Sweet Satisfaction (Purple UGC Winner 2014)

Sweet Satisfaction - Fifty-Eight

Fifty-Eight

I stared at John in disbelief.

“Alice isn’t mad!” He stood up abruptly and paced the room.

"Leave us please, Sarah.” She nodded and turned. John stared at me, crouched on the floor, clutching my rib, with trembling, bloodied hands and tears rolling continuously.

“You know Alice Kingston isn’t your real grandmother.” I took a deep breath, and nodded.

“I had sort of assumed that, because Father called her ‘Rose’s filthy mother’ and Rose referred to her as her mother only.” John’s eyes widened.

“I thought you knew.”

“Knew what?”

“Anastasia, your real grandmother, is in Bedlam.”

*****

I spent hours in my bedroom, weeping. The heat had subsided and the leaves on the trees were shining gold, emerald and ruby in their brilliance. Sarah Jane Miller, her daughter Thomasina and newly arrived husband Thomas continued to stay with us.

I was so hurt that everyone had been lying to me, all over again. Was Father too ashamed of his mother? Anastasia was such a beautiful name, compared to Elsie, which was such a common East End name. I sent an angry letter to Mother, demanding the truth about Benjamin and my ancestors, and why Anastasia was in Bedlam, for John only knew so much.

*****

John slipped a note through the door every day, because I refused to get up. All I could do was cry. The notes told me I was either pretty or witty or lovely. I unfurled the newest one:

Of all the ladies in the land, none of them was as grand, as the one named Elsie.

Shock paralysed my body. These were the exact same words on Mary’s love note, the one I had picked up before Emma threatened me, a few days before my wedding. My wedding to John. I clutched my stomach; it was a similar elegant cursive. I thought Bobby having an affair with my best friend was bad, but if these hands were the same, then John had been writing love notes to my little sister.

*****

“Elsie, where are you going?” Sarah asked, as I hobbled down the steps at the back of the veranda.

“I don’t know,” I sobbed. I needed air, a place to think. I could hardly do that in the bedroom, with its garish orange-as-a-Satsuma and lurid yellow and green flowery wallpaper staring at me.

My feet were aching, my throat was sore from my raw sobbing, and my rib had almost given up on me by the time I collapsed into the rowing boat on the lake. Sometimes I wished I could fall asleep in the water, because then I’d know that I wouldn’t wake up. I wished I had had the courage to pierce the glass further, so the blood kept on running. I didn’t see the point in living any more; I had been betrayed by all those who loved me.

My arms were like propellers as I frantically paddled out, vision blinded by hatred and hurt and revenge. Why was this happening to me?

“Elsie!” John’s bellow rung across the land so hard it seemed to vibrate. I didn’t want to see his irresistibly handsome face, still puckered and scarred. Why had he saved me? Why would anyone want to save me? I took a few deep breaths. Perhaps I was behaving rashly, maybe it was just a mistake, maybe their handwriting was just a little similar. Maybe it was all in my head, maybe I was trying to see betrayal everywhere?

I jerked around, trying to turn back, and then I saw her. Ludmilla was standing at the edge of the forest.

“John!” I screamed, so hoarsely, so crucified, it ached my chest. I was sweating all over, desperately trying to paddle back, as she ran towards me, a hooded demon. She was going to kill me. Kill me. Kill me. Drown me. Drown me. Benjamin. Benjamin. BENJAMIN.

John had thrown down his walking stick and was racing towards me. I tumbled out of the boat, barely able to breath, onto the ground. Ludmilla’s arms were around me. I felt the water lapping at my feet as I struggled and screeched.

“John!” I yelled, as my rib seemed to splinter into pieces as I fought back. I couldn’t die. No matter how much I hated myself, I couldn’t die. Footsteps. BANG.

I twisted around, seeing John fall on his back, dodging the bullet. In wild desperation, I felt for the small dagger I still kept on a belt around my waist, slithered upwards, and plunged the blade into Ludmilla’s heart.