My dress is a little too tight around the bust, but as it is by far by most beautiful in watered emerald silk with velvet print, I had decided against my better judgement to wear it. My dear fiance approves, remarking on my colouring and kissing my neck. We are leaving the comfort of my quarters to meet his uncle for the first time, and I am anxious to please. I feel unclean, awkward after not washing after his attentions, and hope this new acquaintance will not see me as impurely as I am tainted.
I am much younger than my beau, but I love him as truly as any one of my age ever could. Being eighteen and blossoming into a pale innocent with wide dark eyes, it had seemed fitting for me to leave my mother and my siblings and seek better things in the city. I had gained work as a shop girl in London, but my education from my late father's books lead me to gain a post as a librarian at a crumbling borough. It was there I had met him in the pursuit of a book by Newton, and after several visits he asked me to walk out with him, and eventually stay in his apartments. He was a good fellow and I felt for him well, and I did not wish to stay in the disreputable boarding house. Being virginal and of fair education and voice, I had attracted his attentions before the claws of the brothel madame's had time to reach, and I had lived comfortably in fine quarters with all the books and sweetmeats I cared for.
He was kind enough, a middling scientist at the Royal Institute, and satisfied his lust in me, being a good pure sort not riled with the diseases of the street, in respectable seclusion. He spoke to me with reassuring formality of what to expect with such dealings in the way of my womanhood, and before long I had grown to enjoy our tender nights and his attentive nature. Soon he had discovered my hunger for books and knowledge, and, impressed at my knowledge of philosophers had began to read to me before I slept. So became discussion, and discussion respect. Before long he had grown fonder of me than just a mistress, and, as unmarried in his fifties, asked for my hand.
Having no need of inheritance or fear of ridicule on account of my reputation as an innocent, it was not something anyone would reject on the status of my class. I felt for him more than I had ever felt for simple farm boys, and as he was sweet and gentle to me, and holder of my virtue, I saw no reason to deny his hand. After all, what was a pretty young country girl on the arm of an aging middle class gentleman?
The gas lamps were fully lit by the time the hansom cab arrived to take us to the borough of the uncle, and my perfume has worn stale in the air, rendering it a strange mix of soap and rose water. I hope he does not think me too common at such a low scent, as I have heard he is a well to do gentleman from the other side of the family. The Mileau family have lived in London since the terror in France, and despite the lack of a title they hold much influence over polite society. I, in my origins, am humbled by such a connection.
The horses stopped at a tall white plastered house with a pillared front, terraced between an uproaring celebration of cackling ladies on the right and a boarded house on the left. It was normal in those days for houses to be left empty in season if a family had fallen upon hard times. The house itself stood dark with one room lit on the second floor, sparkling with yellow glass. The butler took my cape without so much as a raised brow at it's tallow nature, and addressed my husband with a respectful tone.
We were led through to the lounge, carpeted in gold cord and soft sand silks, the ceiling adorned with round cherubs and a great dome of empty summer skies falsifying the winter night. Art I had never seen nor truly wished to lay around the room as if half unpacked on easels and out of frames, displaying bizarre half dressed nymphs, their hair crowded with flowers, surrounded with odd gold and strange brush strokes. The seemed to be dancing from the frames and the strangeness of this dazzled me.
A tall man, about six or more foot, stood in the doorway when my eyes became raised, and in truth, alarmed at his silhouette, I rose sharply to my feet. My fiance rose too so not to humiliate me in my humble nature, and took my arm to steady me, his grip firm. The man laughed softly, in an accent I hadn't yet heard. Perhaps it was French, but in truth I knew not.
"I hope I did not alarm you, Mademoiselle. They say I am as tall as St Paul and twice as striking."
I did not know if he was joking or not so I turned to my fiance, who laughed shortly, and I joined him, not wanting to meet his gaze in case he thought me impudent. Every inch of my body wanted to leave that room, run far from this gilded bird cage in which I was being weighed up ounce for ounce. I wanted to turn with my partner and sink into the cold dark of the night away from those bitter blue eyes.
"Madeline, you must learn my uncle has a wit to be reckoned with." my suitor said in a light voice, trying to relax me from such obvious discomfort in my embarrassment. The uncle's eyes shone into me as if seeing all, a wide smile across his thin lips.
"Madeline? You are French?" He asked, stepping closer, watching me carefully.
"No sir, my mother just liked the name." He raised his eyebrows a little, obviously disapproving at such flamboyancy. "Although my father was German-" I added, regretting it immediately for the dark shadow that fell across his face. France had been at war with Germany since I was a little girl. I needn't have worried for angering him- the shadow faded immediately and he kissed my cheek warmly, as if meeting an old friend.
"Welcome, Madeline. And welcome to you too, nephew."
I studied him closely over supper, trying to pinpoint his age. He can't have been more than sixty, although he looked younger in features and gait apart from his fraught hands and greying hair. He was a powerful, cutting figure, and walked with a weight and assurance that left me dwarfed next to him. He talked on eagerly through the night, and I sat listen and occasionally attempting to join the debates, desperate to display my intelligence. He spoke over me a little but I did not dare raise it further. He had a wife, back in France, whom he loved dearly, more children than I could name and a desire to use his fortune to bring peace to Europe, although I did not believe even the Mileau family fortune could stop the angry gunshots shattering through the paper thin borderlines.
After a few glasses of wine, I began to feel more settled, although it was clear that he disapproved of how little I ate of what was clearly expensive cuisine, and I was there simply as a common courtesy. My fiance rose to be excused for a telegram and I sat calmly in front of the uncle, not expecting anything from so gentlemanly a man.
His smile dropped, his eyes filling with distaste and his hand slamming on my wrist.
