An Absent Wife (7 page)

Adelaide’s port wasn’
t the same degree of chaos that India had been and he silently thanked the fates for it. He felt that even the long voyage here hadn’t been enough to recover from the assault on the senses that was India. The port was busy, but orderly and there were carriages for hire waiting patiently to transport new arrivals to the city. After engaging one, Lysander watched the countryside pass. It was so very different from what he knew, and he couldn’t quite believe that he was on the opposite side of the globe. The plants were different, the birds were different and the light was again, different. It seemed his wife had led him on a merry chase around the world—if she indeed was his wife.

The town was
also different from what he’d expected—not that he had many expectations, but it was all new, built in the latest architectural style—a completely modern town, with meticulously planned and maintained streets, and large parklands between neighborhoods. He didn’t see telephone lines, which were being rolled out across London, so they were behind London in that respect.

His countenance darkened when he considered the reason he was there
—to chase down a woman who may or may not be his wife. In his gut he knew it was. He wasn’t sure why; he’d never observed any deviousness in her, but looking back, her constant cool reserve was bound to hide something. Perhaps that was just the nature of her class, he thought maliciously. It was an unfair assumption, but he felt he needed something to funnel his anger toward.

Taking rooms in a nice hotel in the
center of the city, he would convalesce after his long journey. The hotel had all the services he would require—even good quality Ceylon tea that he was partial to. It served a mix of clientele, but that was typical of hotels in far-flung places, he’d noted.

After he was sufficiently recovered, he sent out a note to
the Town Hall to enquire about a new female entrant in the community by the name of A. Ellis. He had to admire the efficiency when a note returned only a few hours later saying that Mrs Adele Ellis was now a teacher at the school in Young Ward’s Gilles Street.

Scrunching
up the note, Lysander threw it in the fire. Surely that couldn’t be his wife? There had to be some mistake, an innocent mistake that he would laugh at later. His wife was dead and her body lost due to some mishap in the chaos of India—that made sense. Him chasing after some ghost across the world didn’t. He should turn back, go home and forget all about this. But he couldn’t; he was here and he had to see this through. It was his duty.

The carriage delivered him to a small wooden building that was the school house
, with two windows, one on each side of the door. It certainly was different from his education at Eton, where old, hallowed walls steeped in tradition, told of their place and responsibility. This was a small little house—a true education here seemed impossible.

The door was painted light blue and it creaked as he opened it.
A few blemishes scarred the door that was otherwise new. Children, he realized—they were rough on everything. Not a topic he usually considered—likely because the idea of acquiring them by his wife had been so unappealing.

The door opened to a large room
where light shone in on a woman who was tidying a desk along the far wall. She wore a brown gingham dress with a tightly corseted bodice and a large skirt. With clear relief, he knew instantly that he’d made a mistake—until the woman looked up and he saw the face of his wife. The picture didn’t make sense for a second—the face, the place and the dress didn’t match.

Her eyes widened and he saw fear in them.
Blood rushed to his head, making him feel light-headed. A rush of emotion overwhelmed his ability to speak, but he moved forward to her and took her by the neck when he reached her.

“You liar,” he managed to spit out. Her eyes were still large and disbelieving.
“Do you have any idea of the embarrassment you’ve caused me? You’ve made me the laughing stock of London. You deceptive whore.” He was babbling, not really knowing what was coming out of his mouth, but all the suppressed anger and embarrassment flooded out of him. Being cuckolded by an unworthy man, exposed to the ridicule of everyone he knew, then being deceived to travel across the world in a vain effort to show her memory some respect. And this is how he was treated.

“You dress up in the guise of a respectable school teacher when we both know that is far from the truth.
Do you think any of the parents of these children would like an adulteress and deceiver teaching their children? This dress looks ridiculous on you. You are ridiculous.”

Her mouth parted slightly as if she wanted to say something
, her lips were pink and plump. A mouth she’d given to other men, and who knew how many he didn’t know about. Her thin neck was warm under his hand. He was affecting her ability to draw breath and he didn’t care at that particular moment. An impulse to squeeze flashed through him and it was tempting. Her large eyes were pleading with him.

