Stella Rosa
Part III
His mother was delighted he had finally decided to take a wife, but she was appalled at his choice. She felt that it was most selfish and irresponsible of him--after all, he had three unmarried siblings, whose chances at a good match would be cruelly cut down if he were to marry a Jewess--and as she said all that to him, William felt entitled to be selfish about it. For in the past week, his affection for Miss de Lara had grown; it was now strengthened by his resolve to marry her, whatever the societal consternation.
"Madam," he said to his mother. "I cannot be expected to sacrifice my own happiness to that of my brother and sisters. I believe that we have enough money and influence so that our neighbors should pay no mind whom I marry."
"And if they do?"
"If they do," he answered quietly, "then blast them to hell."
Lady Hetty even ignored his inappropriate language as she attempted to talk sense into her son: "William, but it is about the family! What kind of a match is it for a Hester?"
"Madam," he laughed. "This is the last of my concerns right now."
He could not believe himself; for only several weeks ago, he would have found such speeches ludicrous and such reasoning--deficient. It had always been--and, as far as Lady Hetty was concerned, remained--about the multiplication of the family wealth and influence and the betterment of the family status. It was strange to William himself how much he yearned to get back to Brighton and to look, once again, into her marvelous emerald eyes, so much that barely anything else mattered.
"I understand," his mother said, hurt, "that you are not asking my permission."
He lowered his head respectfully. "I am asking your blessing, madam, I would very much like to have it."
"And if I deny it?"
"Then I shall be heartbroken, but I shall marry her nonetheless--with or without it."
She looked at him and saw the same maddening resolve in his eyes, that her late beloved husband so often exhibited.
"Very well," she said. "You have it. I shall not lose you over this, William. But you know what I think of this whole affair."
She rose and left, without saying good-bye to him, and he thought that with time, her resentment will be cured.
Vanessa was the next one to learn, and she doubted him as well.
"You are simply bitter because she was uncivil to you when you went to see her."
"I am nothing of the sort," Vanessa said dryly. "But there are far too many things that are different between you and Miss de Lara. I can see that you are quite besotted with her, but please remember that she has been brought up to think herself superior to the rest of the world."
All that notwithstanding, Vanessa embraced him and promised to be kind to his bride when he first brought her home.
"You are not worried that I am ruining your prospects?" he asked her.
"I do not have any prospects," she grinned. "You know what I wish to do with my life--marriage is certainly not the keenest desire of my heart."
William knew where she was going and sighed in exasperation.
"Vanessa, we have discussed it, time and time again," he chastised her softly.
"And yet I cannot persuade you to see my point," she echoed. He was quiet, afraid that she should once again get into the insufferable discussion of why he did not want her to sing. "So be it as it may," she sighed, making a wave with her hand. "We both, Will, desire something that the society would rather deny us. The only difference between us, dear brother, is that you shall get your way, and I shall not."
William did not know what to reply; in any case, he was not about to apologize for being a man. Vanessa noticed his uneasiness and took pity on him.
"Do not worry, dear brother," she said. "I shall be kind to your new wife," she said. "That is, if you marry her," she added, raising an eyebrow.
"If?"
"I may be mistaken, but you have not secured the blessings of her family, have you?"
William looked at her like a man possessed; at that moment, Vanessa knew that no-one would be able to stop her brother from making the little Jewess his wife.
"So I shall endeavor," she said, quickly, "to be a sister to her, Will. I shall gratify your wish, brother," she added, lowering her voice, "even if you refuse to gratify mine."
She walked William to the doors, as he insisted on returning to Brighton immediately.
"I shall write to Samuel at Oxford," he said as they stood on the steps outside. "I should be indebted to you if you told Alexandra."
At that moment, a carriage, rattling, stopped near the steps, and looking down, the brother and the sister saw their aunt, Mrs. Anne Hester, step out, followed by her older son, Captain Alec Hester.
"Oh, no," William whispered, giving his sister a pitiable look, but it was already too late: Vanessa rushed down the steps, waving her arms and crying:
"Aunt Annie! Cousin Alec! We have the most excellent news!"
William felt like a complete daft idiot; though he felt reasonably sure that Miss de Lara's uneasy joy at reading his letter equaled his own at writing it, he had never gotten her definite agreement. While sharing his intentions with his mother or Vanessa seemed a natural---as they would neither judge his choice, nor revel in his failure---as well as a necessary thing, he was not at all prepared to announce them to relations such as the London Hesters, with whom he had always had a rather cool rapport.
In the meantime, Captain Alec Hester was coming up the stairs.
"What is it I hear?" he clamored, clasping his large arm around William's shoulders. "You are to get married! And who, pray, is the lady of your heart?"
Vanessa appeared behind, helping her aunt up the stairs.
"Miss Stella Rosa de Lara!" she announced, giving William a playful look. He gnashed his teeth almost audibly.
"De Lara!" the aunt said, seemingly displeased. "Spanish, is she? Catholic?"
William lowered his head and avoided answering that, but his cousin startled, as if remembering something, and then asked:
"Is it not---De Lara, de Lara---by George, cousin, is it not the girl-"
"Yes," William said quickly. He was cruelly uncomfortable with all this, and angry with Vanessa for this petty betrayal. "But really, dear Aunt, Alec, I must away," he kissed the old lady's withered hand, shook the masculine one of his cousin, threw Vanessa a poisonous glare, and ran down the steps.
"To think only!" the old woman continued to muse as they went into the house. "Catholic! Niece, your brother is positively insane if he thinks a Spanish Catholic may make a good wife to an English gentleman!"
"The lady isn't Catholic, Mother," her son said, visibly amused.
