Post by J.Hollick on May 15, 2014 21:44:05 GMT -9
Chapter 2: Those Bastard Balstons
“My god Jasmine, do you really need something with so much puff in it?” Theresa exclaimed as she attempted to share the carriage with her sister and her sister’s dress. Jasmine turned up her nose and sighed haughtily.
“Oh Theresa. I am afraid you will never understand fashion.”
“No. Perhaps not, but I think I come a far cry closer than you ever will. You look like a cupcake.” Theresa was not wrong in her description for in an attempt to hide her rounded face, double chin and slightly squinty eyes Jasmine had opted for several layers of cosmetic. She had painted over her face with a white shiny powder to make her skin appear ivory, her cheeks a dark stained rouge from her eyes to her mouth, her lips reddened with distilled vinegar, there was rouge upon her eyelids and she had even placed a beauty patch just above the corner of her lip. She had spent four hours on her hair, pinning specially shaped cushions into place to help give her hair an extremely unnatural height. Then she tied a blue ribbon into it and set several feathers into place as well. The whole thing had almost toppled over as she tried to get into the carriage and she had to duck her head halfway to the carriage floor just to manage to squeeze inside. Even now the top of it was grazing the roof, though Theresa opted to say nothing for fear that Jasmine would panic and demand to walk the rest of the way.
“Say what you will but at least I am doing something to help get us out of this horrible debt.”
“Oh really? And what, pray tell, is that?”
“I’m going to marry rich.” She stated as if it was the most obvious thing in the world.
“And how are you going to do that? You have no prospects to offer a man.”
“Yes, but I have these and they’ve got to count for something.” She indicated to her large breasts that were jiggling with the tossing of the carriage and threatening to spill out of her corset and over her gown. Theresa gave her a disapproving look.
“I don’t know where you learned such things but I can guarantee you that is a bunch of nonsense. The possibility of more money is the only thing that will lure men such as these into the entrapment of marriage, what you are offering a man will gladly take but he will not have marriage in mind after the deed is done.” Theresa scolded her sister lightly, wondering if she should be at all concerned.
The carriage came to a rough halt in front of Balston Manor and the sisters exited. All around them were women in heavy makeup and puffy dresses, all of them thin and prim. Theresa suddenly felt self-conscious of her tall and lanky body that towered over all the women and even rivaled the height of most of the men, the sleeves of her dress slightly too short, her long dull brown hair that hung loose down her back, her nose, long and straight but slightly too large for her face and her unpainted skin. As if to spite her older sister Jasmine had the exact opposite reaction. Squealing with delight she raced off into the sea of dresses, eager to enter the manor and begin her search for a rich and proper husband, but mostly just a rich one.
Boisterous laughter roared through the room as Charles finished telling the tale of Theresa’s rage and her smoking ears. Quite a few things had been augmented in order to make it more pleasing to the crowd, in fact the story was so far off from reality that it was a different story entirely and the only thing it had in common with the events of the morning was that the woman in the story was named Theresa.
It took Charles a minute to realize that after the initial bout of laughter all the men surrounding him had gone unnaturally quiet and were all staring towards the door.
“Run little lad.” The whisper came from Patch. A big bastard of a man with forearms as thick as a man’s head and a black patch over the eye he had lost in a bar brawl back in his youth.
“Why? What’s wrong?” All the men had risen and were effectively hiding Charles from whatever it was that had entered the room.
“Monsieur Charbonne. Leave quickly, out the back way. We’ll lead him off the scent, don’t you worry.” Charles’ throat went dry as he tried to swallow. Ducking down and pulling off his top hat to stop it from tumbling to the floor he snuck out between the legs of the drunken men as they did their best to keep their balance. Within moments he was out of the main bar, down the hallway to the kitchens and out the door to the back alley.
Sprinting down the alley he ran for six blocks before hopping on to the back of a moving carriage and riding off into the night, hollering in triumph.
The Balston Manor was three times the size of Godhold Place. It was made of rich, dark woods, eloquent stairs curving upwards and polished floors. Paintings hung on the walls, most of them of past Balston men wearing expensive outfits and sitting in ridiculous poses, featuring swans or lions or other such beasts. Theresa, at first wandering the manor to search for her sister soon forgot about Jasmine and began wandering looking for new paintings to fascinate her or to make fun of. All throughout the manor drifted the merry tune of a small string quartet and the thumping of feet as people danced merrily in the ballroom.
