Page 53 of Fragile Wicked Things
My mouth watered, bile forming from my stomach, escaping through my mouth. I wasn't quick enough to grab for my handkerchief, and by the time the manager passed the wastebasket, I had already made a mess of my clothing. And I had made a mess of my life.
* * *
The Kilbarry familyhad lived in their home since long before the Civil War began. Part of the house lay in ruins from artillery firings, the bullet holes in the brick left as a reminder of the time brother took up arms against brother, but the majority of the home had been restored to its original beauty. Mrs. Kilbarry explained its history while we sat on the outdoor patio under an awning, shading us from the brilliant sun. She glossed over her family’s history with slavery. Her hair was graying, her lips stern, and I doubt she smiled or laughed very often, and when she did smile towards me, it appeared strained. The request to meet had come from me.
"Sugar?" Mrs. Kilbarry asked me while a servant girl younger than myself poured the tea.
"No, thank you," I said. The young girl nodded, placed a teacup in front of me and left.
"My husband's father built this cover with his own hands. He was a fine man, smart, both in business and life. A hard worker. As you know, that work ethic didn't pass down to both his sons." She looked up at me, sipping her tea, and I said nothing before she continued. "The Kilbarry name doesn't guarantee you a place in society anymore, unlike when my sister and I married into the family. We had a double wedding, two sisters to two brothers. Oh, it was a fine wedding."
"I'm proud to be a Kilbarry," I said.
"Over a Rochester? I hear he owns more land in England than he knows what to do with. Rumor is Mr. Rochester can't name half the businesses he owns because there are far too many."
"I'm not a Rochester. I was his ward but never a Rochester."
Mrs. Kilbarry arched one eyebrow. "You may not be a Rochester by blood, but you have access to his money, which would be attractive to many suitors."
By then, I had already had my suspicions as to why James married me, and the veil of foolery had lifted from my face. I sipped my tea and nibbled on a biscuit, anything to delay discussing my circumstances. Mrs. Kilbarry's hard stares unnerved me.
Finally, I spoke. "It was rude of me not to have come earlier to thank you in person for the generous wedding gift. I'm quite embarrassed. " My voice fell, and I picked up my cup of tea again. I swallowed a mouthful of the liquid, burning my esophagus. My teacup rattled when I placed it on the saucer.
"Has James sent you to ask for more money?"
"No, I've come of my own accord. He doesn't know I'm here. We're in rather a desperate situation. The apartment was paid for until a few months ago and although I had a bit of savings..."
"You've since learned that he's squandered it? Is that what you are about to tell me? My poor dear. James may be a Kilbarry, but I'm afraid his bad behavior was inherited from his father. The gambling and drinking, not to mention the womanizing."
I looked at her, horror-stricken, eyes wide and mouth open, and Mrs. Kilbarry's face softened.
"Did he pluck some poor, unsuspecting child from New Orleans? I suppose he did, with his reputation here in Charleston destroyed, and not one young woman from an upstanding family willing to marry him..."
"We don't have any money and debtors are knocking on our door almost every day. I don't know what to do. Please tell me what to do," I sobbed. "It's not me I worry about but…" I put the palm of my hand over my stomach.
Mrs. Kilbarry took pity on me and took hold of my hand. When I reached out, the sleeve of my dress shifted upwards, revealing a red mark on my wrist where James had grabbed me the night before. She held my wound in both her hands.
"For years I stood by my sister, watched her go through what you're now experiencing. If he's anything like his father, I'm afraid the worst is yet to come. You're his wife now. You must expect nothing from him and he won't disappoint you. Does he know you're with child? Tell him and the abuse will…well. I don't know what to say." Here she let go of my hand, stiffened and sat straight in her chair. "The gift of the apartment happened without my husband's knowledge, who had cut James off from the family purse long ago. You must ask Mr. Rochester to help you now."
I left her home heartbroken. Yes, there were signs that were beginning to surface within the first few months of the marriage, but to have it confirmed by a family member devastated me. Mrs. Kilbarry's suggestion of turning to Edward had been proposed several times by James and each time he mentioned it, I thought of an excuse as to why I couldn't. Eventually, James reached the conclusion that I somehow schemed with Edward that James not have my money, or as he so often referred to it,hismoney. He was entitled to it, he would argue. After all, it was Edward's fault that I became accustomed to the finer things in life, a life most men couldn't provide. Sometimes I would speak up and, moments later, would reprimand myself, knowing that Mrs. Kilbarry's words were true—I was his wife now and would have to stand by him.
Arguments over Edward's money were endless, and then one day, they ceased. James went out night after night, arriving home drunker than the previous evening. He had to have money to do that, and I realized Mrs. Kilbarry must have felt sympathy for my misfortune and found a way to provide for us without her husband's knowledge. I worried about how much she had given James and when it would run out again. Did he at least pay our outstanding bills?
Night after night, as I lay in bed alone, I cried. Such sadness overwhelmed me that I feared transferring that grief to the child growing in my belly. In that first year of marriage, I had become pregnant. The incident in the bank manager's office was the first of many mornings I found myself sick. James looked at me in an odd way, questioning what I had eaten, if I had some stomach ailment, if I had been to see a doctor. When I told him I was with child, he stared at me, put on his hat and jacket and left. He returned three days later.
Months passed, and I heard through a neighbor that James’s gambling debt had increased. Sometimes, he would find the money to pay off his debt and then run it back up. One night, while he was getting ready to go out, I tried to uncover how much money his aunt had given him.
"My aunt? She and my uncle cut me off long ago. Stole my father's inheritance is what they did," James said, staring into his glass of whisky. "I was meant to have a better life than this."
"Then where did the money come from?"
He turned and looked at me in a queer way, as though I had asked a stupid question. "Where do you think, Miss Rochester?" When he said "Rochester,” it was with a sneer. He couldn't have. It wasn't possible that he would go to Edward behind my back.
"What did you tell him?" I asked.
"He was surprised when I wrote we were living in Charleston. You lied to me when you said you'd been sending him letters each month. He was happy to hear of his prodigal daughter and begged me for more news about you. I don't know what happened between you two the night you left, but I will tell you this, it ends now. Whatever argument you had is forgotten. Rochester's our ticket out of this hell and I mean to use it."
"What did you tell him?" I repeated.
