“Who… what…” stammered Honor, startled almost beyond words.
“Good evening, darlin’,” the larger of the two women greeted her. “I’m Margaret and this is…well, this is Darcy. We see you’ve found her journal, gone from sight these many years.”
Margaret turned to face the thin, older woman. “It’s time, Darcy. You know it’s the right thing to do.”
“But what if she doesn’t understand?” The older woman looked worried. Her anguished eyes locked on Honor.
“She comes from good stock. She’ll understand,” the plump woman replied.
Suddenly, Honor found herself inexplicably fading from her hotel room, into a fog. She floated through the mist, enjoying the sensation. When the fog lifted, she was sitting at a cast-iron garden table with a cool breeze caressing her face.
She felt dizzy and a bit sick to her stomach, as if she had just stepped off a roller coaster. Desperately, she tried to orient herself to her new situation by focusing on a pink hibiscus bush nearby. She heard someone call out from a nearby path.
“A grand afternoon to you, Madam Darcy.”
Honor turned toward the voice and saw the heavyset woman who had called herself Margaret, waving at Darcy, who was seated across from Honor at the garden table.
Honor’s mouth hung open as she gazed beyond the courtyard to the original Belleview Hotel. She felt Darcy’s eyes upon her, pulling her attention back across the table. Darcy spoke as though they were still in Honor’s hotel room, seemingly unaware their location had changed, or that she appeared to be several decades younger than she had been only moments ago.
Darcy offered no explanation for the changes. “You must understand. I grew up in a world very different than the one I found when my husband brought me to this place,” she said, waving her hand in the general direction of the garden. “My father was an honorable man, but he was not blessed with a keen business sense and his dire financial situation caused his health to fail.” Darcy took deep breath, as if the words revived painful memories.
“My mother bore no sons to help support our family, so by the time I reached womanhood, my family’s name had become its most valued asset. I was forced to put away any thoughts I may have possessed about spending a glorious debut season in New York and face the reality that my marital prospects were quite poor. With no dowry, I was no longer viewed as a suitable match for young gentlemen of good breeding and wealth.”
After another long pause, Darcy continued, her voice a flat monotone. “And so I was given in marriage to Reginald Loughman in my fourteenth year. Reginald was thirty five years my senior.”
Darcy flinched, as if remembering the feel of the old man’s wrinkled touch on her tender, young body. After a moment, she lifted her chin. “My parents tried their best to secure my future, but…” She shook her head.
“I was Reginald’s third wife, he having been sorrowfully widowed twice before. He had already sired and raised his heirs; so thankfully, he didn’t come to my bed very often. My wifely duties were mostly confined to providing my husband with social companionship and running his household,” she murmured.
Without warning, the fog returned and Honor fell away from the garden. She tried desperately to fight the sensation and return to her chair at the garden table, but to no avail. Eventually, she relented and floated in the fog for what felt like a long time.
Finally, a musty smell began to filter through the haze. When the mist cleared, Honor was standing alone in the small, dark entryway of an old home. Despite being nauseous, she focused on voices coming from one of the nearby rooms. She thought one of them belonged to Darcy, but she wasn’t sure. It was the voice of a child, stammering, attempting to explain something.
The other voice belonged to an angry man. His voice boomed, chastising the girl for failing to… for failing to do what? Honor shook her head, struggling to understand where she was and what was happening. As her stomach began to settle down, she moved closer to the dimly lit room, not sure if the occupants were aware she was witnessing their exchange. She listened closely, wondering if she should make her presence known.
“You are no longer a child; you are the mistress of this household and you must begin to act like it!” the man shouted. “If you let the servants have their way, they’ll use your household budget within a fortnight, and you’ll have nothing left for the market,” he snarled. “I’m not surprised you learned so little, given your father’s poor aptitude for managing finances, but you must do better. Now ready yourself for bed. I’ll be up to join you shortly, as soon as I’ve dealt with this mess you’ve made.”
The young girl rushed from the room in tears. It was Darcy; but now she appeared as the child bride she had been. She didn’t acknowledge Honor, even though she scurried by only a few feet away from where Honor was standing.
Honor followed her up the dark stairs to the master bedroom chamber. Despite the fire burning in a large, stone fireplace and the glow of two gas lamps, the room was cold and foreboding. Darcy was so tiny, her body barely made a dent when she sat on the edge of the embroidered ivory bedspread and leaned against the footboard of the dark mahogany sleigh bed.
Once settled, Darcy spoke to Honor in much the same manner she had done in the garden setting—again, with no explanation for the changes that had taken place.
“This is my world. My husband will be here in a few moments, having bolstered his sense of manliness by dressing-down the servant girl that bade me spend too much of my monthly budget on new linens,” she sulked. “He will expect me to be ready for him. To welcome him between my legs, even though he believes I am daft and not worthy to bear his name. I am expected to accept his critiques without resentment; lo, even with gratitude for taking the time to teach me to become a better head mistress for this house.”
Darcy looked so miserable, Honor wanted to take her hand and lead her away from here. To return her to her childhood that had been stolen for lack of a dowry.
Church bells began to toll in the distance, drawing Honor’s attention. There was something strange about their sound. Without warning, the fog enveloped her. She fought to return to Darcy’s side, but again, her efforts failed. The bells became louder and then changed into beeping sounds. Honor’s eyes flew open. She was lying in her hotel room bed, the alarm clock ringing on her nightstand.