The Bird has got wings

– I can't sleep… I'll go to the library and read a book," Vivian tilted her head to the side and gave her husband a kiss and added: – If Jane arrives before you get up, send her to me. All right, my dear?

– Since when did you become an early bird? – Jeremy narrowed his eyes, but then he smiled and leaned back against the cushions, closing his eyes and adding, "Tell them to build a fire in the library. I don't want you to be cold, my love.

– I'll do it myself. But you sleep, my love, sleep. – Vivian silently came close to the bed, leaned over to her husband's handsome, sleepy face and kissed him on the cheek, which made him smile sweetly.

"How can such darkness hide in such a beautiful body and behind such a pretty face! Mr. Darbinell, my former fiance, is no match for you in beauty and youth. But, God, if I had known earlier how much I would have to pay for the title of your wife, I would have preferred a husband like that sweaty hog to you," Vivian thought with a bitter smile as she looked at her husband's fine young body. – But, thanks to you, I became rich and popular, my dear… No, I made the right choice. After all, one day you will cool to me, and I will happily turn a blind eye to your cheating and affairs with other women. I just have to be patient. Your passion for me can't last forever."

Trying not to wake her husband, Vivian quietly left the master bedroom and carefully closed the door behind her. Barefoot, with her hair loose and tangled after the fulfilment of the night's conjugal duty, the girl walked slowly down the long corridor, ignoring the cold, uncarpeted floor. The dull light of morning, so early that even the servants were still fast asleep in their beds, illuminated the corridor and made it cold and uninviting.

Wington Hall, this big, beautiful mansion of which she had been head of household for a month now, was a stranger to Vivian. She still could not believe that this place had become her home. Her own home in London. Because she remembered: it all belonged to her husband, and if he wished to divorce her, she would fall back into the horror of poverty and contempt by all. After all, this is how the perfectly well-coordinated mechanism of the society of the rich and aristocrats: you should fall down the social ladder, as your friends stop noticing you, and then even become ex. But what Vivian needed was not the attention and love of society: she needed to remain Jeremy's wife, whatever the cost. Moral anguish and loss of possession of her own body could be endured, she thought, but the death of the man she loved could not. Everything she did, she did for the good of Richard, whom she loved even more than herself, and if to be able to help him she had to weep with disgust and helplessness – the true companions of every night spent with Jeremy, Vivian was ready to bear it for the rest of her life. No grumbling. No complaints.

All Mrs. Wington needed to regain her moral and mental strength was a couple of spare hours spent alone with herself, writing letters or reading a book. In the first weeks of her marriage she had no difficulty in snatching for herself these coveted hours of freedom, for then Jeremy was very delicate in his love for her. Lately, however, her husband had become incredibly jealous and demanded that she be with him at all times, and Vivian had to dodge and invent urgent matters just to hide from Jeremy and withdraw into herself.

"I'll get up like this every morning. I can't get to bed late at night anyway: Jeremy won't let me out of the bedroom or his arms," Vivian thought tiredly. Her eyes were closed from lack of sleep and her body was so weak that she could hardly move from foot to foot, but she did not want to go back to the bedroom, to her husband's captivity. She would rather sleep in an armchair, in the library, on the floor! Not in the same bed as Jeremy. Not after what he'd been doing to her all those too long nights.

Entering the library, which held thousands of books, the head of household of Wington Hall locked the doors securely and lit the fireplace. When the first warm tongues of flame covered the fragrant birch wood, the girl climbed with her feet into one of the large armchairs and sat staring blankly at the bookshelf until a knock at the door and Jane's voice brought her out of her weightless state.

– Miss Vivian! Oh, I mean, Mrs. Wington! – called in a cheerful tone the faithful Jane, who, as before, held the position of personal maid to her now married friend. – 'Your husband has ordered me to call you to breakfast!

"What? Is it breakfast already? But what time is it? – Vivian wondered, and glanced at the large wall clock, which showed eight-thirty-three in the morning. – Time has flown by so fast… But it's a good thing that, unlike my Aunt Beatrice, Jeremy likes to snuggle in bed."

Reluctantly leaving her hiding place, Vivian went to the door and let Jane into the library. She, dressed in her new, freshly pressed uniform, smiled happily and handed Vivian two letters.

– Your mail, Mrs. Wington! – The maid held out the letters to her friend, but when she saw Vivian's tired face and the circles under her eyes, she frowned. – Are you having insomnia again? You look as if you'd been up all night!

'That's precisely what it was, Jane… I don't belong to myself at night… As well as during the day,' Vivian thought, but forced herself to smile softly and reply:

– 'I beg you, in private, call me what you used to call me, Miss Vivian. Yes, insomnia again-I got up incredibly early. I couldn't sleep, so I thought I'd read a good novel," she lied, taking the letters from Jane, and glancing at the sender's address, grinned ironically. – A letter from Anthony… I wonder how he reacted when he found out I'd married his best friend?

– If he did, Miss Vivian," Jane put in. – He's so far away! Up north!

– Of course he found out, silly! – Vivian laughed softly as she unsealed a letter from her cousin. – All births, deaths and marriages are reported in many newspapers, and the Cranfords always get at least three different fresh papers every morning. I think Anthony has learnt of my wedding late, but, my dear, he, and my dear good Aunt Beatrice, must be extremely glad of the news. Especially my aunt-she has been trying so hard to pass me off as old man Darbinell! I hope she is biting her elbows now, knowing that her poor niece has become the wife of a man much richer than herself. – Grinning to herself, the girl ran her eyes over the lines Anthony had written and smiled broadly: "Well, there! I was right! Listen to what my cousin writes! "My dear Viviane, this news, I confess, has astonished me to the very depths of my soul, but this astonishment was a feeling of pleasure, for now, knowing that you have achieved your purpose, I am calm for you and your Richard…"

– Who is Richard, Miss Vivian? – Jane enquired. She went to the fireplace, took the poker and stirred the still smouldering embers. – Shall I get some more wood?

– Who is Richard? – Vivian repeated thoughtfully, biting her lip as she considered whether to tell Jane about Richard.

– Yes, who is he? – The maid asked again, turning to her friend. She was very curious about this mysterious man.

– I hope I shall soon introduce you to him," said Vivian, instead of answering. – But listen to this: "I know that Jeremy does not and probably never will capture your heart, but I know his soul and I assure you that he will be a good spouse, a reliable man and a good father to your future children…" She hesitated and wrinkled her nose.

"Ah, my naive cousin! I don't think you know the man you call your best friend that well! You are convinced that you know his soul, and that it is beautiful, but how wrong you are! And how wrong I was when I thought I could keep him under my thumb! – ran through the girl's mind, and the desire to read this letter full of joy was gone. – No, no, I can't read it! And Jeremy must not see these lines either! If he found out about Richard that way, he would kill me… kill me with his jealousy."