The blistering snowstorm outside howled and whistled through the grand windows in the breakfast parlor, causing their large frames to shudder. And despite feeling the warmth of the fireplace behind her, Cecilia could not help but shiver. The frozen, gnarled limbs of the trees outside swayed back and forth before her as if performing a ballet. It was haunting...mesmerizing...Their bare frosted limbs glittering in the dreary grey light...How she wished she was dancing alongside them...perhaps it would be warmer, less lonely...
Holding back a weary sigh, she took a small sip from her coffee, casting her eyes down and away from her mother and Mr. Errington, who now sat at opposite ends of the breakfast table.
How Cecilia would have given anything to be invisible...Insignificant once again! When her mother struck her that October evening, her demeanor changed... her eyes that had once looked right through her had now grown cold with contempt and disdain. It now seemed that everything she said or did, angered her mother... Just one misstep and she'd find another welt upon her cheek or her heart shredded to pieces by her mother's sharp words. She couldn't understand what she had done. Did she offend Mr. Errington? Did she do something wrong?
Glancing up from behind her china cup, she watched as Mr. Errington sat hunched over his plate, devouring his breakfast ravenously. As he ate his eggs and slices of pork, his utensils would occasionally squeal across the porcelain plate. Its crude sound made her ears ache and her spine shudder. He certainly seemed at home!
Her mother, on the other hand, sat with perfect posture. And like a true lady of the house, she wore a beautiful smile upon her lips. Every so often, looking up at her husband lovingly as she poured cream and sugar into her bone china cup, stirring and folding the golden liquid gracefully with her spoon.
Prince, who always lay beside her at her feet, began wagging his tail excitedly. His fluffy tail thumped the marble floors as he let out harsh yips as he begged for more scraps.
"Must the dog eat with us at the breakfast table, my dear?" grumbled Mr. Errington as he set his utensils down with a clink.
Seeming not to hear or perhaps care, her mother smiled and cooed at Prince as she tossed him a scrap of food.
"My dear, must you?" He groaned wearily, glowering at Prince with disdain.
Tossing another scrap to the floor, her mother looked up at Mr. Errington and smiled as if nothing was amiss.
"My," she sighed happily, " what a lovely breakfast this is! Is it not dear?"
Mr. Errington scratched his sideburns as he huffed, now taking hold of his nearest gazette.
"It certainly is, especially with an animal at our feet."
Her mother taking a sip from her tea, let out a small chuckle,
" Oh my dear," she smiled, "Little Prince is a delight! He's one of the family!"
Cecilia heard Mr. Errington scoff out a chuckle,
"part of the family..."
As the warmth from the china cup radiated and spread to her fingertips, Cecilia could feel her thoughts begin to blur along with the drifting snow. Slowly...the reality around her faded, the sounds around her becoming soft and muffled as her memories became clearer.
Her memories brought her back to spring mornings ...Breakfast was so comforting back then... How she remembered the golden rays of the sun that gently shone through the window panes, the warm smell of coffee and blossoms from outside in the garden. Her father would always sit close to her and her mother. The table was smaller back then. He'd always excitedly describe trails he discovered on one of his walks from out in the forests. Sharing tales of woodland animals he came across... of how he stumbled upon great trees of old...
"May I come along, father?" She'd ask, leaning forward in her chair excitedly.
"When your older Little Bear," he'd chuckle, "Wouldn't want you to be taken by the Moss Folk now, would we?"
This answer was never enough for Cecilia, She'd pout, of course, declaring how she did not know what a moss folk was, but wasn't afraid! But soon, she'd find herself smiling again as her father would take out beautiful flowers from his pockets.
"Shall we press them?" He'd smile warmly at her.
Cecilia felt herself smile softly, she could almost feel the soft petals from the flowers her father would put in her small hands...
"-Cecilia!"
Hearing her mother raise her voice at her, Cecilia quickly turned to answer, an apology upon her lips,
"I'm sorry, mother-"
"Were you not listening? Or were your thoughts of more importance?!" her mother spat.
"-I'm sorry, mother -truly I am! It will not happen again-" she stammered.
"It certainly will not," her mother scoffed, pouring more tea into her porcelain cup, "You see, as you had your thoughts in the clouds, your father was speaking to you!"