And then there was that matter of her not being dead, which meant she was again his wife and his problem to deal with.
A problem from the start to the very end. Why had he been afflicted with this burden? An unsuitable and untrue wife. He could see her with her man in that room in Calcutta, giving herself to him with abandon. He felt pure rage. The whore.

Before he knew what he was doing, he had her skirt bunched up around her stomach, her body exposed
as he ripped the material underneath. He is the only one she should have given herself to, but he was the one who got nothing. Something in the back of his mind told him it wasn’t so, but he was too angry to listen—his emotions at such extreme levels he couldn’t think or reason. The feeling was unbearable, cutting off air to his lungs and blood to his mind.

With a sharp movement and before completely realizing what he was doing, he
was inside her and pleasure intermingled with his rage, making him a slave to the driving sensations. Two or three sharp thrusts and he found release, everything flowing out like a vent released on held back high pressure steam, draining him of absolutely everything. Collapsing down on the desk, his put his hands out on either side of her as she was positioned on the desk, supporting himself. He felt faint. He was unsure what had just happened or how he had gotten there—too tired to think of anything.

Stepping back, he surveyed her as she lay on the desk trying to push her skirt down to cover her modesty.
To cover the thing he’d just done. She wasn’t looking at him, her cheeks rosy with embarrassment or distress, or whatever it was she was feeling. Frowning deeply, he felt a stab of guilt, but he was too depleted to feel anything properly. Anger still licked at his consciousness, but there simply wasn’t room for emotions.

“Outside,” he ordered as his breath grew calm enough for a steady voice.
He didn’t want to think anymore—about what he’d just done, what she’d done or the implications of the future. And there were implications for the future. His devious and faithless wife back in his life. If only he’d turned around this morning and returned to England in ignorant bliss, but now he knew and there was no undoing that. She was his responsibility, no matter how she acted.

She slowly stood, her eyes lowered to the floor.
He wasn’t sure if her modesty was because of shame for what she’d done or what he’d done. He felt anger tickle him again, but he couldn’t rise to it. He lifted his hand to the door to urge her to walk, which she did, taking tentative steps past him.

He had his possessions moved to a different suite, one with two bedrooms. She’d argued that she had a room somewhere, but he didn’t trust her not to run off—not entirely sure what she was capable of anymore. He didn’t want her in his bed, but he didn’t trust her being out of sight either. With her in the room across from him, he would hear if she left her bedroom. He wasn’t sure that was true, but he certainly wasn’t going to share a room with her.

“We’re leaving in the morning,” he stated when they were showed into their suite for the evening.
“We’re sailing for Europe.” He’d sent one of the hotel’s boys to seek information on passage, promising to pay handsomely for the service as he wasn’t feeling up to dealing with the matter himself just at that moment. He needed to sleep, feeling the need tug at him as he watched the creature that was his wife stand by the window, surveying the scene outside.

“Can I get my things?” she asked quietly.

“No.” It was ungenerous, but he didn’t want to deal with it. He had no idea what she held precious, probably gifts from her lover. He wasn’t going to traipse across town for that. Then he softened slightly. “If there is enough time in the morning, you can send a man to collect them.”

They existed in silence for a while until supper was brought to their room and served at the table.
They ate in silence and Lysander read the evening paper that the hotel had supplied.

Lying in bed that night, he was unable to sleep.
He had his wife back. It wasn’t a welcome development, but he couldn’t shirk his responsibility. Closing his eyes in a vain attempt to sleep, he considered what he would do with her when he returned. No solutions came to mind. It was all just one big jumble of unpleasantness. There was always the gossip resulting from her return to look forward to. If her latest caper became known, she—and he by association—would become notorious. Faking one’s own death was dramatics on an unprecedented scale. But people knew of her demise and her appearance will cause quite a stir. The only thing he could do was to stand by the idea that it was a clerical error. He despised lies, but the alternative was unbearable.

Adele stepped out of the carriage at the Port of Melbourne.
She’d watched the landscape pass by, wishing she had a chance to explore the city they’d arrived in just the previous day. Lysander showed no interest in the city and they hadn’t left the hotel until it was time to leave.

