Westminster 1822

Westminster 1822 Westminster Castle tucked away in the country side of Great Britain. With her king she’d been hidden with all her glory and grandeur. She stood as a testament and an astounding memorial to the loves and passions of Hamilton women gone by. The Marquess, Oscar Hamilton let the breeze of the country side whip his face but not carry his soul, no not yet. The old lady stood tall and proud. Towers high, skeleton strong. He knew one day he would have to say goodbye to her. ‘Something the matter Sir?’ Dominic stepped down from the front steps and startled the old man out of his day dreams. ‘Nothing young man. It’s just Westminster someday I’ll have to leave her. She was my Abbey, a companion as great as the moon.’ Dominic straightened his jacket and attempted a smile. He would never understand the sentiment Oscar Hamilton had for the Castle. For something that was nothing but stone and bags of dead cement. An object that could never speak, never tell a lie, never tell a soul. ‘Just the ramblings of an old man.’ Oscar tore his eyes away from the house. He stomped his cain on the pavement and proceeded to walk onto the grass. ‘I’m sure your daughters will take great care of Westminster.’ Dominic said. Oscar's glossy eyes threatened to water. Would they even be here? He failed to provide himself an heir. Westminster would sooner die with him. ‘My daughters are as precious as diamonds to me, but they too will have to leave.’ They strolled the field and found themselves near the duck pond. Memories of his late wife and their two daughters flashed before his eyes. He sighed, soon he’d join her, if she would have him. ‘Which brings me to why I called you Dominic. Your father was a great servant to my family and he hopes you’ll do the same.’ The ducks swam to the shore of the pond, Oscar couldn’t tear his eyes away from their innocence. ‘I’m getting older and soon I’ll be no good to anyone. I want my daughters to be taken care of when I’m gone. Westminster won’t take care of itself. I need you to handle the formal arrangements along with Miss Furlong the girl’s governess. For their engagements.’ Dominic nodded, he’d never formalized an engagement before but he was sure it was all paperwork wine and elegant rich family’s edger to maintain status. He was certain it wouldn’t take much to convince anyone to marry into the Hamilton family. They were the biggest land owners in England and Westminster Castle had been an envy for years. Thanks to the efforts of Sir Hamilton’s passed wife. ‘You will to ride out to Winchester and inform Countess Lucia Bentley that the time for our arrangement has come. Then you will turn to the east and request audience with the Kelly family. I believe your trips will be successful. In three days, we will hold a ball to celebrate… well we can come up with that later then after we shall announce their formal engagements.’ The Marquess lifted his cain and proceeded beyond the pond to the garden. ‘Do your daughters know of their engagements?’ Dominic asked. ‘They will soon.’ *** ‘Want to take her out tonight?’ Harry opened the stable door and let Emily walk in to pet her favourite brown steed. Emily waited for Harry to enter the stall, out of sight from any eyes pacing by the stables. She shook her head. ‘I can’t Furlong’s acting suspicious of me. I have to give riding a break for a while Harry at least the way I want to ride.’ ‘Did she say anything?’ ‘No, but she looks at me as if she saw me.’ ‘Had she seen us, Emily it would have been worse for me. I would have been out of the Castle already.’ Emily smiled, a rush of heat warmed her chest. ‘I appreciate your friendship Harry.’ A thousand pin needles pierced his heart at once. The stable boy stared at the brown dirty hey. His sandy blond hair draped over his face, concealing the shame evident on his face. ‘Uh Emily. Why am I not surprised? With the stable boy.’ Ella strolled to the open stall door and presented Emily with her best smile. An umbrella fell behind her shoulders. Her eyes accused her sister of shameful things that her mouth could easily say but never prove. Emily exhaled and fought the scream burning her lungs. Ella’s purple satin dress displayed elegance and taste. Not a lock of her shiny brown her was ever found out of place, her hands were rarely ever un-gloved or exposed to harsh labour. Her sister’s skin was full of bruises from wild adventures. Her dress was flat and tearing, Furlong would have a fit when she saw her. Emily had bad posture yet the most charming smile. She wasn’t the perfect picture of elegance but she could be ever so graceful. She had a heart burning for excitement. A dream Westminster could never provide. ‘Ella I’m sure you’re not here for a riding lesson.’ Emily stepped out of the stable. Harry remained behind with the horse. ‘Oh, no riding the beats is your thing.’ ‘Then why are you here? Certainly, this isn’t where the latest gossip meeting is being held is it?’ Emily crossed her arms. Ella pulled her purple fan and dramatically fanned her face. Emily rolled her eyes. ‘This horrid place couldn’t possibly host our social meetings. I’m only here to tell you Furlong wishes to prepare us before Father speaks to us this evening. Better hurry she’s been raging for hours.’ Ella hid a smile behind her fan. Emily’s eyes went wide. ‘Why didn’t you find me sooner!’ She stormed out of the stable and dashed to the house. Leaving Ella behind. Harry was still in the stall, brushing the steed’s fur. Ella strolled in and paused at the door. Her shoes couldn’t touch the bottom of a horse’s filthy stall. ‘Stable boy, I know you’ve been taking my sister out for nightly horse rides.’ ‘Did you tell Madame Furlong?’ Harry stared at the hey. Ella laughed. ‘Of course not. She hardly needs me to tell her anything. I’m only telling you what she would but in a kinder way.’ ‘I was only teaching her how to ride the steed nothing else.’ ‘Aw, of course you were but it’s only natural for feelings to develop when two spend time alone. And my sister does enjoy misleading the heart of the hopeless fool.’ ‘No madame I promise—’ Ella held up her palm hidden in a white glove to silence him. ‘Listen carefully, horse boy. Emily is the daughter of a man of high social standard. You can never be anything to her other than the man who bathes her disgusting beast. You’d do yourself a favour by staying away from her.’ Harry nodded, picked up the wooden basket on the floor and walked out of the stall. His head downcast and his spirit beaten. Ella lifted her umbrella and pranced out of the stable, a smile beamed on her face and satisfaction glimmered inside her. *** ‘Madame Furlong! Madam Furlong! I’m here! I’m—’ ‘Goodness Emily have you not yet learned to be civil!’ Madame Furlong barked. Her infamous black whip gripped in her hand. It never hit anyone other than Emily and the tables or walls for thunderous effect. ‘I’m sorry I’m late I didn’t know you were looking for me.’ Madame Furlong lashed the whip against the white walls. The sound bounced off the halls and lifted all the way to the third floor of the Castle. She always lined the girls up downstairs outside the kitchen. Far from their Father their Mother often looked the other way when the whip was used. Emily bowed her head and closed her eyes. Furlong wouldn’t steal her peace, she always told herself. Furlong sighed and shook her head. ‘I had so much hope for you in the beginning Emily. I thought you’d been the next great lady of Westminster Castle. Your sister instead turned out to be quite the socialite.’ Furlong circled her like a vulture on a hot day, sizing up its meat. ‘Sometimes people hardly know the Marquess has another daughter. I believe it’s for the best.’ Emily kept her eyes close. They were only just words, she told herself. ‘Nevertheless, I will not disappoint the Marquess of his late wife and most of all you will not embarrass me!’ Emily flinched as Furlong’s voice and the whip hitting the floor echoed through the hall. ‘Agrona!’ Furlong yelled. A short woman scurried out of the kitchen and bowed before her. Furlong didn’t bother turn her way she had her eyes glued on Emily. She picked out the straw in her hair and traces the torn parts of her dress. ‘Draw her a bath immediately and… burn this dress. I never want to see it again.’ Agrona, the housemaid curtsied. ‘Yes madame.’ Emily learned how to make the words stop replaying themselves in her head a long time ago. She soaked in the bathtub until the water became cold. Her skin wrinkled but she couldn’t find the strength to stand up. One of the things she looked forward to about leaving Westminster was leaving Furlong behind. She’d been with the family for fifteen years and not once did she ever smile at Emily. Agrona had been at the Castle since before Emily’s real mother passed away. Her Father remarried Ella’s Mother shortly after. Agrona was the only one who ever spoke about her but even she spoke solemnly. Emily had a feeling her Father had banned all mention of his first wife. Emily couldn’t understand why if he had loved her so much. Perhaps it had something to do with Ella’s Mother. ‘Come now Emily. Madame Furlong will not like that you’re not out yet. You know she is.’ Agrona waited for Emily to step out of the tub before wrapped a towel around her. ‘Did she tell you what Father wants to talk about?’ ‘Oh no. Furlong would never she thinks she’s the right hand to the Marquess.’ Agrona chuckled, the laugh lines on her face fully visible. Emily smiled. Thank goodness it wasn’t so. ‘Do you think we’re having guests?’ Emily asked. The Marquess hadn’t hosted his friends for dinner since his wife passed. A rose-pink gown was sprawled on her bed with a white corset next to it and undergarments. One-inch heels were placed at the foot of her queen bed. Locking the door and pretending she wasn’t there wouldn’t stop Furlong. Agrona helped Emily with the corset, the most uncomfortable part of the entire even her sister complained of the ghastly thing. Agrona was about to brush Emily’s honey brown hair when the bedroom doors flew open. ‘Leave us now Agrona. Make sure everything is perfect for dinner with the Marquess.’ Agrona gave Emily an apology with her eyes before she bowed and left. Furlong shut the double doors behind her. She picked up the golden brush and ran her claws through Emily’s hair that had never been trimmed. ‘So much potential.’ Furlong whispered. She yanked Emily’s hair back, pulling every last strand together at the top of her head together. Emily watched from the mirror as Furlong forced her hair to obey her design. Furlong pulled the ponytail back and leaned over Emily’s shoulder. ‘Remember don’t slouch, do not speak unless spoken to—’ ‘But he’s my Father!’ Emily snapped. ‘Enough!’ Furlong shoved her head back. ‘You will behave like a well-mannered young lady tonight Emily! You will not ruin this for me!’ Their eyes locked like two bulls about to rip each other apart. Madame Furlong’s nails made bruises in her palms. Emily blinked and lost the contest. Furlong could have her moments of glory in front of her Father. ‘Yes.’ She whispered. ‘Good.’ Furlong picked up the hair that rested on her back and tied it into a braid. Emily couldn’t bring her eyes to look into the mirror. When they were done Ella was already waiting for Emily outside the dining room doors. They stood side by side with Furlong behind them who held her head high. Their Mother had the white double doors added to their private dining room replacing the old glass doors. Furlong opened the doors for them and her words rang in Emily’s mind. Chin up, back straight, mouth shut. Those words followed her until they took their seats either side of their Father. The Marquess was a man approaching sixty with a wealth as vast as the Indian Ocean. Much of that wealth lay in banks, property and jewellery. His greatest treasures were Westminster and his only daughters. ‘My lovely daughters. What fine young ladies you’ve become?’ The Marquess said as a servant poured him a glass of red wine. Ella presented her most charming smile. ‘Of course, Father.’ Furlong blushed with incomparable pride. ‘Madame Furlong did have a hand in that.’ Ella smiled at her governess who melted in delight. ‘Yes, of course.’ The Marquess nodded at the governess. ‘And my lovely wild child Emily. It seemed like just yesterday you were falling from trees and swimming with the ducts in your undergarments.’ Emily smiled at the only man she’d ever love, the only one who didn’t see shame and disgrace when he saw her. Fury flashed across Furlong’s face. Emily didn’t dare look at her she concentrated on her watery mushroom soup. Ella touched her chest and laughed. ‘Oh, Father that was yesterday.’ ‘How so long that feels from today.’ He lifted the glass to his lips. Fear burned and a sense of loss consumed him. After their desert was served and digested. The Marquess requested a moment alone with his children. The servants cleared the table then cleared out. Emily’s palms grew moist with each second, he refrained from speaking. Ella toyed with her locks and suppressed a yawn. ‘I always knew this day would come, but it seems to me it has arrived much sooner than I expected…’ Emily’s hand smoothed the wrinkles of his fisted hand. The Marquess softened. His glossy blue eyes drooped. He caressed her rosy cheek, he nearly believed he had been teleported back twenty years ago. ‘My wild child… why can’t I let you go?!’ He hammered his fist on the table. ‘It’s alright Father. Tell us what you wanted to say.’ Emily said. He nodded then cleared his throat. ‘A few days ago, I sent Mr. Clerk to formally meet with the family of Countess Lucia Bentley and The Marquess of Birmingham. We agreed years ago to unit our families someday and I believe that time has come.’ The time to leave Westminster, to leave her Father. To become the copy of a picture only missing a few items from the original one. To trade one box for another. Emily’s soul felt pushed back into the cell it was trying to escape. ‘The Bentley family is quite prestigious, I must say.’ Ella smirked, lifting a glass of wine to her lips. ‘Yes, the late Count was a great friend of mine.’ The Marquess said. ‘Charming. Which one of the Bentley men shall be my betrothed, Father?’ Ella savoured the taste of red grape. ‘Oh, no Ella. Elton Bentley was promised to your sister.’ The Marquess searched for his eldest’s hand, but she’d hidden them away under the table. Unfortunately, she couldn’t so easily mask her sorrow. ‘To Emily?’ Ella snapped, the glass landed heavily on the table and chipped. ‘Ella…’ The Marquess sighed. ‘No Father! Harris Kelly is hardly the socialite! He’s an utter disappointment. Do you want to embarrass me before all of society?!’ Ella boomed. The Marquess rubbed his forehead. Ella would send him to his grave sooner than he wanted to. ‘Father please. It’s not worth Ella’s anger. I’ll marry the Marquess son. I know any man you choose would be a decent one.’ Ella settled back into the chair. The Marquess’s eyes rose at the gentleness his daughter possessed. It was like another zap back to the past. He found and gripped her hand as if it would magically return him to simpler times under the sun. When love had its say even for a short-lived time, but how so much was said. Perhaps death could return him to the time the sun rose with meaning and the moon set with hope. ‘The late Count and I made an agreement when you were born. My firstborn child would marry his son. Before time takes me allow me, my love, to honour our agreement.’ His glossy eyes filled with tears. Glass shattered on the hardwood floor. The Marquess and Emily flinched as Ella pushed her chair back and yelled. ‘I will not be the laughingstock of England! Emily doesn’t even care where she ends up! She might as well become an old maiden and live in in Westminster forever!’ ‘Ella…’ The Marquess’ attempt at reasoning failed. ‘No Father! The Marquess and his family better not even come!’ The double doors burst open and to the Marquess’s relief it was Madame Furlong. Her tightly knit face scanned the room. Her eyes narrowed at Ella then Emily who hadn’t moved from her chair. ‘Madame Furlong. I believe my daughter needs your consoling. You’ll do much better than I, I believe.’ The Marquess rose followed by Emily. Furlong nodded and wrapped her arms around Ella and ushered her out of the room. The Marquess kissed the top of his daughter’s head and released her. Emily was torn between following her sister but Furlong would only bar the efforts. There was a place she could go for a small taste of freedom. *** ‘Westminster Castle, ay brother?’ Liam swirled scotch in his glass before downing it. Late nights were for him and his brother to talk about unimportant things but in the case of his recent marriage arrangement was of a little importance. Elton was the oldest and Liam was younger by a year though he married the daughter of Marquess a couple months prior. Thanks to his Mother who couldn’t stand his flamboyant behaviour and demanded he settle down. All she did was condemn an innocent girl to a life of misery. Elton stood by the window staring at something down in the moonlit garden. ‘From the little details I’ve been given it’s a good arrangement.’ Liam smirked. Elton turned to him. ‘You’re a gossip Liam.’ Liam barked a laugh. ‘I simply want to know the terms of your marriage. They certainly sound better than mine were.’ He grumbled. Elton groaned. ‘I’m marrying his eldest daughter that’s all.’ ‘And inherit Westminster?’ ‘No, not that I love of anyway.’ Elton was built with more muscle than Liam. He had a few inches over his brother with black curly hair their mother demanded be pulled back in public. As he leaned against the wall his muscles bulged in his shirt. ‘Well then will you marry her?’ Liam poured himself another cup of scotch. Elton laughed. ‘Who am I to reject a proposal made over twenty years ago?’ Liam shrugged. The boys shared the same pair of turquoise eyes but their souls were like two different books. The prospect of marrying a stranger frightened him as much as a voyage across two oceans. But he had to fulfil his duty to his late Father.