The Ember In The Storm (undergoing editing)

Chapter 6: Returns

   WRITING letters was seen as a piece of literature that required patience and skill as it had been a work done for years and years.

Letter writing was not something as widely practiced in the 18th century by women. Most of them were not educated or allowed to. 

Many who had been caught writing were suspected of espionage and were lynch. Consequently, this spread fear in many of them to stop.

With so, men were expected to write letters for women and were normalized as the superior sex.

The only woman Elizabeth knew that could write was Vaughn. Apparently the rules did not apply to her, she did have a way of getting things done how she wanted them to.

And now as we learnt, so did Elizabeth herself.

With Jackson's sheets and quill in hand, she expressed herself fully on the blank pages.

"Romeo and Juliet will be having quite the competition," she smiled proudly. "A new generation is coming through. Say good morning to Elizabeth and Henry."

She furrowed her eyebrows.

"Unnatural that I used my own name, yes—but," she tried to compose herself. "And how confusing it may be since Henry is an English name."

"Alas! This is terrible!" She cried to herself, crumpling the written papers up in her hands.

In a sudden moment, the bedroom doors opened, causing her to shove the papers away into the drawers and strike the bowl of ink onto the floor.

She cursed under her breathe—not lady-like—and bent over to pick the small bowl, trying her best to wipe the black disaster off the floor with some papers.

"I was hoping to find you in here," Senior Anderson's voice echoed from across the room. Elizabeth lifted her head and spotted him standing at the door, merely ten feet from where she was.

He was dressed quite ravishingly for a regular afternoon; green dressing that paired with brown shoes, his hair sleeked back into a ponytail as he held his silver-topped cane in his right hand.

Elizabeth presumed he was leaving for an important event. He only ever carried that cane for such.

"Oh, yes. I was just cleaning Master Jackson's table before you walked in," she responded in anxious attempt to clean the ink off of the wooden floors. She internally praised God that it had not slipped onto the white rug three feet ahead of her instead. Only He knows what would have happened to her if so.

"Good... he is the exact reason I have come here," Senior Anderson spoke, closing the door behind him before making his way towards her. His cane and shoes tipping hard against the wooden floors.

Elizabeth remained on the floor, only staring at the dark shoes making their way towards her until the man was only a foot away.

The close proximity unsettled her.

"You do know he will be coming back today, do you not?"

"He will?" Her tone pitched. She cleared her throat and shut whatever excitement she had back in the depths of her stomach. "I did not know that. I was not informed."

"You never know anything," he retorted, bringing the cold end of his cane to her left cheek with sheer force.

Elizabeth stumbled back but managed to hold herself from falling, eyes widening in absolute perplexity whilst she held a hand to the aching side of her face.

He brought the end to her chin and lifted her head to meet his gaze. She did not resist. 

Senior Anderson's face darkened in revulsion, he snarled down at her in a way a wealthy man would only look at an indigent—which in this case she actually was.