Destiny's Carriage

The quintessential daughter is a submissive one. She's agreeable. Courteous. Devout. Tolerant, some might say. But I've never be known for my tolerance...

The long-sounding scream of a whistle wakes me from my slumber, and I'm perplexed to see Catherine, the eldest of my siblings standing over me in unfamiliar surroundings.

"I was beginning to wonder whether or not your obsession with becoming intoxicated had killed you." She states contemptuously.

"I am not obsessed with it, " I automatically object, noticing the window beside me where the world out there rushes by in a blur, my memory of boarding the train out of mind's reach.

She frowns. "Your pallor is a pale green. Lord Thackeray is not likely to forget a woman with a face the colour of dying grass."

"A man of Lord Thackeray's standing is unlikely to remember what the colour of grass even is, being so above us all."

"Must you always be so pejorative Alice?"

I place my hand to my stomach in an attempt to quell it's protest against the evening before, lean over and rest my pounding head down into the sheets. I can feel my sister's disapproval all around me; in the length of her gaze, in the molecules in air, in the fabric of the night clothes I'm wearing. I sit up suddenly.

"Where are my clothes?"

"Soiled, and disposed of. Do not fret, Maisie and I removed your underclothes from you after you stumbled into the sleeper. Your nudity is nothing we haven't seen before."

As if the very mention of my younger sister commands it, the concealed carriage's door opens and Maisie floats in, wearing her finest morning dress in a summery yellow hue. Her cheeks have been pinched, her hair styled with ribbons and a matching bonnet, and her waist is cinched painfully tight. She's only just narrowly escaped childhood, but this balloon she now wears has recaptured my younger sister and thrown her straight back into it.

Catherine looks her up and down. "You look like a bloated sunflower." Oh, she is in fine form today, similarly drenched in a shade of purple that captivates her hazel eyes and honeyed curls. She's dressed to impress. Maisie is well trained not to react, and I bite a smile back at the comment and instead fix my gaze upon the monstrosity that hangs against the carriage wall. It's pink, and well...pink.

"I am not-" I begin, but Catherine as always inflicts her telepathy.

"Sweet sister, why would you assume we'd dress you in such a colour? You don't wear pink well."

"It's for Cousin Eunice." Maisie chirps, reaching over to take it in her arms- the purpose of her visit. Behind the large flowery garment, lies another which is far less exhibitionist. Soft blue, high neck and modest sleeves I know will not wake a sleeping neighbourhood when I move my arms.

"I know how particular you are about your... manner of dress," Catherine concedes. "I had it fashioned for you leading up to the event. Besides, I hear Lord Thackeray likes women who are a little more...plain."

I ignore her veiled insults. "I told you I would not be in attendance at the Thackeray's Ball," I declare.

"And yet somehow here you are, accompanying us on this lovely train ride through the country. Enjoy the view sister, I expect you will be engaged come the end of our stay, and will not be returning home."

"How was I even allowed passage? I've no ticket." Maisie treacherously takes her leave with the ugly pink dress, and the door closes behind her.

"Yes, well about that -Cousin Eunice gave the news you'd so diligently cancelled your ticket from our booking without mentioning a word of it."

I scowl at her, and am on my feet at once. "I'm getting off at the next stop."

"Oh no you're not! I've taken certain...extreme measures to get you a place on this carriage so you don't miss the Ball. Its my sisterly duty, and Father wants you wedded and bedded besides."

"Oh for heavens sake Catherine- you're the eldest. His concern with marriage should lay with you."

"And it does! Except I have a plethora of suitors of which I have the option to make a considered selection- and you have none!" We eye each other, carefully. "If you'd only just make the effort," she says grabbing my tangled mane. I snatch my hair back and step away from her. I take the dress down, and I change in front of her.

"What do you mean...by...extreme...measures?"

I ask this between hops, pulling on the pantalettes provided. These are my own, and I suspect my sisters have covertly packed a trunk for me with the remainder of my Spring wardrobe. Catherine grins wickedly- this cannot be good. From her bodice she retrieves a slip of paper. She hands it to me. I take it, reading and ask:

"Who is Beatrice Penfold?" Yet again, it dawns, my headache now compounded. "No..."

"Yes."

"I'm not even going to ask."

"Let's just say poor Beatrice had some rather...unfortunate trouble with her transport arrangements this morning when her coachman failed to appear."

"Ah... another problem solved with Father's money. It won't take the Penfolds' long before they discover I've boarded in Beatrice's absence."

"A common administrational error." Catherine says flatly, not a hint of culpability present.

"I'm getting off at the next stop." I repeat, lacing up my bodice. I slap away her hands as they seek to assist.

"I'm sure a certain family of good standing would be shocked to learn that Humphrey Eddington's daughter stole their precious Beatrice's identity..."

"You wouldn't dare."

"Wouldn't I?" Her eyes glitter. Cousin Eunice bursts in with Maisie in toe as I try to formulate a response.

"Cousin! Oh don't you look positively charming!" she enunciates.

"Pink is very becoming on you," I return the compliment with a carefully placed smile. We embrace. I can't exactly blame Cousin Eunice for informing Catherine of my clandestine attempt to exile myself from this dreadful journey; on this she would have stumbled quite innocently. In other words; Eunice is as daft as a brush.

