.
Elinor, ever a light sleeper, stirred and woke. The night was still thick with darkness. Her husband, a rare visitor to her rooms now, slept on. She rose from the carved bed, and caught at the hangings to steady herself. Long ago, she had relished the feel of the rich cloth in her fingers and exulted in their prized warmth. Now they felt heavy, as heavy as the coin in her husband’s pocket and as heavy as the hollow dark knot inside her.

This winter was coldest and bitterest since her marriage. She felt its icy sleep beckon. Slipping from the bed, she pulled on her cloak. The fire had dwindled and the cold night had crept through the solid stone walls of the manor house. Elinor stood quite still by the window, she surveyed the ornate gardens below, silvery in the moonlight and sparkling with perfect frost.

“Elinor.”

Her husband’s voice, muffled behind the bed hangings, reached her across the void. She turned and walked from the room, his earlier words piercing her like cruel arrows. She flinched at the memory of his tone.

“You have failed, madam, in your duty to me”.

Carefully closing the fine oak door behind her, she walked steadily through the corridor. The wooden panels dutifully echoed her steps as she swept through the hall, and she was out into the merciless night.

Her small slippered feet crunched on the gravel, and then she was in the garden. The garden that she had planned, supervised, and watched as it grew into fruitfulness, colour and scent over the past sixteen years. A girl of fifteen when she arrived, Elinor had seen her garden bloom at her own hands. She had planned it, toiled over it, nurtured it, given herself to it, and yet she, mistress of this place of plenty had been overlooked.

Standing by the sundial in the centre, she drank deeply of the cold, clean night air as if it would wholly cleanse her. A dark quietness seeped into the garden and stole over her. The gentle rustling of the herbs had stopped. The silence was complete. The knife glinted, as though moved by another’s hand. It had lain there for two days, ever since she had known. Her courses had ceased. Her linen was clean. Her failure was complete, and her husband would be free to make an heir.

Her blood flowed across the frosted lawn. It froze, and the red crystals made a stain of disappointment amongst what had once been her paradise.

The child within gave a tiny sigh.
(happylittletulip helpless and delicious, Sat 5 Jul 2008, 12:43, Reply)