Three
months into her marriage and Glinda believed she had spent a total of three
weeks in her husband’s presence. Not that this particularly bothered her, but
she had hoped for it to be more than a few months before the novelty of being a
newlywed wore off. She was aware that Chuffrey hadn’t accumulated his wealth by
sitting around on his backside all day, but her pride was rather hurt that she
hadn’t been enough to hold his attention for more than a few days at a time.
She was young, beautiful, and some even thought she was talented. She had a
degree in sorcery for crying out loud! She had been enough to engage the
interest of several young men at Shiz – so why didn’t her rather aged (to her)
husband find her interesting?
Glinda unexpectedly found herself with the company of her husband in their new
marital home during the afternoon she had set aside to prepare herself for a
rather important society event that evening. She emerged from the bathroom clad
in a silk dressing gown to find him perched on the edge of one of the many
useless pieces of furniture she had, at one point, believed to be essential.
“…Sir Chuffrey,” she greeted, trying to hide her shock.
Her maid bobbed her an apologetic curtsey. “Excuse me,
Ma’am, but you did say you didn’t wish to be disturbed and the Master’s return
was rather unex-“
“Thank you,” Glinda interrupted. “If you’ll excuse us for a
moment.”
The maid fled without providing a response.
The blonde lady of the house sat at her dresser, back to her husband, as if he
weren’t there. Glinda set about combing pretend tangles from her already
brushed through wet locks.
“It seems I’ve been neglecting you, my dear,” Chuffrey said.
“Everything is in order,” Glinda answered. “Your staff are content and the
house continues to function in your absence.”
“And yet you are displeased.”
“I am neither pleased nor displeased,” she said curtly. “It is good to see
you,” she lied. “Though I do wish you had sent word of your return, then
perhaps I might have been able to greet you in a more presentable fashion.”
Chuffrey stood and moved to stand behind her, placing rough hands on her
shoulders. “I thought we could attend this evening’s festivities together. I
won’t have anyone believing you to be a lonely widow so early in our marriage.”
“Thank you for your concern.”
“Besides, it is a shame that our marriage bed has had only one occupant
for the duration of its life. I confess to missing you, Glinda, when I am
absent from your side.”
That, Glinda thought, was about as close to a confession of love as she would
ever get. Not that she particularly desired his affection, but it was nice to
know that she hadn’t entirely failed as a woman from time to time. Even if she
didn’t always enjoy his attentions, she still wished to know that he wanted her
physically even if Chuffrey didn’t ever intend to spend every hour of every day
in her presence.
“The house is not the same without you,” Glinda replied.
Perhaps he would never realise that she never slept in their marital bed when
he was on his many trips. Though the room she had chosen as her own was
smaller, at least it was hers and not ‘theirs’. She had even taken to hiding
there on occasion, when the gazes of the overly observant staff became too much
for her.
Chuffrey squeezed her shoulders and headed for the door. “I shall leave you to
prepare for this evening.”
“Thank you.”
Glinda stared at herself in the mirror. She had everything she ever wanted. She
even had things she didn’t need and hadn’t known she wanted. She had a huge
house, a wealthy husband, servants who catered to her every need day and
night…and she was completely and utterly alone.
Her family had abandoned her to a life of solitary acceptance.
Her mother had known. Her mother had known and she still hadn’t had the courage
to refuse handing over her daughter to that sort of life.
Maybe there had to be a period of adjustment. Perhaps that was it. Things would
improve. She would have company. Women of her own rank would cease to be awed
by her and welcome her into their social circles. She would have friends again.
Silly little women to talk about shoes and silks with.
Nobody to make her think.
Well, if this was what thinking had led her to, she would certainly have to
stop. Everything around her would have contented Galinda the girl. It would
have to content Glinda the woman. More dresses, more jewels. That was the
answer. More distractions.
Glinda stood, opened the door, and called for her maid to return with several
subordinates in tow.
For now, she would do what she was good at. Looking amazing.
She began to peruse her selection of ball gowns.
-
“Sir and Lady Chuffrey.”
All eyes were on her. Not even on Chuffrey. Her. Glinda, formerly of the Arduennas. Lady
Glinda, who resided in a house bigger than any of theirs, whose dress cost more
than their fine outfits and adornments. She was prettier, brighter, more
refined. She had been to university. She knew things. She shone.
