The Edge of the Grey Enigma

Posted on August 26, 2008

Her heart is shaken with longing
For the strange, still years,
For what she knows and knows not,
For the wells of ancient tears.

She covers her face with her blanket,
Her fierce soul hates her breath,
As it cries with a sudden passion
For life or death. (Duncan Campbell Scott)

My eyes met my reflection in the gilded mirror to behold the face of a stranger. Oddly beautiful, yet tired dark eyes in a face too blank to belong to a twenty year old woman. My looks were my capital, my beauty my only charm; and even they were no longer mine to give. They belong to everyone and no one, they ensnare and bewitch into entanglements of heated passion, maybe even beyond desire's flame if my carefully developed sense of generosity allows the privilege to be repeated. My life lacks nothing; for I am surrounded by luxury and wealth. Men swear their love to my youth, quickly to be discarded before boredom may replace infatuation. Tomorrow I shall be but a name to them, a strangely colored butterfly in a sky of moths and busy bees. What I have become no longer holds the power to shock or disgust me, for I feel nothing, nor to I regret anything. In another life I enjoyed the privilege of being a gentleman's daughter with a single duty, a sparrow tempting the peacock to wed her and raise many multi-colored nestlings. My mother, as if she ever deserved to be called that, raised her three surviving children to be defenseless pawns on the chessboard of marriage, love was never considered, if anything it was frowned upon.

My sisters and I never knew each other well. Jane, blessed with beauty as well as the kindest, sweetest temper I ever encountered, never was much of a playmate. Eight years my senior and well trained in the art of pleasing her family, she already had submitted to my mother's desires when I reached the age when a child wants to romp and play. This left Elizabeth, my father's favorite and my mother's nemesis. As dark as Jane was fair, she seemed oddly placed in our family, more of a changeling than a child of my parents. Father even called her her that sometimes, much to her dismay. Usually Jane was always Jane, her serenity forbade anything as earthly as a pet name. Elizabeth was cariad, darling, and I, named for joy itself, became Little Miss Sunshine when Father forgot to belittle my lack of intellect. Being used to his mockery and disdain I never craved his approval, indeed, I often flaunted my lack of these qualities to fan the fire of his fury. My success proved to be of such magnitude that he barely raised his head from the book he was reading when Jane told him of my elopement. God commands us to love and honor our parents, why parents should not be equally obliged to love and cherish their children is one of the many mysteries my barely developed intellect never quite could grasp. A demanding knock shrilled through the room, calling me back to the present.

"Enter," I cooed in a mockery of sweetness. I knew who demanded entry into my chambers and I had no desire to see him. For he, esteemed reader, was the turning point, the connection that caused two worlds to clash in an explosion of scarlet desire and improper attraction.

"Letty," he replies just as mockingly sweet, knowing how much I detested that nickname. My accursed body once more betrayed me at the sight of him, for my blood heated at the uniform and his energetic, proud bearing. His kiss tasted of red wine and smoke, just as I remembered it.

"If you wish to be received in my house again, never use that name with me!" I half purred, half sneered. He laughed it away.

"Ah, the kitten shows her claws. I see that your supposed indisposition does nothing to improve that temper of yours!" His irises darkened with every word he spoke in that husky as well as reproving tone.

"My house, my temper, my affair!" I pointed out snidely before turning away to hide my anger. Mine however was no match for his when being crossed by a woman who supposedly owed her survival to him. His slender fingers clawed at my hair, pulling my head back until it hurt while his other hand yanked back my arm and twisted it painfully into the small of my back. I bit back the tears that threatened to betray my helplessness and glared back.

"You, my pretty, are nothing I do not allow you to be." Another sharp yank at my hair and this time the tears did come. "I will beat this into your empty head, if needed, never forget it." His kiss bruised my lips this time and I barely withheld the scream of defeat and agony raging in my suddenly dry throat. He did not let go but reveled in my helplessness and bitter despair; took delight in seeing me writhe in agony and fury.

"I should have let you rot in the gutter where you belong," he sneered, curling his lips in pitiless disdain.

It was my cue to answer how thankful I was for his protection and loyalty but I just could not force the lies out again. Not with him shredding the remains of my dignity for sport; not after remembering a glimpse of my former carefree life. He had robbed me of my innocence and then sworn to marry me, it was only the first of many promises he would break.

