The Now Former Lady Deveroux Ch. 11

Chapter Eleven

What shocks her most about the home is not the ways in which it looks different, but in the ways it is painfully familiar. The walls are a different color. The furniture has been changed. The wooly, dirty rug she was used to as a child has been replaced. 

Yet, there was something awkwardly familiar about the dimensions of the little house. She'd thought it would feel smaller to her, now that she is older - but it doesn't. In the main chair in the seating room, not the one in which a guest might sit, but the one in which Samantha was accustomed to in her youth, she feels small once again. The shadows cast by the flickering candles still seem to tower over her, though this time they hold less feeling of majesty, of promise, of imagination. No, they feel impending. 

And so, not knowing how to summarize either experience, Samantha opts to set her tea carefully down onto its saucer, letting the scent of cardamom and sugar waft towards her nose, and remark, "It looks just as I remember it." 

Katherine doesn't seem impressed, instead simply making a soft noise and muttering, "I've always been fond of this house." 

Silence. The heavy weight between them. 

She hates you, deeper than you know. 

"Has Cordelia visited recently?" Samantha attempts. Perhaps showing concern for Katherine's daughter will carry some favor. 

The scowl upon Katherine's lips disagree. "She stopped by before her trip to Kereland," she says quietly. Quiet, that was always how Katherine's anger showed. A thoughtful sip of her tea. "She mentioned the two of you were living together again."

"Temporarily," Samantha clarifies. 

"I'm sure." 

Katherine Jones possesses the same fortitude of figure which Samantha grew accustomed to on Cordelia. She'd always been confused that Lord Hastings would want a mistress who seemed very much like a groundskeeper by trade, who was not overly dainty and feminine like a woman of the court. Though, she supposes now, perhaps a dislike for the genteel is what led the Lord to claim a mistress in the first place. As far as she knew, they'd split long ago, yet Katherine seems to retain the very same confidence as a woman who could draw the attention of a Lord. 

Samantha had learned it from somewhere. 

Katherine frowns. "What are you doing here Samantha? I thought you would never come by again." 

A test? To see what Samantha would admit? Or, perhaps it was genuine? It's often impossible to read through the lines of her face, and Samantha elects to trend towards honesty... it was why she was here, after all. 

Samantha swallows a large sip of tea, collecting her breath. When she speaks, her voice is quiet and measured. "Has Cordelia told you what has become of me?" 

"She has," Katherine says noncommittally. Then, to add to the effect, adds, "Though, I heard it from others first." 

Samantha winces. She'd much rather it have come from Cordelia. Despite their history, she suspects Cordelia would be far kinder to her than many of her former landed peers. At least the two of them had found a way to reconcile, if only slightly. 

Katherine sips more of her drink. "I never much liked the name 'Deveroux.' You'll always be Miss Holm in my mind." 

"I've kept the name," Samantha admits, feeling as though it was a dark secret to relate to her. 

"How unfortunate," the powerful woman releases a displeased puff of air from her nose. Her voice creeps forth, almost kind for a moment. "It broke my heart to hear the news." 

And Samantha bows her head, releasing a deep breath she'd not realized she was holding. That was something, at least. 

Again, Katherine asks, "Why are you here? It has been years since I have seen you." 

Time to do it. Own up to mistakes. 

Her heart skips in her chest. 

Do it.

She sighs. "I... I am not proud of the person I became." 

Katherine's face does not soften. "That is not an apology," she warns. 

Samantha grimaces, turning her saucer around between her palms and swallowing a deep breath. "You're right," she exhales. Forces her eyes up to meet Katherine's - deep green, imposing and piercing like Cordelia's. "Katherine... I am sorry. I have been for some time." 

Samantha tucks into herself a bit more, and no part of her feels the commanding, practiced woman she was used to being. In Katherine's home, in her former home, with a woman who was not family by blood but by something greater, Samantha feels like a young girl again. Adolescent. Just as she had been when she'd turned on the two of them, mother and daughter alike. She cowers back, waiting for Katherine to reject her attempt at goodwill. 

But Katherine does not. She considers the words for a long moment, absorbing them and testing their honesty, and seems to conclude something. "I suppose," she sighs, air pushing out of her nostrils, "I would be cruel indeed not to accept that as a beginning." And, for the sake of honoring her, adds, "Your mother would have wanted me to forgive you." 