Jasmine had never seen so many delicious pastries at once. Most she was familiar with but some were obviously from the many travels of the Balston brothers and their father. Rumour had it that they not only attended the prestigious Ashby boarding school but that they had traveled all of Europe extensively studying the languages, cultures and artwork of each country, France, Italy, Spain... They had even sailed to the savage region of western Africa and foiled the assassination attempt of an evil shaman, saving the life of an African princess. Jasmine daydreamed of all this as she tried one pastry after another, sighing and giggling as she day dreamed one of them asking her to dance, twirling her around the room, falling madly in love with her and proposing to her this very night. So consumed by her thoughts she failed to notice the gentlemen watching her until he was already upon her. Just about to bite down she stopped, a cupcake half in her mouth half out as she looked up with gawking eyes. It was the middle Balston brother, Bernard she believed his name was.
“Pardon me, mademoiselle,” he said, bowing and kissing the back of her hand that was not clutching the chocolate cupcake, “But I have been observing you from afar and you obviously have a very regal palette. I was wondering if you would do me the honour of a dance?” Jasmine tried to answer but realized her mouth was still full of cupcake so she only nodded as she stared awestruck into his eyes. Bernard was perhaps the most dashing man she had ever laid eyes on. His skin was of a perfect complexion, his square jaw and supple lips moved in such a delightful way, his deep blue eyes were like an arctic sea on a bright day. He was tall, thick but with muscle, every part of him perfectly proportioned. His wide, broad shoulders tapered down into a small waist and his stomach was flat and smooth, rock hard too, no doubt. Bernard was already leading her to the dance floor, holding her hand gently in his gloved one. They set about to dancing and Jasmine found she could no longer focus on Bernard; she was far too busy trying to watch her feet and remember the steps to this particular dance.
Theresa was just finishing her observations of the paintings on the main floor when a shadow appeared at her side. Glancing up, which never happened to the abnormally tall Theresa, she saw Baldric Balston looking at her, a thoughtful look in his eyes.
“Ma Chérie,” he said, bowing low, gently taking her hand and planting a kiss on it. Theresa pulled her hand from his grip, shaking slightly at this sudden surprise.
“My apologies Ma Chère, I did not mean to frighten you. I just wished to enquire if you were enjoying your evening?” Baldric was pleasing to the eyes, his deep baritone voice, the strong chin, the straight nose, the blue eyes so famous to the Balston family and the thin black moustache that hovered above his lip. His pitch-black hair was parted at the side without a stray strand in sight.
“Well enough.” Theresa replied, suspicion oozing out of her. Her father had never trusted the Balstons and neither did she.
“Please, I noticed you observing the many paintings and I thought I might give you a personal tour?”
“Very well.” Theresa responded, her interest in artwork outweighing her inherited dislike of his family as she took the arm he offered to her.
The tour was nice enough, pointing out who the painters were and who the subjects had been, all of them Balstons of course. She was beginning to think she was wrong about the Balstons. Perhaps Papa, in his jealousy over their success while the legends of the Godholds faded rapidly, had been over exaggerating.
The tour ended in the garden where they strode gently down the gravel pathway through the beautifully scented flowers. The moon was full and cast the garden in a bewitching pale light. Baldric bent down, his white gloves shimmering in the moonlight as he picked a set of leaves from their stem.
“Most people think the flower is the most beautiful part, Ma Chère. I, however, believe it is the leaves. For without the leaf the flower cannot live and bloom.” As he spoke, his deep voice whispering sweetly, he touched the leaves gently to her chest and shoulders. It tickled slightly but she was too enamoured and stunned to protest.
“This particular plant was brought back from the Americas by my grandfather. It took a lot of care and attention to grow here but as you can see it now flourishes.” Inching closer he ran them delicately down her arms and then back up to her face, her cheeks, her eyes, her forehead, circling her slowly as he did, his warm breath on her neck. She could feel herself blushing and reddening with each moment, her heart all a flutter. It was all so romantic perhaps her father had been wrong about ‘those Bastard Balstons’ after all.