"Not Catholic? With that name?"
"I shall go and fetch my mother," Vanessa said, smiling coyly. "She will be exceedingly glad to see you, Aunt Anne."
And as she exited the drawing room, she heard her aunt exclaim, sounding utterly scandalized: "That cannot be true! What outrage! I must speak with Henrietta at once!"
Smiling to herself, Vanessa quickened her step. There was noting she loved as well as a good family skirmish, which involved her prim old aunt.
He arrived to Brighton about eleven o'clock in the morning. Immediately, he called on the de Laras, and was thrilled when Miss de Lara suggested they take a walk along the beach. Mrs. Abravanel pined rather loudly about not feeling good enough to go along; nobody even attempted to pretend that they were sorry for it.
He walked in the middle, a sister on each arm. Throwing furtive glances at Miss de Lara, he tried desperately to ascertain her feelings, but she was nothing if not pleasant and beyond that, he could not tell. All of a sudden, he felt like a love-struck adolescent.
At the beach, Miss Elena straight away immersed herself in the business of gathering seashells, and William was left to deal with the awkward silence that hung, like a gray shadow, between him and Miss de Lara.
Finally, he was able to meet her eye; he was immediately struck---and given hope---by a smile of happiness on her lovely face.
"You have received my letter?" he dared, encouraged by the way she was looking at him.
She replied that she had.
"I pray its content was not offensive to you," he said cautiously.
"No, sir," she raised her brilliant eyes at him, "I shall be honest with you---its content pleased me ever so much."
It took an effort not to succumb to the overwhelming happiness of hearing that; not to seize her in a mad embrace and cover her with passionate kisses.
"Very well," he said and dared to reach for her hand, "I am glad to know that."
They stared at each other with luminous eyes, standing dangerously close to the lapping tide; at long last, he pulled himself out of the happy reverie and said earnestly.
"I believe we should better come to a formal understanding then, Miss de Lara---or dare I call you by your given name?"
"You have, in your letter," she said, still smiling dreamily. "Miss de Lara" sounds awfully formal and unpleasant, coming from you. I should be delighted to hear you say my name."
"Stella," he whispered, feeling that he was beginning to lose his head. Her name felt like sweet wine, myrrh and frankincense, clover and cardamom. "My Stella Rosa..."
Snapping out of it, he returned to the question of a formal understanding.
"Stella," he said seriously, taking her hands in his, "I have fallen deeply in love with you. I have dared hope that you returned my sentiments." He paused, looking at her. She wore a pretty bonnet of emerald silk, which complemented her eyes beautifully. It was a cooler day than the ones before; fresh April breeze played with the ribbons, loosely tied under her chin. Her lips parted slightly, she slowly inclined her head, acquiescing to his supposition. This small sign of affection nearly undid him; grasping her hands tightly, he said, somberly:
"Miss de---Stella, shall you do me the honor of becoming my wife?"
She laughed openly, showing a row of even pearly teeth; but she was not laughing at him. There was such jubilation in her laughter that if any doubts had thereto remained, William could now be absolutely sure of her answer.
"The privilege will be mine, sir," she said, her eyes sparkling.
He did not know how to express what he felt; he felt happy, of course, but it was more than that---there was something exhilarating, intoxicating, head-spinning about the way he felt.
"I love you," he whispered, bringing her hand to his lips and kissing, one by one, her fingers. Sighing, Stella Rosa closed her eyes; the flower of her mouth, lips like ruby petals, tempted him. William could not help it; leaning closer, he placed a hand on the side of her face and gently brushed her lips with his.
A shudder ran through her, much like several days before, when he had embraced her in the old lighthouse. They stood together a little more; she---leaning her head against his shoulder, he---gently cradling her in his arms. The sight of Miss Elena approaching tore them out of their happy reverie; as Stella Rosa's sister tactfully averted her eyes, pretending not to notice their somewhat compromising position, William regretfully released his beloved's gentle hand.
"Um, Stella," Miss Elena softly addressed her sister. "I have not taken a shawl and am quite cold---should you mind terribly if we returned to the inn?" She hid her eyes as she said that, knowing that she brought them grief by her request.
"Here," Stella immediately parted with her own shawl and gave it to her sister. "Take mine---I am not cold."
"But you shall freeze---"
"The wind is quite warm, Elena, please! Take it!"
Miss Elena had nothing to do but grant her sister's insistent request; she retired to continue her seashell-gathering enterprise.
Stella Rosa's shawl was immediately replaced, as William stripped off his coat and wrapped it around her shoulders. Thus they remained, oblivious in their newfound happiness, holding hands and beaming at each other.
While in London, he had bought her gifts---a decorated mirror, a lovely embroidered scarf, a cameo brooch to hold it together. She admired them all with the sincerity of a child, but refused to accept them. Seeing the disappointment in his face, Stella Rosa explained to him that she did not want her mother or older sister to know they were now betrothed to each other; it was not time yet, as he still had not spoken with her father. They could not risk him finding out from anyone else but William himself.
As to that, William had planned to apply for an audience with the old Mr. De Lara immediately; Stella Rosa begged him to wait. She worried that her father was not going to be pleased when a gentile young man came to ask for his daughter's hand in marriage---and she wished to postpone the frightening discussion as long as she could. What if they were not meant to be? What if Father refused William---then they would have nothing but an abyss of despair. The two weeks remaining before their return to London were the sweetest she had ever had; how could they poison them with the knowledge of her father's refusal? William, on his part, was secretly and cockily sure that his application would have the most welcome reception by the old Mr. De Lara---after all, he was a scion of an illustrious English family; his father had been a Peer of England and a Member of the House of Lords; and finally, and not insignificantly, his yearly rent equaled just over fifteen thousand dollars a year. That, and he loved Stella Rosa, which was apparently more than the other candidate for her hand could say.