Cecilia felt the blood rush to her cheeks in embarrassment. Quickly she began to apologize when Mr. Errington waved it away with a hand.
"There is no need! Not at all my dearest!" He chuckled, " I was just telling you and your mother that we will be moving to a new estate come spring,"
Cecilia blinked. Her heart suddenly turned cold and plummeted down into her stomach.
"Come spring?" she echoed.
They were leaving?... Lockwood Estate?...
Holding her saucer and cup tightly within her hands, she could feel the heat from her coffee begin to sting at her fingertips.
"Yes, come spring, " her mother irritably spoke past pursed lips, taking a long sip from her tea, "You cannot certainly believe we will stay in this dreary place, do you? ... Positively decrepit,"
Decrepit? Cecilia could hardly believe the words her mother had spoken. Lockwood estate was beautiful...her mother certainly made sure of that. It was a wedding gift given to her by her father. And her mother had treasured it, spending a great sum on the latest renovations and decor in hopes of impressing her friends when they came to visit. And they certainly were impressed! They'd smile in awe as they'd tour the estate. Gasping in wonder at the marble sculptures and beautiful tapestries her mother had commissioned and collected over the years. Cecilia had always thought of her home as a grand museum of antiquity... and although she marveled just as her mother's guests had, she still could not help but feel...out of place. As if she did not belong amongst such beauty. Trying her best not to furrow her brow in anger, she took another quiet sip from her coffee.
Surely her mother was mistaken!
Clutching the china cup handle tightly, she found herself opening her mouth to disagree when Mr. Errington suddenly barked out a sharp chortle,
"Agreed, my dear!" he nodded towards the large windows, "With all this dreary weather, it's a wonder the whole estate does not come crashing down like a deck of cards!"
CLINK!
Before Cecilia could comprehend what she had done, the anger and confusion had jostled her cup against the porcelain saucer, spilling hot coffee upon her blue and white striped gown! Letting out a hiss, she instinctively set her cup and saucer down upon the table and began to tend to her dress as the hot coffee began to burn her thighs.
"OH, YOU STUPID GIRL!"
Cecilia stopped tending to her dress and froze, her heartbeat thrumming and pulsing intensely in her ears. Reluctantly she looked up at her mother's once glittering blue eyes and saw they had now turned dark. Her icy stare burned and seared right through her bones.
"Look at what you have done!" Her mother hissed, She was practically shaking with rage,
"I'm sorry -" she stammered.
With a harsh screech from her chair, her mother pushed herself back and stood. Her shoes clicked sharply against the marble floors like knives as she made her way over to her.
A sharp pinching pain shot through Cecilia's arm as her mother took hold of her and yanked her up, grabbing her napkin roughly and shoving it in her hand,
"You WILL clean this!" She spat, "And when you are done, you will leave us!"
Mr.Errington , who had been watching the whole spectacle, leaned back in his chair and chuckled softly as he shook out his gazette once more, shaking his head as he did.
With the silken fabric fisted in her hand, Cecilia looked down at the small splotches of dark coffee that covered the fine muslin tablecloth. Stunned, she pressed her napkin down gently upon the cloth, trying her best not to spread the stain.
Shaking with impatience and anger, her mother roughly took hold of Cecilia's hand and began to make her scrub away at the dark stain,
"I said clean this," She hissed.
Wincing at her mother's fingernails and how they dug into her wrist, Cecilia's cheeks began to burn with embarrassment and despair.
"Please, my dear," Mr. Errington chuckled, not looking up from his gazette, " Must we create a spectacle?"
Her mother scoffed and abruptly let go of her hand as she stared hard at Mr. Errington. The room had suddenly grown perfectly still...
"Leave us,"
Without looking at either of them, Cecilia, with her head bowed, carefully stepped aside and quietly made her way out of the breakfast parlor, closing the door behind with a soft click.
And just as soon as her hand took hold of the marble banister, she swore she could hear a crash and a shout, followed by Prince yipping and barking helplessly from inside ... she shuddered.
'Poor little Prince... He must be so frightened...'
Clutching tightly onto the marble banister, Cecilia felt herself take a step down as she stared at the breakfast parlor's large door frames. Perhaps she could somehow sneak back and open the door for little Prince to escape?