“I feel as if this plant is like you Ma Chère. Out of place but with a little love and attention you will flourish.”
Theresa felt a warm tingling throughout her body, a smile touched her lips and she worked up the courage to sidestep even closer to Baldric, to align her body with his and feel the pressure of his strong frame.
“Baldric?” A voice was calling. Baldric stepped away.
“Forgive me Ma Chérie, a host’s duties are never done.” He stepped lightly away from her but not before placing the trio of leaves in her hand, pressing them firmly against her skin and wrapping her fingers around them. A final, longing look and then he was gone.
Jasmine couldn’t believe her luck, but then again she could. She had always been very dainty as a child, not independent and sturdy like Theresa. She needed someone strong and rich to take care of her and had devoted herself to this destiny since she was young; always taking care of her skin, her hair, getting plenty of sleep, keeping up with the latest fashions. Never in her wildest dreams did she ever imagine herself with someone as rich and educated as Bernard Balston. Yet here they were, out on the balcony overlooking all of London. The chill night air sent goose bumps along her arms and stirred the straggles of dirty blonde hair against her shoulders. Bernard was kissing her neck gently, whispering endearments in French into her ears; at least she assumed they were endearments since Jasmine couldn’t speak a word of French. Slowly Bernard undid the lace at the back of her dress. She felt it loosening. Instead of being scared or angry, as she should have been, she felt giddy, a smile brightening her face, slightly cracking the white paint that had, by now, dried out. Bernard took his time and her eagerness increased. Everything was coming together just as she had planned. Soon she would become Mrs. Bernard Balston, she would live here in this giant manor and she would never have to worry about not having anything to wear because she would just buy a new dress every day for as long as she lived. Bernard would pay off the family debt and her sister and brother could go back to their squabbling ways, writing to Jasmine occasionally, begging her to come and visit, thanking her for her wisdom and selflessness. And of course she would have no time to visit them for she would be too busy raising Bernard’s children, three sons, because Bernard was one of three sons, and maybe a daughter for Jasmine herself to spoil with dresses and balls and jewelry.
Lost in the sickly sweet reverie of her ambitions for the future she realized that Bernard had already gotten her dress off, as well as her corset. She was now standing naked from the waist up with only her bright pink leggings covering the lower half of her body. Bernard looked her up and down and she smiled again, waiting anxiously in anticipation. Bernard, still holding the dress, walked around her, eyeing her breasts, her tummy flab, her wide and jiggling hips, her wiggling thighs. He circled around and stood behind her. She waited, expecting to feel his warm, strong hands on her skin, his lips brushing her neck. After minutes of standing behind her silently she finally turned around, wondering what he was waiting for. There she saw Bernard, leaning casually against the railing. He was puffing lightly on a cigarette but her dress and corset were missing.
Theresa had by now explored the entire manor twice and was feeling quite worn out. She was already over the interaction with Baldric, all too aware of her own age and poverty and lack of social grace. Balls were not her idea of good entertainment as they were to Jasmine. No, balls were simply a way for men to find women of proper breeding age, of which she was not; who were beautiful enough to put up with their nattering, of which she also was not; and who had parents as rich as their own, which she most certainly was not in possession of. Now if a kindly, decent man who didn’t mind marrying an older woman, who didn’t mind marrying a woman with only a vast amount of debt to her name and who didn’t mind marrying a woman who was by no means considered beautiful but was considered to have more than her share of awkwardness and brains; then she would be more than willing to tie the knot and bear him as many lanky, clumsy children as he wanted. Knowing that this was futile she sighed aloud and began her search for her sister again.
Charles had arrived, hours late as was his usual, and merrily headed towards Balston Manor, replacing his top hat back on his head now that he was safe from the jolting of the carriage. He smiled brightly at the scattered people around the courtyard who had escaped the manor for some fresh air and with a light step and a jump he began to ascend up the steps, when all of a sudden something soft and heavy landed on his head, effectively knocking him to the ground.
Theresa could not find her sister among the dancers or the smokers or the debaters. Just as she began to head outside she saw Charles entering the doorway. Forgetting all about Jasmine she strode forward, preparing herself to scold him for not being around to help keep an eye on their sister; however, as she neared him through the crowd she saw that he was holding a bundle of fabric in his hands. He looked both bewildered and perplexed and his left cheek was scraped.
