RECAP:
Damon hauls me rapidly to my feet, spinning me around once before proceeding to lead me to the dining room...
Chapter Six
We sprint to the dining room, where we stop to compose ourselves before opening the door. I enter the dining room with Damon behind me, playing the innocent footman act.
A beak-nosed, thin-haired, stooped man is sitting opposite Mother, producing drawing after drawing of enlarged and coloured rings. I walk over to Mother, standing behind her chair, gazing down at them.
A sapphire coloured ring catches my eye.
“Can I please have a look at that one?” I ask, pointing to the ring in question. The designer hands the paper to me without a look, his cheeks reddening hideously as our hands brush against each other.
Damon stifles a laugh and Emmanuel frowns, crossing his arms huffily.
I gaze down at the paper, ignoring both of them. The ring is silver with sapphire gems embedded into it. They're cut into octagonal shapes, each of them minute yet jumping from the page. The silver ring seems to be gleaming in the light, even though it's just a drawing on a mere page.
“Do you like this one, dear?” Lady Elizabeth asks me, her hands clasped on the table.
“I love it. It's perfect.” I smile warmly at her, genuinely pleased for once.
I return my gaze to the ring, attempting to etch every curve of it into my mind.
The engagement doesn't seem so daunting now that I know I could be wearing this ring during it.
“What do you think, Mother?” I ask softly, handing her the paper.
“It is divine.” Mother nods, “We shall have this made, Giorgio. This is the first thing my daughter has chosen for her engagement. She chooses to leave these things to me, you see. Where do you find such trust in the new generation?”
Lady Elizabeth nods earnestly, smiling all the time. I fight the urge to roll my eyes, instead looking over at Damon. He winks and I smile, winking back.
I return my gaze to Mother, “So this will be my engagement ring?”
“Of course, dear. It's what you like, and Lady Elizabeth would never compromise with your choice. She is such a respectable woman.”
“Why, thank you.” Lady Elizabeth smiles again, her haughty nose stuck in the air. I decide I don't like her even more than I didn't like her before.
The designer stands, shoving all of the designs into his bag, “Thank you for having me, Duchess Adelina.”
“You're welcome, Giorgio. When will the ring be ready by?” Mother looks enquiringly up at the designer.
“In five days, at the soonest.” The designer says, after a little counting on his fingers.
“Marvellous! Damon, please show our guest to the door.”
Damon bows gracefully, “This way, sir.”
They both leave the room, Damon guiding the way.
I take a seat beside Mother, who takes my hand in hers and looks towards Lady Elizabeth, “Elizabeth, soon we are going to be relatives. My daughter will be handed to you. She will no longer be the little girl I have been raising for the last seventeen years; she will be a wife and a daughter-in-law. I do not doubt you; I am simply a worried mother. Please promise to protect my daughter and take care of her?”
“I swear with all of my life, I will never let any harm seek your daughter out. I will love her as my own. Emmanuel's father and his older brother and sister-in-law have returned from overseas. They shall arrive on the day of the engagement.”
“That is wonderful! I am sure Eloise is most excited to meet Emmanuel's family. What are their names?”
“My husband is called Phillip. My elder son is called Richard and my daughter-in-law is called Rosa-Linda. We call her Rose for short.” Lady Elizabeth's face lights up at the thought of her family.
“That is divine. I cannot wait to meet them. I have heard so much about your husband. Something about the navy?”
“Ah, yes.” Lady Elizabeth jumps at the chance to boast about herself and her family, “Well, he started off in the navy back when he was seventeen and was promoted within a year.”
I take the moment to stand up and withdraw from the room. Footsteps plod behind me but I do not turn around. I already know who it is. As I approach my room, I turn to face him.
Emmanuel.
“Yes?” I ask, politely.
Emmanuel looks at me, shocked into silence for a moment. Then he clears his throat and bites his lip before beginning, “We're going to be engaged next week and then you will be my responsibility. I wish to know something. When my father comes, if he deems your friendship with Damon wrong, will you give him up?”
“Never. Are you trying to tell me that you are going to describe my weakness and strength to your father so he can tell you which is appropriate and which is not?” I narrow my eyes at Emmanuel, all of my guards lifting around me like protective barriers.
