Sweet Satisfaction (Purple UGC Winner 2014)

Sweet Satisfaction - Fourteen

Fourteen

I lifted up my skirts as I stepped out of Father’s sky blue automobile. The wind threatened to tug my silk automobile bonnet away; the clouds had settled in, a violent grey to match my mood.

The Knowlbodye estate was enormous and just on the other side of Brighton. The hedges and lawns were pristine, the hung sash windows sparkled, despite being Georgian… everything was unreal. Mary’s eyes were brimming with amazement as we walked through a corridor full of marble busts of generations of Knowlbodyes adorned with jewels: rubies, sapphires, pearls and a rare lapis lazuli beamed at me.

“Now dear,” Mother fretted, “it’s only the Gascons, Bringhams and the Forte-Majors here as well.” I stumbled in my silver-heeled boots. Only those people? I felt faint as we reached the hall doors and the butler promptly pushed them open.

“Mr Albert Kingston, Mrs Isabella Kingston, Miss Mary Kingston and Miss Elsie Kingston,” he announced as we walked forward into a glinting world of rich colours, from chandeliers and goblets to the most expensive of attires. The sea of faces at the dark, wooden, shiny dining table was a menacing monster, waiting to gobble me up at any slip-up.

John Knowlbodye Senior stepped forward, with his mousy, timid French wife Jacqueline hanging onto his arm.

“We are delighted to welcome you,” he said, “please sit down.” Jacqueline guided Mary and my parents to their places and John personally took me to my prestigious seat at the top of the table. I could sense the eager anticipation, the muffled whispers as I went by. Was my skirt a couple of inches too short above my ankle?

John bade the waiters come in and soon mounds of pheasants, potatoes, green leeks and beetroots were in front of me. The smell of it all was gorgeously enticing but the nausea building up inside me battled the temptation to eat.

“So,” John Senior began, apparently addressing me over the hubbub of gossip, “What interests do you have?” I gulped and Father shot me a furious look.

“Well,” I answered, palms sticky as I started to become the centre of attention, “I especially enjoy painting. I like music, poetry, and dancing. I enjoyed my studies.”

John laughed, clapping his hand on someone’s shoulder. My stomach gave a violent lurch. John Knowlbodye Junior’s shoulder. Our eyes connected for a moment as I took in his stiff, upright position, lean, tall build, narrow eyes and lips and perfectly tweaked moustache. He had inherited his mother’s black hair and father’s steely persona.

“Studies, eh?” John Senior laughed, “Oho, Albert (my Father turned his head) I hope you haven’t made her too clever for my Johnny.”

“No, she stopped studying at sixteen. Women should not have the great privileges of education,” Father responded.

“Hear, hear!” boomed Stephen Forte-Major.

All the women around us blushed but none harder than me. Fury pounded in my head, not shame. I was as good as any man to know the secrets of the sciences! (Even if I didn’t particularly care for them.) However this indignant feeling swelling inside of me was squashed by John Senior’s announcement that I was going away with his son to be presented privately with my engagement ring.

Everything became fuzzy, all I can remember was walking along the table, everyone’s eyes burning into me. And then I was walking through a door into a room. With him. All alone. I could hear my own shaky breathing at John’s belittling gaze. Slowly, he opened the box he was holding. I saw the piercing glint. I pressed one hand to my mouth and the other to my stomach, backing towards the door. I couldn’t do this, I honestly couldn’t.  With one sweaty hand, I pulled the knob but it was locked.

“Let. Me. Out,” I whispered hoarsely, heart pumping. John suddenly grabbed me, pulling me so close to him that the itchy stubble on his chin scratched me.

“Elsie, you can’t botch this up. My father has been beating my infertile mother. I was out in Spain, under doctor’s orders, gravely ill. This is my only chance,” he gabbled, through gritted teeth.

The fear locked away underneath his skin was slowly being unlocked and seeping into his frightened expression. He rammed the ring on my finger. I squealed a little ‘ow’ twisting and twisting; my skin was burning like a volcano as it swelled and swelled, and it wouldn’t come off. I couldn’t marry him. I couldn’t do this. I wasn’t ready. This was my life, this was my choice.

 I let out a cry of despair as John leaned closer to me. I stumbled backwards in my stupid hobble dress, arms failing, one arm flying into his face as I crashed to the ground. My back seared in agony. I wanted someone to fling open the doors and save me. I wanted John to realise that my punch was an accident. Why was- His eyes popped and I slid backwards, cowering, paralysed with horror, his hand raised to beat me.