"Still Miss High And Mighty, are you not?" The sneer had turned into a dangerous hiss. The force of his grip made my knees buckle, his elbow in my stomach after releasing my hair made me tumble to the floor in a heap of scarlet silk skirts. Fool of all women that I was, I still loved him, still sought to please him where I could, always hoping to bring the old George Wickham back again. The one who never raised his voice to a lady, who had courted me with such finesse a lifetime ago... The memories snapped in two at his next words, so entirely unexpected and unwelcome.

"That sister of yours, the dark shrew, has quite a reputation here in London." His eyes flickered maliciously at my dumbfounded expression at the swift change of topic.

Elizabeth? Could she possibly be in London within my reach? She was like a glittering object dangling before my eyes, a dangerous bait. For she too had been charmed into the web of deceit and seduction my beloved so reveled in weaving. In fact, it had been her interest in him that had sparked by determination to secure him as mine and only mine. My mother would have objected of course, given that his income as an officer was not that of a gentleman of rank and Jane's husband, no matter how benevolent in other things, would never have accepted such a brother in law. He was a scham, a fraud, a lying cheat and I loved him despite all that.

"Some senile physician seems to consider her with respect, even admiration." George explained as he lit a cigar. Another slight, for he knew how much I detested the smell of them.

"Elizabeth is engaged to a doctor?" I ventured a careful guess as I stood up indignantly.

"No, my pet, it seems that your sister has quite forgotten her place in the world, I dare say that she is your equal in that. She has become a doctor herself." With those words he languidly fell into a chair and pulled me with him. Sitting on his knees hurt but I kept my silence on that, this revelation was far too shocking.

"But ladies cannot become doctors!" Even to me this sounded foolish and childish.

"No, I suppose ladies cannot." The implication stung bitterly.

"Why are you telling me this?" I asked, maddened by his game of cat and mouse.

"I am telling you this," His fingertips brushed my cheek wantonly. "So you will remember that yours is not the only reputation I am holding in my power. If not to keep your wanton life of luxury and parties, maybe you will submit to me to save your sister from following you to ruin and disgrace."

My stomach leaped at that, I felt sickened and betrayed. Bile arose in my already burning throat, causing me to cough. Icy chills swept down my spine, fear stabbed through my very soul. I no longer cared that one foolish decision had enslaved me to the embodiment of cruelty and manipulation; the fact that my sister who had so barely escaped his clutches was so far from safety made me long for her for the first time in years. Guilt, both unwanted and unwelcome, surged through my very being as if to torture me into madness.

"You disgust me," I said, however my slumped shoulders and hanging head were a victory he prized.

"That may be, my charming little hypocrite. However, I know that you still love me."

"You make it sound like hate...." I whispered, nearly overcome by tears.

"They are very closely related indeed." he agreed and kissed me.

No more words were spoken after that fateful kiss and a merciful God spared me his presence in my bedchamber that night. My thoughts were with Elizabeth, my changeling sister, my playmate of years long gone. I had to reach her; I had to find her before he would to follow through with his threat. George Wickham, for all his duplicity and lies, never uttered idle threats. My sister was in danger and if there was any way for me to atone for a iota of my sins, it was to warn her of what may befall her should she fall into his hands.

Being a woman of ill repute had its benefits when it came to gossip. I soon learned that my sister had become a healer dedicated to children and that many illustrious families had had her in their service. Her current employer, a Mr. Fitzwilliam Darcy, lived in Derbyshire at an estate called Pemberley. Letters were always in danger of falling into the wrong hands, so I decided to travel there myself. I had no clothes for the occasion, so I sent Maggie, my maid, off to buy several dresses befitting those the daughters of a merchant might wear. We would have to travel in disguise; my absence would soon alert my scheming lover; managing to evade his grasp might be the road to success. I was under no illusion as to hoping for Mr. Darcy's protection; Elizabeth's rescue was all that mattered. It occurred to me that this may just be the very first selfless act in my young life; the reality of it made me blush.

"The dresses are packed, Madam. I put out your traveling clothes as well as a purse of money in the bedchamber." Maggie curtsied with a smile, then rushed off to change her own dress.

The dress was a stabbing reminder of earlier, blissful days. White solid cotton with little daisies embroidered upon the fragile silk covering of the heavy skirts and bodice. A traveling cloak of blue velvet and a matching bonnet completed the attire. I had not ventured out without layers of rouge and other materials my mother would have despised in a while, it made me feel strangely naked and exposed. The most ordinary of carriages was waiting for us and the moment Maggie and I settled in the comfortable cushions I felt like I could breathe more easily. Never one to stay awake in a moving carriage I soon feel asleep and barely felt Maggie's gentle hands as she placed a blanket over me to keep me warm. That time I dreamed not of the past or the present but of a hopeful future.