Every time they spoke, he had to remind her that his name was no longer "Sir William" or "Lord Hester", but simply William, or, if she preferred, Will.
"What do you like better?" she asked, as they strolled together down the beach, her sister's figure looming eloquently some yards ahead.
"It depends," he said. "William will generally do, but sometimes ‘Will' is delightful to hear---I guess, as I never have---from the mouth of my beloved."
"What does your mother call you?"
"William."
"And your sisters?"
He chuckled. "Will, or Willie."
"Willie?" she raised her eyes at him and laughed. "May I call you that, too?"
He kissed her hand warmly. "You may call me anything you want, love."
"Do you only have one name?"
"Only one. Our parents were not in favor of giving us a string of useless monikers."
"What sensible parents you have. My parents gave me two Ladino names, and two Hebrew names. All my siblings have at least three, I have four."
"Really?" he laughed, "And what are those Hebrew names?"
"Well," she recounted. "Well, all our girls have at least one name to honor a great Hebrew woman. I am Shoshanna Rivkah---after Rebecca, the wife of Isaac, the mother of Jacob, and a great healer."
"And sir Walter's Rebecca, as well?"
"Well, I doubt my parents had read the book when they named me."
"But maybe that is the reason why you like Sir Walter's Rebecca so well."
"May be," she agreed, and continued. "Margarita is actually Miriam Aviva--- pretty, isn't it? After Moses' sister---though, I regret to say, she truly is nothing like the Biblical Miriam."
"And Miss Elena?"
"Elena is named after two great Hebrew women: Esther, who saved her people from total annihilation by Hamman, and in whose honor we celebrate Purim, and Yael, who is somewhat like Judith, in that she slew an enemy commander in his sleep."
"Slew him?"
"Yes. Drove a nail through his ear."
"A nail!" William feigned horror. "While he was sleeping, no less?"
"Of course."
"How ghastly! And that woman is celebrated as a heroine? Girls are named after her?"
"Well, she is something of a minor heroine, actually," she laughed. "A mini-Judith of sorts. She invited the gentleman into her tent, fed him milk and honey, and when he fell asleep--" She wrinkled her nose, as if apologizing for some inconvenience, and raised her shoulders comically.
He gave her a longing stare; she wore a blue silk bonnet, which once again failed to keep her hair in place and it fluttered under it, caught by the wind, and threw gentle shadows on her high forehead. For a second, a dark shadow crossed the sun: William thought that the story of Yael's unwitting admirer may well still be his own---that she was like milk and honey to him, and that once he was trapped by her charms, she would drive a stake through his heart.
Yet he chased the troubling thoughts away and said, smiling:
"I like Rebecca the healer better. Now, what of your brothers?"
"My brothers---Beni's name is the same as it is in Ladino, actually---Binyamin Moshe---and Enrique is Eliahu Shaul. There," she said, smiling. "You are marrying into a truly Biblical family."
"Fascinating," he smiled. "Forgive me for saying this, but you are the most peculiar people."
"Is that what attracted you to me?"
"Forgive me again," he said apologetically, "but I think that your eyes attracted me to you."
"My eyes?"
"Your beautiful, lovely eyes. And your form, and your laughter, and how you held your head, and how sensible and clever you were when I spoke with you, and how unabashedly real, alive and lacking in pretense you were. You attracted me to you."
They walked a little more and he could not resist asking her a similar question.
"Why you?" she repeated, pensively. "The way you spoke about your sister---there was such kindness in your words. And the way you looked at me and bowed when you were leaving. And the respect that I heard when you spoke to me---but most of all, your kindness."
"My kindness?"
"I think you are a very kind man," she said, stopping and giving him a very earnest look.
"I am ever so fortunate to have you."
...Their days at Brighton were delightful, but they passed quickly. Miss Elena was constantly near them; William was thankful for her presence, for it kept the suspicions of Stella Rosa's mother at bay, but at the same time, he was much grieved by it, as well---for the boldest caress he had been able to bestow upon his beloved was a brief, gentle peck on the lips. And even that small liberty, however modest, left him in a state of mental disarray for hours---so, for his own sake, he decided to suspend even the smallest caresses until they were married and at each other's disposal.
The society at the inn noticed, of course, the uncanny amount of time William spent in the company of the two lovely Jewesses. They did not make much of it, because both girls were always with him and because, he knew, they could not fathom that a gentleman of his station would form any serious designs on a daughter of that insufferable folk. Old Mrs. Matlock, on her part, never missed an opportunity to push her pallid daughter Emma on him---clearly she suspected nothing.
Neither did Mrs. De Lara and Mrs. Abravanel notice anything: the former---because of her naïve inattention; the latter---because of willful misinterpretation. She was exceedingly civil to William every time he called on them, but, he suspected, not so kind to him in private. Once or twice Stella Rosa said something, which confirmed his misgivings about the oldest sister. When he asked Stella Rosa about it, she hid her eyes from him before she answered.
"Margarita is just stupid," she said. "She has no opinions of her own; the ones she repeats belong to her husband, Luis, and his opinions are not his own to begin with---he is a good friend of my brother Beni, and repeats everything Beni says..."
"So what does your sister think about us spending all this time together?"
Stella Rosa laughed.
"She thinks you are forming some awful design on one of us---if she hadn't been so with child, of course, it would have been her, but as it stands right now, either on me or Elena."
