Sweet Satisfaction (Purple UGC Winner 2014)

Sweet Satisfaction - Three

Three

I blinked. Who was this girl? Judging by her surname and accent, she was not English. Had Rose given home to a refugee, with her caring, open heart?

“Emma, I told you to wait downstairs.” Rose barely kept the reproachfulness out of her voice. Emma shrugged her shoulders carelessly, which annoyed me, as all arrogant people do.

Rose’s eyes darted everywhere as she told Mary and I that Emma was the daughter of a friend of hers who lived nearby. My own eyes turned into mean slits. Was Rose so foolish to believe we would believe such a vague story? Seeds of betrayal grew inside me- why would Rose lie?

“Is Emma to sleep in our room?” Mary questioned, and I caught onto the hopefulness in her tone.

“Yes, I am,” Emma answered, smiling warmly at Mary but giving me a steely gaze. Beatrice had finished unpacking whilst all this was going on; Rose decided we should dine.

The dining room was quite spectacular. There were gold-framed portraits of generations of Kingstons on the walls, which were covered with William Morris’s intricate patterns. Silver goblets were placed in front of each throne-like chair and scented candles lit the dim room.

We feasted on a well-cooked roast with fresh potatoes and beans from the vegetable plot. The other three made sure I didn’t get a word in edgeways with their mindless chatter.

I sat upright, prodding my fork around moodily. Feeling left out, I made the excuse of having a migraine.

“Are you alright?” Rose wondered, swigging more of her Dewar’s Scotch whisky. Ah, yes, Rose loved to drink. I responded, saying I was fine and that I was probably just tired after all the travelling.

Beatrice pinned my hair in two plaits for bed and helped me into a newly embroidered white nightgown with pink ribbons. I slid under the thick softness in a sulk, clenching my fist.

My bottom lip stuck out the next day, as I was still in a sulk. Rose had told me I was too important, the golden heir, to injure myself playing with Mary.

A bitter taste of resentment filled my mouth when Emma was allowed to cavort with Mary in the wild but peaceful gardens every single day. She flashed me pixie-sweet smiles every now and then. She was the pretty girl, the girl who charmed Mary, the girl who hated me. Alright, running wild wasn't exactly proper behaviour for an heiress and was rather childish but Emma was a year older than me! If she really was the daughter of someone who lived nearby, she would be sitting next to me. Well, she wouldn't be, for she seemingly had a grudge against me for no reason. What had I even done?

It pained me to the depths of my aching, screaming heart that Rose had gone to my father’s side. She thought I needed protecting, so she let a stranger, a foreigner play with my sister. That certain foreigner detested me for no reason. She mimicked me, tried to trip me up, pointed at me and whispered to Mary. Then they would both burst out laughing.

I was so angry I scrunched up the sketch of Mary and Emma dangling, laughing, in the cherry trees. I scribbled all over Emma’s perfect face in a deep shade of red with one of my new Derwent pencils, representing the hatred and anger curling in my heart, heated flames of warning.

“You’re jealous, aren’t you?” Emma said smugly that night. I turned over in bed.

“No,” I snapped. In the darkness, she couldn’t see my face scrunch up in annoyance, but we could both feel we were enemies, even though Russia was on our side during the war.

I suddenly sat up as something stirred defensively inside me.

“Who can make such accusations when I can accuse them of having a stupid name? Emma, English and Aleksandrov, Russian; who would put the two together?” I laughed maliciously. Silence.

“I hate you,” Emma whispered, turning on the lights. She was seething uncontrollably. She took in deep breaths, eyes narrow and snake-like. Her teeth were clamped together so hard; they could shatter any second. Had I gone too far?

I cowered, seeing Emma possessed like this. Why was she so angry?  Mary opened her eyes in time to see Emma’s slender but lethal hand swipe violently across my cheek, which burned scarlet with uttermost regret.