Suddenly...she heard the doors to the breakfast parlor burst open with a bang! Followed by Prince's high-pitched barking and snarling.
'WE ARE NOT FINISHED HERE!' she heard her mother bellow, her voice ricocheting off the marble walls.
Peering over the banister, Cecilia suddenly caught a blur of Mr. Errington approaching around the corner. And with her heart beating furiously in her chest, she quickly darted up the stairs, holding onto her dress in fistfuls as she ran up to her room. Skipping a few steps at a time as she tried to run away from the brewing storm and the raging thunder that would soon erupt downstairs.
Cecilia could not look away from the dark stain on her dress...It had been hours since the incident, yet she refused to call a servant to help her change. After how her mother treated her...she did not have the heart to see anyone.
With a weary sigh, tears blurring her vision, she covered the stain with her hand. She was still shaken from the incident...
Standing up away from her bed, she made her way over to her armoire, where she quickly began to change out of her gown and full-length petticoat. The fine clothes fell onto the cold hardwood floor, gathering at her feet as she stepped out and began to look for her nightgown and cotton-white peignoir. She once again felt her tears blur her vision. Angrily, she wiped them away. She would not give anyone the satisfaction of her tears--especially her mother.
When her mother struck her for the first time that October evening, she was too shocked to cry. It was not until she was alone in her bedroom when the tears began to flow and stain the sketchbook pages in her hands that she decided she was no longer going to cry. No matter how hard her mother struck her, no matter how sharp her words, Cecilia would not give her or anyone the satisfaction. Yet...
Cecilia felt her tears burn and burble forth over her dark lashes onto her peignoir.
'Now see what you have done?' she thought miserably,
Tieing her cotton belt tightly about her waist, she walked over to her bed, took out her art journal and a small wooden box of pencils and charcoal, and sat down at her small table.
Opening her journal, she gazed over its pages and rough sketches and drawings she had done. Seeing the smudges and fingerprint stains and rough illustrations, she sighed...She was not the best of artists. When she was young, her mother tried everything to turn Cecilia into a fine lady. She took piano lessons, English and French lessons, dancing lessons...When her father was alive, he had proposed art lessons for her to her mother, but that was something she found most disagreeable.
" And how pray tell, will charcoal and paper find her a suitor?" She'd scoff,
Despite her mother's words, her father always found a way to sneak Cecilia small art journals, pencils and charcoal for Christmas.
Christmas... It seemed to be just around the corner! And soon The Yule Ball her mother hosted every year! She'd turn herself into a great winter whirlwind as she had the servants run to and fro decorating the Estate and preparing grand Christmas feasts. Cecilia winced fearing how this Christmas would go...would mother inflict her rage upon her? In front of all her guests? Letting out a weary sigh at the prospect, she watched her pencil glide across the page as she tried to draw an illustration of a hand clasping a small wildflower. She so missed her father...She wondered... if he were alive would he stop her mother from striking her? Would he do anything at all to protect her? Those first few weeks after his passing was difficult. She cried incessantly when she was a child, always asking where her father was -yet deep down, she knew.... he was gone and would not be coming back. Her mother's friends and family did their best to console her, they'd speak of the mourning process and how mourning his absence would soon become easier as time went by, and it was true in a way. The tears did slowly stop...
Adding the final touches to her drawing, a few tears dripped down upon the page, smearing the upper corner of her drawing.
'The tears never truly stop,' she thought bitterly,
Knowing this, she felt cheated. As if all those words of comfort she received were hollow and empty.
Swallowing hard, she quickly wiped away the tear stains from her drawing, but it was too late... already the illustration had become smudged from her fingertips. Feeling her chest tighten and more tears flow, Cecilia sighed, frustrated, wiping away hot tears from her cheeks as she closed her art journal. 'Perhaps I am just tired,' she sighed as she put her pencils away.
It was true...she was so exhausted, so tired... Gathering her belongings, she walked over to her bed, slipped her journal and box of art supplies beneath her mattress, and began to untie her peignoir.
'You'll feel better after a few hours of sleep,' she thought, hanging her peignoir lazily upon a nearby chair. She soon climbed into bed and let sleep slowly overtake her...
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