"What kind of design?"
"Well, you know---the kind after which no respectable girl can look her family in the eye."
"What do you know about that?" he laughed. "You are not supposed to understand what that means!"
"Well, it just so happens that I do," she said, defiantly. "At any rate, Margarita thinks you are planning to, um, seduce one of us. But because Elena is always with us, Margarita cannot decide which one of us is really the object of your, um, carnal desires, and also---she realizes that while the three of us are together, you cannot possibly accomplish it..."
While speaking so, she had blushed violently, and looked her loveliest. William's heart brimmed over with love and desire, and, to calm his spirits, he turned his eyes away from Stella Rosa.
"Your sister certainly has a high opinion of me," he said, and his voice was unexpectedly hoarse.
"Pay her no mind," Stella Rosa said softly. "Nobody else does..."
*******
The blessed three weeks at Brighton---the time of joy, excitement, discovery, anticipation, sweet torment---passed, and one early morning in late April, William rode Zanzibar back to London. Stella Rosa and her family were coming later, and he wished to speak with her father before she came home. He hoped to welcome her there with the best kind of news.
He found Mr. Levi de Lara in his office above the diamond shop, observing with a magnifying glass a spread of petite diamonds on a chamois. The old man seemed pleasantly surprised upon seeing him, but behind his spectacles, lurked an apprehensive gaze of a man who did not expect anything but the very worst things out of life.
"How may I be of service to you, dear sir?" he inquired, pointing to a chair in front of his desk. William sat down, observing Stella's father secret away the diamonds. All of a sudden, he was beginning to feel anxious; after all, he thought, this man has my life in his hands.
"I am straight from Brighton, Mr. de Lara," William said. Fear registered in the old man's eyes, and William hurried to assure him that his family, when he left them there this morning, was alive and well.
"They are to come to town later tonight," he explained. The old man watched him intently, as if wondering why it was he came---surely not to inform him of his wife and daughters' traveling plans!
William saw Mr. de Lara's anticipation, and he could contain himself no longer. Looking extremely somber, he rose and addressed the old man with an air of gravity.
"Sir," he said. "I am here to beg your permission and blessing to marry your daughter, Miss Stella Rosa de Lara."
William then proceeded to assure Mr. de Lara of the utmost genuineness and violence of his affection for Miss Stella Rosa, as well as of his excellent pedigree and over fifteen thousand a year.
The old man was shocked; it took him a minute to regain his composure. After which, he said, slowly:
"Lord Hester, do sit back down."
William did as he was told, though everything inside of him was shaking violently. Perhaps, he thought, he had been over-confident!
"Lord Hester," Mr. de Lara went on, "are you aware that my daughter has been promised to another man?"
"Sir, Miss de Lara intimated to me that this union is abhorrent to her, and that on the other side, there are few strong emotions."
"Yet, she has been promised," the old man said harshly. "She is to be married to him in a week."
He paused, then gathered air in his chest, and went on. "Lord Hester, I must first express to you how flattered I am by your attention to my daughter. I give you thanks for that---and thanks for coming to ask my permission. But the permission itself I must refuse."
I have not heard him right, William thought feverishly. This cannot be; there is not a single objectionable quality about me---
"To be sure, you, Lord Hester, make a highly desirable match. I am certain that you would make a good provider and a good husband for my daughter---in all respects but one."
"Pray tell," William uttered, not quite trusting his voice, "what is that respect?"
"You are uncut," Mr. de Lara said. William stared at him in utter amazement; it took him a second to understand what he was referring to. When he did, his anger was fierce.
"How dare you, sir?" he cried, jumping to his feet.
"I am simply referring to you being of a different faith, upbringing, culture and race than my daughter," Mr. de Lara said calmly. "Forgive me if it sounded wrong, or if I offended you somehow. But the difference between you and the men that Stella Rosa was brought up to marry is immense. It is signified by the presence in your physique of the element absent from that of all of my brothers, but the actual disparity is far more fundamental. Lord Hester, you are a most pleasant young man. But---correct me if I am wrong---you have never in your life read a word of Hebrew; you consume pork on a regular basis; you have been baptized in church and so will your children be---my grandchildren should be baptized! What you lack, my dear sir, is a connection to our people; you are an outsider. It is something that you could not buy with all your money."
"I love your daughter!" William said hoarsely. "And I daresay she loves me back."
"Ah, young hearts," Mr. de Lara chuckled. "Shall you believe me, sir, that I love my daughters more than my own life? But I am also old, having lived, probably, more than twice as long as you have. Stella Rosa's heart will ache, but it will mend. She will have family; children; home. She will be a Jewish woman---something that she could never be if she married you."
"She will be miserable!"
"Perhaps---for a while. But life heals all wounds, and though I heartily regret having caused you pain, young man, yours will be healed in time as well."
"That is not for you to say," William snapped, and instantly regretted it, because Mr. de Lara rose and said, coolly, all pretense of amiability now off.
"Well," he said, "Then I shall not concern myself with it. Good day, sir."
William stumbled out of the office and made it, barely, down the stairs. He hardly knew how he found his way out of Whitechapel, so many feelings were boiling in him: disappointment, pride, love, fear, disbelief at what had just happened. He has been refused! There was hardly a woman in England whose family would not consider it an honor if he had asked for her hand. And a Jew---a lowly Jew! William stopped and checked his feelings; he must not think of Stella's father this way, he told himself, must not become like all those ready to hate at the slightest provocation. His pride, however, was badly hurt, and not even the vision of two beautiful, sad green eyes could calm it.
