Steeped in Blood | TO BE REWRITTEN

X. FELICITY FAIRFAX

"MOTHER, WILL WE EVER BE ABLE TO VISIT William and his new wife?" Felicity asked, setting her embroidery down on her lap. "I miss him so much."

Her mother's blonde curls--shot through with silver--bounced as she tucked one behind her ear and shifted her needlework to a basket. "Felicity, do you miss your brother in actuality or are you simply in search of adventure?"

Felicity sighed. Her mother always did see right through her--through to the heart that shared her older brother's adventurous spirit. Henry was the oldest, and then it was William, and then Felicity, the baby of the family. "Perhaps I really do miss my brother. After all, when he marries, we might never see him again!"

Anne Fairfax rubbed at her temples, clearly upset at the prospect of never seeing her younger son again. Felicity's heart sank as she leaned closer to her mother, watching the flames flicker in the fireplace; it was raining in the moors even though it was the middle of summer. She hadn't meant to upset her, but only to remind her that their time with William could very well be limited. Felicity didn't want to think that her brother might be disappearing forever—really he was the more tolerable brother in her opinion—but he was getting married to a foreigner.

A foreign girl. A Chinese girl. Technically, Hong Kong's people would be considered "British nationals overseas" but William could hardly bring a Chinese girl back to London or even to one of their country properties. It would be unseemly; but if a young British Lord were to go live in British-occupied property and take up a local wife no one would bat an eye. Still it bothered her to think that she might never meet her brother's wife. That this trip was just the beginning of a gap in their relationship; that she might never be this close to him again.

"I love William and it would break my heart to never see him again, but your father's wishes have been made abundantly clear," her mother intoned. "Now, get back to your embroidery, Felicity. Your stitches are crooked."

The thirteen-year-old girl groaned and began picking them out to re-do them. Meanwhile her mind hummed with ideas of what the new British colony might look like... she knew it was only a sleepy fishing village but it was world's away from London. Did people even play football there? Did they have tea—no, surely they did because China was where tea was from—and did they have it with milk, as the British did?

Her fingers itched to pen a fresh letter to William and ask him all of those things. Perhaps she could even ask his fiancée—Elizabeth, she thought the girl's name was—about it, and they could become pen pals of sorts. She bounced in her seat in an unladylike manner at the thought and her mother tsked. "Sit still, Felicity."

But she didn't want to sit still. The world was far too big for that.

☕️

The dining table felt empty with only her, Mother, and Henry seated at it. She wished there were at least some sort of dinner party or some guests around to liven things up as she glumly spooned the buttery mashed potatoes into her mouth.

"Felicity, do not put your elbows on the table," Mother said.

If William were here... he would have winked at her from across the table. He would have been doing some foolish but exciting thing that distracted Mother from scolding her. He would have been here and not thousands of miles away, doing God knows what.

"May I be excused?" she asked, already readying herself to stand from the table. "I find myself feeling unwell."

"You are excused, my dear." Mother nodded. "I will check on you later."

She fled to the sanctuary of her room and pulled out a fresh sheet of paper and a quill.

Dearest William,

I miss you a great deal. Can I please visit you soon? Let me know when you and your wife move into your new abode for I should be glad to visit. When will you be married?

Do they drink tea with milk and sugar in Hong Kong? Do people play football there? What about the weather—is it much warmer than London? What are the people like?

Page after page of questions poured out of her and onto the sheets. Still her curiosity felt dissatisfied; still she felt hollow. Too much curiosity was surely a sin, was it not? For what had felt so good moments ago now soured in the pit of  her stomach, turning acidic. Try as she might, ask as she might, she would never be able to see the world and explore the marvellous wonders waiting to be charted. Because she was a proper girl of good breeding and that was not what well-bred girls did.

As if someone had drawn a line straight through the world as some arbitrary boundary, determined for her not to cross it.

She gripped the rosary on her desk, the one that her mother had brought all the way from France when she had come to London shopping for her trousseau and wound up meeting Father. Did she regret it? Did she miss home and Paris? She had brought with her remnants of her home: the rosary, her Catholic faith, a slight accent that slipped through sometimes when she was excited or emotional.

But mainly she had been conformed and compressed into an ideal figure of British housewifery, of being an angel in the home and a matron of her husband. There was no individuality, no originality, no free spirit. Felicity didn't want that to happen to her.

So, picking up the pen, she wrote one last line: Can I also write a letter to Elizabeth?