and cry. Fortunately for Jane, she’d been sleeping restlessly. Finally in disgust she rose and, putting on her wrapper, descended the great staircase to the ground floor. She made her way soundlessly to the library. She stayed there an hour, perusing the Bridlingtons’ books and mementos. Finally, chosen book in hand, she turned to go back to her room.
The sound of shouting voices echoed in the Great Hall, their words indistinct. She hurried upward. Outside her room stood Lady Serena, Millicent, Mr. Hedgeworth, and some others Jane did not know. She remembered her aunt’s words.
"He’s in there! I tell you, I saw him go in there as bold as brass not five minutes ago. My poor niece, she’s ruined!"
The door to her bedchamber opened then, and out stepped the inebriated gentleman, swaying gently. "That’s not my room," he lisped softly.
Lady Serena wailed at Jane’s misfortune. She turned to Mr. Hedgeworth, offering sympathy for his ill luck. It was then that Jane made her presence known by requesting to know what was happening. Millicent shrieked, as if she were seeing a ghost. Lady Serena demanded to know what she was doing there. Confused, Jane told them of her lack of sleep and her trip to the library over an hour ago.
"And you’ve been there ever since?" queried Lady Serena.
When she responded affirmatively, she noted her aunt’s dissatisfied expression. Mr. Hedgeworth, after only a moment’s hesitation, came over to her to squeeze her hand and tell her how glad he was. Catastrophe averted and no spice for the scandal broth, everyone wandered back to their own rooms. Jane locked her door.
Later in the night, Millicent found herself in Mr. Hedgeworth’s room. Claiming and cursing sleepwalking, she began sobbing hysterically. He tried to soothe her and shoo her out of his rooms. He was too late. Lady Serena flew in, dressed in affronted matronly dignity. So Millicent won Mr. Hedgeworth by arranging a compromising assignation with him for herself. Horrified at the gossip and rumors that would circulate society, he quickly proposed marriage. Instead of traveling to Speerford Hall with Jane, he left the Bridlingtons’ for London to place a notice in the Morning Gazette and to arrange a suitable and proper wedding. His chief concern was to scotch talk.
He scarcely said another word to Jane, for he said it wouldn’t be proper.
The Honorable Miss Millicent Tipton and Mr. David Hedgeworth were wed less than a month later. Out of duty, Jane attended the ceremony. She attended it swathed in her new society cloak designed to protect her from harm. It was not long afterwards that the sobriquet Ice Witch began to circulate polite society.
Ice Witch. Lady Elsbeth was correct. That name represented society’s love for rumor and scandal. They could make scandal out of less than whole cloth. Jane pulled her cloak of icy mien tighter around herself. The rumors grew more pervasive.
Rumors. Scandal. Gossip. She was caught up in the whirlwind. And as she was a part of it, so she became a part of it. She questioned and speculated on everyone’s behavior, offering her own insights, her beliefs. Hers, like everyone else’s, entered the vast vat of idle words and came out with knife-edged "truths." She never questioned the accuracy of society’s tales. She took them as truth and reacted accordingly, as society took her sobriquet as truth and treated her accordingly. She was guilty of a gross perpetuation of lies.
A frown pulled at the corners of her lips. That was not a flattering nor pleasant realization to make about oneself. But was totally ignoring all tales proper, either? For the past two days she’d refused to listen to anything that smacked of speculation and gossip. What was the name of that strange bird discovered in Africa? The one that hid its head in the sand at the approach of danger? As if denying the danger would make it nonexistent. Yes! It was the bird all the beautiful feathers came from. An ostrich. Was she behaving like that ostrich? Was she hiding her head in the sand by refusing to listen? If she was, then could she be wounded by complete inattention. Furthermore, if she was playing the ostrich, neither would she be able to defend the hapless subject of the gossip if she did not hear the tales. In the future she vowed she would learn to question, to evaluate. Gossip mongering was not stopped by inattention. It was defeated by the light of truth.
And what was the truth