Defining Choice
By Laura Schiller
Based on: Downton Abbey
Copyright: Julian Fellowes
Kemal Pamuk was my choice. Whatever happens, I must remember that.
When Mama asked if he had forced himself on me, I shook my head. Now I must stand by that denial, even though the disappointment – the contempt – on her face makes me sick to remember. If I changed my story now, she might not even believe me. I fear that I have lost her trust for good.
Would anyone believe me, if not my own mother? Certainly not Edith, that spiteful little bitch, or Sybil the saint, whose only passion is for social justice. As for Papa, he would probably disown me. Anna might understand, but how can I confide this to a housemaid? She is already less respectful in her behavior than I would like – never rude, of course, Anna Smith could not be rude if she tried.
I wish I could tell Carson most of all. I wish I were a child again, so that he could pick me up and stroke my hair, and let me fall asleep to the sound of his deep voice rumbling a lullaby. But I am not a child, and if I told him about this, his disappointment in me would be worse than anything. "I thought better of you, my lady," he'd say, and be as freezingly polite from that moment on as only Carson can.
And if I told the truth – the truth as I remember it, as I lived it – nobody would believe me. Not Mama, not Carson, not Anna. Not even Matthew. God, Matthew – how can I ever face him again?
It would sound absurd. Mr. Pamuk was banking on that.
Who would believe that a handsome, charming, respectable diplomat, who could have had any girl for the asking, pinned me to the wall and forced a kiss on me in my own father's house? That he later came to my room and, in case I screamed or rang the bell, threatened to ruin my reputation unless I let him have his way with me?
He read me perfectly, this brilliant young diplomat. He manipulated me like a puppet on a string.
My answer to Mama's question was not a lie. I did choose him. He gave me the choice: to make myself a sinner or a victim. I became the sinner, and I enjoyed it, as he knew I would. Because there is only one thing more unbearable than a loved one's contempt, and that is their pity.
I chose Kemal Pamuk. For that, I will never forgive him – or myself.