"Thank you," Samantha breathes out, hardly any sound to it. She sits forward with her hands on her knees, teacup placed on the coffee table before her, and closes her eyes to feel the pressure in her chest slowly relent. She nods, deciding she must say something more to continue the apology, to explain why she'd been so horrid to them both, and murmurs, "When I... I never felt pain like when Cordelia turned me away. I never knew myself capable of the things I did to her."

 "You didn't feel that pain when we lost Susanna?" 

It was not an accusation, but it feels like one to Samantha. "It was a different sort entirely," she complains. "Her passing wrought me open. You recall I did not stop weeping for weeks." 

She looks up, expecting Katherine to fight her on the issue, and is relieved when the woman simply bobs her head in acknowledgement instead. She retrieves her teacup to steady herself, comforted by the familiar warmth, and tries to force herself to be less combative. She'd apologized, and Katherine accepted it. That was something. 

"I never felt so unlovable as Cordelia's rejection, not when I felt she was all that was holding me together in my grief," she explains. She shuts her eyes once more. Breathes. Opens them. "And to be noticed by Revier after? To know that all I needed to take everything Cordelia ever wanted and have it for myself was to do as she did and cast our love aside?" She feels the usual pit of shame tugging in her stomach. "It was easier than I like to admit." 

Katherine uncrosses her legs, setting them open so that she might lean forward and stare down Samantha, her face torn between the faintest whiff of sympathy and a hush of anger. She carries the air of a father lecturing his son, of a woman who knew how to capture the power of men and wield it for herself. 

"You cast me aside as well," she furrows her brow, daring Samantha to deny it. 

"I did," she whispers. 

"I couldn't recognize you anymore," Katherine tilts her head accusingly. "You were once so sweet and sincere, the spitting image of your mother. When I missed her I would take comfort in the knowledge she was there, living in you, too." 

And then you stole her away from me once more, that was her implication. She cannot hide the shame blustering its way into her form, nor the feeling of self-pity that accompanies it. You deserve this. 

She thinks of Esther, and the ways she pulls forth the goodness in Samantha - pulls forth the memory of her mother. She'd long assumed that part of her was rendered extinct alongside her former life, yet Esther had uncovered it, rusted and weather-worn, but present nonetheless. 

"I think about her constantly, like all that I shut away has come crashing forth." Samantha tells her, letting the foreworn grief show just a little more. Grimacing as she presses on, she voices the fear that had been burrowed within her for the last few years, uttering, in a voice that was hollow and hoarse, "I think she would have hated me." 

"She was not the type to hate," Katherine says generously. 

A breath. "But you did." 

"Yes," she nods, letting the confirmation rest in the space between them, clear and present, unearthed and unafraid of the challenge it presents. Samantha settles into it, knowing Katherine truly hated her - she'd always known it, but a small part of her hoped. "You abandoned all that we raised you to be," Katherine scolds, shaking her head. Bitterly, she adds, "I can think of no greater dishonor of her memory than what you became." 

Her mouth grows dry, and she feels herself try to escape the burdening weight of those words. She shuffles in her seat, trying, for only a moment, to escape the watchful and incisive glare of a woman who'd known her longer than anyone else alive. She'd seldom felt the scorn and condemnation of a sermon, the guilt imposed by mass - but the feeling within her at Katherine's disapproval must be similar. 

No greater dishonor. 

She forces herself to accept it. Forces herself not to run from its truth. 

"I visited her recently," Samantha attempts, unable to bear the silence any further. 

Katherine sits back, thoughtful. "That's good of you to do." 

"I regret that it took the whole collapse of my life in society to bring me to her," Samantha sighs. "It pains me to no end, that shame." 

She pauses, waits for Katherine to level another stern correction at Samantha's self pity, but she doesn't. She purses her lips, places a forearm onto her knee, and looks up at her. "I've often wondered if I should come calling to check up on you, but I feared you would resent me for it." A beat. "What has come of your life since your fall from grace?" 

Grateful to move into a happier subject, Samantha replies, "At first, nothing but bitterness. But I've come into the friendship of a Sister at St. Bartholomew's who has set me upon a better path." 

Katherine's brow furrows. "You're pursuing holy lif-,"

"Katie?" A voice calls from down the hall. A moment later, its source emerges into the room. "Who are you speaking to?" 