Emmanuel splutters, “Of course not! That would be absurd!” He is lying; I know that immediately. The fact that he is trying to lie to me is funny in my mind and I allow myself to smile.
“Emmanuel, don't lie to me again.” I shake my head with pity.
Emmanuel turns a putrid shade of blood-red, “Er... I... I...”
“You cannot lie. It is not one of your qualities, so just do not do it.” I stifle a laugh. Emmanuel smiles, as though he gets the joke. He doesn't really, but he can fool himself into thinking that if he wishes to.
“Okay. I shall not lie to you again.” He says with the same smile on his face. He takes my hand in his, looking at me with an intense expression in his eyes. It is so intense, it almost makes me cringe. My throat is suddenly dry. Emmanuel leans forward, closing his eyelids. My own eyes go wide.
He wants to kiss me, I realise with a horrible dread.
I splutter soundlessly, my mouth opening and closing like a fish, watching his face get closer and closer.
Just as our noses are about to touch, Mother shouts from downstairs, “Emmanuel, dear! Come and see this!”
Emmanuel jumps back, his cheeks red, breathing heavily.
“I... I shall drop in on you later.” He says. It almost sounds like a threat.
I nod soundlessly.
When he disappears down the staircase, I slide down to the floor, my whole body heaving with relief.
How much longer can I put this act on? How much longer will I have to wear this mask? How much longer will I be forced to be a part of this charade? Even as I am thinking this, I know I have no choice. My whole life will be filled with playing a part I have no wish of playing, of being the perfect wife on the outside yet the suppressed child on the inside, of being dragged through society's tedious arrangements while dreading every minute of it.
And all because my mother said one sentence to Lady Elizabeth over ten years ago. One sentence, one promise – that's all it took to shake the world I live in.
Suppressed, oppressed, depressed, lonely, suffering, misunderstood. How many words do I use to describe what my soul is aching through? What words do I use to explain why my heart is pinging with such defeat? What words I use to tell anybody why I feel so suffocated in my own home?
Something falls on my cheek. I swipe at it with my hand only to realise it's a tear. I'm weeping. I scrabble to my feet, knowing where to find my comfort. Where I can be told that not all aspects of my life are bleak.
I dash down the stairs, stealthily creeping past the dining room from where voices emanate and let myself through the sliding door into the servants' quarters. The first door I come across is Peter's room. The door has been painted a deep mahogany and the letter 'P' painted on it in a calligraphic scrawl of a bold blue.
The second door is Damon's. I can hear him bustling about in there. Without thinking to knock as a real lady would have done, I bounce into the room. Damon's room has been painted a plain cream, with polished wood floors and the bare necessities a human needs to survive in life. There are no flimsy, ostentatious belongings in here; just what Damon loves to have.
Damon himself is by the window. When he hears the door shut, he turns to face me.
Damon frowns, “You shouldn't be here. You know your mother does not approve of you...”
I run and plant myself in his arms, sobbing uncontrollably into his chest.
Damon holds me to him, before shuffling over to the bed and sitting me down.
He kneels in front of me, “What's wrong? Has someone hurt you? Ellie, tell me. What's happened?”
“It's him. He tried to kiss me, Damon.”
Damon's face darkens, “Did he force himself upon you?”
“No... no.” I budge to one side, allowing Damon to sit on the bed beside me, “He just... I do not like him. I cannot marry that man. The very thought of him repulses me. I... What was Mother thinking? She's ruined my life!”
I put my head in my hands, sniffling, my shoulders shaking.
“What did you say when he tried to kiss you?” Damon asks, his face stormy and threatening.
“I... Nothing. I couldn't say anything. I was in shock, I was unable to utter a single word. If Mother had not called Emmanuel when she did, I... Goodness knows what would have happened.”
“You really hate him?”
“Hate is a strong word.” I remind Damon. “He is not the right one for me. He will never be the right one for me. I wish I were like you, Damon.”
“Penniless, a servant, dumb?” Damon raises an eyebrow in my direction.
“Free, happy and content, actually.” I counter him, raising an eyebrow back.
Damon sighs and runs a hand through his hair, making it stick up in all directions, “Why is he not the right one for you?”
“We're too different.” I shake my head, “He believes in one thing and I believe the exact opposite of it. We can never live together, I can never marry a man like him. I would rather drown – ”
“Ellie!” Damon says sternly, “Don't you dare say something like that to me. Do not... ever, ever, ever say that to me again.”
