Chapter 3

Chapter 3

Hetty wandered down the garden path, staring at the familiar rolling green fields, in the distance. Hillsworth House was nestled in a valley. When she was a girl, she had happily explored those fields, without a care in the world.

Della, the family cocker spaniel, trailed at her feet, gazing up at her adoringly. She smiled, reaching down to caress the dog's silky golden ears.

"What do you think," she whispered. "Shall we go further afield today? Shall we go to the apple tree?"

The dog yelped excitedly as if she understood every word that the woman had just said. Hetty laughed, suddenly feeling her spirits lift, just a little. It would be good to go for a longer walk; she would not feel so constrained by the atmosphere in the house. Her mother's eyes constantly watching her, anxiously, as she moved about. Her father, trying to jolly her out of her low spirits. It was becoming just a little tedious.

She opened the gate, stepping beyond the boundary, her heart lifting further at the beauty of the day. A bright summer's day, with a clear blue sky and a sun so bright that she had to squint slightly as she walked, shielding her face with her hand. Della ran ahead, as excited as she was, to be let loose.

It had been three weeks since she had returned to Hillsworth House. Three weeks, in which she had thought constantly, almost obsessively, about what her future held. And now, a plan was forming in her mind. A plan that would protect her from ever being hurt in the way that Frank Blackmore had hurt her.

It was only last night that the epiphany had come to her, as she had been kneeling at the foot of her bed, saying her nightly prayers. It was as if God himself had reached down, placing a hand upon her forehead, and whispered it into her ear.

You could become a nun, that voice had whispered. You could join a convent. You would never have to deal with the world and all its pain and misery again.

She thought about it as she strode through the field towards the large apple tree in the distance. It was perfect, the perfect solution to the conundrum that she found herself in. If she joined an order and took the vows to become a nun, then she would have her own life, free of being dependent on her parents.

She could never marry again. That path had gone. And besides, she didn't want to marry again. She never wanted to be vulnerable in that way; to be at the mercy of a man. Even if she was free to do so, she still would not want to do it. The very thought of it was anathema to her.

She reached the apple tree, panting slightly from the exertion. Della started to run in circles around the large trunk, barking ecstatically, almost delirious with the freedom of stretching her legs. Hetty looked up, contemplating the tree. The branches were almost overladen with their fruit, shiny, bright red apples, so large and tempting that she smiled in delight. Carefully, she reached up, picking a perfect specimen. It felt heavy and hot in her hand.

She sat down against the tree, leaning against the trunk as she took the first bite of the fruit. It was juicy and delicious. For several moments, she contentedly chewed, gazing out over the valley and Hillsworth House in the distance. It looked like a giant black square, from this vantage point, spreading out before her eyes.

Her gaze drifted to the tree. There was the remnant of an old swing that her father had built for her, back when she was little, swinging from a low branch. He had taken her here often, in those days. They would walk side by side and pick apples together before he would push her on the swing. She could still recall the wind whipping her pigtails behind her, as she had soared into the air, imagining that she was a bird with wings.

The swing was old and weathered, now, the rope fraying. For a moment, she saw herself as a little girl, laughing delightedly as she swung upon it, that feeling of pure freedom. There was no way that she could do that now. The rope would break clean away, with her weight, even if she managed to fit herself onto the wooden seat.

All things go , she thought, a trifle sadly, her mood evaporating, just a little . You can never go back to the way that things were.

It was true. She no longer belonged here in her family home. Oh, she knew that her parents would violently disagree with her and claim that this was her home forever if she wanted it to be. But the truth was she had outgrown it, just like the swing. She didn't want to be a dependent here, aging alongside her parents, as much as she fiercely loved the place. She wanted to carve out her own life.

Only weeks ago, she had thought she finally had the chance to do it. She was ready to become a wife and the mistress of her own home. But that chance had been snatched away from her for good. God had other plans for her.

It wasn't that she was particularly religious. She believed in God, of course, and faithfully attended Sunday services. She prayed nightly. But the thought of joining a religious order, and taking the veil, had never occurred to her before. She was honest enough with herself to know that she did not have a pure vocation for that life.

