?"
Connie laughed and kicked off her slippers. "I thought you'd never ask. Snuggle?"
"Yes, please."
It was a perfect bed for snuggling, being wide and soft, its blankets made of the finest wool and its sheets of smooth cotton laundered to a silky texture. Elijah pulled back the covers as Connie crawled over him and settled in, leaning against the brocade headboard and tucking her legs beneath the covers.
She stroked Elijah's face and took the mug he offered. For a moment, they both sipped their hot chocolate in companionable silence. Elijah thought hard about how to tell Connie about what had happened, though he knew he had no need to be worried. She stayed silent as he knew she would, letting him say what he needed to say in his own time.
But when he opened his mouth to speak, something untoward sped through his mind, and so he said nothing.
Connie stroked his face again. "What is it? I thought you wanted to tell me. We've always told each other everything, haven't we?"
Elijah smiled. "Yes, I know. But ..."
"What?"
"Isn't it different now?"
"How?"
Elijah gestured at expanse of the room with one hand. "This. You. You're married now."
Though Connie smiled, there was anxiety in it, and Elijah could see that. "How should that change anything?" she asked slowly, her eyebrows knotted with dismay.
Elijah looked away, unwilling to meet her eyes, ashamed. "Don't you tell Clifford everything now? Will you tell him what I say to you?"
Connie sighed and reached out a hand to take Elijah by his shoulder. "You silly gooseberry. Why should that change anything? Of course not. I mean, I do tell him things, we are close and I don't want to deny that. But you're my brother, and I'll not tell him anything you don't want him to hear. I promise."
When Elijah turned around and faced her again, the relief in his eyes just about brought Connie to tears. "Thank you, Connie," he said. "I know you won't, but somehow I needed to hear you say it. It's just been the two of us for so long, telling our secrets to each other."
"And we'll go on doing that for as long as we live."
"I know ..."
"And what? Oh, you are a silly tonight." Connie slid closer and snuggled against Elijah's shoulder. "And what else?"
"He doesn't mind that I'm here, does he? It must be awfully hard for him."
"What? Oh, he's so glad you're here. He wants to know you more; he even told me so while we were waiting for you to come into dinner this evening."
"Did he? Oh, good. And it doesn't bother him that I ..."
"That what? Oh, you are obtuse tonight."
"It's just that I see him in his chair, and I think how lucky I am. Does it bother him?"
"Dearest, of course it doesn't ... that is, not any more than it bothers him to see any man walking about on two good legs. And we've had this talk before, you know we have. You were too young to go though I know you would have, and for that I am eternally grateful."
"I know."
"Then, let's have no more of that for now. Come on. Tell me your story. I've been so worried about you. I can't tell you how relieved I am to have you with me safe and sound."
Elijah pulled away and lay flat on the bed, his hands under his head and his elbows poking toward the ceiling. Though he had longed and longed and longed to tell Connie everything, now that the moment was here, he felt shy of the details. Best to get them out as fast he could.
"Roger and I were dining in town."
"Pft."
"I know you don't like him, but really, he is my best friend."
"Go on. I'm sorry."
"We had a lot of champagne. Oh, it was so good. I'm afraid I drank more than I should have."
"And that wouldn't have taken much. You know what a poor head for drink you have. And what exactly do you mean that you drank more than you should have? What happened?"
"Well, I blacked out some time after ... and I don't remember anything until I woke up in my bed and that terrible woman was there with me. Oh, it was awful. And then Willis came barreling inside with my breakfast and saw her and me and just ... and it just was awful, Connie."
"Poor darling. What else do you remember?"
"It was strange, Roger was there."
"What? In your rooms?"
"No, I don't think so, though he must have helped me home the night before, very late. No, I saw him in the hall as she was leaving."
Connie sat up a little straighter, though she kept one hand on Elijah's shoulder. "Yes, I can imagine how he might have helped you. Darling, did you and he have a fight?"
"No, of course not. It was just a regular dinner, the way we often do. Except for me getting a little tiddly and silly, but he said he didn't mind."
"Didn't mind what? Did you get sick all over him?"
Elijah laughed. "No, I don't think so. No, I'm afraid I got a little, well, too affectionate toward him. Not much, but I put my hand on his knee and was a little maudlin, you know. I apologized afterwards, and he said to think nothing of it. Not to worry."
Connie sighed. "Oh, Elijah. That vicious little bastard. He must have set you up as payback."
Elijah turned toward Connie, his face pinched, his eyes enormous. "I know. Haven't been able to believe it. I keep pushing it away. He and I have been such great friends at Cambridge and before, at Harrow. But ... oh, Connie, there was this look on his face at the restaurant after I'd touched him and told him how much I cared for him. Like he'd just come across, I dunno ... like ..."
"Like what?" Connie whispered, pulling him into her arms and pressing his face against her shoulder.
"Like he'd run into a raddled old whore in the street, who'd propositioned him."
Elijah broke into tears and Connie held him for long moments as he wept away his
disillusionment and hurt. Oh, how Connie longed to leave Wragby this very minute and find that vile Roger and give him a piece of her mind! And she would. Some day she would. But for now, she had Elijah to comfort so she rocked him in her arms, whispering, "Sshh ... it's all right now. I've got you. It's over."
At length, Elijah quieted. He said in a voice thick with tears, "I thought he was my friend."
"I know, baby. I know."
A loud sniff. "Does Clifford know?"
"Know what ... do you mean, does he know that you feel no desire for women?"
"Yes."
"Of course not."
"So you really don't tell him everything, do you? I thought you would."
"No, darling ... we are joined in our minds in many things but not everything. And I would not presume to betray you that way ... would not tell anyone without your permission."
"You're ashamed of me."
"No! Be reasonable. It is not the accepted thing, and though I know we have grown up outside the bounds of stuffiest society, nevertheless we do live within it to some extent. Even myself, stuck here in the country. So, no. I haven't told him and won't without your permission."
Elijah pulled away, and Connie wiped his face with a tissue she pulled from her pocket. "Thank you, Connie. It feels inexpressibly comfortable to be here with you at last."
"And here you shall stay as long as you want."
"Licking my wounds?"
Connie laughed as she got out of bed. "Yes, exactly. And I shall bind them up for you every night if you like until they disappear, as surely they will." She leaned down and kissed him. "Sleep tight. Try not to fret too much. See you in the morning." Gathering up the empty mugs and putting on her slippers, she made her way to the door.
She was just about to shut the door when Elijah remembered. "Oh, Connie! I almost forgot. I ran into this man on the edge of the wood. Cap on his head, rifle in his hand."
"That's Bean, the gamekeeper. Clifford hired him after the War. A good man from what Clifford says. Keeps the poachers out quite effectively."
Elijah snorted and settled back against his pillows.
"What?" Connie tilted her head.
"He was very rude."
"How so?"
"Said I should put my shoes back on or I should get a cold. Called me young sir."
Connie's lips twitched. "Sounds like good advice to me."
"Do you think he'd let me draw him?"
Connie said nothing in response, just left the room, shutting the door quietly behind her. She drew her dressing gown around her more tightly for Wragby's hallways were cold at night, even as the hot green summer approached. She knew she couldn't protect him from everything, but this desire he had ... now it had ruined his college career, and she had no doubt that Roger was the one who arranged for the strumpet to be found in his bed. No doubt at all. Not after what Elijah had just told her.
Following her own advice to Elijah, Connie didn't fret too long. Instead she grinned as she imagined the dour-visaged Bean posing for Elijah, remembering the barked orders to "keep still, Connie!" that she'd received in the past.