He reached his mother's house, threw Zanzibar's reins to the attendant, and rushed up the stairs to his room, past Alexandra, who had fluttered out to greet him and having nearly grazed Vanessa, who was walking down the stairs.
"Will!" she cried angrily. "What---"
The door to his room slammed.
.....Inside, he flung his top hat into the corner and fell on the bed, having not even taken off his riding boots, which had the sands of Brighton and the grime of Whitechapel on them. He was undone; not even the death of his beloved father had made him so miserable. This was unexpected, heartbreaking, humiliating---and the worst part was to imagine her pain when she came home later that night. This motivated him. He must give Stella Rosa some comfort; he could not be with her physically, but she must know how much he loved her.
William jumped off the bed and sat down in front of a writing armoire, held the quill in the air for a second, and then wrote on a piece of paper bearing his coat of arms:
"My beloved,
My heart is breaking as I write this. By now, your father will most likely have apprised you of the dreadful news that I, myself, would not dare tell you. He has chosen to deny my application. As much as his rejection of my proposal grieves me, I am ready to try again, if you think he can be reasoned with and appealed to. I am ready to do anything for you, for us, for our future together. I love you ever so much, my Stella, my princess, my star.
William Hester."
He dispatched the letter immediately; his promise to her made him feel a little better, as if he had convinced himself that Mr. de Lara, could, indeed, be reasoned with. As he was coming back up the stairs to his room, William was accosted by Vanessa, who stood near the doors with the most determined air, demanding to know what was wrong.
"Come in," he said, dryly, letting her in first. Inside, he told her what had happened, and she commiserated, honestly.
"What do you plan to do now?" she asked him. He confessed to her that he did not know; she advised him to appeal to any and all people in the community, who he thought might have some influence on Levi de Lara.
"Perhaps his wife first, and then the young Mr. de Lara, and whoever else you can think."
So, over the next two days, William took Vanessa's advice and continued with his appellations. To Mrs. de Lara he wrote, for fear of confrontation should he once again appear in the house, whence he was all but expelled by its owner. Her reply, which he received that same day, left him no hope. "I stand by my husband's decision," she wrote. "Mr. de Lara only has Stella Rosa's good in mind, Sir, and I concur with his reasons absolutely. Please do not call on my daughter anymore, as she is to be betrothed at the end of his week." Furious, William threw her reply in the fire.
Henry de Lara was hardly any more help; he exhibited joy at seeing William, but told him right away, that he could not hope to persuade his father to change his mind. "The Rabbinical Council is strictly against intermarriage," he said to William, as he offered him coffee and cigars in his drawing room. "They feel that anyone married to a gentile is lost to us forever."
William was furious.
"Our hearts, our feelings, our lives---does it not matter to anyone?"
"Sir William," Henry de Lara said kindly, "as far as the juderia is concerned, both you and my sister have made a rather, if you forgive me, stupid mistake. It is forgivable of you, sir, since you probably did not know, could not imagine, that a gentleman as illustrious could ever be denied a simple Hebrew maid, for whom he had deigned to ask. But my sister---oh, my sister has done something really daft. She should know better before falling in love with someone so insupportable."
William caught a note of malice in his voice, and said, bitterly:
"I thought I had a friend in you!"
"You do," Henry de Lara said softly. "But please understand---juderia views such marriages as pernicious, because they threaten its existence. If my sister is allowed to marry her very handsome, very rich, very noble gentile prince---if you forgive me---what is to keep our neighbor's daughter, or Viola's younger sister, from wishing to do the same? And if they all marry gentiles, baptize their children, and never teach them a word of Ladino---or Hebrew---never observe Shabbat, never celebrate Passover, never fast on El Dia Puro, dirty their persons with pork and shellfish---what is there to be left of us? One by one, the community will disappear."
"Oh, de Lara, but I do love your sister," William sighed in exasperation, dropping his head on his folded hands.
"I know, Sir William," Henry de Lara answered. "Who could not love my fiery Stella Rosa? But as you have no business caring about our community, the juderia has no business caring about your heart. If Stella Rosa marries you, there will be repercussions for all of us, particularly for my father, for not being able to keep his daughter from falling out. Do not expect him to change his mind, Sir William."
...Over the next three days, William sulked, barely speaking to any member of his family; he was quietly beginning to resign himself to the impossibility of marrying Stella. His father seemed positively unyielding: William requested another audience with him, but it was explained to him, politely, by Mrs. de Lara, who came out to him as he waited in the parlor, that Mr. de Lara was unwell and could not receive visitors. He asked if he could see Stella; it was refused to him as well, with the same politeness, on the grounds of the impropriety of such a meeting.
As he was leaving the house, desperate, he heard someone whisper his name, and saw Miss Elena, who was looking at him from behind heavy velvet drapes in the hallway.
William was genuinely thrilled and relieved to see her, for he knew her to be a confidante of her sister and sympathetic to their love. He approached, and noticed that she was holding an envelope.
"It is most fortunate that you should come to our house today," she whispered urgently. "All servants have been prohibited from taking any letters from my sister. Both of us are watched quite closely---my father is angry and has forbidden us to leave the house."
"How is she?" William asked as he seized the letter. "Has she received my letters?"
In the past week, he had written Stella Rosa a letter a day, but had not received an answer from her.
"She has, but she had not the means to answer them. She is very sad, Sir William," Miss Elena raised her eyes to the ceiling. "If I did not know my sister better, I would expect her to make an attempt at her own life."
William shut his eyes and gnashed his teeth; but his agony was lessened, somewhat, when Miss Elena said, before disappearing behind the curtains:
"She has said to tell you that she loves you, Sir William."