He
’d been uniformly distant, but not unpleasant to her. She wondered if he ignored her presence most of the time. He read each edition of the paper made available and intermittently retreated to the smoking room. He was polite, but he didn’t speak to her beyond what she wanted to eat and enquiring if she was comfortable. He even went out and bought some gloves for her when she mentioned that she’d lost her pair.

It w
as still a relief when he left her alone—not that he purposefully made her uncomfortable—the whole situation was uncomfortable enough without either of them having to try. The worst was that she didn’t know what his intentions were. He’d mentioned nothing of divorce, but then he’d mentioned nothing of the future either. His only concern at the moment, it seemed, was to get them back to England. As for what would happen then, she was none the wiser. Surely, he couldn’t intend to place her at the Devon house again, to continue as before. They couldn’t continue as they had, too much had happened since then, surely.

Adele twisted the handkerchief she was holding as she looked out on the large ship that was to carry them back to Europe.
It was an auxiliary steamer, which included both sailing masts and two large steam turrets. It was a very sleek ship, unlike any she’d seen before—a large vessel, with black smoke billowing from the chimneys as it was preparing to sail. Lysander urged her toward the gangway which conveyed them to an opening in the front of the ship. Adele could see goods and provisions being loaded onto the ship further down. There was also a second entrance further down the ship, utilized by persons of less means.

The interior was sumptuous and everything looked new.
Every surface was dressed in glass, brass or lacquered mahogany, with rich oriental carpets covering all floors. A smartly uniformed man greeted them and showed them toward their cabins. Their trunks had been sent ahead and were apparently waiting for their arrival.

“Lord and Lady Warburton.
I am Mr Manfred and I wish you welcome to the RMS Oceanic. We are very pleased to have you traveling with us on our grandest ship—the best sailing the oceans. Built for luxury travel, it has a first-class section with splendid walkways and a salon for your entertainment. Your cabins are just here and this is Hans,” he said when they came to a man dressed in a dark uniform, “who will take care of any needs you should have while in your cabin. You just have to ring the bell and he will attend you.”

To Adele’s relief,
Lysander had booked them separate cabins and hers was as fine as any hotel room she’d ever seen. His means stretched further than Samson Ellingwood’s could.

Pulling off her gloves as the man left her cabin to see to Lysander, she sat down heavily on the bed, feeling her energy drain from her.
It had all just become real; she was heading back to the life she had left behind, with the man she had left behind. Or else she was heading back for divorce and the uncertainty and potential poverty that came with it. A divorce would mean the end of her existence in respectable society, but that was a decision she’d already made when she took up with Mr Ellingwood.

She’d thought she’d made her escape, but here she was again
—a prisoner in this marriage. Biting the nail of her thumb, she wished she could behave childishly, cry and scream—throw a tantrum to show how displeased she was. But she wasn’t a child; she was a married woman, and handling setbacks with grace was part of that responsibility.

She rested for a while
, until there was a discreet knock at the door adjoining what she assumed was Lysander’s cabin. She knew it was sometimes a feature that was provided to married couples; although she couldn’t see her husband utilizing it. It would be a substantial change in their relationship. Although, his reaction when he saw her had been unlike any reaction she’d ever received from him. But she knew it was an act of anger rather than ardor.

“Will you accompany me to the salon for supper?” Lysander asked when she opened the door
, his face impassive. “We will be going in half an hour.”

Adele fe
lt his eyes on her, they were again neither kind nor hateful—they were just indifferent. Knowing it was a request more than a question, she nodded. Perversely, she wasn’t entirely sure which one she preferred, indifference or hatred. They hadn’t discussed what had happened—they’d discussed nothing at all. But apparently, he would be associating with her publicly.

She dressed in her yellow gown, which was the only thing she had that was fine enough for dining in a salon.
She’d left all her other worthy dresses back in India as she’d departed for a new life, one she’d assumed wouldn’t include fine gowns.

Looking
herself over in the mirror, she noted that she looked drawn; although the sun of Australia hid the pallor she would normally have in England. She was still disbelieving at the turn of events, but perhaps this was as it should be and it was her mad escape that had been the unbelievable part.

Lysander was waiting outside when she stepped out of her cabin, closing the door behind her.
She’d placed the key in her purse and tentatively took his arm. Touching him felt strange. He’d never seemed quite real to her, but here he was, warm flesh and blood.

