THE NIGHT IS DARKEST
Miss Lola Montclair!” someone announced as she appeared at the top of the stairs, and people burst into wild applause She blushed as she made her way down the grand lobby stairs into the waiting crowd, smiling her publicity smile. She knew she had to greet half a hundred people right now, but all she wanted to do was speak to her friends, who she had been apart from forever, or so it felt.
She also felt guilty that she had been introduced like that with her husband right there. Despite the fact that they did not know any different; she should have corrected them. Once upon a time, she might have. Now, she avoided Wesley's glance as she floated down the stairs, taking hands and kissing cheeks. Some of the people knew her name from before they moved; others were dazzled for the first time. Either way, she could not let expression falter, not for a moment. It was a mask she wore; as much a figurative as a literal one.
“She looks dazzling,” Annabelle said and Harold kissed her on the cheek.
“You do not look so bad yourself, milady.”
“My Harold, you have gotten bold,” Aaron said. “I remember when you would barely look her in the eye.”
“Aye, a lot has changed,” Harold said, and then regretted it as soon as he said it. “I am sorry.”
“A lot has changed,” Aaron confirmed, and although his expression did not falter, his eyes darkened. He changed the subject, turning to Wesley, who already had a glass of champagne in his hand. “And what did you think of your wife's performance?”
“Lola pretending to be someone else?” Wesley raised an eyebrow. “Same old, same old.”
“Wesley,” Aaron said. “One night, let's be nice, huh?”
“We're not on the ship,” Wesley answered as Lola approached.
She still had on her stage makeup. It was thick, her eyes and cheekbones exaggerated as the pale, wide eyed Ophelia. Her Hamlet was already the life of the party, and theatrical etiquette dictated that she should be glued to his side. Instead, she ducked under an arm and a glass or two until she found herself in front of them.
“Well?” she asked, half breathless. “What did you think?”
“Enchanting,” Annabelle said. “My heart went out to poor Ophelia. Hamlet is a sod.”
Lola laughed, her eyes sparkling. Talking about performing was always the way to bring up her mood. “He is, isn't he?” she asked. “But my partner, he is lovely. I find it hard to be cross with him, honestly.”
“Oh, I would not put it past you,” Wesley spoke up, draining his champagne glass. “Would you, Aaron?”
“Uh,” Aaron said, not wanting to be put in the middle of such a quarrel.
“By the way, I am your husband, and colony or not, I outrank you.”
“What?” Lola's jaw dropped. This was so out of character for Wesley that she wondered if he had been body snatched. Of course, the amount of liquor on his breath told her that his brain might have melted. He never cared about his rank; he tried to hide it when they’d first met. What had happened to the timid brilliant mind she had married?
“Wesley,” this time Harold spoke up. “This is neither the time nor the place.”
“Do not tell me how to treat my wife,” Wesley snapped. “I can speak to her any way I damn well please.”
“Not my husband,” Lola was strong. “The man I married would never speak to me that way.”
“The man you married had not seen the things I have seen,” Wesley snapped back.
“Tá seseo conas a thit tú i ngrá le, Lola,” Aaron said, softly, reminding him that it was her acting career that made them meet in the first place. However, even in Wesley's native tongue, he would not be calmed; a raging drunk tiger who had a year of fighting come to a head.
“No,” he said. “The woman I loved did not act like she could do as she pleased, no matter the shame, no matter my wishes.”
“The woman you married told you that exactly,” Lola reminded him. “We did not get married for so long because I had to be sure you would accept my career, and I yours. Or has the alcohol wiped that from your memory?”
Wesley's jaw clenched, and Aaron and Harold both grabbed him by the arms, which caused him to lash out. “Unhand me.”
“No, mate, you are going outside,” Aaron said, as he half dragged him. Annabelle ducked back toward Lola, and a scuffle occurred that drew that attention of everyone. The whole party watched as the Irish pirate was dragged out between his captain and the British noble.
“Oh God,” Lola said as she laid her head against Annabelle's shoulder. “What has happened?”
“Ssh, he is drunk,” Annabelle said. “There's no reasoning with any man when he is like that.”
“Well, unless he has been drunk for a year straight, it really does not explain things,” Lola said. “I am glad our new friends have not seen that, at least. Where's the handsome captain?”
“Gone after Enola, I imagine,” Annabelle said. “Unless he has taken a bottle to the corner as well. Which would not surprise me, given how this day has gone.”
“I do not envy her,” Lola said. “Despite what is happening now, I married Wesley because I wanted to. I could not imagine a marriage because I had to.”
“She is smart,” Annabelle said. “It seems like she has it figured out, one way or another.”