My sister Elizabeth had always been a forgiving, gentle soul, in that she was Jane's equal, even if Elizabeth's temper was more of fire than placid water. Given free reign by my mother I had often taunted and teased her which usually led to a short battle of wits that always ended in my sister's favor. It was Mother's decision however, not mine, to rob Elizabeth of her mare, Nelly, to give her to me. My mother's satisfaction was short-lived however, for Elizabeth refused to cry or to bother my father to intervene. She knew it would do no good. So she bowed to my mother's malice with a stoic expression of utter disinterest. Jane told me later that the mask would fall every night when Elizabeth cried herself to sleep in her arms. I did feel a twinge of guilt, however there was nothing to be done for either of us by angering Mother further. Until then being my mother's favorite had been precious to me; Elizabeth's powerless tears awoke me from a numb slumber of tranquil security.

It did not stop me from stealing away her beaux or from mocking her simple choice of attire. She never wore much jewelery except the tiny golden crucifix encrusted with rubies; she disliked flashy colors and gaudy lace. The dress I was wearing know would have pleased the Elizabeth I remembered now. Had she forgiven me for making her life a misery by basking in my mother's prejudiced favor or would she refuse to believe a single word I had to say? Somewhere within me I felt that, undeserving as I clearly was, Elizabeth would never lower herself to repeating my offenses. In that I found comfort as well as burning shame.

The carriage jolted as it came to a halt, Maggie was already seeing to our luggage. We spent the night in a non-descript inn in a little village. Miss Leticia Bennet of yesterday would never have set foot into such an establishment. The bed was comfortable however and Maggie and I took delight in reviving a tradition we both knew from childhood. We whispered through half the night and it was a pleasure to get to know her better. She too had two sisters; one named Emily and another named Sophia. They were living in her village up north and it was my pleasure to grant Maggie's request of visiting them as soon as time would permit it. We shared little confidences, took delight in mocking one Mr. George Wickham and when our travels resumed next morning, she had become a friend rather than a servant. We traveled under the names of Mrs. Rosalie Hampton and Miss Lily Rivers; our ploy to travel as sisters was made easy by the fact that she had my light coloring and my reddish brown hair, even if hers was a hint darker. My thoughts were jumbling; from my sister to my heartless lover, from him to those who had come after him and from them back to my childhood.

Once again I dreamed, this time of the past. I was a child again, crying after scraping my knees on the graveled road leading to the entrance of Longbourn. Elizabeth knelt down by my side and took me in her arms, singing softly. I had never felt any interest to learn anything my father prized, so to this day I know not what she was singing about. What I did remember was the softness of her voice, the tenderness of her embrace and the pain subsiding at her singing. Even then I had been my mother's favorite, yet she did not hold it against me.

Mae gen i ebol melyn
Yn codi'n bedair oed
A phedair pedol arian
O dan ei pedwar troed.

Fe aeth yr iâr i rodio,
I Arfon draw mewn dig
A daeth yn ôl un diwrnod
A'r Wyddfa yn ei phig.

"No one is naturally or entirely good," she had told me once. "Do not see the world measured by extremes, always allow shades of grey." Even if my nature was best described as the darker side of grey rather than white with a shade of grey, Elizabeth had never blamed or hated me. Hope was seeping through the dark mist surrounding the inner space where my heart resided. I no longer dreaded seeing the village of Lambton for its closeness to Pemberley, not even the prospect of being shown out like I deserved it held its usual terror. I once proclaimed that I felt or regretted nothing. Neither is true. I feel pride at having her for my sister and I regret everything I have ever done to hurt her. Whatever dangers I may encounter in saving my sister from a fate worse than death are well worth the risk because I know she would do the same for me. And, a wickedly hopeful thought crossed my mind, maybe she would be my penance and my healing. I smiled at Maggie who was reading a small volume of Shakespeare sonnets and she nodded at me encouragingly. We have passed the village of Lambton and the grounds of Pemberley await. An odd sense of security crept through me at the sight of the imposing manor house. I feel at home for the first time in over four years. My final prayer before knocking is a timid request for this feeling to last.