Sweet Satisfaction (Purple UGC Winner 2014)

Sweet Satisfaction - Forty-One

Forty-One

July, 1915

Brighton, Sussex, England

John was discharged from hospital in a wheelchair at the beginning of July. It was arranged we would go back to living with our parents, as they all agreed it would be too stressful for me to handle his fits and short temper. I felt a little relieved, but also angry that they deemed me not responsible enough to care for my own husband, when I was old enough to marry him, and there were nurses who had to deal with the distorted faces and bleeding wounds of the soldiers who’d be given Blighty tickets, which allowed them to come home.

Another change that was made with the coming of the new month was Mother started a knitting circle making garments for the injured soldiers. Many people had complained about the extravagance of my wedding and that the ‘posh folk’ weren’t doing their bit, and she was determined to prove them wrong.

*****

“Anything of major concern?”

“Not really.” I turned the page of The Brighton Herald over and scanned through the obituaries. Nearly all of them were for ‘our beloved son’, who was killed in action or died from wounds. I squinted at the tiny print at the bottom.

MR JOSEPH VITNER, OF IVY COTTAGE, WALL LANE, BRIGHTON, WAS ASSINATED ON THE 2ND OF THIS MONTH, IN MOSCOW, RUSSIA, LEAVING HIS WIFE ELIZA WIDOWED AND WITH THEIR BABY SON TO CARE FOR.

“Susanna, come here, read this!” She hurried over and I stabbed my finger at the place on the page. Her countenance was white when she’d finished.

“Is this…”

“Bobby’s sister Eliza? It might be; she has a baby, and they do live in a cottage!” I paused, brows furrowing, “Although, I thought her husband was a mariner.” I shook my head, dismissing the thought, alarm growing inside of me. Assassinated!

*****

On the way to Bobby’s house, I started feeling guilty again because I hadn’t given Bobby much thought since the accident. I didn’t really know what to do, since I was married now, but I truly did like Bobby, and I didn’t want to hurt his feelings by stopping our jaunts together.

The door to Bobby’s cottage burst open as Susanna and I were halfway down the path.

“Elsie, Susanna, come in.” His cheerful tone sounded strained and a little patronizing as we stepped through the door. I was instantly hit by the sound of someone’s tortured sobbing and my heart sunk. Bobby pressed his lips together in a firm line.

“Do you want to try and comfort her?” He obviously assumed we already knew, the reason for us arriving red of face and dishevelled in dress. We walked upstairs and he knocked on a bedroom door.

“Eliza, it’s only me. Elsie and Susanna are here, you remember them, don’t you? They’re your friends.” Were we? I questioned as I stepped into complete chaos. There were clothes, tissues, paper, feathers and glass strewn all about the floor. The curtains and wallpaper were ripped down and a lot of furniture was upturned.

Eliza was crouched in the corner, in just her nightdress, sobbing and wailing, a good number of empty whisky bottles littered beside her. Also beside her was another woman, who was rather plump and had permanent lines across her face. She was clothed in the colour of mourning already, her dress bordered by crepe, every strand of hair pulled back in a tight bun, making her look very formidable.

Eliza and I hadn’t really had a good first encounter. That was partly my fault because I had asked her who the father of her baby was, assuming she was living with her brother as the child was illegitimate, and she had become rather offended. Now I felt rather bad, for the baby’s father was dead.

I followed Susanna, picking my way through the mess. We asked her a few questions, crouched down beside her, Susanna stroking her arm, but Eliza’s chest heaved as she sobbed, and sobbed and sobbed as if her heart was being ripped out of her chest. The other woman looked up.

“You’re Elsie Kingston.” Feeling rather irritated, I wanted to retort ‘actually, I’m Elsie Knowlbodye now, and who are you?’ but I knew now was not the time. What did it matter, though, if I was Elsie Kingston? Why did everyone know me simply because I was an heiress?

“Come, let us go downstairs and have some tea,” Bobby said. Once we were out of earshot, he apologised for the mess and the state Eliza was in, and explained the woman was Joseph’s mother. “Why was Joseph assassinated?” Susanna wondered. Bobby sighed, placing three cups on the table.

“Turns out he was not with the merchant navy, but a spy organisation.” My heart missed a beat and I choked on the hot tea, burning my tongue in the process.

Bobby slid a piece of paper across the table for us to examine.

“This was found beside him, his death warrant. I know this sounds awfully rude, Elsie, but since you’re quite…connected, I thought you might recognise the seal?” The steam wafting out of the teacups vanished. The window shutters slammed at a sudden gust of wind. The seal was my father’s.