She stops in the doorway and watches the two of them, both gazing at her as though she's interrupted something important. 

The woman is short and has a precious optimism on her face, despite the clear tiredness of freshly awakening. She has warm brown skin and a bushel of black hair being contained by a silk bonnet, and her eyes possess a fresh gentleness. She's somewhere in the range of her early fifties, though her skin is battling off wrinkles quite well. 

She and Katherine share a look. 

"This," Katherine opens a hand towards Samantha, "is Samantha Holm." 

The woman's eyes widen. "As in...?" 

"Yes." 

"Oh, dear," she mutters gravely, only to quickly tuck that emotion away into a friendlier hospitality. "Forgive me," she implores Samantha, "that was impolite." 

"It's alright," she inclines her head. 

Katherine tosses the woman an assured smile. "Not to worry, Justine. It is actually going rather well." 

Justine seems surprised, but accepts it. "Should I give you some privacy?" 

"If you wouldn't mind." 

Justine nods, looking as though she wishes to step towards Katherine and bid her a good night, but she turns instead and returns to the room she must have emerged from. Samantha notes that it is the direction of Katherine's room. 

A pause overtakes them to allow Justine's departure. 

"I would worry about your judgment," Katherine mutters, "though I don't suspect you're in a position to judge." 

Grinning, a little bashfully, Samantha offers up, "The Sister from St. Bartholomew's and I are not just friends." Katherine makes a soft noise of acknowledgement. Feeling her next thought itch at the back of her mind, Samantha ventures, "I've often wondered about you and my mother..." 

"We loved one another deeply, though we weren't in love with each other, if I understand your meaning," Katherine says bluntly. Not with any rudeness, but rather a terse accuracy. "I considered it, sure, and she was well aware of my affinity for women and thought nothing of it. But..." She shrugs. "I've never known where her heart leaned. After your father, I don't believe she was prepared to give hers away ever again. Not like that." 

"So, she did love him?" 

"Unfortunately," Katherine leans back. A look flashes through her face that Samantha can't read. "Your mother is the only woman I knew who didn't judge me for this fact - at least, only one I wasn't engaged with in some way. She was unsure at first, but soon after was quite supportive. She was always delighted to hear the gossip of my love life." 

Samantha can't escape the warm smile on her lips as she stares down into her tea. Her instinct about her mother had been right. 

Oh, Esther. She would have loved you. 

A new question emerges. 

"Before I outed her..." Samantha says slowly, "did you ever know about Cordelia and I?" 

"I suspected," Katherine answers, her voice tight. "I was fairly sure about her interest in women, despite the gentleman who tried courting her. She always gave off that energy." A pause. "As for you? I could never read you." 

"Did... did my mother ever know?" Samantha asks, then softly adds, "Nothing began with us until after her passing, but did my mother ever wonder about Cordelia and I?"

"If she did, she said nothing of it to me." 

Samantha accepts this. Part of her wishes her mother had known, wishes she could have seen what Samantha looked like in love. How much more ardently she wishes her mother could meet Esther, see how good the Sister was to her, for her. 

Katherine narrows her gaze, considering Samantha with a curious air. As always, Samantha's sure she could read right through her - she'd always had that ability. "Samantha," she ponders, "why did you come here tonight, of all nights?" 

Honesty, a little voice inside nudges. 

Samantha takes a breath. "I fear the Sister and I may have just lost everything." 

The knowledge that Esther and Pullwater are speaking at this very moment causes her chest to tighten, and she tries to shove it away. 

"So you want my pity?" 

Samantha is glad to be able to honestly reply, "I was simply afraid I may need to depart from Bellchester, and I did not wish to do so without honoring my mother's memory. I miss her dearly." 

"As do I." 

"I do not expect that all will be well between you and I... but I would also like to begin making amends, if you would accept it." 

Katherine reflects for a long moment. "I shall." 

Relief loosens some of the tension within her. 

"Perhaps, if you remain in the city, Justine and I might have you over for dinner," Katherine offers her. "You might invite this nun of yours. I would be curious to meet the woman who made Samantha Deveroux repent."

Samantha grins. 

And after a moment, she wonders aloud, "You think I ought to surrender the name Deveroux? It would not dishonor my mother further to return to Holm?" 

