Athenia's Choice (ON HOLD)

Athenia's Choice: Chapter Three

Chapter Three

Maybe I shouldn’t have been so nosy, or behaved like such a little flirt. It was my choice to. In that mere ten minutes before the Queen came through Tunbridge Wells, I found myself knowing dozens of facts about Charles’ history, though goodness knows why he felt obliged to tell me his life story.

His mother, Lady Ida De La Blois, had been disowned for marrying Charles’ drunkard father, Henry Beaumont, who only had a few farthings and halfpennies to his name. However, Ida’s mother went against her husband’s wishes to smuggle money to Ida for Charles and Cordelia’s upbringing.

I was only too glad that the time was filled with Charles’ talk, for I was still wary about talking about myself. What would happen if he asked about the lie I was guarding with my life?

Suddenly, Trumpets sounded and the crowds hustled forward as a glittering carriage came into view. Excitement brewed inside me as we were jostled and bumped by other people.

Sealed in the crush, Mrs Phillips could do nothing to stop me from slipping away with Charles. People tossed gifts through the air to Her Majesty, there were shouts and cries of 'We Adore you, Queen Vic!' and the lucky few came within close proximity to the carriage. However, it was another tedious twenty minutes before we came near her.

“Move forward, now!” Charles ushered, dragging me past groups of besotted royalists. My heart started thumping- I was going to see the most regal and important person in the whole of the country!

“Good day to you, Your Majesty!” I gabbled, bobbing a wonky curtsey. I was too in awe of the glamorous splendour of the finery she was decked out in to say anything else. Her smile was plastered on her face, yet she was still so breathtaking to look at, every intricate swirl of her hair glistening in the sunlight. I groaned as I saw Mrs Phillips bustling up to me.

“Goodness gracious, Athenia! Whatever are you doing with that drunken man’s son?” Having not heard properly, Her Grace called her burly-looking guards to remove the ‘harassing drunk gentlemen off the young lady’.

“You’ve got it wrong, my Queen! He means me no harm!” I yelled furiously, as Charles’ clasp was ripped apart from mine. I urged to reach out to him, flanked by the guards. I cried his name mournfully, thinking I would never see him again, after just getting to know each other.

“Mrs Phillips!” I moaned moodily. There was anger bubbling inside me, almost an ache inside my heart for Charles.

“You are disgracing yourself!” my tutor hissed, pulling me away from the gleaming carriage. I glared, very rudely, at Her Grace, as I was angry for her calling the guards upon Charles. All my love for her had gone, although you could smell it on all the waiting eager people. We went down alleyways until we came to a teashop Mrs Phillips deemed respectable for us to be seen in.

Mrs Phillips paid for some watery tea, which came with rock solid biscuits. I wished I had saved mine from earlier. I took my project out of my satchel and began the task of penning my visit to the Queen’s procession. I kept it very brief, not including the disastrous moments!

Mrs Phillips sniffed as I presented the page to her. She began crossing errors out with great pleasure. She ordered another cup of tea whilst labouring over correcting my spellings on a fresh piece of paper.

“Athenia?”

“Yes, Mrs Phillips?” I responded wearily, hand aching after so much writing.

“I don’t want you to see that man again.” I assumed that she was referring to Charles; more anger boiled over me.

“Mrs Phillips, you are not my mother and cannot tell me what to do!” I exclaimed, banging my fist on the table, eyebrows pinching into a glare. Mrs Phillips stood up, snapped at me to arrange my skirts, and then led me to the place where her carriage was parked. Frustration filled every nook and cranny of my body.

“Get in, child!” she snapped. I was already annoyed with her so I didn’t care about being cheeky.

“I am almost fifteen, I am nearly a woman!” I told her, my voice a balance between cold and crossness as the carriage started to move.

“Oh, and your way of showing that is exposing yourself in vulgar dresses?” Mrs Phillips retorted stonily, wagging a beefy finger. I pulled my dress up a bit, as the fine lace was unravelling.

I thought, alright, I wished, that Mrs Phillips would leave me in Bodiam, but the carriage continued towards the castle. I gulped. Father would give me a beating for wearing such a gaudy outfit. I felt my heart race faster with fear.

Mama, Mariettia, Casper, Oliver and Father (my whole family!) were all waiting outside, arms folded. Mrs Phillips seemed to understand, as she whispered to herself ‘oh’.

I clambered down from the carriage, shaking, dread wiping over me.

“I’m sorry,” I pleaded. Father looked towards Mrs Phillips, who was fiddling with her ringlets.

“You have led her astray. We trusted you, yet you have helped Athenia betray our trust.”

“No, Father! Mrs Phillips did not know, for she thought you knew about my trip to Tunbridge Wells for my project!” I cried. I had no idea why I was covering for her, taking the blame for myself. I mostly despised her. Yet, there was something deep inside me lashing out and making me rebel.

“She is not lying, Mr Reynalds.” Mrs Phillips assured him firmly. Father nodded that he believed her, and Mrs Phillips decided to leave,  wanting to 'avoid a scene'. It was the last time I ever saw her. Then, Father turned to me.

“You’re a disgrace!” he spat, pulling me forward by my dress so I was right up against him, inhaling the scent of tobacco wafting around him. I looked defiantly into his eyes that had such a murderous grey look about them. Tears began to brim in my eyes in our long stare, but I furiously pushed them away.

“Phillipe, no!” Mama warned, but he struck me anyway. Hard. Smashing into my cheek.  I fell to the ground. Burning scarlet, I clutched my dress as my body started spilling out, as the lace gave way. Mama gasped in perfect horror. The gravel paths’ stones dug into my skin, adding to the pain. Adding to the hurt. The hurt of many years.

Father grabbed me by my wrist, pulled me up, and dragged me inside. I was slung into the cupboard in the pantry, after a lot of kicking and struggling. My ribs ached from my fall, and my cheek would not stop burning, perhaps more now of humiliation. There was one small thing I could think of to give a weak smile at; I had kept my promise to myself to speak to the Queen.