“What on earth are you doing with Jasmine’s gown?” She demanded, wrenching it from his grip, ignoring the fact that people were starting to stare as she attempted to unfold it and shake it out. Neither of them noticed Bernard come strutting down the stairs, smiling wickedly and making his way straight to a group of pretty ladies.
“It fell on me. Where’s Jasmine?”
“What do you mean it fell on you? And I have no idea where Jas-“ Her voice trailed off. She grabbed her brother by the hand and dragged him back outside.
“Where!?” She demanded, her eyes searching upwards to the balconies above.
“Where what?”
“Where were you when it landed on you?”
“I was right here, minding my own business, just coming to find you two when it knocked me down onto the stairs.” He was gently tapping his scraped and bruised cheek, lost in the memory but Theresa was already running back inside, hiking up her dress to stop it from interfering with her sprint. Her long legs allowed her to easily climb the stairs three at a time while her stick thin, slightly shorter brother chased after her, his tattered coattails waving behind him. She ran through the hallways of the upper floors, opening all the doors above the stairs until finally she found Jasmine.
She was sitting in the middle of the room, alone and weeping. Theresa ran to her sister’s side and knelt beside her. She hugged her sister, attempting to comfort her but her sister remained in her state of bereavement, barely acknowledging Theresa’s presence. Charles, his face red with embarrassment, turned away from his half naked sister and chose instead to admire his dirty, unpolished shoes.
“Are you ok Jasmine?” Theresa said, trying to lift Jasmine to her feet.
“N-n-no!” She wailed loudly.
“Please Jasmine you must stand up. We must get you out of here.”
“N-no. I want t-to stay here until everyone h-has left. I-I don’t w-want anyone to see me like this” She sobbed.
“Please Jasmine. You must listen to me. If you stay here everyone will think the worst and you will never be able to marry.” This shocked Jasmine out of her fit and she stared up at Theresa with big wide eyes.
“What do you mean?”
Theresa rolled her eyes, “Honestly Jasmine, there must be something in that head of yours besides fluff. Without your innocence no man will want you. You will become an old spinster like me.”
“No!” Jasmine was crying again and Theresa, insulted, lost all pity for her sister and wrenched her to her feet, thrusting her corset at her.
“We must get back to the party quickly and take our leave. Enough people already saw your dress without you in it. Charles! Go fetch a carriage for us.” Charles, only too happy to leave, strode quickly from the room as Theresa finished lacing up the corset.
Just as Theresa was doing up the backings of the dress Jasmine turned to her. She made a funny, crinkled up face.
“What’s wrong you?”
“Huh?” Theresa went for the mirror on the boudoir and gasped. Her face was all red and splotchy, as was her neck, her shoulders and even her arms. It was then that she noticed the itch as well. She began to scratch, her eyes filling with panic. Jasmine rushed over and steadied her sister’s hands.
“No. You mustn’t scratch.” She said, pinning her sister’s arms at her sides.
“What is this!?” She yelled, leaning forward again to look at her distorted features. Jasmine plucked the leaves that Theresa had tucked behind her ear after Baldric’s departure.
“What’s this?” She asked.
“Oh no.” Was all Theresa managed, realization flooding through her. Jasmine caught on and dropped the leaves in disgust.
“We have to get out of here.” Jasmine tugged Theresa away from the mirror. “This place is cursed!”
The girls slowly descended the staircase, eyes looking anywhere but at the crowd of people and pretending that no one was watching even though the entire party had gone silent with dubious intrigue. A motion from Bernard and even the string quartet paused. Theresa lead the way, her skin covered in splotches of rashes and blisters. She fought with all the self-discipline she had to not scratch away at her skin violently, her fingers twitching at her side with desire. Behind her Jasmine looked not much better. The layers of paint on her skin had dried and cracked and yet there were obvious streaks where the rivers of tears had run. Her hair was lopsided and stray locks hung everywhere. Her dress was ruffled and wrinkled, not quite sitting right and covered in grime from its drop to the wet ground.
At the foot of the stairs Charles waited, doing his best to pretend everything was normal. He held the door open for his sisters, holding his top hat to his chest, as they exited the Manor, heads held high in contempt.
