The Final Recollections of Charles Dickens (7 page)

On the morning that followed, the face of Heaven shone bright and merciful.

James had gone each day to the street where Florence had appeared before him. If she came again, he would beg forgiveness for whatever part he had played in driving her from the manor. Even though she was now a lady, he would plead with her that he be allowed to occupy some small place in her heart.

Florence walked to where she had seen James. If only he were there, she would beg absolution for her sins and pray that, in some small way, he would take her back into his life.

There is no chasm, however deep and wide, that cannot be spanned by love.

Florence and James, with hearts pounding, once again saw each other. There was no mistaking their uncontrolled passion as they ran forward wildly into each other's arms. He drew her bosom close to his heart and pressed his lips against hers. She wept with
joy. Without a word being spoken, they knew that they loved each other as much as it was possible for a man and woman to love.

Then they talked of old times and how their lives had been. James and Christopher had left the manor and journeyed to London together. They lived now under the same roof, doing honest labour when they could find it. They had been told little about why Florence fled. There were whispers that she had stolen gold coins and disappeared into the night. James did not believe that to be true. He hoped that Florence had not run away because he had frightened her with a kiss in the meadow.

Florence looked into James's eyes as he spoke those words, laughed, and kissed him again.

“I went away loving you. I stayed away loving you. I have loved you long and dearly. But I have fallen low. I have sold myself. I am a whore, a slut, a harlot.”

Then Florence recounted for James her deflowering at the manor, The Abbey, and Geoffrey Wingate. He listened with tears in his eyes and, when she had finished, told her, “I cry for your suffering. As much as I loved you before, I love you more now. Never have I thought of you, nor do I think of you now, as anything but sacred and pure. You have been in every thought that I have had since we parted. You have been in every hope, every dream, in the clouds, the wind, the woods, and the sea. The stones that make the greatest churches in England are no more real than the thought of you has been to me.”

At day's end, they pledged to meet again the following morning. That night, the stars seemed brighter and closer to earth than Florence had ever seen them.

There is no documented precedent of the sun having hastened its approach in response to one's wishes. Invariably, it rises to discharge its duty without being swayed by private considerations. Thus, morning came at its appointed time, although Florence wished it to come sooner.

James was where he had promised to be when Florence arrived for their rendezvous. Christopher was with him. Brother and sister embraced. The three were together for several hours. Then Christopher took his leave, so Florence and James could be alone.

They walked, but not on London's streets. It was through an enchanted city, where the pavement was of air, where rough sounds were softened into gentle music, where everything was happy and there was no distance or time. Sparkling jewels and gold flashed in shopkeepers' windows. Great trees cast a stately shade upon them. They walked lovingly together, lost to everything around them, thinking of no riches other than they now had in one another. Old love letters stored in boxes on dusty shelves might have stirred and fluttered as they passed by.

“The word that separates us shall never be said by me,” Florence pledged. “You are my greatest and only love. I would not lose you for all the riches in the world. My heart is yours.”

“If I were prosperous,” James told her, “if I had any hope of one day being able to give to you that which you deserve, I would tell you that there is one name—that of husband—you might bestow upon me. I would tell you that I would honour it as a sacred trust above all others to protect and cherish you; that if given that trust, I would
regard it as so precious that the fervour of my entire life would poorly acknowledge its worth. I long to defend and guard you. My whole heart is yours. But I am poor.”

“Then let us be poor together. We will walk through country places as we did when we were young. We will wander wherever we wish to go, and sleep in fields and under trees, and never think of money. Let us rest at night and have the sun and wind upon our faces in the day and thank God that we are together. I am rich in joy and happy in every way being with you. I would rather pass my life with you and go out daily, working for our bread, than have the greatest fortune that was ever told and be without you. I want no fine clothes or jewels. I want no better home than you can give me. I only want to be with you. Let us be apart no longer. I have no hope of happiness but in you.”

It was a lovely springtime evening. In the soft stillness of the approaching twilight, all nature was calm and beautiful. They came to a church, old and gray with ivy clinging to its walls.

James looked upon Florence's face with veneration and love, as though it were the face of an angel. Then he lowered himself to one knee.

“If you will consent to be my wife, I will love you dearly. I will go to the world's end without fear for you. I have nothing to give to you but my love. But my life shall be devoted to you, and with my last breath I will breathe your name to God.”

“Rise up, fair prince. I want to be a better woman than I am and lead a blessed life as the wife of a good man. I will give to you openly in marriage the heart that you have so long owned.”

