A Victorian Awakening

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A young woman in Victorian England finds her destiny.
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Emma rests her head on her arm and watches the clouds drift by. Many days have passed at the estate since her father brought her here, to spend some time with her cousin Audrey. They had played together when they were very young amidst the poplars and the weeping willows. Life was far more exciting in those earlier days. Now each day passes languidly into the next.

Father brings suitors from time to time, men of high standing and most often soldiers with impeccable credentials. Somehow none impress in the way a girl of romantic disposition believes they should. They are charming and cultured but at the same time, bold and lacking in tenderness. It is feared among her elders that Emma will grow old and alone, a spinster. At twenty years of age she is already considered by many to be on the shelf.

No-one could possibly know the depths of Emma’s passion, her love of life and her desire to find the missing piece of the puzzle that is her life. Long evenings spent in contemplation of Browning, Shelley and Rosetti cause only a deeper quandary. Why is it that none of her suitors please her? Why is it that she prefers the company of friends at the theatre or those oh so many cotillions? Perhaps familiarity is the easy answer.

The hour grows late and the evening meal will already be in preparation. Such is the way at the estate that one must be properly attired for meals, always served by a myriad of domestics in the cavernous dining hall of Gravestone Manor. Oh for a life more simple and carefree.

* * *

Her whale bone corset tightly laced and the reams of satin, beneath which reside seemingly endless layers of flannel and crinoline ending in a gaudy flounce. Topping it all a bustle as large and ungainly as a melon. Quite the ordeal. At last she is ready to present herself at the dining table.

And now having navigated the winding staircase without entangling herself in yards of cloth, the long process of introductions for tonight begins. Father has seen fit to bring along a somewhat elderly man attired in the uniform of a general or some such high rank. He is gallant yet patronizing as is so common in those of his station.

A long line of people follow, the most outstanding of which is a young woman, Charlotte Kingsbury of Suffolk. They exchange pleasantries and are ushered to their seats, as it happens at opposite sides of the grand table. It transpires that Charlotte has been living in the company of a well-connected family in London for the past year and they have high hopes for her imminent betrothal to their son Anthony.

Gazing at Emma coquettishly, Charlotte whispers that Anthony is hardly aware of that which best pleases a young woman.

Emma is taken aback. What a curious thing to say. There is a frisson between them quite distinct, yet subtle and wanton all at once. Of course she has read of such liaisons between women in books of verse but surely such activities only occur between the pages, never the sheets.

She discounts it as a flight of fancy while at once feeling a stirring, a twinge if you will of something a trifle more lascivious. Shaking her head and turning to her fellow diners she stifles the flush now rising in her face. Sir Rodney regales all with a witty tale of his adventures on the continent and one particularly scandalous event concerning a waiter and a rather glamorous young woman from Rome. Emma’s momentary flirtation, if such a term could be used, all but forgotten in a flurry of applause and toasting to the virtuosity of their host’s wit and vigor.

As one course follows another and the men retire to the drawing room for brandy and cigars, the women drift into the parlour for an after dinner aperitif and pleasant chit-chat. Emma, feeling a little light-headed from the dinner wine strolls out onto the balcony to lean on the railing and feel the refreshing air of a light breeze on her face. Summers here are most agreeable.

Aware of the presence of another Emma turns. It is Charlotte, holding two glasses and smiling.

“It seemed the meal would never end…Sherry?”, she says.

“Thank you Charlotte but I fear another drink may prove my undoing.”, Emma replies.

“Oh, be daring my dear.”, Charlotte says and proffers a glass.

“Well, perhaps one.”, Emma says, accepting the out held sherry.

The girls chat about generalities for a time. The royal family, dress fabrics, Paris fashion, and finally poetry. It transpires that they share a common love of the same poets and poetesses. Charlotte expresses a particular proclivity toward the writings of Christina Rosetti and that great ancient Greek poetess Sappho. She begins to recite…

“Though in Sardis now,
she thinks of us constantly
and of the life we shared.
She saw you as a goddess
and above all your dancing gave her deep joy.
Now she shines among Lydian women like
the rose-fingered moon
rising after sundown, erasing all
stars around her, and pouring light equally
across the salt sea
and over densely flowered fields
lucent under dew. Her light spreads
on roses and tender thyme
and the blooming honey-lotus.
Often while she wanders she remem-
bers you, gentle Atthis,
and desire eats away at her heart
for us to come.”

Emma’s breath is heavier as the words’ light and subtle message sink into her mind and reach into her soul. True beauty strikes her as something which can only come from the heart of a woman. Men’s lust for beauty is a far less tender pursuit.

The girls stroll as they converse, down the narrow gravel path that runs along the banks of the river, terminating at the glass paneled summer house. They go inside and sit.

Exchanging poignant lines of poetry Charlotte and Emma find an affinity so previously alien to both of them. Silence falls after a time and they regard each other with curious eyes. Can it be that a women can feel for another woman those feelings right and proper only in the company of a gentleman? Surely it must be the influence of the alcohol or the gentle summer breezes for such an attraction is unnatural and improper, especially for ladies of breeding. Yet the feeling is there and is difficult to deny.


In the silence Emma hears only her companion’s breathing and the not so gentle beating of her own heart. Charlotte lifts her hand to touch Emma’s face and an energy passes between them such as she has never known. She closes her eyes to more fully feel the warm caress. Her own hand rises to cover that of her companion. The flesh is warm beneath hers.

Charlotte leans forward and touches her lips to Emma’s. Emma opens her eyes in a instant of alarm, then closes them again as her senses embrace the beauty of the moment. Warm breath mingles with her own and she leans into the kiss….

* * *

Summer now has a new meaning, an excitement and vitality Emma had never before imagined possible. Father, on noticing her blossoming friendship with Charlotte suggested they spend more time together. He feels it is good for a young woman to have a pleasant companion and confidente until the day she weds and passes the mantle to her husband.

To that end father has recommended, with the approval of Charlotte’s father and with the company of a suitable chaperone, that Emma and Charlotte spend the rest of the summer broadening their view of the world on a jaunt through Italy and France.

Emma voices no objections and taking Charlotte’s hand, proclaims that they shall have the loveliest of summers. Together on the continent.

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