"I'll leave you both to reacquaint." Catherine slips out the door, but not without saying, "Alice -be sure to powder before we arrive, and don't dally; we'll be there in the better part of two hours." I glare after her.

"Isn't this exciting!" Cousin Eunice takes my hand and we sit together on the bed. Maisie clambers up on the other side of me, and I find myself wedged in between them and their giant dresses for the next half hour, listening to their superficial banter about friends and enemies. The topic quickly moves to boys. Boys and men. Prospective husbands. At the very mention of his name I bristle.

"Miles Thackeray is absolutely divine!" Maisie swoons. Then adds for my cousins benefit, "He used to love pushing me on the swing set as a young girl! Although he's closer to Alice's age, everyone always spoke of how close we were- and how one day it was likely we'd be betrothed."

"Yes I remember visiting your home as a child and frolicking with the Thackeray boys also," Eunice intentionally fails to acknowledge Maisie's fixation with Miles, as he's the most sort after man in England at present. Every mother in the country with an eligible daughter wants grandchildren inspired by the chiselled Adonis that is Miles Thackeray. "Miles picked a tulip for me before I left for home the last time I saw him." Cousin Eunice counters in what's suddenly become a competition, although I'm sure her claim is an untruth. "I would assert that Laurence is the Thackery brother best suited to you Cousin. Alice do you not agree?"

"Laurence would indeed make a smart match, but Bernard is just as pleasing," I say of the eldest Thackeray brother, in jest. In actuality, he's nearly twenty years Maisie's senior. Her jaw drops and she pulls on my hair playfully. Its Jonathan Thackeray that Catherine wants to marry me off to- their father, recently widowed and exceedingly wealthy, and forty years my senior!

The thing is, while both my sisters think I detest the idea (and I do be sure of that), its not Lord Thackeray that has deterred me from this...fiasco. It's Miles.

You see, Miles Thackeray and I...we have what some may call a rather... scandalous history- I'm embarrassed to say but, quite frankly denying the truth of the matter would only be doing me a disservice. One must always acknowledge ones faults.

We are a year apart, he the elder of us. We became the best of friends when our fathers introduced our families to each other's when I was but eight years young. We played together in our youth, and then something changed between us, and we started playing naked. Multiple times. Over multiple years. One day, I quite stupidly proclaimed my undying love in a letter I'd penned to him, as I'd been pretending all the while that I didn't care for affection and felt as though I'd simply burst. I even scented the parchment with dried Monkshood from the gardens. What a waste of time that had been, for he already knew I was smitten with him, and pretended he was completely unaware. The person I'd been fooling of course, was myself. Needless to say, he did not respond to my letter, nor did he acknowledge the fact that he had used my body for a single purpose. Multiple times. Things became very awkward after that. He wouldn't- couldn't look me in the eye. And that's when I found out he'd taken several other maidens into his bed, some of which I called friend, and have continued to call friend so desperate I was and am to keep secret the nature of Miles and my relationship. It broke my heart, and I've loved none since then. I despise him, naturally. I cannot go to this ridiculous Ball of the Thackeray's as I'm expected to- I refuse to place myself in front of that ghastly man while I watch him seduce every woman in sight. What's even more astounding about him, is that his reputation as a Casanova is commonly known, and yet does not seem to inspire rejection - only exacerbating the attentions of these insipid young women whose soul purpose in life is to be married. Why is it that attractive men get away with spoiling a women's reputation only to further inflate their own?

"I know Alice's secret." Maisie says suddenly in a wicked manner. My heart drops down into my stomach, my face paradoxically presenting a picture of practised placidity.

"What secret would that be?" I play along, though in fear and my mind races with images I've long learned to shut out but ultimately cannot hide from.

"That you actually want to marry Bernard. He's always been very fond of you, even Catherine agrees. I think you might fancy him a little more than you are letting on, which is why you seem so reluctant to inquire after his father."

Relief.

Then suddenly the train screeches and lurches and we three are thrown forward from the bed onto the floor of the sleeper. We moan and groan and when the train rights itself we stand to brush off our skirts. After several minutes of uncertainty, Catherine, more frazzled than ever bursts into the sleeper.

"Oh thank goodness you are all alright- I've the most dreadful news!" she says wildly. "We have run off course!"

Maisie and Cousin Eunice gasp in hysteria, and I feel a slight sense of panic rise in concern for our safety.

"What's happened?"

"The conductor has taken ill- his heart I fear has caused him to fall from his seat!" More gasps.

"Then who is driving the train?" says Maisie.

"No-one!" More hysteria.

"Are we going to crash?" I ask, and Cousin Eunice faints.

"They say the train has swayed from the main line. For the moment, the train is running steadily unmanned, but there is nobody qualified to operate this engine, and a nurse is attending to the driver who is not currently conscious. We will be delayed for several more hours as the workers at the next station are preparing to stop the locomotive."

"So we are not going to die?" Maisie looks pale.

"No - don't be absurd. The steam engineers have it all under control. But we will miss the Thackery's Ball!" Now Catherine is hysterical, and she steps over Eunice to sit on the bed.

I smile as Maisie comforts her. It looks like I'll be getting off at the next stop after all. I couldn't think of a more perfect ending...

Alice Eddington.

Somewhere in the British countryside.

11th May 1837.