Sweet Satisfaction (Purple UGC Winner 2014)

Sweet Satisfaction - Thirty-Six

Thirty-Six

“Elsie!” Mother cried as I burst through the parlour doors. She rose from her seat, eyes wide as she took in my shaky breathing, soaked clothes and bright red countenance. I let out another sob, staggering into the wall.

Mother sat me down by the heath of dancing amber and I recounted everything. Not just about Bobby and how he had asked me to run away with him just now, but everything else that was troubling me.

“I panicked.” I finished. Mother was silent for a while, then she took a sharp breath of air, eyes creasing up.

“Have you any thought as to what you’ve done- sneaking out by yourself – anything could’ve happened! Susanna should be watching you.”

“Please, Mother, she was only doing as she was bidden.” I bowed my head in shame, alarmed that I could make Susanna loose her position.

“After telling you why I became so ill, I thought you would be more considerate, Elsie.” A surge of guilt swept through my bones as I watched my Mother spurt like a veritable fountain.

“So, do you love Bobby?"

“I don’t know,” I muttered, for what were the actual signs of true love? I had met Bobby but a few times, yet I cared so much about him. She grabbed my wrists, shaking me.

"Tell me!”

“Yes, yes,” I sobbed, caving in, shoulders slumping, “But I may have affections for John as well.”

My face screwed itself up as I tried to answer my own questions; how could my world spin and cheeks flush at the thought of a man who had beaten and tormented me, and then kissed me?

“Oh Elsie, why have you become so like me?” Mother said softly, rocking me, taking my hand, “come.”

*****

Mother and Father’s bedroom was not how I expected. It was very unfriendly, with dull furnishings and ugly yellow wallpaper. There was nothing on display, giving the room a disused feel.

Mother walked over to her dressing table; the round looking glass on it was obscured in dust. Mother turned it around, pulled the back out to reveal a photo hidden inside. It was as wrinkly as someone’s skin after bathing and was rather faded. I knew without Mother telling me that I was looking at the Englewoods, in the 1890s, for the girls had tiny waists, instead of extravagant bustles or crinolines but with large, puffy sleeves. I was looking at her past, her secret past.

“Don’t sacrifice your family for a man.”

*****

I spent the next thirteen days labouring over what Mother had said but on the eve of my wedding, I still had made no sense of it. Father had arrived back home, tired, grumpy, with little patience and Rose had travelled down from Ingoldisthorpe.

“My Mother couldn’t make it,” she told Father in an airy apologetic way, standing in our front door with a large bejewelled bag, pompadour and floppy straw bonnet askew.

“Of course she couldn’t,” Father replied through gritted teeth. I felt my body tense; first Father had called my grandmother ‘Rose’s ”filthy mother’” and now Rose was saying she was “my mother”. There could only be one explanation- Alice Kingston was my Father’s stepmother!

I felt the blood pumping in my ears as I swayed. Focus, Elsie, Mother told you to focus on the wedding and forget your trivial sister’s moans, so forget this.  

“Why, hello, Isabella! It is simply ages since we last met.”

“Indeed,” Mother replied grimly, brushing past Rose and walking up to me, “don’t go near her, I mean it Elsie.” I stared at her; Mother never expressed hatred against someone without good reason. What was going on?

Once everyone was settled, we all sat around the dining table, gossiping and eating heartily. To me, the food was dry and tasteless and got stuck in my throat. Father had gone overboard and there was dishes of things with ridiculous sounding names- oyster crouton, snipe and primrose jelly were just part of the extravaganza. I dreaded to think what the wedding banquet would be like. Sweat was enveloping itself around me. Tomorrow was my wedding day and I felt so underprepared.

Rose was rather too fond of the wine and spent the night talking nonsense to Mary. I would’ve liked to have talked to Rose (despite Mother’s warning) for we had last seen each other three months ago, and to Mary, for I felt bad for the way I had been overshadowing her all these years, no, all her life.

Father’s spirits seemed to lift and he showed us the pictures of his own wedding. Gosh, how young he and Mother seemed, carefree and happy, even if they had only married so Father could produce an heir. A sour taste filled my mouth. Beside my parents, Rose looked sulky, my grandfather Thomas proud, leaning on his walking stick. Alice glared through her fringe.

We retired to the parlour for warm cocoa and I suddenly wondered where John and I were to reside. My stomach was tingling and I rocked on the edge of my seat.

“Are you alright?” Mother asked over the music the gramophone was blaring. I shrugged.

“This time tomorrow I will be married.” My stomach violently turned.

“You don’t have to marry him.”

“I have to do whatever will make Father happy,” I responded darkly. I glanced over at him.

“To Elsie and John,” he roared, lifting his glass.

“To Elsie and John,” Mary, Rose and Mother murmured, while I remained stiff in my chair, forcing a wobbly smile onto my face. I gulped, feeling sicker by the minute, taking in a large intake of air.

 “To the future,” I whispered.