difference.”
“What do you mean?”
“Well, I was aware of violence against women before I read 'Porphyria's
Lover,' but I never really thought much about it. Perhaps it was Providence, but
the day after I read it, I met a young woman in a dangerous situation. I couldn't
bear the thought of her ending up like poor Porphyria, so I married her. I would
never have given her a second thought, and certainly not done what I did, except
the murder in that poem was so fresh on my mind. You made me aware. That poem saved her life.”
Browning smiled. “Ah, well, thank you for telling me. Your marriage?”
Christopher beamed. “It's very good. We're happy.”
Browning nodded. “I'm glad for you then. She's like a grain of sand though.”
“I know. It's sadly true. There are too many innocent victims, but until the
laws are changed, we can only do what we can do. I can't save them all, but I saved this one. That matters. Your role in it matters. Thank you, Mr. Browning,
for having the courage to write what you did.”
The man's mouth turned down. “Everyone hates it.”
“Guilt,” Christopher suggested.
“Perhaps.”
“And perhaps the time is still not right for the larger society to embrace it, but I know your poetry will continue to make a difference. I intend to keep sharing it and to keep speaking out. Please, don't give up. Your work is so important.”
“I won't. It's hard as hell to swim upstream, but I will persevere. I must.”
Christopher grinned. “Good luck to you then.”
“Thank you, Mr. Bennett.”
“Thank you, Mr. Browning.”
The men shook hands and then Christopher hurried home. His bride was
waiting for him, and suddenly he wanted to see her.
Inside the Bianchi manor, Katerina sat in the breakfast room, sipping a cup of coffee and wincing at its strength. She became aware of a movement behind her,
but for once, did not jump in nervous anxiety. She simply turned to see. How refreshing. Another sign of the progress I've made. Her pleasure faded to a scowl at the sight of Aimée St. Jean. “What do you want?” she asked the other woman coldly.
Before Aimée could even open her mouth, Katerina continued. “You may
have the damned piano, you may have Grandfather, but you will stay away from
my husband, is that clear? He's mine, and he doesn't want you anyway. Leave him alone.”
“Yes, of course, I will. You're right. I never wanted him either. As you said,
he's too young for me.” Her chastened tone made Katerina even more suspicious.
“Then what were you doing?” Katerina demanded, eyes narrow. She spat the
words like little flames from a bonfire.
“Trying to unnerve you,” Aimée replied, looking appropriately stung.
“Why?”
“Petty jealousy. I was jealous of your talent and of your grandfather's
attention. It was mean-spirited, and I apologize.” Aimée sounded disarmingly sincere.
“Why?” Katerina demanded again, giving no quarter.
“Because I'm woman enough to admit when I'm wrong,” Aimée replied. “I
