only two faithful visitors: Maimie, whom she admitted; and James, whom she did not.
Like clockwork Maimie arrived on Saturday afternoon. For Wendy’s benefit, she brought the daily and weekly papers already scoured for any mention of Peter or his company. This particular Saturday she entered Wendy’s room with less sympathy and more purpose. In her hands she held a beautiful summer hat, which she proceed to thrust at Wendy.
“Wendy, get dressed!” she ordered. “I am taking you to tea.”
Wendy set the hat on the edge of the bed and tightened her robe around her thin frame. “Oh Maimie, I am not inclined to leave the house today. I already arranged to have tea brought up.”
“Nonsense!” Her companion crossed to the window, parted the curtains, and opened it. “You haven’t left the house in months. It is a beautiful day! Today we are going out.”
Indignantly, Wendy opened her mouth in offence. “I get out! I went to your wedding,” Wendy snapped. Fancy Wendy snapping! But she had been much tried, and she little knew what loyal service her dearest friend would perform on behalf of her broken heart. If she had known she would not have snapped.
Maimie’s gaze cut her short and Wendy’s eyes dropped to a spot on the rug. Her best friend and confidant came closer. Reproachfully, Maimie picked up the hat and held it out to her. “That was one time. One time in seven months and you didn’t even dance.”
“I didn’t feel like it,” she mumbled accepting the beautiful millinery.
“I do not think you feel at all. Whatever you are doing, you are certainly not alive. Now get dressed. Today you rejoin the living.”
Wendy looked skeptically at her boon companion and sank to the edge of her bed. The latter picked her back up and tenderly smoothed a wisp of hair away from her face.
“It is just tea, dearest. I’m not asking you to throw a party!”
Sensing that her dear friend was not about to yield, Wendy began to dress. The ritual of dressing seemed strange after so many months of apathy. It occurred to Wendy that the whole point of clothes—from hair combs, to corset, to boots—was to transform a woman into something contradictory to her natural state. At the same time there was something cathartic and calming in those same ministrations. For the better part of an hour Maimie helped her dress. By the time she was finished, Wendy was surprised to realize that she was actually looking forward to leaving her house.
Seated at the best table in the most fashionable tea shoppe in all of London, Wendy felt lighter than she had in a long time. She smiled at her faithful friend. “Oh, I didn’t realize how much I missed this.”
“And I missed you! Nothing is the same without you.”
“Have you been to the theatre recently?”
Maimie frowned, shaking her head, “No, the Opera.”
Wendy mirrored the expression. “Oh, dear.”
“Oh dear, indeed!”
The friends began to laugh like old times. When a dour grand-dame and her unfortunate looking daughter passed by casting the pair reproachful glances, Maimie responded with a snort. Then they giggled like schoolgirls, until their cheeks ached and tears were streaming from their eyes. In those precious moments all Wendy’s pent up emotions were released.
After a bit, when things had calmed down, Wendy glanced expectantly at a small stack of newspapers folded under Maimie’s handbag.
“What news of Peter?”
“Well,” Maimie hesitated, “the company has moved on to Chicago, last week in fact.”
Wendy sensed her friend’s reluctance. “What else?”
Maimie placed her hand over her companion’s. “Are you sure you want to know?” Wendy’s somber nod prompted her to continue in careful words. “It seems Peter has been linked to a well-known actress.”
Wendy pulled back her hand as if stung. “Who?” She demanded.
Maimie exhaled and pulled out the small stack of papers. “Edith Wynne Matthison .”
“And what do you mean by
Like clockwork Maimie arrived on Saturday afternoon. For Wendy’s benefit, she brought the daily and weekly papers already scoured for any mention of Peter or his company. This particular Saturday she entered Wendy’s room with less sympathy and more purpose. In her hands she held a beautiful summer hat, which she proceed to thrust at Wendy.
“Wendy, get dressed!” she ordered. “I am taking you to tea.”
Wendy set the hat on the edge of the bed and tightened her robe around her thin frame. “Oh Maimie, I am not inclined to leave the house today. I already arranged to have tea brought up.”
“Nonsense!” Her companion crossed to the window, parted the curtains, and opened it. “You haven’t left the house in months. It is a beautiful day! Today we are going out.”
Indignantly, Wendy opened her mouth in offence. “I get out! I went to your wedding,” Wendy snapped. Fancy Wendy snapping! But she had been much tried, and she little knew what loyal service her dearest friend would perform on behalf of her broken heart. If she had known she would not have snapped.
Maimie’s gaze cut her short and Wendy’s eyes dropped to a spot on the rug. Her best friend and confidant came closer. Reproachfully, Maimie picked up the hat and held it out to her. “That was one time. One time in seven months and you didn’t even dance.”
“I didn’t feel like it,” she mumbled accepting the beautiful millinery.
“I do not think you feel at all. Whatever you are doing, you are certainly not alive. Now get dressed. Today you rejoin the living.”
Wendy looked skeptically at her boon companion and sank to the edge of her bed. The latter picked her back up and tenderly smoothed a wisp of hair away from her face.
“It is just tea, dearest. I’m not asking you to throw a party!”
Sensing that her dear friend was not about to yield, Wendy began to dress. The ritual of dressing seemed strange after so many months of apathy. It occurred to Wendy that the whole point of clothes—from hair combs, to corset, to boots—was to transform a woman into something contradictory to her natural state. At the same time there was something cathartic and calming in those same ministrations. For the better part of an hour Maimie helped her dress. By the time she was finished, Wendy was surprised to realize that she was actually looking forward to leaving her house.
Seated at the best table in the most fashionable tea shoppe in all of London, Wendy felt lighter than she had in a long time. She smiled at her faithful friend. “Oh, I didn’t realize how much I missed this.”
“And I missed you! Nothing is the same without you.”
“Have you been to the theatre recently?”
Maimie frowned, shaking her head, “No, the Opera.”
Wendy mirrored the expression. “Oh, dear.”
“Oh dear, indeed!”
The friends began to laugh like old times. When a dour grand-dame and her unfortunate looking daughter passed by casting the pair reproachful glances, Maimie responded with a snort. Then they giggled like schoolgirls, until their cheeks ached and tears were streaming from their eyes. In those precious moments all Wendy’s pent up emotions were released.
After a bit, when things had calmed down, Wendy glanced expectantly at a small stack of newspapers folded under Maimie’s handbag.
“What news of Peter?”
“Well,” Maimie hesitated, “the company has moved on to Chicago, last week in fact.”
Wendy sensed her friend’s reluctance. “What else?”
Maimie placed her hand over her companion’s. “Are you sure you want to know?” Wendy’s somber nod prompted her to continue in careful words. “It seems Peter has been linked to a well-known actress.”
Wendy pulled back her hand as if stung. “Who?” She demanded.
Maimie exhaled and pulled out the small stack of papers. “Edith Wynne Matthison .”
“And what do you mean by
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