Sweet Satisfaction (Purple UGC Winner 2014)

Sweet Satisfaction - Sixty

Sixty

October, 1915

England

“So,” Mother began, eyeing me from across the compartment.

“So,” I repeated shakily. Then Mother let out a sob, and I flung myself at her, careful to mind her stomach, letting her rock me on her lap. It was so lovely to be back with my family, the people who could protect me from evil. Well, maybe not the Kaiser.

As I had been waiting on the platform to join them on the train, the group of ladies next to me could talk nothing about the Emperor, who I had taken little attention to before, thinking a man in Germany couldn’t hurt me. Perhaps he was the one who had ordered the Zeppelin attack in Kings Lynn, the bombings which still made me twist and turn in my sleep.

“Oh Elsie, my precious little Elsie, what have I done to you?” My chin rested on her sharp-shoulder bone, and I looked over at Mary, who was watching us jealously, sadly. She had gotten her hair cut, which seemed to strengthen it, for it was glowing caramel with silky radiance.

My own hair was still black, a constant reminder of Ludmilla. And suddenly I poured everything out, regardless of Emma’s presence, although I didn’t mind her that much any more. They listened, crying out in horror. I shed an abundance of tears, cheeks burning and voice lowering when I told them how Ludmilla had died.

I opened the compartment window; I needed fresh air. The train tooted, the sheep in the meadows we passed bleated, and I breathed in air; English air. I was back with Mother, my mother who had a round protruding belly, who was carrying my brother or sister.

“Brother or sister,” I muttered out loud. Mother swallowed.

“Natalya knew it would cause your father more pain to lose his heir. I should’ve told you before, I’m sorry, I’m so sorry Elsie. She and Ludmilla did drown your brother. (Mother closed her eyes at this point, hand to her mouth.) Natalya pleaded insanity, and escaped the hangman’s noose, while Ludmilla escaped the country. And yes, your real grandmother is a woman named Anastasia, who is in Bedlam.”

I could’ve been the one who drowned, but my brother was chosen, as he was more valuable. If the two women hadn’t decided to get revenge I would’ve been Mary, always second best, the one with the jealous eyes.

“What happened to-”

“No more questions please, Elsie.” Mother closed her eyes, hand to her stomach.

“But-”

“She’s tired, Elsie, let her rest,” Mary snapped softly.

For a while, we all sat there silently, watching the sky fuse into a kaleidoscope of magenta, flame and ink-blue. We shifted in the red padded seats, listening to the steady chug of the train, which was carrying us to Mother’s home, to the family we had never met.

My family also consisted of John, who had gone back to Brighton after having one of his seizures on the journey across the turbulent seas. How I had feared for his life as he lay moaning, sweating, the floorboards stained with sick. We had also difficulty boarding; my passport’s picture depicted my hair as being blonde, and security was obviously tight because of the war.

I picked up the newspaper beside me, looking for news on the war which I might have missed during my time away, praying for good news.

MONDAY 11 OCT 1915

NEWCASTLE JOURNAL

NORTH COUNTRY NOTES

… death of Mr Fergus Bowes-Lyon, fourth son of Lord and Lady Strathmore. Particularly sad, as he leaves a young wife whom he was married only…

Bulgaria declares war on Serbia.

I shut the newspaper abruptly. It didn’t matter how important you were, the war was affecting everyone, tearing families apart, leaving a generation of women young widows, or spinsters with an engagement ring full of empty promise.

For if Bulgaria had now declared war on Serbia too, where the war had originated between them and Austria over the assassination of the Archduke Franz Ferdinand last year, then I assumed the war would be going on for a lot longer than being over by Christmas, which was last year’s prediction.

“The black accentuates your cheekbones.” I looked up, startled, seeing Emma cocking her head, examining me as if I were a specimen in a museum.

“Why did Natalya try to stab my grandmother, and how did Mother know?” I asked suddenly, remembering the reason why we were chugging down to Cornwall, looking over at my still sleeping Mother.

“Her father sent a letter, demanding answers,” Mary replied. She paused, looking at Emma.

“Natalya said that this was a warning, and that she was coming to take what was rightfully hers.”

AN: The newspaper article featured is real and I do not own it although I have changed words where the text has been transcribed badly.