“Sorry.” I mumble, staring at my clasped hands.
Damon winds an arm around my shoulders, coming close so his breath tickles my cheek, “We're best friends, right?”
“Yeah.” I say.
“So are you going to do something for me?” asks Damon.
“Anything.” I reply with confidence.
“Try to accept him. Broaden your horizons and view him as a man, not the boy who will be engaged to you. Know him as an individual, not from your biased opinion.”
“I am not biased – Okay, maybe, a little bit.” My shoulders slump.
Damon chuckles, “Are you going to do that for me?”
I sigh, “I guess so.”
“Good. Now I know what will turn that frown upside down.”
I look at Damon. He is giving me a mischievous, lop-sided grin.
Five minutes later, we're dashing through the kitchen and making a beeline for the pantry. We pull the door open and then close it behind us.
“Do you still remember where it is?” I whisper to Damon, colliding into him due to the darkness.
He helpfully flicks a light switch and the pantry is immediately illuminated.
There are huge shelves and cabinets all containing jars and jars and jars of food laced and coated in preservatives. Damon takes my hand and leads me to the shelf right at the back, tip-toeing to get a silver jar down. I watch him unscrew the lid and then he's holding out a pickle to me.
I take it, putting it straight onto my waiting tongue, the sour taste exploding onto the roof of my mouth. My face wrinkles almost immediately. Damon laughs at me before popping another pickle into his mouth.
His face instantly crumples, his eyes scrunched up, his cheeks sucked in. Now that my pickle is done, making it's way to my stomach, I have the chance to laugh at him.
The two of us chortle uproariously for a long time, eating sour pickles and bursting into laughter at each other's expressions.
My stomach is aching from the strain of laughing so hard when, all of a sudden, I hear the pantry door opening. I look at Damon, my eyes wide. Damon rapidly puts the lid back on to the jar and rests it back on the shelf, while I have a momentary panic attack.
“Come on!” He hisses, taking my hand.
We crouch behind a shelf, watching Mary and the cook walk down the pantry towards the shelf Damon and I were standing at just moments ago.
“... so Mistress Adelina was saying that...”
“Come with me, we have to get out of here!” Damon says.
We skulk past shelves and cabinets by the dozen until we get to the doorway. My heart aching with relief, I am about to step through the threshold of the pantry when something pulls me back.
I look back to see my dress stuck on a nail attached to one of the shelves.
“Damon!” I call, “My dress is stuck!”
“Pull on it, quick!” Damon hisses, anxiously hopping from foot to foot. I pull on the dress, but it isn't ready to budge. I yank on it harder, but to no avail. I give it one great big tug and my dress comes free... along with the whole cabinet.
It goes crashing down to the ground, spilling dried fruits everywhere, making a whole racket. Mary and the cook turn to look at us, identical masks of shock and horror. I gasp, my eyes wide.
“Run!” Damon shrieks, grabbing my hand. I turn, half-running and half-dragged by Damon. We dash through the kitchen, knocking over china dishes in our wake. I can hear two pairs of footsteps behind us.
Bursting through the servants' entrance, Damon and I sprint to the gardens, heading for the oak tree under which most of our childhood was lived. Damon clambers up the trunk and I follow him. My dress hinders my progress, but Damon hauls me onto a low, sturdy branch just as Mary and the cook arrive at the enclosure.
They both look around, attempting to spot us. We can make out their voices, but not their words. After a few breathless moments, they both leave, tutting and muttering to each other.
I breathe a sigh of relief.
Damon chuckles, “I have not had so much fun since we were ten!”
“I know!” I agree, putting a hand against my thrashing heart, “My heart was beating so fast. Do you think we're in trouble?”
Damon shrugs, “We could be. I don't think Mary will let you be in trouble, though.”
“She might. Did you see many fruits we ruined?” I ask.
“Hey, that was you!” Damon holds his hands up, “It was your dress that got caught. You pulled on it too hard.”
“Damon!” I chide him softly, “It was your idea to steal pickles from the pantry!”
Damon grins, dimples appearing in his cheeks. I smile back at him, relenting. We could never be angry at each other for long. Just then, we hear voices. Damon and I quieten, craning our heads to see who it is.