…None of these facts could banish the taunting voice in the back of her mind
that kept on declaring that she was a trophy wife to a middle-aged man who had
suddenly thought that marriage might be an interesting idea.
Lady Chuffrey. Lady who?
Glinda engaged in polite conversation with whoever sought her attention. She
laughed delicately at ridiculous jokes and made the effort to blush and
gracefully accept the compliments given her.
She danced nearly every dance of the night with a different man who was not her
husband. She caught the bitter gazes of their wives and smiled inside. These
men wanted her and made it obvious. These men made her feel powerful. Not like
Chuffrey, who was content to observe his young wife being paraded around by
other men. Only at the end of the night did he finally reclaim her and make a
point of showing that she was his, that he had married
her and this beautiful girl could be in his bed whenever he wanted.
“Good evening, Lady Chuffrey,” they bade her goodnight.
From that night on, she made sure she was addressed only as ‘Lady Glinda’ and
not ‘Lady Chuffrey’.
-
There weren’t enough shops in the
People ten and twenty years older than herself desperately
anxious to please her. A mere girl calling herself a
lady. It was almost embarrassing. For them, at least.
Glinda was rather grateful that Chuffrey hadn’t accompanied her on this
particular trip. She had gone a little overboard on the spending, even by her
standards. Her husband never denied her anything (sometimes she wondered if it
was just to keep her quiet and manageable) but he would have had every right to
call on her on the over the top dresses she had purchased that she knew she
would likely never wear. Let alone the three tiaras and matching pendants.
She supposed she would have to give the poor struggling staff behind her
carrying all her needlessly purchased goods a bonus or something. Glinda didn’t
give a damn what they said about her behind her back, as long as she could keep
them obedient. Besides, she had been born into money before marrying into it.
Most of them, she suspected, had been born into slavery.
Elphaba would have ripped her apart if she had ever dared voice that sort of
comment in her presence. Elphaba would have stopped her buying that third
tiara. Hell, probably the first. Damnit, it didn’t matter what Elphaba would
have thought or done. Where was she when it mattered? Gone.
Dust. Nothing.
In the
She was walking with her head held high, trying to ignore the state of the
backstreets of the City that she had believed would be a short-cut back to her
carriage, concentrating on keeping her heels from the muddy puddles, when a
figure only just taller than her clipped her shoulder and nearly sent her
sprawling.
“I do beg your pardon,” a rather effeminate male voice rang out as he stopped
to right them both.
“It would do you good to watch where you’re going,” was her sharp retort.
“…Glinda?”
She looked up. “Crope?”
A slight smile appeared on his sallow features. “Glinda of
the Arduennas.”
Glinda drew herself up. “Lady Glinda Chuffrey now,” she corrected. “I suspect
you’ve heard and only wish to tease me as an old friend would.” She spoke for
the benefit of the staff behind her, determined to have no tales of her
engaging a strange man in conversation. How different Crope looked! And where
was the ever-present Tibbet?
“Of course, my Lady,” Crope decided that the sparkling Glinda before him might
be as unappreciative of teasing as the old Galinda had been.
Glinda’s desire for company she could trust (and easily overpower) overruled
her desire to stay snugly within her social circle. “Oh, Crope, I am sorry. Had
I known it was you…” She reached a gloved hand up to
touch his shoulder. “Come and see me in my rooms this evening, get the details
from Floss here.” She gestured to her maid. “It would be so good to catch up!” She
shot him one of her winning smiles, squeezed his shoulder and continued on her
way.
She made sure not to look back, certain that someone with better things to do
would not look hopefully over their shoulder.
-
She met Crope again that evening and spent most of the rest of her trip in his
presence. Glinda, of course, took charge and made sure they had the best of
everything, though she was rather surprised to find that Crope could pay his
own way without her assistance. What he did lack was her ability to attract
attention effortlessly and manipulate those around them to ensure they always what they wanted. He was rather shy and retiring
really, and at only twenty-four! Glinda found the changes in him, from rowdy
boy to quiet man, quite shocking. But then, hadn’t she gone from quiet
almost-thinker to loud lady-wife in the past couple of years? Was it money or
character that did that? She knew what she wanted and how to get it. She had
everything she needed to get everything she ever wanted, no waiting.
