Mouth Agape (Not Pretty, But Honest)

What the HELL just happened here?

I opened this up, planning to post a couple of flash pieces because I haven't a clue what to write, again, and discovered that I seem to have been 'discovered'.

From 12.5 views per post on average yesterday, I'm suddenly "popular" with almost 15 views per post, average.

I'm thrilled - I think. I'm delighted and gratified and humbled, but it's strange.

Between yesterday, when I was getting around 15 or 18 views per day, up from 10 or 12 a week or two ago, I suddenly have 285! Quite a jump, isn't it? And a surprise - pleasant, I hope.

Is it my dissertation on the markets and what's happening with China? Was it the post about baseball? The Cubbies fans are all upset with me or something? Is it the NSA or the Central Bank wondering who's saying what? Or is it something else?

I don't know, but it is a little disconcerting.

Oh, well, ho hum, nothing illegal was said, nothing plagiaristic or untoward. Simple facts and opinion so I shan't worry.

Now, back to what I was going to do. Over on WEbook, which I discovered through Twitter, I posted a short piece. It's an excerpt from a book currently hiding on my laptop and, because it was a vignette rather than a story it was received well from the technical standpoint - I write well, according to one commenter, but not from the literary since it didn't really introduce itself before sitting down.

The guideline for this submission is 850 words max, and the prompt is 'Confession'. With that, I'll let you decide which you prefer by posting both versions. And, to help you as I didn't help the readers when I posted this, this is an except from one of my sequels to 'Pride & Prejudice', so it's set in the early 19th century, the scenes involve Lizzy, Darcy and their sisters (in the first, anyway).

Confession

At dinner I was withdrawn and sat, staring at my plate. What my sisters thought I could not tell, because I could not look at them. Rarely, I glanced at Darcy. When I caught his eye, he would smile. Once he reached under the table and found my hand, holding it for several seconds.

Afterward, we retired to the drawing room. There, Kitty came to kneel in front of me, her hand on my knee, a look of worry etched her countenance.

"Lizzy? What is troubling you? Can I help? Please?" Her words were gentle, so soft that, for the first time in months, I could meet her gaze. There was her compassion and her fear.

Without thought, I lifted my hand, laying it against her cheek, unable to speak. So we sat until she turned her head, and brushed my palm with her lips. My reserve broke. Sobbing, I leaned forward, embraced her while my shoulders shook. A small piece of confidence fell into place when her arms enclosed me. Long minutes passed before I calmed. Then, I sat back. Taking her hands, I held them, gathering strength.

"Oh, Kitty." There is another step to take if I will be whole. I must trust. "Do you recall what happened at Jane's?"

She nodded.

"It affected me, far more than I first knew. It was not until Lord Matlock’s ball that I felt the full effect. That night I was frightened. What would people think or say? From almost the first moment, I saw looks of disdain, of disgust. Even, among some of the men, looks of speculation."

At my side, Darcy stiffened. I paid him no attention. This was to answer Kitty's questions, and Georgiana’s.

"That fear had built for months, since the night of Mr. Sheffield’s assault. I was uncertain, unsure of everyone around me and distrusted everyone. I believed that everyone thought ill of me, that no one believed my innocence." My hands tightened on hers. "Before supper that night at Uncle William’s, I overheard Edward say something about it. By then, my confidence was so frail, so undermined that the wound of a friend speaking so struck me deeply.

"Edward, others of the company and I retired to Lord Matlock's library. There, I tried to defend myself." I smiled, bitterly. "Indeed, I was so lost to everything that I spoke plainly, far more than I should have. It shames me now, but then it was strengthening. When I was finished, I was so cold, so sick, and weak that I could not stand it. I thought I would be ill. I left the room, intending to leave the house. But I could not. I could not because of you, Kitty, and because of Georgiana. I did not wish to reduce myself before you as I already had before everyone else whose esteem I valued and had lost." Tears overtopped my lower lids to slip down my cheeks. "Outside, I could not bring myself to walk down the front steps. I stood there, reliving what had been done, and I cried. A crowd gathered, watching me, whispering. Unable to face them, either, I went back inside. I wanted to hide.

"And that was when I was lost, Kitty, that night. I did not realize how deep I had sunk, how far I had fallen.

"The next morning I asked Darcy if I could come here. He agreed and I left. My feeling of isolation strengthened because no one said good-bye or seemed to care." My head dropped and my shoulders shook while fresh tears fell. Despair loomed, the abyss opened, threatening. Arms came up, holding me, preventing me from falling. "I wanted to die. I wished to die. I wished to kill myself and I spent days plotting and planning how and where, convinced no one would care."

I broke down. Leaning forward, my face buried my hands, curling over my unborn child.

Kitty held me, offering strength and compassion while Darcy's hand rested on my back.