“My god Jasmine, do you really need something with so much puff in it?” Theresa exclaimed as she attempted to share the carriage with her sister and her sister’s dress. Jasmine turned up her nose and sighed haughtily.
“Oh Theresa. I am afraid you will never understand fashion.”
“No. Perhaps not, but I think I come a far cry closer than you ever will. You look like a cupcake.” Theresa was not wrong in her description for in an attempt to hide her rounded face, double chin and slightly squinty eyes Jasmine had opted for several layers of cosmetic. She had painted over her face with a white shiny powder to make her skin appear ivory, her cheeks a dark stained rouge from her eyes to her mouth, her lips reddened with distilled vinegar, there was rouge upon her eyelids and she had even placed a beauty patch just above the corner of her lip. She had spent four hours on her hair, pinning specially shaped cushions into place to help give her hair an extremely unnatural height. Then she tied a blue ribbon into it and set several feathers into place as well. The whole thing had almost toppled over as she tried to get into the carriage and she had to duck her head halfway to the carriage floor just to manage to squeeze inside. Even now the top of it was grazing the roof, though Theresa opted to say nothing for fear that Jasmine would panic and demand to walk the rest of the way.
“Say what you will but at least I am doing something to help get us out of this horrible debt.”
“Oh really? And what, pray tell, is that?”
“I’m going to marry rich.” She stated as if it was the most obvious thing in the world.
“And how are you going to do that? You have no prospects to offer a man.”
“Yes, but I have these and they’ve got to count for something.” She indicated to her large breasts that were jiggling with the tossing of the carriage and threatening to spill out of her corset and over her gown. Theresa gave her a disapproving look.
“I don’t know where you learned such things but I can guarantee you that is a bunch of nonsense. The possibility of more money is the only thing that will lure men such as these into the entrapment of marriage, what you are offering a man will gladly take but he will not have marriage in mind after the deed is done.” Theresa scolded her sister lightly, wondering if she should be at all concerned.
The carriage came to a rough halt in front of Balston Manor and the sisters exited. All around them were women in heavy makeup and puffy dresses, all of them thin and prim. Theresa suddenly felt self-conscious of her tall and lanky body that towered over all the women and even rivaled the height of most of the men, the sleeves of her dress slightly too short, her long dull brown hair that hung loose down her back, her nose, long and straight but slightly too large for her face and her unpainted skin. As if to spite her older sister Jasmine had the exact opposite reaction. Squealing with delight she raced off into the sea of dresses, eager to enter the manor and begin her search for a rich and proper husband, but mostly just a rich one.
Boisterous laughter roared through the room as Charles finished telling the tale of Theresa’s rage and her smoking ears. Quite a few things had been augmented in order to make it more pleasing to the crowd, in fact the story was so far off from reality that it was a different story entirely and the only thing it had in common with the events of the morning was that the woman in the story was named Theresa.
It took Charles a minute to realize that after the initial bout of laughter all the men surrounding him had gone unnaturally quiet and were all staring towards the door.
“Run little lad.” The whisper came from Patch. A big bastard of a man with forearms as thick as a man’s head and a black patch over the eye he had lost in a bar brawl back in his youth.
“Why? What’s wrong?” All the men had risen and were effectively hiding Charles from whatever it was that had entered the room.
“Monsieur Charbonne. Leave quickly, out the back way. We’ll lead him off the scent, don’t you worry.” Charles’ throat went dry as he tried to swallow. Ducking down and pulling off his top hat to stop it from tumbling to the floor he snuck out between the legs of the drunken men as they did their best to keep their balance. Within moments he was out of the main bar, down the hallway to the kitchens and out the door to the back alley.
Sprinting down the alley he ran for six blocks before hopping on to the back of a moving carriage and riding off into the night, hollering in triumph.
The Balston Manor was three times the size of Godhold Place. It was made of rich, dark woods, eloquent stairs curving upwards and polished floors. Paintings hung on the walls, most of them of past Balston men wearing expensive outfits and sitting in ridiculous poses, featuring swans or lions or other such beasts. Theresa, at first wandering the manor to search for her sister soon forgot about Jasmine and began wandering looking for new paintings to fascinate her or to make fun of. All throughout the manor drifted the merry tune of a small string quartet and the thumping of feet as people danced merrily in the ballroom.