…Perhaps not quite everything.
Her time spent with Crope, dragging him to the very best parlours and shows in
town, taking him on shopping outings with her, approving his wardrobe and
deciding whether or not the few friends he had made were quite suitable for
him, resulted in the realisation of something Glinda thought she would never
actively desire.
She wanted to be a mother.
Not a mother in the future, not in ten years time. A mother
now. Now.
Chuffrey did not want children as far as she knew. He didn’t want an heir.
Perhaps he couldn’t father children. They had never spoken about it and never
really spent enough time in the same bed for it to be an issue. She had never
feared falling pregnant.
Now she wanted to be. Badly.
Glinda took up sleeping with her husband as a challenge. It had been a task she
had neither liked nor particularly disliked (on the rare occasions that she got
something out of the experience) before, but now it was something that had to
be done. If Chuffrey noticed his wife’s sudden change in behaviour regarding
the bedroom, he didn’t make a point of stating it. He was, it seemed, quite
happy to go along with it. After all, it was better to have a willing woman in
bed than one who just lay there and waited for it to all be over.
Nothing. For two months, nothing.
Three. Nothing. Bleeding
still every month, no change in her body, no sudden tiredness, no sickness in
the mornings. Nothing. No child. Glinda swore she was
sleeping with Chuffrey often enough for him to have fathered a whole army of
children by now. Unless he was faking it like she had often resorted to. No. He
couldn’t be. What would be the point?
Perhaps it was her. Her mother had only been able to have the one child. Maybe
she couldn’t have any. Why did she really want a child anyway? As a companion? A friend? Just someone to dote on? She could get a dog or a cat like
those other women if it was just that. As long as she made sure it was neither
a Dog nor a Cat.
She wanted a little Galinda. A little girl like she had been, a baby to clothe
in adorable dresses and bows, little curls to set with ribbons, and the patter
of those ridiculously tiny pink shoes. Not that she would do the actual
dressing or take care of the child herself. Well, perhaps she would. Who knew
how motherhood would affect her? It might be fun. It might be worthwhile.
Something worthwhile, something lasting, maybe that
was it. Something to prove to the world that Glinda Chuffrey had existed, she
had taught, she had passed something on to the well-mannered little girl she
was so sure she would have.
…What would she do with a boy? Chuffrey would deal with him, she supposed. Men
adored their sons. He would fashion a son after himself, as she would fashion a
daughter in her image.
Four months. Nothing.
The game was getting frustrating now. She was doing everything that one needed
to do to conceive a child. Chuffrey was still ignorant of her intentions, just
happy to have her in his bed almost every night she knew she might conceive.
Nothing! For goodness’ sake, women had been having children since the dawn of
time, what made her so damned different? Why was it so damned difficult for
her?
Five months. No baby.
The idea of the dog or the cat was looking all the more appealing.
Six months. No signs. Glinda gave up.
-
A month later, accompanying Chuffrey on another one of his business trips to
the city (and to spend some time with dear old naïve Crope) Glinda set eyes on
Nessarose again.
Nessa, trapped, like she, in a bond she didn’t want to be in. The younger of
the Thropp sisters looked the same as ever, more disapproving, if that was
possible, and almost…old. Was that what praying non-stop did to a person? Nessa
looked severe, dark hair drawn tightly back, bobbing her head whenever her
grandfather addressed her. She wore a tasteful dark green, not like the tacky
tourist green, and Glinda was sure that even at her table she caught a glimpse
of the silver shoes on her feet. Damned shoes. They
didn’t seem to have aged. Not like Nessa. Not like Glinda.
She didn’t alert Nessarose to her presence. She whispered, with Crope, about
the girl, about Nanny and the grandfather, but they didn’t reintroduce
themselves. She couldn’t give Nessa a chance to latch onto her again. Besides,
Glinda couldn’t afford to be seen with such a plain looking girl whilst in the
City. Nobody would know she was now the official Thropp Third Descending. That
title meant nothing in the
Even if she desperately wanted to embrace Nanny and Nessa again (and some part
of her did), she couldn’t risk Nanny recounting tales of her strange silent
days at Shiz. She wanted people to believe that Lady Glinda had always been
Lady Glinda, with her money and her clothes and her connections.