“One way or another,” Lola echoed, taking a deep breath. Despite the fact that people stared at her on stage all day, she hated them staring at her now. Her cheeks were on fire, and she wanted to disappear into a hole in the floor. “Do you want to go up to my dressing room? I feel I need a few quiet moments.”
“Of course,” Annabelle said, looking after her husband and brother. The ladies turned, picking up their skirts as they ascended the staircase. Both women tried to pretend that all was well, chatting casually as they went.
“It is been so busy, I have not had a chance to ask,” Lola said. “How is Aaron? Has he been well? His letters seem normal, but I always worry.”
“From what I can tell,” Annabelle replied. “A fit here or there, but nowhere near as intense as it was. It seems being captain of his own ship has done him well.”
“Of course it has,” Lola said. “When you are the one in charge, you can listen to your body; make your own life. As long as he is captain, I imagine he will be fine. But Shauna and Kirsten must miss him?”
“He visits them as often as he can; as often as he used to,” Annabelle replied. “Mostly in the country house, staying far away from the public. No one sees him come and go. It is a risk, of course, but I am not going to deny him that pleasure.”
“Of course not,” Lola said. “And Harold is well? He must be proud, a father twice over.”
“He is,” Annabelle said. “Although... Aaron did not know we had a male child until we got here. I am not sure it is the reason...but the situation has been tense since we arrived. Harold is his dearest friend...but I wonder if he regrets his choice.”
“Of course he does not regret his choice,” Lola said. “He'd do it a thousand times over. He is probably just adjusting. It is odd, to watch someone else be called by your name. When I come into a play in a different part, it is always jarring to watch the new actress play my old character. He will be alright.”
“Mmm,” Annabelle said, not quite believing her friend. Nevertheless, she put on a smile for Lola, hoping to make the best of the evening, regardless of the chaos surrounding them.
Outside, the tension was just beginning to brew into something more. Wesley had struggled out of both their arms, and was attempting to stand on his own. However, it appeared the alcohol was starting to go to his head, and he stumbled over a pavement stone.
“I'll find a carriage,” Aaron said. “There's no way he is walking and I am not quite ready to go.”
“We have a long day tomorrow,” Harold said. “Perhaps we should consider just leaving.”
“Please,” Aaron replied. “It is not uncommon for us to hit the bunk at dawn. We do not have watch hours; we are not on a schedule. The night is young.”
Harold paused. “I am just...I want you to be well, Aaron.”
“I am well,” Aaron replied, eyeing the road for a passing carriage.
“Are you?” Harold asked. “Because, with all due respect, the only time you get surly is when you are hiding something, and it is usually your health.”
“It is not that,” Aaron said, not looking at him.
Wesley was smart enough to keep his mouth shut, a green tone taking over his usually pale skin.
“So what is it?” Harold asked.
Aaron took a deep breath, looking instead at the moon. “I would rather not get into it now, Harold, it is fine.”
“What better time than now?” Harold asked, and Aaron shook his head.
“Last time I went home, Kirsten cried for the last three days of my leave. She wanted to walk in the market, holding my hand, as she had seen you do with your children. That is all she wanted, and I could not give it to her. It has stayed with me ever since.”
Harold felt the guilt press on his chest. “Aaron....” he said. “I am sorry. I did not....I never asked you to do sacrifice so much.”
“Do not be ridiculous, Harold,” Aaron replied. “I do not blame you for what happened. I made my own choices. I just cannot get that image out of my head. I resent you, just as I resent any family walking down the street right now. I resent any moment of normality. Hell, Wesley, I even resent you fighting with Lola in public.”
“I understand that,” Harold said. “But you cannot do that to yourself. You can't...”
“Do not tell me what I can and cannot do,” Aaron shook his head. “This is how I need to work through it, and so this is what I'll do, alright?”
Harold fell silent a long moment. “Alright,” he said. “And do you think things will ever go back to normal? Because I feel like there is a space between us, Aaron, one which we cannot mend. A gap that we cannot close, no matter what I do to leap the distance.”
“So maybe that is what it is,” Aaron said as he reached out to Wesley, who gagged. He wrapped an arm around his waist, making sure he did not fall. “Go ahead.”
Harold seemed obvious to Wesley's dilemma as he looked at him in shock. “Aaron?”
“Maybe,” Aaron repeated. “That is what it is. Maybe we have grown too far apart; we have changed too much. I do not know. I feel it too; this gap, this silence. We used to be best friends, Harold. We were brothers. So what happened?”
“We are still brothers,” Harold replied.
“No, we are not,” Aaron said, turning toward him. “I am dead. You are Lord Bamber now.”
The words sent shivers down Harold's spine. A carriage eventually pulled up, and Aaron helped his first mate toward it. Harold could not move; could not do anything except stare as Aaron moved away.
Was he right? Was their friendship forever broken? Was the Aaron he knew dead after all?