William quickly made it out of the house; he could not wait to get home, so he read the letter in the dirty Whitechapel street, while on horseback.
"My dear sir," she wrote, "all is lost. My father is resolute against our union. I cried, I begged, I genuflected and threatened---but nothing seems to have any effect on him. I am to be betrothed to Mr. Marcus d'Almazan tomorrow; after this, I shall be lost to your world, and only a religious Jewish ceremony shall remain to make me wholly his. How it breaks my heart! Your love will always be a comfort to me, William, but it will also torture me most cruelly; I hope that my love for you serves only the first purpose. But I should like to say good-bye to you, tonight. There is a garden behind my father's house, with a small door in the wall. I shall have Elena leave it open; wait for me there at about ten---after they have taken me to my ritual bath, I shall come out to say good-bye to you."
Desperate people are given to desperate measures; and there was simply nothing, which he could refuse her---particularly now that they have so obviously been doomed. That night, after warm spring night enveloped the city, William left his carriage in the back of the de Laras' house and slipped through a small gate into a lovely, but neglected garden. He stood there for a long time, in the shadow of the wall, hidden by the darkness, watching the windows of the house with eager eyes. They were all lit, and he saw figures moving, heard voices, some of them---feminine, but could not discern which one of them belonged to Stella. He then saw the side door open, and a group of women, wrapped in mantillas, step out; he recognized Mrs. de Lara and Miss Elena, but could only deduce that the wrapped figure in the middle was, indeed, Stella.
The women came back in another hour, and soon, the house fell dark and quiet. William had lost count of time when he heard a door creak, and saw a figure move quickly towards him through the garden.
"William," Stella breathed, more than said; she was wearing a black dress, a black lace mantilla wrapped around her head. William stepped out from under a trellis, where he had been hiding, pressing a finger to his lips. When she saw him, her face twisted, as if she was about to cry, and she followed him, quietly, under the trellis.
William could not, as much as he would later chastise himself for that, keep from locking his arms around Stella Rosa and pressing her to his heart. Now, that he had surely lost her, she was even dearer to him; now, that no hope remained for them, he would gladly given his life just to make her happy.
They spoke, in harried whispers.
"How did you manage to leave the house?" he asked.
"Everyone is asleep," she whispered. "I sneaked out from the back---but they may realize I have gone, and start looking for me any moment. We have very little time."
"I spoke with your father, and your mother, and your brother Henry," he whispered back, as if apologizing.
"I know," she said, smiling. "I feared my father would not agree."
There was nothing at all to say; all assurances of love have suddenly lost their meaning: they would never be able to consummate them. All that was left was to stand close together in the darkness, one caressing the other's face with errant fingers and longing stares.
"I shall never forget you," Stella Rosa said softly. "I hope you have a wonderful life, my darling."
William wept; he could not bring himself to wish her the same, could not fathom that she should have a wonderful life without him.
"I must go," she whispered, slowly disengaging herself from his embrace.
Suddenly, there was a sound of a window slamming and, immediately, several voices, male and female, carried from the house.
"Oh!' Stella Rosa whispered urgently. "They must have discovered me gone. I must go!"
William held her back. "Wait, maybe it will calm down. Do not leave me just yet," he whispered. But the house was evidently in a state of great alarm; several windows alighted, and they saw figures rushing back and forth.
"Please go!" Stella Rosa begged him. "Beni is here, if he finds you in the garden, he will kill you!"
But suddenly, that seemed like small trouble, when compared to leaving her forever. William's grip tightened on her arm.
"Come with me!" he said. "I do not think I want to live without you."
"You are mad!" she whispered, her eyes glistening in the darkness. "You are insane, sir! You would have me leave my family like this? Elope?"
"Yes, elope!" he said. "Anything, just to be with you, Stella! I am all undone when you are not near. Please, Stella, come!"
She was shaking now, unable to move; suddenly, the back door of the house opened, and several figures were seen walking quickly towards them.
"It is now or never," William whispered urgently. "I can't---I shan't lose you!"
He stepped towards the garden gate, and she followed him, barely knowing what she was doing. A second later, they were in the street, having slammed the door behind them, and as William quickly handed her into the carriage, numb, the voices behind the wall grew louder.
"Home!" he cried to the driver, before joining Stella Rosa in the carriage.
Inside, she was white and shaking, looking at him madly.
"What have we done?!" she cried, as William fell down on the seat facing her.
"I do not know," he shook his head, suddenly exhausted. "I had not planned for this. I only came to say good-bye to you. But I cannot live without you, that much I know is true."
"But my family---my father! Oh!" she held a hand to her mouth.
"Stella, my Stella," he leaned forward, forcefully taking her hands in his. "Do you not love me?"
"Oh I do, I do! But my family---William, they will be so brokenhearted!"
"Stella, you know I cannot take you back now," he said softly. "At least not on my good conscience. We love each other, we shall have to make good on whatever comes out of this. But do you believe me that I did not plan for this?"
If she did not, she would have to, when saw the faces of his mother and sisters. They had already disrobed and had been startled, when William, flying up the stairs, knocked most incautiously on their doors and told them---not asked them, but nearly ordered them---to come downstairs. They were standing now, wearing their sleeping clothes and dressing gowns, pale, frazzled, shocked. William gently steered Stella Rosa into the foyer of his mother's house; she herself was in a great state of shock, but it did not escape her that clearly, if he had planned to elope with her, he had not apprised his family of his plans.
"William, I shall speak with you at once!" Lady Hetty said and walked out of the parlor. William made eyes at Vanessa, who immediately understood and took his place next to Stella Rosa as he followed their mother out of the room.