They dined at the large table headed by the Captain
—a Captain Harrow, a retired Naval man with a manicured white beard and shrewd eyes. The salon had a large glass dome above their heads, which showed the stars above, and the walls were covered with silk and wood. It was a beautiful room, no expense had been spared in furnishing the ship. The other passengers were a mixed lot, mostly wealthy Australians and some Government officials—people they would be dining with for months.

An elderly woman sat to Adele’s left.

“Such a lovely couple,” the woman said in a voice that had a slight tremor. “Are you on your honeymoon?”

“No, we have been married for some time.”
The idea that anyone would see them as a lovely couple was strange—they were anything but. It seemed the rift between them wasn’t visible to everyone, while Adele would have thought it was as obvious a sign floating above their heads.

Turning back to her right, she surveyed the man n
ext to her—her husband. He was being spoken to by a man he didn’t approve of, looking arrogant and distant. He was handsome; he always had been and his maturation had not diminished his good looks. It is how she was used to seeing him—arrogant and distant, in the portraits that covered the walls in the Devon house.

When there, s
he would stop and look at him whenever she walked past the main hall—the large portrait of him on the left wall. She had stood in front of that portrait countless times. There were another two of him, one as a toddler, which she could never really align in her mind with him, and still another from when he was around sixteen and not yet a man. That portrait in the main hall was more linked to the idea of her husband than the man sitting next to her. She was familiar with all its lines and shadows, the fall of his clothes and the distant look in his eyes. The living man next to her was much more difficult to comprehend.

The next morning, Adele sat reading on the shaded side of the ship in a white rattan chair with a cushion to soften the seat. A tea service had been offered and accepted.

Luckily, her absorption into her book seemed to signal to other passengers that her privacy was preferred on this occasion.
Sipping the tea, she tried to read, but her jumble of emotions was stopping her from focusing. She’d taken the direction that if she ignored her emotions and acted calm, her insides would eventually follow suit.

“There you are,” she heard the voice of the man
who was her husband.   “I wondered where you were.”

Adele considered if she was suppose
d to have told him of her planned activities for the day. “Naturally I am not far away. It is unlikely that I would have jumped the rail to make my escape.” They were still traveling along the Australian coastline, but she wasn’t quite that daring.

He looked uncomfortable for a moment before sitting down, pulling up the material of his light green
traveling suit. They had never traveled together before; she wasn’t entirely sure he liked traveling. Having him there was uncomfortable; she didn’t know what to say to him. She knew her own crimes as did he. But he had sought her out and she was sure it wasn’t to be sociable.

“I wanted to discuss what happened,” he started, staring out into the ocean, squinting with the light of the harsh Australian sun.
He was clearly not made for this climate. She had struggled with it herself, but had accepted it as her new home. Distracting herself by her thoughts, she knew she wasn’t ready for the conversation he was embarking on; it wasn’t one she wanted to have. “I am sorry for how I behaved,” he said after clearing his throat, looking down at his brown leather shoes. She didn’t know where he got his shoes, things a wife should know. She knew none of these things about him. He looked extremely uncomfortable. “I wanted to apologize for what I did. I have no excuse for it and I can’t quite understand where that behavior came from.”

Embarrassment crept up her face as she took in his words and their meaning.
She looked away; she didn’t want to have this discussion or to consider the intentions behind what he did.

“I can promise such will never happen again.”

She wasn’t sure she could accept his promise. It was evident that she could push him to the point of grave anger, which she hadn’t known was possible. The only emotions she had ever observed in him were annoyance and disapproval.

“I accept your apology,” she said stiffly.
“We will never speak of it again.” Along with his promise, she wasn’t sure she did accept his apology either. While he had imposed on her, he was within his right to do so. She appreciated his apology, but it couldn’t go far to mend the rift between them, not when the greater grievance had been their marriage and their whole association. The incident for which he was apologizing for was a fleeting moment that, in accordance to his own estimation, was out of character.

He nodded and rose.
“I will see you at lunch. You, of course, have the run of the ship for your diversion.”

It was an attempt at generosity and she accepted it as such despite its awkwardness.
He could, after all, lock her in her cabin and forbid her to speak to anyone. He was fully in his rights to do so and it was her duty to comply.