I moved. Sitting up, I wiped away my tears. "And that is what has been wrong with me. I have been ill. Indeed, I believe that I have been almost mad. All that kept me from harming myself is this child. I could not condemn myself before God by killing this child, too. But that was all that stayed my hand. That was all." Lifting my eyes, I looked into my sister's.

Tears wetted her cheeks, swam in her eyes. Her mouth worked. "Oh, Lizzy!" She leaned forward, pulling me against her. "Oh, Lizzy!"

I held her while she cried. Then, I lowered my arms, cupped her tear streaked face in my hands. "I am sorry. I am so sorry for the pain I have caused." Raising my eyes to Georgiana, I said, "Georgie, I am sorry."

Her face, too, was pale and stained. She stood. Three steps brought her to where I sat. Kneeling next to our sister, she leaned forward and, with one arm around my shoulders and the other around Kitty, we hugged, our tears mingling.

* * * * *

(Untitled)

I put the last flower in my hair while Bess hovered in the background. “I do not like it, Darcy. The man forced the introduction.”

My husband sat by the fire, his reflection showing me his semi-amusement at my irritation. “He is a friend of Bingley’s, my dear. I am sure he thought it would not be taken amiss…”

“Had you seen the way he spied upon me!”

“Spied upon you?” He unfolded from the chair, “Is that not a bit melodramatic?”

In normal circumstance, I admitted to myself it would be. Not now, however, not when I thought back to that afternoon.

I had been sitting in the sun, enjoying its warmth and musing before the scent of a cigar intruded. Startled, my eyes flew open and there, perhaps ten feet away, stood a man of slender build. His look of self-assurance warned me and I stood.

“I am sorry.” He glided forward. “I did not mean to startle you. I am Sheffield, Stephen Sheffield and I beg your pardon, but I could not help but admire you there.”

Stiff, uncomfortable, I curtseyed. “Elizabeth Darcy. Pray, excuse me.”

Hurrying past I felt his eyes following me. At the steps I turned, confirming the sensation.

Days passed and as time went on, my discomfort around the man increased. The first night I wondered. The third, I suspected. A week later I knew.

“I have been called home, my dear.” Darcy held the paper the servant had delivered just a minute before. “Barnes wrote to me, but I shan’t be gone long. No more than a day or two.”

Fear swept in like a gust of icy wind. “Take me with you, husband.”

He laughed and asked why but took none of my reasons seriously. “I shall be back as quick as I may and this is not worth disrupting Jane’s party over.” I shivered against him as he spoke over my head, “I shall have a word with Bingley and with Blackwell. I shall ask them to keep an eye out. Will that do?”

I wanted to trust, to believe, so I agreed even though fear whispered it was wrong.

By the time Darcy returned all had changed. I was not the woman I had been. Sheffield had caught me in the hall upstairs while the others were downstairs. I fought him. I bore the marks he laid upon me for my fight. There were cuts on my cheek where his fists had landed, the bruises, deep purple and red on my arms and throat. Only by the grace of God was I not changed more than marks and fear. Blackwell had saved me from worse.

The guilt of it remained. I had been caught, through no fault of my own, but the stigma of being seen in such a place – another man’s bed chamber – in such a way – my skirts above my hips, his trousers at his ankles. It was enough to burn, to wither the esteem I had felt for myself, to question my value to my husband and sisters.

Darcy held me no blame. Indeed, he was supportive and loving, taking care of me and assuring me, but assurances were thin. Of course he would not accuse, but I did, and others.

Through the fall and into the winter, wherever we went it followed. Those who were there, those who had seen spoke of it. The whispers circulated and speculation grew, certainty that I had been complicit took root and denial was pointless.

“I wish to go home, Darcy.” Reduced to begging, with no shred of pride remaining, I looked at him through tear-filled eyes. “I cannot stay here, can you not see?”

He assented, the pain in him evident, but we could not reach across to cure the other of us. It was too fresh, too raw and healing had not yet begun.

To Pemberley I returned and sequestered myself from my housemates, existing in the confines of my rooms, not speaking, not seeing, refusing humanity in all of its offers.

Chill January brought storms and, resolve. I would let Fate choose.

The storm was strong, the winds gusting around the compass with abandon while I stood there in its buffeting courses. My toes peeped over the edge of the parapet, nothing between them and the terrace four stories below. The wind caught my skirts, tugging, encouraging me to step forward but I did not.

If Fate would have me fly, it must be decisive and sure, a shove in the back not a child’s play at my knees.

Through the gloom and the swirls of diaphanous white appeared a glow, bobbing along from the corner of the house. Enough! The spell was broken. I stepped back, turned and left Fate alone on the leads. I would live.

* * * * *

So, there you have it, and I'll let you decide which you like. After all, that's only fair.

Have a lovely day!

Best~

Philippa

Follow me on Twitter: https://twitter.com/PhilippaStories