My Mother's Daughter

Chapter 14

Elizabeth grimaced. That was her favourite bottle of perfume she'd thrown against the door. She hadn't realised she grabbed it until it was sailing through the air without restraint. Her temper was becoming uncontrollable. She felt like strangling the child. Indeed, Rebecca was her mother's daughter, and she despised the girl even more for it. A pillow had fallen onto the carpeted floor. With all her might, she flung it onto the bed, only for the soft cushion to catapult off the other side.

Frustrated, Elizabeth silently screamed and stamped her feet, like a child throwing a tantrum. Her eyes flashed like lightning in a thunderstorm as she stripped the case from the pillow, using it as a trash bag to shove the photos and musical scripts into.

How many more of her mother's filthy possessions does Rebecca have, Elizabeth wondered. It was a mistake to believe she had ridded the house of her late friend's worldly treasures. Why were they appearing piece by piece to torment her? She really underestimated her stepdaughter. Who would have thought the girl could be so clever?

Regardless, her stepdaughter was just a foolhardy girl, while Elizabeth was a grown woman with a lot more life experience. For the sake of her husband, she had spared the child from harm. However, if the imp was truly determined to expose her secrets and ruin everything she worked extremely hard to gain, then it was the girl's own fault if she met her demise. Besides, the girl has no concrete evidence anyway.

Elizabeth showered. The bath lasted fifteen minutes. The warm water left her feeling refreshed and rejuvenated. Dressed in a fitted, long sleeved burgundy dress, and hair styled in a classical twist, she felt empowered and ready to battle with any beast or dragon.

With a final assessment of her figure in the mirror, Elizabeth glided to the door and pulled it open. She barely managed to mute the scream. There standing directly in front the doorway was a life-sized cardboard model of her stepdaughter. The image was smiling mischievously, arms folded.

Elizabeth grunted her frustration and grabbed the object, but immediately pulled away as her hands and sleeves got marred in wet, sticky paint. Uncaring that her expensive outfit was now ruined, she grabbed it again, and clumsily dragged it down the stairs. Using the directions supplied by the frightened servant, she strode to the living room. Two pairs of eyes glanced forward, startled.

"What the hell is this?" Elizabeth blurted. Her breathing was irregular, her face flushed.

"A life size replica of myself Elizabeth. What else does it look like?" Rebecca answered slowly, as if talking to a slow learner.

"I know what it is you brat! Why was it standing in front of my door?" Elizabeth shouted.

"Now come on, that's not fair Elizabeth. There is no need for you to be insultive." Edward said calmly.

"Oh really? And are you here every day to listen to how she insults and is unruly to me? She may look like an angel, but I assure you she's not. Maybe it's time you look beyond her disguise Edward, because believe me you'll be surprised at what you'll find!" Elizabeth threw down the model and quickly departed to change her clothes. Her fragile composure had shattered and her temper erupted like lava from a volcano. Enough was enough.

Edward turned from watching his wife's exit and stared at his daughter painting the hair on her next model unperturbed.

"Is what she claims true Becca?" Is anything she ever says true, Rebecca thought, but answered differently.

"Do you believe her?" Edward sighed. He didn't know what or whom to believe. However, he was certain his daughter did nothing without having a reason, and he trusted her. Yet, as parents, he needed to side with his wife. And as a father, he needed to show compassion and understanding.

"I'd like to hear your side of the story."

"Fine. What do you want to know?"

"Are you unmannerly towards her?"

"No."

"Are you lying?" It was her turn to sigh.

"It's complicated."

"You've got the whole day to let me understand." But would you like what you hear, she wondered. Instead, she decided to keep to the sidelines.

"She's... it's just that no matter what I do, I'll never live up to her expectations. She hates me, and although I try my best to be obedient, in her eyes if I just sit and be quiet, I'm still being unmannerly. She's the rude one father, and I'm trying to get along with her but... we're too different. Like oil and water. We agree on nothing."

Edward listened intently to his daughter's explanation. He knew she was holding something back, but did not ask what. She would tell him when she was ready, he could wait.

"Becca, come here." She stopped painting and went to her father. He embraced her.

"I know your stepmother can be hard on you at times, but she's only doing the best she can to be a good mother to you." Rebecca stiffened and her voice became hard as she spoke.

"She'll never be a mother to me, much less a good one. I only had and still have one mother and no other woman shall ever take her place in my heart or my home. Especially her." Edward hugged his daughter tighter.

"I understand what you're saying sweetheart, but can't you at least try not to ruffle your stepmother's feathers?" Rebecca smiled tightly, and forced the tension drain away.

"Sure father, but she's only doing that to herself. One day she might just show you why she gets so worked up over everything." Rebecca reluctantly left the comfort of her father's arm and returned to her painting. Edward studied her a moment longer, and did not reply. Finally, he picked up his paintbrush and continued painting.

He decided to put his daughter's last statement to the back of his mind. Somehow he knew it might be of importance in the future.

Dressed in a maize cotton jacket, jet black silk top and lace skirt, Elizabeth tried to pacify her tattered emotions by clothing herself in elegance. She was madder than a hatter and wanted to cause chaos like an untamed stallion, but she stayed calm. She had called herself a fool over and over again for exploding in front of her husband, and especially her stepdaughter. Who knew if the little imp had rattled on her in revenge.

At the bottom of the stairs she paused. There stood the painting that had frightened her earlier. The smudges from her fingers were now repainted. Further down the hall she saw another model, then another, and another. All had the same mischievous smile and eyes that warned, "I know your deepest secret."

Elizabeth breathed deeply. There was no need for her to let the girl get on her nerves. She could ignore her. No more satisfaction she would give the girl. Without a second glance, she walked past the paintings, and on her way to the sitting room she peered into the living room.

Edward and his daughter were still painting in deep concentration. It almost seemed impossible that her earlier explosion had even occurred. She continued to her destination. In front of the sitting room stood another model. This one's facial expression was serious, the eyes half closed. Elizabeth walked up to it and whispered,

"You think this is funny, don't you Rebecca. Well, I'm not going to let you get to me, so it looks like your plan is failing miserably." She chuckled nastily, then stopped and turned. There stood a maid with a duster in hand, staring at her with wide eyes.

"What are you staring at? Do I pay you to stand around?" Snapped Elizabeth. The startled maid hurried away quickly.

Elizabeth entered the sitting room and pondered on what to do to occupy her time before breakfast arrived.