Delivery
“Mary Margaret,” Uncle Bertram called, rapping on the door and stepping in slightly. He looked at Kelly and then stopped in the doorway, as if he didn’t want the lady-in-waiting to see him enter Meg’s room.
“Yes, Uncle,” she called, standing, her eyes on the floor.
“Your mother asked me to give you these.”
She glanced up to see several envelopes in his hand. She could tell from across the room that none of them had even been opened.
Kelly jumped up out of her seat and made her way across the room to retrieve them. “Thank you, sir,” she said as she took them from him.
While Meg wanted to ask why they were never given to her in the first place and why it was okay for her to have them now, she didn’t do so. “Thank you, Uncle,” she said, dropping her eyes back to the floor.
She watched as his heavy shoes turned, thankful that he was leaving. But a few steps out into the hallway, he turned again, and returning to his previous position, he said, “You could do worse than an Ashton. That’s my two cents anyway.”
Unsure what to make of that, Meg only replied, “Yes, Uncle.”
This time, he did leave, and once he was down the hall, Kelly pushed the door closed and crossed back over to Meg, who had dropped back into the chair, her breathing finally growing more steady.
“What in the world?” Kelly asked, setting the letters aside and placing a hand on her friend’s shoulder. “You’re shaking.”
“It’s nothing,” Meg replied. Normally, if her uncle was present when she was downstairs, outside, or at an event, she was able to keep herself calm. But here, in her room, the scene of the attacks, she couldn’t control herself.
“Meg?” Kelly said, pushing her shoulder back, “you’re trembling. What is going on?”
“Nothing,” Meg insisted. “I don’t want to talk about it. Now, let me have the letters.”
By now, Meg had almost regained her composure, and even though Kelly still had a concerned expression on her face, she complied and handed over the letters.
There were five. Meg looked at the date stamped on each of them and put them in order, resolving to open the oldest one first and work her way forward. It was dated April 15, 1902, which was almost two years ago. Why he continued to write her when she had never answered was beyond her. It’s no wonder he seemed both upset and angry by the time he had written this latest letter.
She carefully read through each one, actually going through them twice before moving on. Upon opening the fourth one, a likeness slipped out first, and she picked it up, gazing at Kelly in wonderment. “Is this him, then?” she asked, holding up the picture. “Is this Charles Ashton?”
“Well, it was—last year, I suppose,” Kelly shrugged. “Of course that’s him. It says it’s him. Why would he send you a picture of another fellow?”
“Perhaps he’s hideous and wants me to think this handsome young man is him when it really isn’t,” Meg laughed, holding the picture up in front of her face. “How do you do? I’m Charles Ashton.”
“You’re ridiculous, is what you are,” Kelly giggled, punching her playfully in the arm. “I guess you’re in a better mood then?”
“I suppose,” Meg replied, placing the picture carefully back on the table next to the unread letter it had fallen out of. “He seems rather nice, though I’m still not sure why in the world he would want to have anything at all to do with me.”
“I’m honestly not sure either,” Kelly snickered. After Meg returned the jab in the shoulder she continued. “I mean, I don’t know what the arrangement is. Perhaps his father has convinced him that you’re a fine young lady, one worth marrying.”
“But he hasn’t even met me.”
“Exactly. How else would he be able to make such an argument?”
“Would you stop?” Meg asked kicking her beneath the table this time. “This is serious!”
“I know. I’m sorry. I don’t know, though, Meg. Once you’ve read the rest of the letters, maybe you’ll know. Or maybe not. All you can do at this point is write him back, let him know you’re sorry you didn’t receive the letters, and see if he still wants to meet you.”
Meg shook her head. “I have to be very careful. My mother said she would read anything I sent out. I can’t make it seem as if she was keeping them from me. Nor can I attempt to make any arrangements she might dislike. Clearly, he’s tried to meet me before and my mother kept him from doing so.”
“Yes, but the company was doing much better then. Maybe she’d let you now.”
“Or maybe I don’t want to,” Meg offered, still considering her options. She glanced down at the handsome young man in the picture. He must have been about fifteen when it was taken and was probably more like sixteen now. Being only thirteen, she wasn’t anywhere near coming out, looking for suitors, discussing marriage. Yet, having the opportunity to experience such activities taken away from her was unsettling. She knew she’d still be able to attend balls and dance with other gentlemen; after all, one hardly ever danced with their own betrothed anyway. But when her friends were trying to decide which man was the right one for them, she’d be boring them with tales of Charlie and his letters. A letter was hardly a suitable escort to the park.
“Meg?” Kelly asked, jarring her back to reality.
“I apologize,” Meg stuttered. “I was just thinking about… what I might do.”
“Well, I shall leave you to it. Technically, you are still supposed to be working on your studies with Ms. Cunningham, and I have household chores to complete.”
“You might check on Sarah and see if Jessica is still outside,” Meg called over her shoulder as Kelly approached the door. She worried about Jessica and Blanche’s little one, Fionna. They were allowed to stay in the house, but in separate quarters from their mothers, which was odd to Meg. She also found it peculiar that no one truly kept track of them during the day since both of their mothers were always busy with chores. She knew Kelly kept an eye out for them, but there was something quite unsettling about the whole arrangement.
“I’ll peek in on her,” Kelly assured her. “I am fairly certain your uncle won’t dismiss Sarah. He seems rather fond of Jessica.”
It wasn’t until after Kelly had gone and shut the door behind her that Meg, who had been distracted by the letters, realized what her lady had just said, and the queasy feeling in the pit of her stomach almost erupted. “Oh, dear God!” she muttered. “Surely not!” The weight of this possibility was too much for her small shoulders to carry, and Meg clutched her stomach and stumbled over to her bed, collapsing.
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