But what opportunities were available to women who desired to carve out their own way in the world? Hardly any, particularly for one of her class. Besides, a convent would be like a sanctuary for her. Within its walls, she would be safe from the pain of what lay beyond.

She could dedicate herself to good work on behalf of the needy. It would be a rewarding life, far more fulfilling than attending the tedious rounds of afternoon teas in district homes, on the arm of her mother, whispered about behind hands.

She chewed the apple thoughtfully. Out here, in the wide world, she would forever be tainted by that scandal, an object of pity. But inside the walls of a convent, she could shed it all, like a snake shedding its skin. She could become herself, once again.

She thought of her parents and how they would react when she told them. She knew they would be opposed to the idea, but she was a woman of five and twenty, after all. She was old enough to make up her own mind about her own life. And they would not stop her, once they saw how determined she was. They probably would not even blame her.

Her father had been true to his word in the ensuing weeks since she had returned here. He had called upon Mrs Blackmore, Frank's mother, to inform her what her son had done to his daughter, and to try to ascertain if he had been hiding something sinister from them all, that had spurred him on to do what he had done.

Mrs Blackmore had been horrified, weeping copiously, barely able to speak. She had not known anything about why her son would behave in such a way. Or at least, that was what she had claimed.

Her father had hired a private investigator, trying to track where her errant husband was now. But so far, they had not had any success. Frank seemed to have disappeared entirely, fallen off the face of the earth. Hetty didn't know if she was disappointed or glad that she would never have to confront him again.

It was over. She might never have any answers to what had been done. It was up to her, now, to pick herself up, dust herself off, and continue with her life to the best of her capabilities.

She would be a victim of circumstance no longer.

She jumped slightly at the feel of a soft head suddenly falling into her lap. Della was panting hard, her pink tongue lolling out of her mouth. Hetty reached down, caressing her, pulling at the long, velvety ears.

"Well, we should get back," she said, gazing at the dog. "I have reached a decision, Della. And I really shouldn't delay in telling Papa and Mama."

The dog gazed at her, with large, limpid brown eyes, for all the world looking as if she was smiling. As if she was privy to the secret that was burning in Hetty's chest.

They set off across the green field. Hetty tossed the apple core into the distance. Her soul expanded slightly.

She could become the master of her own destiny. She just had to convince her parents that it was a good idea.

***

She arrived back just in time for luncheon, barely having time to wash her hands before she entered the long dining room. Sometimes, if Papa were out, she and her mother would simply eat a quick luncheon in the kitchen, but if he was here, it was always more formal.

"There you are, Hetty," said her mother, frowning slightly. "Where did you disappear to? I looked out of the window, expecting to see you in the garden, but you were nowhere in sight."

Hetty suppressed the irritation that rose instinctively in her breast at her mother's words. Mama meant well, but she wasn't ten years old anymore. It was yet another reason why she needed to leave and carve out her own life.

You will have more rules and regulations in a convent , said a small voice, in her head. You will not be freer there than you are here.

Firmly, she ignored it. She couldn't afford to think along those lines.

"I am sorry, Mama," she said, as she sat down, unfolding her napkin. "It is such a beautiful day, and I felt like stretching my legs. I journeyed to the apple tree."

Her father smiled indulgently. "Is that old swing still there that I made you all those years ago?"

Hetty smiled, too. "It is, Papa. But it is a little worse for wear now. However, the apples on the tree are as delicious as they always have been."

There was no further conversation, for several moments, as they commenced eating. Hetty felt her heart start to quicken. She needed to tell them, but how could she bring it up?

Just do it , she told herself fiercely.

She took a deep breath. "I have been thinking long and hard about my future," she started, gazing from one to the other.

They both looked up from their soup.

"What do you mean, dear?" asked her mother in a distracted voice.

"I do not wish to burden you for an indefinite period," she continued, her heart racing harder. "All of this has been so unexpected. I appreciate the fact that you both have helped me, in my worst of moments, but I do not wish to reside at Hillsworth House for the rest of my life."