Seeing Fiyero only a day later threw her somewhat.
Was it supposed to be some kind of wake-up call? Nessa, Crope, Fiyero and Nanny
come to haunt her, to take her back? Was there a green-skinned girl beckoning
to her in the shadows too?
Was the babbling idiot she became during their meeting really her? Was that
woman what she had become? She talked no sense and didn’t even let either of
her companions truly speak. Fiyero, who she was genuinely glad to see, seeing
her after so long to see that she had reverted back to the mannerisms and
snobbishness of Galinda, that the thinking girl was gone. No wonder he wanted
to escape. Fiyero had seemed to have matured (despite being stupid enough to
have an affair) and she had struggled to even describe what meeting him again
meant to her. He had had every right to want to leave. But she couldn’t stop.
She had to be happy, smiling, delightful Glinda. Cover her despair at having no
children with a crude remark. She had to make sure he understood she was so
wonderfully, utterly, completely happy. …That she wasn’t just that little bit
lonely and considering getting a cat. (She had decided on a cat now. Dogs
needed too much attention.)
After all that, Fiyero didn’t even know where Elphaba was.
Though it was a tad suspicious that a man who had no
connections to the
Glinda let him go. That time.
On one of her rare solo Lurlinemas shopping outings a couple of days later, she
caught sight of him in a crowd through a shop window. She ordered her bags to
be sent to her rooms, but kept a dark navy cloak she had bought and pinned it
about herself. Glinda hid beneath the hood and followed Fiyero from the main
square at a slow, weaving, pace, as if she might just be someone who had downed
one too many pints.
She was almost regretting following him at all, with the state of her shoes and
the new cloak, not to mention her aching feet, by the time Fiyero engaged in
any interaction with another figure. She kept herself hidden at the top of the
side-street, round the corner, and peered round.
The figure was almost as tall as he, thin and covered with a black cloak,
wearing clumpy boots like those she remembered her roommate favouring. Glinda
believed the figure to be male, until she heard Fiyero utter a name.
“Fae, don’t be unreasonable-“
“I’m not being unreasonable – but you will insist on making such a noise when
you approach and coming here in broad daylight!”
The voice made her start and her heart race, whilst the hood of the cloaked
figure slipped a little to reveal a green nose, as if to confirm her
suspicions. Glinda could only stare as Fiyero headed through a tiny door and
she heard footsteps on wooden stairs. The other figure remained for a few
moments, pausing to glance this way and that, before
vanishing through the door too.
Glinda could only stare, numb.
When she finally returned to Chuffrey’s suite of rooms, he was the first to
notice the blood as it dripped down her legs and stained her dress, pooling on
the floor. As the world faded back in around her, she was aware of rhythmic
cramps in her lower abdomen and of a sudden pain that stole her breath and took
her legs out from under her.
-
The next few days were a blur.
It was her, she thought. It was definitely, officially, her, now. She could
blame Chuffrey all she wanted, but she had just demonstrated her inability to
carry a child. Her body had expelled the tiny baby like a stranger. So much blood and various teas and medications. The best
doctors in the
For all the best doctors’ efforts, Glinda’s temperature rose and spiked a fever
two days after it was believed her body had terminated and removed he child she
didn’t know she had carried. There was more blood, exams she would have found
embarrassing had she been coherent, and something that passed for some form of
surgery by men who weren’t, for all their training, entirely sure what they
were doing.
Sometimes Chuffrey was there. Sometimes he wasn’t. She found she didn’t really
care.
Nurses, maids, more doctors came to her bedside. They
couldn’t have the young Lady Glinda die on them, not on their watch. Not if
they wanted to keep their reputations untarnished.
Lurlinemas Eve found a still delusional Glinda’s fever finally fading, though
those around her swore she was still wasn’t out of the woods after so much
blood and stress.
As Glinda fought for her life, across the City bloodied green hands beat weakly
against wooden doors, both women unaware of their surroundings or their
struggle. One carried within her what the other had desperately wanted and
lost, whilst the other's body had taken upon itself the course of action that
the former could only wish her own had.