"What is the meaning of this?" Lady Hetty asked, furious. "What is that woman doing here?"
"Mother," William said, bowing his head low. "I have no reasonable explanation for this, except that she may not go home now. She will remain with us, until we are able to marry."
"Do you mean to tell me that you carried her off?"
"That would appear, madam, yes. But I had to, truly, I did. Had I not brought her here, she would have been lost to me forever."
"But William! This is such a scandal!"
"Madam!" William was now angry. "I realize that it is not the most proper way to marry, but we were left no options by her family. I love Stella and no other, and I shall marry none but her."
"And she returns your sentiments?"
"She does, very much so, madam. Nobody needs to know of the manner in which she came to be here."
"How do you propose that? You shan't be able to marry her for three weeks, while the banns are published!"
William bit his lip; he had not thought of it. "None of it matters now," he said resolutely. "I love her and I shall marry her. In the meantime, I shall take Miss de Lara to Bloomfield Park, and I would like you and the girls to follow us."
"Why do you need us there?"
"Because I shan't be able to stay," he explained. "As you said, it is a scandal, and I would like to give it at least some patina of propriety. We cannot live together before marriage, even if it means separate wings at Bloomfield."
"You really are too much like your father!" Lady Hetty cried. "You appear like so, in the middle of the night, and proceed to wring all our arms' out! How selfish of you, William!"
"I know," William said. He was suddenly far better composed than anyone else in the house. "I know how incredibly selfish of me this is, but Mother, please understand, this is about my life. I should be indebted to you to no end, if you came to Bloomfield Park within a day or two." And with this, he hung his head, penitent, and his mother could no longer deny him what he came to ask.
"All right then, we shall," she said, still very angry. "We shall come to Bloomfield, as soon as I am able to put my affairs in town in order."
William and Stella Rosa left London immediately; he was certain that within a day or two, her family would come searching for her. He did not intend to give her back; in his desire to secret her as far as possible from her family, he took her to Bloomfield Park, his estate in --shire, nearly a day's ride from London.
In the carriage, she slept, exhausted, as they rode on through the night. They reached Bloomfield by morning, and William carried her upstairs and deposited her in the care of Mrs. Livesay, their old and trusty housekeeper. As he lowered Stella Rosa on the bed in what was now to be her room, he watched her twist miserably and gnash her teeth in her sleep.
"Make sure the lady is comfortable," he said to Mrs. Livesay, and quitted Stella Rosa's bedroom immediately.
He had not slept through the night, and was exhausted, but he had too many things to think of: how they were to be married was his foremost concern. His mother spoke the truth---it took three Sundays to publish banns, and that meant three weeks of waiting. In addition, the idea of banns itself---an announcement to the world of their upcoming marriage and an invitation of anyone interested to contest it---made William more than nervous. He could, of course, take Stella to Gretna Green---but as he said to his mother, they needed no more disrespectability as they began their life together. The only thing left was a special license, but only the Archbishop of Canterbury himself could grant it, and William had no hope of prevailing upon the illustrious prelate to bless such a marriage. So it was the banns, he resolved, unless Stella Rosa's family made a serious effort to return her; in this case, they would have to go to Gretna Green. Respectability or not, he was not going to lose her.
Stella Rosa
I awoke late and lay, motionless, for a long time. Above me, I saw a beautiful painted canopy of the most brilliant blue color. I had to wonder where I was--this was surely not my and Elena's bedroom in our father's house in Whitechapel.
The thought of my father sent a jolt throughout my body, and I jumped off the bed. This was precisely it: I was not in my father's house. The previous night, Sir William came to say good-bye to me, and we--we--for a moment, darkness sealed my eyes--we eloped; escaped. I had committed the unforgivable offense, having quitted my father's house and run away with a gentile man. I dashed to the window, and saw, enveloped by a sea of white blooms, a magnificent estate.
I sat down on the bed again, my heart beating wildly in my breast. I was obviously at Bloomfield Park, Sir William's country estate. Last night, he had promised me that this is where we were to go--a day's ride away from London. I must have fallen asleep in the carriage, I thought, looking around me. The room was handsome, with the beautiful blue bed as its centerpiece, an Oriental rug, similar to those we had at my father's house, on the floor, and a large free-standing mirror in the corner.
There was a light knock, and then, not waiting for my answer, a stately woman entered the room. Though dressed like a servant, she had poise and presence about her, and looked more like a manager of sorts than like a simple abigail.
"M'lady's woken up?" she asked. She sounded good-natured and friendly. "Would you like to get dressed, Miss?"
Only then did I notice that I was wearing but a night gown, a very pretty one, of Alencon lace and silk, but definitely not my own. Noticing the look I threw at my garb, the woman explained:
"I took the liberty and put my lady into one of Miss Vanessa's gowns," she said. "I hope it is to your liking."
"Will Miss Vanessa not mind that you gave her gown to me?" I asked.
"Miss, both my young mistresses are most generous girls," she said. "As their brothers are most generous men."
"Shall you help me get dressed--" I stumbled, not sure how to address her.
"My name is Jemima Livesay, Miss."
"Mrs. Livesay," I tried my best to bow gracefully while sitting with my feet on the bed.
"--I shall most certainly, Miss." She smiled at me. "I placed the dress you wore last night in the wash, so I am afraid, you are confined to Miss Vanessa's dresses."
"Just get me one, I care not which one," I said. My head was swimming and I could barely believe my eyes. Most of all, I wished to ask Mrs. Livesay where her master was, but dared not say his name. But she seemed to read my mind.
