A/N:
Q: How do you feel about Rose's idea of escape?
A: I'm so, so, SO proud of her. Whether she ends up with Matthew or not, I'm glad she's decided her self-confidence, and life do not depend on it. What do you think?
Enjoy the chapter.
IIII
"IT IS HARDLY YOUR HOME at all," came a voice. Victoria. She strode out of one of the halls of the mansion. Her midnight tresses were swirled in a bun at the nape of her neck, a stray curl bounced in her face. She wore a burgundy-colored velvet dress, that was particularly tight. It accentuated all of her features, including the small bump she, I realized, was trying desperately to display.
Victoria was giving my family an extremely peculiar expression. It was a countenance that could neither be described as welcoming or uninviting. It could be described as perfectly cool.
"Very well. It is neither your house either, a mistress never owns anything but the possessions bestowed upon her. Expensive little trinkets," I replied with a serene smile. Victoria gazed up at me, eyes glowing with distaste. I merely widened my grin.
"Won't you introduce us Rose?" Sarah asked, in a voice suggesting she was ordering a child. I shook my head.
"Introduce? I couldn't do such such a thing. I didn't even know her name until two days prior from today," I informed. The level of tension in the room raised. I could practically see it. "Well, I spoke, you are all here on Mr. Whitfield's and Victoria's behalf. We all know this marriage will become nothing very soon, I see no reason to get on with formalities."
"You mean manners, dear?" Agnes almost spat. I carelessly lifted my shoulders and lowered them again.
"Whatever you might regard them as. I don't see any reason to conduct myself with 'manners' towards you," I announced. All eyes were on me now. Narrowed, hateful, with lips pinched.
"Why not?" Hector drawled. He strung out all his words purposefully, as if he still had the authority to punish me.
"It is due to the fact that I despise you, I paused, the lot of you."
🥀
I hadn't bothered to stay after I'd said that. I'd walked to my room, and stayed there, until it was time for me to dine in private. And that night, for whatever had been in my mind, I had the strangest urge to visit the garden. So I did. I quietly marveled against the beauty of the petals in the moonlight. It had been but a dry expanse of vegetation when I first married. Dead.
I had changed everything. Removing the roots, fertilizing the soil, planting the seeds. Watering the plants. It had grown into a land with tens and tens of flowers. I had made it beautiful.
Just at that moment, I heard sounds. The sounds that make young girls blush and old men look away. Those sounds. I first felt a flash of annoyance. It was my territory, and I disliked the fact that Matthew and Victoria were...
Well. I suppose you know. Flushed and irritated, I was ready to retreat to my room.
"Victoria," Matthew muttered. Only it wasn't Matthew. The voice was primal and gruff, lacking the calm authority that Matthew's voice possessed. And I recognized it. An ironic smile played on my lips.
Hector.
The noises ceased, but I could still made out labored breathing. Nothing crucial followed, nothing worth noting anyway. They hadn't heard me come, so I was certain they wouldn't hear me go. I left.
🥀
I had a dream that I was standing alongside Matthew's child. He had Victoria's glowing eyes and her black locks. He was a handsome child, but so perfectly disturbing. He screamed, "Harlot" and threw hot oil in my face. I screamed.
It seemed the cries worked their way to my conscious mind, for I awoke screaming. After a few minutes, I quieted. No one slept at my wing of the house, and I was confident my relatives had taken their rooms somewhere else. Even so, I reflected, who would come to see if I fared well through the night anyway?
Seeing the warm glare of the sun through my window pane, I threw back my covers, ready to start the day.
🥀
Every morning a servant delivers my daily meal at my bed chambers. I prefer the privacy of my room, and anyway, I don't dine with anyone anyhow. This particular servant belonged to our kitchen staff. This morning was different. She didn't come at her usual eight-o'clock sharp. It didn't take long for me to realize why.
There were only the three of us under this roof, thus, Matthew saw no reason to have but a few people for cooking. Now they were seven people, where the prepared food had to be even better because of the guests presence. They must've needed all hands, and I, came as a last priority. Which meant I would have to fetch my own meal, and consequently, converse with everyone downstairs.
I tried my very best not to dwell on this as I descended down the staircase. I headed down to the kitchen, avoiding the dining hall. Just as I expected, the kitchen was bustling. Phrases, commands, orders, and smells were everywhere. I was quiet, and extremely unnoticeable when I wanted to be. In some situations, I demanded respect. I deserved it.
This was one of those occasions.
