Sweet Satisfaction (Purple UGC Winner 2014)

Sweet Satisfaction - Seventy-Three

Seventy-Three

Mockery was punching me repeatedly in the stomach, laughing and laughing at my stupidity. Mary’s face creased up, hand to her mouth, shaking her head as she sobbed. Everything was unravelling now.

“Anastasia’s brother was Vladmir Aleksandrov! Vladmir married my aunt Emma Englewood. Vladmir and Emma were the parents of Natalya, Natalya Aleksandrova,” Mother said.

“And Natalya’s daughter was Emma Aleksandrov,” I whispered.

“Yes,” Mother’s eyes lit up in surprise, “Although it would be Aleksandrova, the custom in Russia being an ‘a’ on the girls’ surnames. How did you know her name was Emma?” Mother paused, “Of course. Emma, our housekeeper.”

“Emma thought it sounded better without the ‘a’,” Mary whispered. We all fell silent.

I went over and tried the knob of the door. Locked. I kicked at it, punching and punching. Then I slid down into a heap and sobbed. Emma was my cousin. Emma was Natalya’s daughter. Her mother had killed my twin. Emma wanted revenge on my father too. Where was Emma now? Was that why she applied to become Mary’s maid?  I was really Elsie Maxwell. The girl with no inheritance. The girl betrayed by everyone. I felt like I was broken inside, so empty.

My thoughts turned to Father, returning home to find us all disappeared, and John, telling me as he left that nothing bad would happen. Did he even love me? Because I loved him. I loved him. I loved John. I honestly loved John. And now he would be training somewhere, probably training to die, and I would never get to tell him how much I loved him, his body laying pierced by the barbed wire, or a sniper’s shot. I started sobbing uncontrollably.

I walked over to the tiny window, but it was steamed up with condensation and had no handle. What would we break it with anyway? I could perhaps smash it with my fists. I wanted to smash and smash and smash, to feel the glass pierce into me. Maybe it would take the hurt and feeling of betrayal away. I just wanted to die. It was bitterly cold and I could hear the rain pattering down outside.

I was still trying to process everything through my head, to let it all sink in, when the door banged open, bringing with it a gust of air.

“Father!”

“Albert!”

“Natalya,” I whispered, fists clenching. Was she going to kill me? There she was, the woman who had murdered my twin, holding my father by his collar. She had power over my father. She was dangerous. The first thing I noticed were her eyes; she had hematites for eyes.

She released her grip on his collar and he stumbled forward dazedly, looking at the three of us in our sorry states.

“Isabella, girls, are you alright? What has she done to you?” He said, spinning round, “What do you want from me, Natalya? Why are you harming them, your own cousins? Isabella is pregnant!”

“For you to pay for what you did to me.” Then she turned on the heel of her lace-up boot, throwing her brown curls over her shoulder. Interestingly, she wore men’s breeches with a blouse that had a frilly high neck and loose sleeves. She reminded me a little of Sandy, or a pirate, or a courtier of Charles the 2nd, with her curls. She slammed the door.

Father looked around the room at us.

“Can someone please enlighten me as to what is happening? That wild woman knocked me out on my way back from my knighting, and I only agreed to follow her because she said you were all here.” Mother and I exchanged weary looks of alarm; how can you tell someone that the man your wife had incest with is your real father, your daughter is not an heiress, and everyone has been plotting to kill her?

*****

An hour later, Father was sitting with his head in his hands.

“You disgust me, all of you.”