"As soon as you are ready, Miss," she said, as she brought out a pretty plaid dress and held it out for me to see. "Will that do?"
"That will," I said. "You started saying, Mrs. Livesay--as soon as I am ready?"
"Lord Hester is waiting for you in the tea-room," she said, holding the dress for me to step into.
After she parted my hair and rolled them into a simple chignon, Mrs. Livesay walked me through the house. As I followed her, I marveled at how handsome and large it was, and how tasteful and well-appointed all the rooms looked--though perhaps a touch too dark and a little too somber. Finally, we reached the tea-room, and I was left all alone, standing in front of tall double doors.
My heart about to jump out of my breast, I knocked. Immediately, there were hurried steps behind the doors, and as they were flung open, I saw Sir William, his mien betraying both worry and relief. He immediately took my hand and pulled me into close embrace.
"I could barely wait for you to wake up," he whispered into my hair. "You slept for so long, I thought I had made you ill."
"No," I said, still somewhat numb. "I feel quite well, actually."
"You are not sorry, are you?" he sat me down in a comfortable chair and took a chair across from me.
"Sorry?"
"That you came along?"
"No," I said, smiling, and, reaching out, allowed myself a bold caress of touching his comely face. "I am shocked at what I did. I am terrified at what I did. But--unless you give me the reason to be so--I am not sorry."
"Never!" he sat hotly, kissing my hand. "Never shall I give you a reason to regret your choice. No, no, I shall make it worth it for you. Oh, Stella, I am just so happy you are here!"
For some time, we sat like that, facing each other, smiling like two idiots, and I was happy. In spite of the awful feeling of guilt that had gripped me the moment I had stepped out of my father's garden; in spite of the fear, which had just set in and would pervade my first three weeks at Bloomfield--fear that any moment, my father's carriage will rattle down the garden path; in spite of the fact that as I thought of my family--particularly of my mother and Elena--my heart was bathed in tears; in spite of all that, I was deliriously happy. For in his face, I found beauty; in his voice, I heard music; and in his touch, I felt heaven.
It was already tea-time; he fed me toast with butter and jam. I was ravenous, having not eaten for nearly twenty-four hours; Sir William rang for Mrs. Livesay and asked her to bring whatever remained of the luncheon from the kitchen. As I ate, perhaps much too quickly and greedily for a refined young lady, he observed me with a gentle, quiet, kind stare.
"My mother is coming here the day after tomorrow," he said.
"Oh," I could only nod, unable to express any emotions at such news.
"She is bringing Vanessa and Alexandra with her," he continued, leaning back in his chair. "They are to keep you company while I am gone?"
"While you are gone?" I put down my napkin, and looked up at him. I did not wish to stay at Bloomfield Park without him, for he was the chief reason I was here. I told him as much, and he seemed pleased at my admission.
"My darling, I do not want to leave you, either," he said. But, he explained, there were formalities to be attended to prior to our marriage; in addition, he said, as he hid his eyes, he wanted to remove himself from Bloomfield in order to avoid any improprieties.
"Improprieties?"
"Yes," he said, visibly uncomfortable. "For people are going to talk; it is altogether best if I stay in town while the banns are published."
"How long will that take?" I asked him. I was poorly familiar with the way marriages were formalized outside of the juderia.
"Three weeks," he answered. He explained to me that banns were for the purpose of anyone wishing to register an objection to the marriage; I gasped as I heard this.
"But it is practically an invitation to my family to separate us!" I cried.
He nodded. "In a way, it is. But we shall hope that they will not do so," he said.
"Is there not any other way?" I inquired, troubled greatly. I was practically certain that my father would attempt to prevent our marriage, if only to punish me.
He told me that there was a special license, which there was little hope of attaining. There was also Gretna Green, but that, he said, was to be our last resort; for there was little honor in running away again. He said he wished to marry me in the same church in --shire where his parents had been married. Tears clouded my eyes, as I thought that I should never stand under a huppah in Bevis Marks, should never have my khatan wrap his white tallit around my shoulders, should never cast my eyes up to the gallery, and imagine there, behind the partition, the smiling faces of my mother and sister.
He noticed my sadness and said, gently:
"I know what you are thinking. I cannot marry you in your Temple, in the presence of all of your family. But they will always be welcome here--if they so wish."
I was touched and thanked him most genuinely. In an attempt to raise my spirits, Sir William offered to show me Bloomfield Park, for it, he said, was now my home.
And what a magnificent home it was! I had never seen anything so grand and elegant at the same time; I had considered my father's house in Whitechapel large and comfortable, and it was, compared to many others in that area of London. Yet it was nothing like the rolling expanse of green hills and a rows of tall, straight pine-trees, which protectively circled the great house.
"So this is your home?" I asked him as we walked, hand in hand, down a long forest path. "Your childhood passed here?"
"It was the happiest of times," he said longingly. "Until I came away to Cambridge and then to the Orient--it was all perfect until then."
"And after you came back?"
"My father was ill already, and it ruined his disposition; my mother cried constantly and herself took to her bed; and then, just over half a year ago, the doctors pronounced my father to be without hope."
Sir William squinted against the setting sun; the subject was obviously painful to him. It dawned on me that amidst all the wealth and prominence, his life was sometimes exceedingly difficult; to my admiration for his many fine qualities, was immediately adduced a sense of the most earnest commiseration for him for his many burdens. As I gave his hand a light squeeze, Sir William turned to me and gave me the kindest smile.
"But now, perhaps, these walls should hear laughter once again," said he. It pleased me to no end that he parallel the return of happiness to his home with my arrival; in most congenial silence, we walked on.
© 2002 Copyright held by the author.