"Ahem," I voiced. I stamped my foot for emphasis. The kitchen quieted, though the work didn't come to a complete stop.
"Marigold," someone spoke through grit teeth. The blond haired girl that had usually always served me, rushed to my side.
"My apologies, she didn't quite meet my eye, it completely slipped my mind to give your meal." She made no move to do anything else.
"Well I don't think 'sorry' is going to feed me. Do you?" I asked sarcastically. The girl, Marigold, shook her head. My hands came together with a resounding clap.
"Then you shall give me something that can. Fresh goat cheese and black tea, mind, with two lumps of sugar. No cream. And make sure to give me a lot of sausage," I dictated. Marigold bit her lip.
"I don't care whether the Royal Family is behind those doors, which they are not, you will do as you have always done. Now, I added with great fervor, I will be in my bed chambers. If I am not given my food before fifteen past nine, we shall have a serious problem. Understood?"
Marigold nodded with equal fervor. I stared at her briefly.
"Good. I will be waiting," I said.
Once I exited the kitchen, I momentarily paused to triumph in my ability to avoid everyone.
It was short-lived.
For exiting the lavatory at that exact moment (it was a few steps away from where I paused) was Andrew. He was taking steps toward the dining hall, and stopped when he saw me. His eyes softened. I tore mine away from his in disgust.
"You have grown into a beautiful young woman," he said softly.
"Was I not a woman when I married?" I inquired. He shook his head sadly.
"No. You were only but a girl," he informed. I felt anger swell within me.
"Mayhap. Mayhap I was a girl. No one was ever there to teach me the ways of a woman," I replied bitterly.
"Rose-" Andrew started.
"You watched them! You watched them torment me. And you were there...you were there when he burned me!" I suddenly burst. He suddenly remained very still. Almost as if caught in a trap. I turned. Matthew. He was rooted in his spot, almost as petrified as Andrew, ocean-blue eyes shocked.
"Burned?" he finally uttered. I had kept it a secret, all these years. Locked the truth of what happened away. Not even Elisabeth knew why I wore the veil, or what was underneath. Why keep it hidden now? With rage and sudden bravery fueling my emotions, I ripped it off.
Shock cloaked his features.
"My father was a drunk. An aristocrat, wealthy, and thriving. But a drunk. He used to beat me often, and naturally, I hated it. I hid in the kitchen to escape him, but he found me. Slurring, swearing, and violent my father lunged toward me. The cook was preparing fried potatoes for our dinner and he....he picked up the pot. It was filled with frying potato and hot oil. And he threw it at me," I cried.
No one said anything. No one moved. No one breathed.
Well, I thought, isn't this the perfect example of impropriety?
"My word, you are not as hideous as I dreamed. You're worse," someone said. Victoria. And when I saw her, the realization of what I'd done came crashing. I had made a terrible mistake. I couldn't hear the rest of her jeers, they started to blur.
I could make out my aunts whispers about how I bore the resemblance to a mutt, and the hateful eyes of my uncles. All except Andrew. Black spots began to appear before my eyes, the earth began to swirl around me. Then everything was black. And I welcomed it.
🥀
When I awoke, I didn't want to be awake. I wanted it to be dark and peaceful again. I didn't want to be conscious. I dreaded it.
"Rose?" a voice inquired softly. Heavily-accented. I couldn't for the life of me recognize it. It was just as well. I didn't want to. "Rose?" the voice repeated. I ignored it once more. "Rose?" The voice asked again. This time, it was much closer. I could feel the breath of the unknown person against my cheek. I felt a warm sensation shoot through me. I could also detect their scent. Fresh soap and shaving foam.
Fresh soap and shaving foam?
Matthew.
I was dumbfounded. Matthew sounded nothing like the accented voice I was hearing. Out of curiosity, I blinked my eyes open. Matthew was standing over me, eyes soft. Jaw tightened.
"You're awake," he said. Straightening himself, he looked away from me. "Your relatives told me they wanted to see you as soon as you came to," he said.
"Have you truly no compassion? I hate them, they all hate me. They would like nothing more than to see me like this, vulnerable. So they can leave me even more powerless," I said. There was silence. I absently touched my face, only to come in contact with my skin. I had taken off my veil.
The regret of my decision must have appeared on my face, because I noticed that Matthew was avoiding my eye to an obvious degree.
"Where is it?" I asked.
"I don't know," he replied. He then glanced at me.
"Don't cry," he whispered. I touched my face once more. Tears were rolling down my cheeks, I hadn't even realized it. I saw the pity in his face. I should've hated it. But I didn't.