The sun had dropped beneath the horizon, casting fading hues over the sky that spoke of its departure. James rose from his knee, and they embraced, as they had done many times that day.

“You were born to be a lady. And now you shall be mine, my lady. When shall I come for you?”

“I am appointed to see Geoffrey tonight. I will tell him and make ready for departure. Come for me at midnight.”

James walked with Florence to her home. He knew now where to find her. They kissed once more, and he went away, promising to return at midnight.

She did not know that they would never part again.

Geoffrey Wingate arrived at Florence's residence at the customary hour. He took his seat at the dinner table, and she took hers. The meal had been prepared in haste.

There was awkward conversation as Florence sought to gather her courage.

“There is something I must tell you,” she said at last. “I am unhappy in my circumstances.”

“I have sensed it,” Wingate told her. “I have thought about it and am amenable to a change. I wish to make you my wife.”

In the entire time they had known each other, the word “love” had never been spoken between them. It was absurd. A bridal wreath would be a garland of steel spikes upon her head.

“I have the means to keep a wife well.”

“I can never love you as you wish,” Florence answered gently. “You do not know the heart of a young woman. I have no right to expect that you should. But when I tell you what I feel, I am sure that you will understand. I have thought night and day of ways to please you. I have gone on assuming the appearance of cheerfulness when my heart was breaking. Do not seek to find in me what is not there.”

He leaned forward and stroked her hair. She recoiled at his touch.

“Have you formed another attachment?”

Florence's face grew red.

“There is someone from my childhood. He has awakened in me a dream of love and affection that I have never known.”

“And you think that you were formed for one another like two pretty pieces on confectionery, do you?”

“My heart is set as firmly on him as ever the heart of a woman was set on a man. I have given it to him and will never take it back.”

Wingate pressed his hands upon his temples. Then he rose from his chair.

“I command you to pleasure me.”

“I cannot.”

“Then I will speak to you plainly so there is no misunderstanding. Are you so foolish as to think that I have no feelings and you can simply cast me aside?”

Shame and passion raged within her. Every degradation that Florence had suffered swirled within like the dregs of a sickening cup. Throughout their knowledge of each other, her spirit had been down at Wingate's feet. She had obeyed his rules and never set her will
against his. Now love emboldened her to say things bluntly that she might otherwise have not said.

“Do you think I love you? Did you ever care for my heart or propose to yourself to win the worthless thing? There is no slave at market, no horse in a fair, so shown and offered and examined and paraded as I have been these last shameful years. I have been hawked and vended until the last grain of self-respect was all but dead within me. You saw me at auction and thought it well to buy me. But I feel no tenderness toward you. You would care nothing for it if I did. And I know well that you feel none toward me.”

He paced up and down the room several times with his hand positioned as if he were holding something, which he was not. A dark shade emerged from within him and overspread his face. Florence would long remember the look that he gave her, more like a murderer than a lover. Then his brow cleared, and he spoke gently.

“It would be better if you had only loved each other as boy and girl and left it at that. But what is done is done. Go with my blessing for the many happy hours that you have given to me and with my forgiveness for any pain you have caused. Go and have peace of mind. I wish only that you never hate me, that you think more fondly of me when you are no longer forced to wear the chain that I riveted around your neck. You leave me without blame.”

As his voice softened, she responded in kind.

“I do not want to hurt you. I am sorry if I do. There are others who are far more worthy of your attentions than I. All the affection that I could find for you in my heart, I gave long ago. I have no more left to give you.”

He nodded in understanding and then made a request:

“The rose that I gave you on the night that you became mine. If it is not too much to ask . . .”

He needed to say no more. Florence went to her bedroom, took the brooch from the drawer where she kept it safe, and brought it to him.

“I would like this man, whoever he is, to take you away this evening.”

“It is already planned. He will come for me at midnight.”

“Then it is all arranged. May you be happy in the life you have chosen.”

After Wingate had gone, Florence filled two boxes with her belongings. She would leave behind the jewels and fine clothes that he had given her. It was only right that he should have them. And she wanted as few memories as possible of his presence in her life.

As for what happened next, I know some with certainty and can put together the rest through established facts and knowledge of human nature.

Wingate had seen the trembling on Florence's lips on their recent trip in the country but never suspected that a lover had won her heart. He imagined now two figures clasped in each other's arms while he stood above them, looking down. His wrath rose, flamed by his own impotence. The idea to shoot this other man seized him like a wild beast and dilated in his mind until it grew into a monstrous demon.