The English Descendants

29

1875- Entry 1

My name is Thomas Sharpe. Tomorrow, I will be eight years old. I think I am going to die.

We used to celebrate, but this year we will not. I know this because Father has said so. No son of his will be soft, and only soft men celebrate with frivolity and cake. So there will be nothing for me. He says I must get used to a life of disappointment, but I must also never cry.

He would beat me were he to see me writing this down as women do, keeping a diary of my thoughts. But I have far too many thoughts to keep them only in my head.

Father taunts me always for being womanly, but I cannot help that I am slender and pale. My sister says she has always thought of me as a porcelain doll, delicate and graceful, something she must be careful to keep from breaking. Perhaps this is why she frequently takes punishment for things I have done, even if they are things I did not know were wrong. She has said she cannot stand the sight of bruises on my skin, but I do not think she knows how hard it is for me to see them on hers.

But I must hide this. I think someone is coming.

1875- Entry 2

I tried not to remind Father of my birthday, but Lucille did by accident. I said nothing and tried to pretend that I was not excited to be another year older. There is something about survival, though, that keeps us all looking forward to the next day, no matter how terrible it will be. He has promised to take me on a hunting trip to celebrate my progression into manhood. I am terrified what this means. I do not wish to kill anything, but more frightening is what he might do to me.

1875- Entry 3

This is Lucille writing. Thomas has been missing for days. Father does not seem concerned. Nor does Mother. I am very worried. I have begged our nurse to look for him. She does not dare take it up with Father. Tonight, I will tell Mother that if she does not, I will do something terrible. I do not know what. Were I to run away, they would not care.

He is only eight. This is not fair. If he dies, I will have to do something drastic. Perhaps kill Father. No one would know the difference if he disappeared in the mine. I, for one, would welcome it.

1875- Entry 4

Lucille again. Thomas has been found, but he is near death. I do not know if he will survive the night. Father abandoned him on purpose, I just know. It was the mine men who found him. One of the cooks was worried enough to mention his disappearance to her husband and he organized a search party. The poor child was starving, dying from lack of water, and so cold.

I swear on all ten of my years that if he dies, I will make sure this house burns. May Father and Mother die in flames. It will not matter to me if I do as well or not. Without him, there is nothing.

1875- Entry 5

I have returned to the living. I did not think I would. It has been weeks since I last wrote. Lucille is right to assume that he abandoned me. I cried for hours when I realised he would not return. This cannot be how most families love one another. There are books in the nursery that talk of mothers and fathers crying for their children or looking after them for years after death, making sacrifices in the world of the living and that of the here-after. And yet...I cannot help but think that my parents would kill me themselves if they did not think anyone would know.

Given what I feel daily, I am not sure that I would mind. At least their disgust with me would be clear for all to see.

1875- Entry 6

I do not know how to talk about what has happened tonight. Lucille and I sneaked into the library to look for a rather naughty book- we are children, after all, and curious. But there had been an accident in the mines and Father was in a fury. When Lucille was discovered, she motioned for me to stay hidden. I have never seen him so terrible. When it was clear, I ran to our attic. I could hear her screaming as he whipped her. I made her a paper moth- she loves them so, perhaps it would make her feel a little better. When she returned, she was sore, her eyes red. She said he told her to say horrible things in front of Mother. I do not want to write what. There are some secrets that should burn with these walls.

She says we are horrible children. Both of us, but especially her. But why would I be so bad? I try to be good, but what can I do to change what they do to us? When I told her this, she said that it was my fault she was whipped- that the maid had told me about the books and that she had been searching on my request. That isn't true. I never asked any such thing. Perhaps she said it so I would seem more manly. I am only eight, though, and while the subject of sex is fascinating, it is not something I am particularly interested by in any way other than academic.

I asked her again why I am not good- does it make me good that I am so sorry that she was hurt? Does it make me good that I had made her a present to make her feel better? But she says no, it does not. If I were a good child, they would not want to send her to Switzerland to get away from me forever so she could take church vows. If I were a good child, they would not be so eager to send me to boarding school. But I cannot stand the thought of being without her. I told her I would do anything to keep us together, even pushing Father into the mine and blowing it up over him. We are the only family we have.

She has vowed to kill anyone who tries to separate us. I don't think she believed I could push Father into the mine, but when she said this...I believed her.