Jasmine had never seen so many delicious pastries at once. Most she was familiar with but some were obviously from the many travels of the Balston brothers and their father. Rumour had it that they not only attended the prestigious Ashby boarding school but that they had traveled all of Europe extensively studying the languages, cultures and artwork of each country, France, Italy, Spain... They had even sailed to the savage region of western Africa and foiled the assassination attempt of an evil shaman, saving the life of an African princess. Jasmine daydreamed of all this as she tried one pastry after another, sighing and giggling as she day dreamed one of them asking her to dance, twirling her around the room, falling madly in love with her and proposing to her this very night. So consumed by her thoughts she failed to notice the gentlemen watching her until he was already upon her. Just about to bite down she stopped, a cupcake half in her mouth half out as she looked up with gawking eyes. It was the middle Balston brother, Bernard she believed his name was.
“Pardon me, mademoiselle,” he said, bowing and kissing the back of her hand that was not clutching the chocolate cupcake, “But I have been observing you from afar and you obviously have a very regal palette. I was wondering if you would do me the honour of a dance?” Jasmine tried to answer but realized her mouth was still full of cupcake so she only nodded as she stared awestruck into his eyes. Bernard was perhaps the most dashing man she had ever laid eyes on. His skin was of a perfect complexion, his square jaw and supple lips moved in such a delightful way, his deep blue eyes were like an arctic sea on a bright day. He was tall, thick but with muscle, every part of him perfectly proportioned. His wide, broad shoulders tapered down into a small waist and his stomach was flat and smooth, rock hard too, no doubt. Bernard was already leading her to the dance floor, holding her hand gently in his gloved one. They set about to dancing and Jasmine found she could no longer focus on Bernard; she was far too busy trying to watch her feet and remember the steps to this particular dance.
Theresa was just finishing her observations of the paintings on the main floor when a shadow appeared at her side. Glancing up, which never happened to the abnormally tall Theresa, she saw Baldric Balston looking at her, a thoughtful look in his eyes.
“Ma Chérie,” he said, bowing low, gently taking her hand and planting a kiss on it. Theresa pulled her hand from his grip, shaking slightly at this sudden surprise.
“My apologies Ma Chère, I did not mean to frighten you. I just wished to enquire if you were enjoying your evening?” Baldric was pleasing to the eyes, his deep baritone voice, the strong chin, the straight nose, the blue eyes so famous to the Balston family and the thin black moustache that hovered above his lip. His pitch-black hair was parted at the side without a stray strand in sight.
“Well enough.” Theresa replied, suspicion oozing out of her. Her father had never trusted the Balstons and neither did she.
“Please, I noticed you observing the many paintings and I thought I might give you a personal tour?”
“Very well.” Theresa responded, her interest in artwork outweighing her inherited dislike of his family as she took the arm he offered to her.
The tour was nice enough, pointing out who the painters were and who the subjects had been, all of them Balstons of course. She was beginning to think she was wrong about the Balstons. Perhaps Papa, in his jealousy over their success while the legends of the Godholds faded rapidly, had been over exaggerating.
The tour ended in the garden where they strode gently down the gravel pathway through the beautifully scented flowers. The moon was full and cast the garden in a bewitching pale light. Baldric bent down, his white gloves shimmering in the moonlight as he picked a set of leaves from their stem.
“Most people think the flower is the most beautiful part, Ma Chère. I, however, believe it is the leaves. For without the leaf the flower cannot live and bloom.” As he spoke, his deep voice whispering sweetly, he touched the leaves gently to her chest and shoulders. It tickled slightly but she was too enamoured and stunned to protest.
“This particular plant was brought back from the Americas by my grandfather. It took a lot of care and attention to grow here but as you can see it now flourishes.” Inching closer he ran them delicately down her arms and then back up to her face, her cheeks, her eyes, her forehead, circling her slowly as he did, his warm breath on her neck. She could feel herself blushing and reddening with each moment, her heart all a flutter. It was all so romantic perhaps her father had been wrong about ‘those Bastard Balstons’ after all.
