Letters to Richard

I have seen Your hands tremble when You laid Your eyes upon me. I have seen You gasp when I spoke Your name. I am not the one to play games, and I cannot say with complete reassurance that I knew what You felt, but Richard, I truly believed Your heart was as soft as butter when I approached You.

You stared at me like a small child; it was as if You were frightened of me. Why? I wanted to talk to You, Richard. I decided to demand an explanation of Your behaviour, but when I saw You standing in front of me, even more handsome than I remember, strong and yet vulnerable... You were too slow fleeing, Richard. I saw the tear that ran down Your cheek. I saw it and it almost killed me.

Did You hear me calling after You? Did You see me fall to the ground and lay there like a wounded animal, weeping and reaching out after You, knowing You would not return?

Why do You insist on hurting me like this? Why, Richard? Very well, if that is what You want, I will grant You Your wish. In Your letters You expressed the desire for an explanation of what had transpired years ago, when I suddenly disappeared from Your life.

It was my Father who had forbidden me to see You any longer, Richard. I could not go against his wishes and demands. I hoped that in time he would come to terms with my love for You, but at the first sign of my rejection - which I must say was a simple act of pretension for my Father's sake - You had fled London and indeed, England.

I had hoped You would return, especially upon hearing of my Father's death, of which I know was brought to Your attention. I had written letters to You, Richard. Many letters, but did not know where to send them. I still keep them in my chest, each of them sealed. I could not bring myself to read them now; it would have hurt me too much to do so.

I waited, Richard. I waited for months, lying awake at night, crying myself to sleep in the wee hours of the morning, wondering where You were and if You indeed were still alive. I thought of Your soft lips and tender kisses, with which You used to cover my face; running Your fingers through my hair; whispering the sweetest of words, igniting the passion in my heart. I thought of the stolen moments that we had in the country, hiding in the small clearance deep in the forest, embracing each other. I thought of Your trembling hands caressing my neck and touching the parts of the body that should not be touched prior to the wedding night. I thought of the afternoon when I was willing to give myself to You fully, regardless of shame and consequences that might have followed. I remember how strong You were, Richard, for both of us. I can still recall the hurt that settled in my heart when You told me we should not give in. I remember the soft kisses that You planted all over my trembling body, leaving me shivering with a desire so great, I thought I would go mad. You told me You would wait for me as long as You had to. Do You remember Your promises?

My Mother did not die of a broken heart grieving for my Father, Richard. I know people whisper about it and so You may know it already. Upon my Father's death, she realized that all of the money she believed my family possessed was practically gone. Whatever little was left she had to use to pay off my Father's gambling debts. We were to be destitute, Richard. Of course, she could have asked for help from her brother, but she was too proud for that. She had made arrangements for me to live with my relatives, reassuring me everything would be all right in the end.

She had trouble sleeping ever since my Father's death and so she would occasionally take the sleeping powder, which helped her to have a restful night and regain strength for whatever troubles were in her way the following day. I should have known better than to completely ignore the odd behaviour she displayed one particular evening. She talked to me about my future extensively. She hoped I would be strong enough to overcome any hurdle that might be in my way to the happiness that she believed I deserved. She kissed me that night, Richard. She kissed my hair and then she kissed my cheek. It had been years since she had given me a genuine hug. She cried as well that evening, but my simple mind convinced me that it was all due to stress and she was just crying her grief out in the open.

That night she took more sleeping powder than she ever had before. In fact, she had taken enough to kill three grown men, let alone a slight woman like herself. I was the one who found her and in my panic I called on Dr. Chamberlain, swearing him to secrecy in keeping my Mother's suicide to himself. The doctor was kind enough to oblige me, and had called upon me many times since, almost every day, checking on my health and my well being.

I suppose it was a natural progression that I should accept his advances and when he asked my uncle for my hand in marriage, I saw the relief on my uncle's face. It was all I needed to know. I could not refuse, as I had no one else to turn to. You were gone, Richard and nobody else would have been kind enough to take care of me.

I realized my mistake on my wedding night. My husband had revealed himself to me then, and to my utter horror there was nothing I could do to change things back to the way they used to be. I would gladly undertake any obstacle, shame or disgrace in place of my marriage to Dr. Chamberlain. But, it was too late. I made my bed, as my Mother had put it so often, and now I have to lie in it.