They both looked stunned.

"Henrietta," said her father, frowning. "There is simply nowhere else for you to go at the moment. And you are safe and protected in our home. It is your home, too. Never forget that."

She took another deep breath. "I know, and I am so very grateful for it. But I have made a decision." She paused momentarily. "I have decided that I wish to join a convent. I wish to become a nun."

If they had looked stunned before, it was as nothing compared to the shock on their faces now. For a moment, no one spoke.

"A nun?" her mother whispered, looking horrified. "You wish to join a religious order, for the rest of your life?"

Hetty nodded. "I do, Mama."

"Henrietta," said her father, his frown deepening. "This is utter madness. I understand that you desire to escape from what has happened, but this is not the answer …"

"Papa," she interrupted. "With respect, I believe it is very much the answer. I would live a life of contemplation and service. It would be a selfless path, and it is one that I desire very much."

Her mother looked doubtful. "Hetty, you have no vocation," she said, in a shocked voice. "You are not called by God for such a life. It would stifle you …"

She felt another flash of irritation. "Mama, I must disagree with you. While I am not the most pious of ladies, my faith in God is absolute. What could be nobler than sacrificing one's own ego at the altar?"

"It is not about that, my girl," said her father tartly. "Your mother is right. You have no vocation for such a life. You never once mentioned a calling to it prior to your marriage." He paused, gazing at her intently. "You are hurt and grieving, Hetty. That scoundrel Blackmore did you wrong. But running away to a convent – throwing your life away – is wrong. You would regret it for the rest of your days …"

"What else is open to me?" she burst out, feeling on the verge of tears. "I do not wish to be dependent on you forever. I am an abandoned wife with no hope of ever marrying again. Must I sit here, every day of my life, withering away, through lack of purpose?" She took a deep, ragged breath. "This is the only course available for me, where I could lead a somewhat fulfilling life. If I stay here, I am forever branded as the deserted wife, enshrouded in scandal. I cannot endure it …"

Her parents were silent, gazing at her sadly.

"Please," she begged, fighting back the tears. "I know that this is hard for you to understand. But I am a grown woman, and it grieves me, feeling as if I am trapped like a dragonfly in amber in this house." She paused. "You have both raised me to be an independent thinker, despite my sex. I am grateful for it. And that independence of thought is what brings me to this choice, now. I am capable of making decisions about my own life."

Her mother picked up her napkin, dabbing her eyes. Her father continued to gaze at her sorrowfully. A weight of emotion fell over the table, so thick that it was almost like a black cloud.

She did not want to hurt her parents or make them feel that they had not done the very best for her in this awful situation. They had. But appeasing them was not what she could focus on at the moment. And she should have a say in how her own life was going to unfurl, from this point onwards.

She understood their concerns, particularly about whether she was suitable for the life of a nun. She knew that they were only trying to save her from a potentially wrong decision made in the heat of the moment. But it was not their decision to make, and they had to understand that.

"Perhaps you should sleep on it a little further," said her father eventually. "Do not rush into anything, Hetty. There is no time frame. You might feel very differently about it in a few weeks' time, than now. I know that you think you will not, but it is possible."

Hetty nodded cautiously. "I will reflect on it further, but I must stress that I am resolved to this path," she said slowly. "Do I have your permission, at least, to write to some convents, to enquire about the possibility? I promise that I shall weigh up all options carefully."

Her father nodded. "You can enquire if that is what you desire," he said, frowning a little. "There is no harm in that. I just do not want you to commit to this path immediately. Will you promise me that?"

Hetty sighed deeply. "I promise, Papa. And thank you for your understanding." She looked down into her half-eaten soup bowl. She had lost her appetite. "Could I be excused from the table?"

Her father nodded. "Of course."

Her mother refused to look at her. Hetty could see she was still struggling not to cry.

Her heart lurched. Her mother had wanted her only daughter married. She had hoped that she would have grandchildren one day. She had been looking forward to it so very much.

And now, that hope was gone, forever. Just as her own hopes and dreams were gone, as well.