“I feel as if this plant is like you Ma Chère. Out of place but with a little love and attention you will flourish.”
Theresa felt a warm tingling throughout her body, a smile touched her lips and she worked up the courage to sidestep even closer to Baldric, to align her body with his and feel the pressure of his strong frame.
“Baldric?” A voice was calling. Baldric stepped away.
“Forgive me Ma Chérie, a host’s duties are never done.” He stepped lightly away from her but not before placing the trio of leaves in her hand, pressing them firmly against her skin and wrapping her fingers around them. A final, longing look and then he was gone.
Jasmine couldn’t believe her luck, but then again she could. She had always been very dainty as a child, not independent and sturdy like Theresa. She needed someone strong and rich to take care of her and had devoted herself to this destiny since she was young; always taking care of her skin, her hair, getting plenty of sleep, keeping up with the latest fashions. Never in her wildest dreams did she ever imagine herself with someone as rich and educated as Bernard Balston. Yet here they were, out on the balcony overlooking all of London. The chill night air sent goose bumps along her arms and stirred the straggles of dirty blonde hair against her shoulders. Bernard was kissing her neck gently, whispering endearments in French into her ears; at least she assumed they were endearments since Jasmine couldn’t speak a word of French. Slowly Bernard undid the lace at the back of her dress. She felt it loosening. Instead of being scared or angry, as she should have been, she felt giddy, a smile brightening her face, slightly cracking the white paint that had, by now, dried out. Bernard took his time and her eagerness increased. Everything was coming together just as she had planned. Soon she would become Mrs. Bernard Balston, she would live here in this giant manor and she would never have to worry about not having anything to wear because she would just buy a new dress every day for as long as she lived. Bernard would pay off the family debt and her sister and brother could go back to their squabbling ways, writing to Jasmine occasionally, begging her to come and visit, thanking her for her wisdom and selflessness. And of course she would have no time to visit them for she would be too busy raising Bernard’s children, three sons, because Bernard was one of three sons, and maybe a daughter for Jasmine herself to spoil with dresses and balls and jewelry.
Lost in the sickly sweet reverie of her ambitions for the future she realized that Bernard had already gotten her dress off, as well as her corset. She was now standing naked from the waist up with only her bright pink leggings covering the lower half of her body. Bernard looked her up and down and she smiled again, waiting anxiously in anticipation. Bernard, still holding the dress, walked around her, eyeing her breasts, her tummy flab, her wide and jiggling hips, her wiggling thighs. He circled around and stood behind her. She waited, expecting to feel his warm, strong hands on her skin, his lips brushing her neck. After minutes of standing behind her silently she finally turned around, wondering what he was waiting for. There she saw Bernard, leaning casually against the railing. He was puffing lightly on a cigarette but her dress and corset were missing.
Theresa had by now explored the entire manor twice and was feeling quite worn out. She was already over the interaction with Baldric, all too aware of her own age and poverty and lack of social grace. Balls were not her idea of good entertainment as they were to Jasmine. No, balls were simply a way for men to find women of proper breeding age, of which she was not; who were beautiful enough to put up with their nattering, of which she also was not; and who had parents as rich as their own, which she most certainly was not in possession of. Now if a kindly, decent man who didn’t mind marrying an older woman, who didn’t mind marrying a woman with only a vast amount of debt to her name and who didn’t mind marrying a woman who was by no means considered beautiful but was considered to have more than her share of awkwardness and brains; then she would be more than willing to tie the knot and bear him as many lanky, clumsy children as he wanted. Knowing that this was futile she sighed aloud and began her search for her sister again.
Charles had arrived, hours late as was his usual, and merrily headed towards Balston Manor, replacing his top hat back on his head now that he was safe from the jolting of the carriage. He smiled brightly at the scattered people around the courtyard who had escaped the manor for some fresh air and with a light step and a jump he began to ascend up the steps, when all of a sudden something soft and heavy landed on his head, effectively knocking him to the ground.
Theresa could not find her sister among the dancers or the smokers or the debaters. Just as she began to head outside she saw Charles entering the doorway. Forgetting all about Jasmine she strode forward, preparing herself to scold him for not being around to help keep an eye on their sister; however, as she neared him through the crowd she saw that he was holding a bundle of fabric in his hands. He looked both bewildered and perplexed and his left cheek was scraped.