My husband is not a kindly man, like I was led to believe, I am sorry to say. He does things to me sometimes that leave me trembling in fever for days afterwards. He is a perverted and disgusting little man, who holds the knowledge of sins over many, and thus was able to advance in his career and success. People fear him greatly, although I believe and somewhat even hope that one-day, he will encounter a person who will not simply turn a blind eye and submit to his demands. One day, Richard, someone will do him harm like he has been bestowing upon others, including me.

I have lain next to him in bed many a night, Richard, thinking of You. I would close my eyes and ignore his dirty hands, slobbery kisses and the hurt he was causing me. I would think of You, of how You used to make me feel and at the same time I would regret my decision to listen to You and not give in to our passion in the woods that wonderful afternoon.

I thought I was blessed when my daughters were born. And truly, any woman would be proud of them, as she should be. However, my husband's cruelty has taught them to be discourteous to me, as well. They have not a word of kindness for their poor Mother. They consider me a fool, possibly rightfully so, however, I am still their Mother and they should treat me with respect. Not having learned it from their Father, however, they do not know any better and they make my life harder than it already is.

And so, my dearest Richard, I am but a miserable soul in this world of cruelty and ignorance. I pray every day that Death might visit upon me, and for a while I even prayed that you might return and there would be a sliver of hope, yet.

The way you looked at me, Richard...the way you seemed to be repulsed by me, I cannot bear it. Not for one more day. I have always loved You, my dearest Richard. You were always the one in my heart. When my children were born I cried with joy for bringing a beautiful life into this world, but at the same time, I wept with sorrow that it was not your children I held in my arms.

When alone in a room or out on a walk, I would talk to You, Richard. I would pretend you were right there by me and I would talk to You. I would tell You of all my troubles and hopes, I would reminisce on the days when I was happy, when indeed, we were happy together. I would close my eyes and pretend that when I open them, my dear husband would be sitting in a chair opposite me, smiling. You, Richard. I would picture you sitting there, happy to see me, love in Your smile. All just for me.

If my foolishness to obey my Father had hurt You so much that You cannot bare to look at me anymore, I do not want to live. I would be prepared to do anything for you, Richard. God forgive me, but I would even leave my children and flee to wherever You wanted to go. I would not care if I had no money or food, no place to call my own. You by my side would be all I needed, Richard. You alone!

If I had hurt You, Richard, I am truly sorry. I meant no harm to anyone, least of all to You. I tried to be obedient daughter; instead I had stabbed myself in the heart. This poor old ticker has been bleeding long enough. The pain is too great for me to bear any longer.

I will follow my Mother now. By the time You read this letter, I will be at peace and I hope You will forgive me. Nobody knows about us, I have not told anyone, so You may rest assured nobody will blame You.

Think of me sometime, Richard. Spare a little thought for a foolish girl, who grew up to be a foolish woman, denying herself the only thing that was her true passion and ruining a great love story before it even began.

I began this letter as a reprimand for your behaviour. But as I was putting the words on the paper, I realized that it had all been my fault, not Yours. I realized that the disgust in Your face was not that at all, rather fear that You would become enchanted with me again as You once were. The tear gave it away, You see. I have never seen a grown man cry and to see Your moment of weakness is simply too much to bear. I could not go on pretending any longer. I cannot go back to my husband, for I would kill him eventually. Even if they were to hang me afterwards, I would kill him before I let him lay his dirty hands on my person again. I cannot do that, however. Despite the cruelty of my children, I could not curse them into losing both parents at once. The loss of me will not harm them. In fact, I doubt they will even grieve for me at all.

Never mind, that. I finally got a chance to tell You how I have felt all these years, Richard. My dearest! My one and only! Be good to Yourself and others, Richard. You deserve happiness more than most. I shall look after You from Heaven.

I am empty now. I have no words to say, no thoughts to share. I die with Your name on my lips and Your smiling face in my heart. You have not said a word to me since Your return from abroad. Speak to me when You come to visit my grave.

Farewell, my darling...

Yours forever,

Emilia