"I think it would please her for you to give up all that corrupted you so." 

"Samantha Holm," she tries out. She likes it once more.

-- -- -- 

The late walk back to 167th Mill Street is an optimistic one. Samantha, feeling moved by the potential of reconciliation with Katherine, convinced once more of the potency of change within herself, steps along the cobblestone paths with a confidence she would not have expected. Whatever may come with Sister Pullwater, and the conversation at hand with her niece, surely will not end all that is good in the world. 

Perhaps God felt then that Samantha deserved something good. Perhaps it was simply luck and fortune. She couldn't care less. Instead, she is simply relieved to hear the sounds of laughter bouncing through the hall as she steps into the door. 

It was Esther's laugh, one that is light-hearted and polite, yet authentic. 

Samantha enters the living room, where Pullwater presides in the reading chair with her back to the door, and Esther reclines on the couch. For the moment, her veil has been carefully laid onto the sofa beside her, and Samantha marvels at the visual of Pullwater's exposed hair as well. 

Despite the hush that falls over the room as Samantha makes her appearance, Esther leaps up onto her feet. "Samantha," she greets, holding in place for a breath. Then, as though deciding something, she strides over and takes her hand, pulling Samantha to sit beside her on the couch. 

"Laughter is not the sound I expected to hear within this home," Samantha muses cautiously. 

"You need not be afraid," Esther encourages. 

Samantha steals a glance at the Mother Superior, who releases a long exhale and leans forward in her seat. Like the beginning of a performance in a theater, a quietness consumes the space between them, prepared for something important unfolding. 

"I... I have been praying," Pullwater begins. Pauses. She tilts her head to the side. "Annette attempted to convince me of the acceptability of her relationship with Cordelia, and though it pained me to do so, I was willing to come to a state of ceasefire on the subject. I was not happy about it, but my care for her promoted my neutrality on her decisions.

"As for the two of you..." She holds her wrinkled hands together, rubbing a thumb across her palm thoughtlessly. She's silent for a long moment, then meets Samantha's eyes with a stern consideration. "Did you mean what you said to me? That you will love and care for her greater than any man has loved a woman before?" 

Esther's head shoots over to Samantha, then to Pullwater, then back to Samantha. Her face beams brightly, and Samantha can clearly read the thought spinning inside of her. You said that? 

"I did," Samantha nods. 

"And that she has convinced you to consider righteousness in a way you have never before been moved to?" Pullwater's tone is insistent, studious. 

"Yes, Sister Pullwater." 

The Mother Superior nods and sits back. Her wiry gray braid rests over her shoulder, and she tugs it out of the way. She ponders for a moment, as though knowing what she must say but still needing to convince herself to say it. She swallows dryly. 

"I am not pleased about it," she begins, lest they count too much on her enthusiasm, "but... I shall not stand in your way." 

Relief washes through Samantha. Esther seems to have already heard the news, and directs her attention to squeezing Samantha's hands tightly and with glee. 

Pullwater continues dutifully. "If there is to be an accounting of our sins at the end of days, I shall all St. Peter to hold the scale, rather than take it up myself in the present. There are greater sins I ought to consider, and..." She hesitates, adding quietly, "...it does settle something within me to hear such conviction from you, on Esther's behalf. Perhaps I am simply not meant to understand that which moves romantically, and I will have to be content in such an endless mystery." 

"Thank you, auntie," Esther beams. 

Pullwater's eyes latch onto Samantha, a mild threat within them. "Consider me watchful of Esther's heart, Miss Deveroux, and that if you lead her into harm, or injure her heart in any way, I shall not recuse my fury." 

Samantha swallows. "Understood." 

Satisfied, she takes a breath, adopting a more business-like tone. "I also do not like the possibilities for problems if you both join the Sisters. I regret to inform you, Miss Deveroux, that we do not have a place for you in our midst." 

"I suspected as such," Samantha accepts. At the closing of the opportunity, she feels her mind begin to wonder what else the future might hold for her. What might her life be, aligned to the values of her mother and the pursuit of something good and meaningful. The answer arrives within her quickly, and she allows herself the timid joy of starting to imagine it. 

Pullwater looks embarrassed by her next sentence, and masks it with a sternness instead. "And I ask that whatever may occur between the two of you will not occur upon holy ground."