I nearly fall off the branch when I realise who is walking through the garden enclosure. Emmanuel and Mother. My mother, that is, not his.
“How is she treating you?” Mother is asking.
“She is... Better than before.” Emmanuel says in a vague response, “I mean, she is less judgemental and reserved now. Maybe she is growing accustomed to me.”
“Maybe so.” Mother agrees, “Emmanuel, Eloise has consulted with me and she says you do not approve of her comradeship with our footman, Damon.”
I inch closer to him, resting my head on his shoulder, winding my arms around his waist protectively. Damon holds me closer to him, one arm on the branch to prevent us from falling.
“I do not.” Emmanuel says, “Pardon my harshness, but it is true. Society has laws and regulations and in my opinion, your footman is not keeping himself to himself. He should be with people of his own stature, not with people who are so much richer and higher in stature than himself.”
I recoil at his words, burying my face into Damon's shirt. His hold on me tightens, whether from anger or sorrow I do not know. His words pierce me and I let go of Damon, clenching my teeth at his thoughtless, prejudiced sentences.
“Friendship knows no social stature.” I call out, despite Damon's hisses and jump down from the tree. Emmanuel steps back, caught unaware, and Mother gasps, openly horrified. Damon jumps down after me, standing behind me.
“What were you doing in a tree?!” Emmanuel demands.
I shrug, “I was hiding.”
“From who?” Mother chips in. I look back at Damon, who bites his lip, a faint smile aching at the edge of his mouth.
I fight the urge to snigger myself and turn back to Mother, “We were just seeing if there were any intruders. Damon and I thought that if someone tried to steal pickles – I mean, berries, from the trees then we would be able to catch them from our vantage point.”
“Thieves?” Mother asks. I nod. “Stealing berries?”
“Yes, Mother, berries. I hear they're the craze in the slums among thieves nowadays. Just ask Damon.” I elbow him sharply.
“Ow!” He hisses at me before clearing his throat, “They are. Every thief I've come across lately has been obsessed with.... berries.” He looks at me questioningly and I shrug nonchalantly.
It was all I could come up with, given the current situation and time.
“You are not ten years old any more, Eloise!” Mother snaps harshly and then composes herself with a glance at our company, “Go find Mary and change into appropriate evening attire. We have guests tonight, some families from the village are coming up to the house. I expect you to be by Emmanuel's side throughout the evening.”
“Yes, Mother. I couldn't think of anything more pleasant to do.” I smile through clenched teeth and drag Damon away, hurrying into the house.
Damon grabs me by my wrist, spinning me around to face him, “What was that?”
“What do you mean, what was that?” I ask blankly.
“You know exactly what I mean, Ellie! I thought you were going to try hard to be nice to him. You were not being nice back there!!”
I free my wrist from his grasp, “Well, I'm not being kindly to someone who is so... obnoxious about someone who is close to me.”
“Stop worrying about me!” Damon says, “And anyway, he didn't say anything wrong either.”
“What?!” I demand, stupefied.
“Yes, Ellie. He did not say anything out of turn. How can we neglect the fact we're both from different social statures, we both have different lifestyles and nobody in the society thinks it's right for a servant-boy to be loitering around with his master?”
“When did I become your master?” I ask, “I thought I was your friend.”
“You are.” Damon assures me, “But we can't forget you're of a higher stature than me. We can't ignore it, we have to face it. Nothing we say or do is going to change that.”
“Is that all you have to say?” I ask. Damon nods silently. “Well, then. It's my turn to say something. I don't care what my social stature or what yours is. I don't care if you're a servant, I don't care what Emmanuel thinks, I don't even care what my mother thinks. All I care about is making sure no one talks nonsense about the friendship we share.”
“Well, stop caring about that, too! Because, very very soon, you will be married and I don't think your husband will allow you to be in my company!”
“Damon! I told you already, I don't care what he says. In fact, I would rather he was not my husband than to discontinue our relationship!”
“Don't say that!” Damon hisses, “What if somebody hears you?”
“Let them hear me!” I snap, “Let the world hear me, let it be known that I don't care about anyone but you.”
“Why don't you just make it easier on the both of us and stop caring? Just so I can figure out how to live my life without you in it!”
Damon stalks off angrily. I stare after him, tears pricking my eyes...
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