“What on earth are you doing with Jasmine’s gown?” She demanded, wrenching it from his grip, ignoring the fact that people were starting to stare as she attempted to unfold it and shake it out. Neither of them noticed Bernard come strutting down the stairs, smiling wickedly and making his way straight to a group of pretty ladies.
“It fell on me. Where’s Jasmine?”
“What do you mean it fell on you? And I have no idea where Jas-“ Her voice trailed off. She grabbed her brother by the hand and dragged him back outside.
“Where!?” She demanded, her eyes searching upwards to the balconies above.
“Where what?”
“Where were you when it landed on you?”
“I was right here, minding my own business, just coming to find you two when it knocked me down onto the stairs.” He was gently tapping his scraped and bruised cheek, lost in the memory but Theresa was already running back inside, hiking up her dress to stop it from interfering with her sprint. Her long legs allowed her to easily climb the stairs three at a time while her stick thin, slightly shorter brother chased after her, his tattered coattails waving behind him. She ran through the hallways of the upper floors, opening all the doors above the stairs until finally she found Jasmine.
She was sitting in the middle of the room, alone and weeping. Theresa ran to her sister’s side and knelt beside her. She hugged her sister, attempting to comfort her but her sister remained in her state of bereavement, barely acknowledging Theresa’s presence. Charles, his face red with embarrassment, turned away from his half naked sister and chose instead to admire his dirty, unpolished shoes.
“Are you ok Jasmine?” Theresa said, trying to lift Jasmine to her feet.
“N-n-no!” She wailed loudly.
“Please Jasmine you must stand up. We must get you out of here.”
“N-no. I want t-to stay here until everyone h-has left. I-I don’t w-want anyone to see me like this” She sobbed.
“Please Jasmine. You must listen to me. If you stay here everyone will think the worst and you will never be able to marry.” This shocked Jasmine out of her fit and she stared up at Theresa with big wide eyes.
“What do you mean?”
Theresa rolled her eyes, “Honestly Jasmine, there must be something in that head of yours besides fluff. Without your innocence no man will want you. You will become an old spinster like me.”
“No!” Jasmine was crying again and Theresa, insulted, lost all pity for her sister and wrenched her to her feet, thrusting her corset at her.
“We must get back to the party quickly and take our leave. Enough people already saw your dress without you in it. Charles! Go fetch a carriage for us.” Charles, only too happy to leave, strode quickly from the room as Theresa finished lacing up the corset.
Just as Theresa was doing up the backings of the dress Jasmine turned to her. She made a funny, crinkled up face.
“What’s wrong you?”
“Huh?” Theresa went for the mirror on the boudoir and gasped. Her face was all red and splotchy, as was her neck, her shoulders and even her arms. It was then that she noticed the itch as well. She began to scratch, her eyes filling with panic. Jasmine rushed over and steadied her sister’s hands.
“No. You mustn’t scratch.” She said, pinning her sister’s arms at her sides.
“What is this!?” She yelled, leaning forward again to look at her distorted features. Jasmine plucked the leaves that Theresa had tucked behind her ear after Baldric’s departure.
“What’s this?” She asked.
“Oh no.” Was all Theresa managed, realization flooding through her. Jasmine caught on and dropped the leaves in disgust.
“We have to get out of here.” Jasmine tugged Theresa away from the mirror. “This place is cursed!”
The girls slowly descended the staircase, eyes looking anywhere but at the crowd of people and pretending that no one was watching even though the entire party had gone silent with dubious intrigue. A motion from Bernard and even the string quartet paused. Theresa lead the way, her skin covered in splotches of rashes and blisters. She fought with all the self-discipline she had to not scratch away at her skin violently, her fingers twitching at her side with desire. Behind her Jasmine looked not much better. The layers of paint on her skin had dried and cracked and yet there were obvious streaks where the rivers of tears had run. Her hair was lopsided and stray locks hung everywhere. Her dress was ruffled and wrinkled, not quite sitting right and covered in grime from its drop to the wet ground.
At the foot of the stairs Charles waited, doing his best to pretend everything was normal. He held the door open for his sisters, holding his top hat to his chest, as they exited the Manor, heads held high in contempt.