"Now you know why I wore it. Why I wear it," I explained. Matthew's jaw shifted.
"I'm sorry, he started, but it's too late."
My heart sank. Why had I thought that my reveal would change anything?
"I'm going to have a child, with the woman I love. That has not changed. This marriage, you and I both know, was never going to last. Mayhap if you had taken your veil off that night...it would've been different," he said quietly.
The secret of the murder plot burned on my tongue. Just last night, "the woman he loved" was sleeping with another man. I wanted so badly to tell him.
But what would be the point?
The circumstances hadn't changed, not really. Either way, I looked like the desperate pathetic woman. Wanting not but attention and love she had clearly rarely received. Besides, love was quite a blind thing.
He would never believe me. I looked around. We were in my bed chambers.
"I think it would be wise you take your leave now Mr. Whitfield," I told him. He turned to go.
"I despise you, the lot of you," the words sprung from my mouth.
"You cannot help love, Rose. You cannot," were his final words. Then he left.
🥀
I sat on my bed, unmoving, for several moments. Then, I moved to where I stored my clothing to don a new veil. After securing it, I was decided.
It was very clear the direction my life was turning to. I fancied I could go for carriage ride in the countryside, scope out where I wanted to live after the divorce. No one could stop me.
Once I arrived outside, there was already a carriage stationed in front of the house. The door opened, and Frances stepped out. The footmen helped Elisabeth out, but she hardly noticed. They seemed to be in the works of exchanging an argument. And by the looks of it, it was heated. Then, there gazes fell upon me.
I seemed to be having a knack for discovering people's little plots and hidden moments.
"Mr. and Mrs. DuBois," I said with a curt nod, before proceeding to walk away. I really could care less about whatever they were saying. Then I felt an arm at shoulder.
"Rose!" Elisabeth exclaimed. I turned to face her. I could see traces of unshed tears in her eyes.
Oh goodness.
I was already amidst a great deal of tribulations myself, including hurt feelings. I really didn't have the time, or heart, to have to help Elisabeth through her's. As selfish as it was, I lacked the ability to care.
"What?" I asked tiredly. She drew back at my disinterested tone. I didn't miss Frances' calculating gaze in our direction.
"Where are you going?" she asked.
"I'm not sure that's any of your business's Mrs. DuBois," I said sharply. Elisabeth was now squeezing my arm.
"Oh Rose, she said sorrowfully, don't be that way."
"Be what way? You made it abundantly clear at our last meeting we were no longer friends. I am acting upon that word. You should go, I jut my head in Frances' direction, your husband is waiting for you." Elisabeth looked as if I'd slapped her.
With a shake of my arm, I walked away. Now to find a carriage.
🥀
Our footman was nowhere to be seen, neither our carriage driver. When I arrived at the stables, all I saw were a line of gorgeous purebreds, in their respective places of the stable. But no one, human anyway, in sight.
Before my marriage, I had hardly ventured out anywhere. Anywhere I went, my veil earned me unneeded attention. Besides, I had already been the only girl among my peers that was shapely. There had already been snickers and whispers.
Thus, I didn't know how to get in an out of the kingdom, I hardly knew where the countryside was. I sighed. Without someone to drive the carriage and direct the way, my efforts were hopeless. I looked at one of the horses and sighed in defeat. If I left now, how would I ever find my destination? Or find my way back?
One of the horses let out a loud neigh, interrupting my thoughts. The horse was clomping his hooves down on his straw floor, blowing loudly through his nostrils. He looked antsy. I approached it, and gently touched the bridge of his nose.
"Do you want to go for a ride?" I whispered gently to the horse. Maybe it was just instant response he had developed, or perhaps I imagined it, but he nodded. Well, a ride around the property surely couldn't hurt. In any case, it was quite big. After retrieving a saddle and bridle, I guided the horse out of the stables.
He was very obedient, almost patient, as I saddled him and put on the bridle. I had done this sort of thing before, but over ten years ago. It was in the happier days of my childhood, before the death of my mother. Before my father had turned into a monster. We had all rode together every evening.
When I was finished, I got over top of him, with more grace than I predicted. As soon as I was over top of him, he started to gallop at full speed. I pulled desperately at the reigns and yelling every time of command I could think of, but to no avail.
Eventually we reached the end of the property, and he took a sharp turn to the nearby woods. It seemed it was not I who was taking him for a ride. It was him who was taking me.
But why had the horse memorized the route anyway?
And where was he taking me?