The morning had been cold, augmenting itself in the dwindling gray rain and
increasing fog that slinked over the rolling hills of Ireland. The Gossley
family mansion sat quietly among the calm, almost gloomy setting, poking
out of the fog with its spindles and gables.
Satine sat quietly, more or less properly, with her back straight sipping her tea in the dark wood chair. She brushed a red curl from her face as she stared out into the Irish countryside.
"Satine, the ladies and I would like you to play the piano now," a tall, slightly wrinkled woman demanded in a kind way, shattering Satine's daydream.
"Mother, I'm not in a musical mood," Satine retorted in a whisper so that none of her mother's high society friends would hear. Her mother blinked a few times, swallowed, and opened her mouth slowly. "Dear, I said the ladies and I would like you to play the piano now, don't make me repeat myself again," she whispered sternly.
Satine broke eye contact with her mother and stared into the adjacent parlor where the light conversation of middle-aged women in dark colored party dresses was floating up around her ears.
"She'd love to play," a deep voice suddenly joined in and Satine felt cold strong hands grasp her shoulders. Satine whipped her head around to see a man in a tall top hat with a handlebar mustache covering a small grin.
"Oh Charles, how delightful to see you," Satine's mother exclaimed as he kissed her white-gloved hand.
"You're looking radiant as always, Satine," he said, now turning his attitude towards the seventeen year old. Her blue eyes turned cold and she thanked him for the compliment.
"Now, my dear, let us hear you play," Charles insisted. Satine felt defeated and angrily floated over to the grandiose piano. The women watched as her nimble, long fingers effortlessly spun the ivory keys into a light, cheery song.
"Ruth, you've raised her well," one of Satine's mother's friends stated with a smile after taking an elegant sip of tea. Charles sat down and took off his hat as the melody filled the room, sternly smiling.
"Yes Ruth, if I do say so myself, your daughter has a gift for song and art," he twisted his mustache, staring at the beauty playing the piano. Ruth blushed, and motioned for the maid to bring more tea.
"Well, do you hear that Satine? You have been complimented." Satine said nothing and continued playing, half concentrating on the notes, half in her own world; a world away from this prison where she performed like an animal in a circus.
Her mother cleared her throat. "Satine, you have been complimented."
The joyful music stopped.
"Thank you Charles," she said without an ounce of emotion or affection towards the pompous suitor and turned on her heal to leave.
Satine's ankle boots tapped softly on the hardwood floor. She slowed as she began to realize that voices in the parlor room still seemed as pleasant, light, and petty as they had been before. "An act," she thought to herself. "This whole world's an act. Mother will act calm and pleasant as long as she has guests. and. Charles," she shuddered at that name. She knew, as much as she wanted to block the idea out of her mind, that her mother would force marriage upon her with Charles. "He has money," she once said. "And in our world, Satine, money marries money."
Satine stood in the hallway outside the parlor room, cold tears falling onto her blue dress.
"She's quite stubborn," the faint voce of Charles said. Satine drew closer to the room with curiosity.
"Yes Charles, that she is," her mother said.
"That's what I love about her," he said, and she could tell he was smiling his idiotic pretentious smile. "Love!" she thought with a laugh through her tears.
"But that's beside the point, I've had quite the exciting day," he continued.
"Oh yes and what has happened?"
"Well, I was just packing up, getting ready to head home from my fathers bank As I was passing the vacant office on the ground floor I heard some strange noise coming from that room," he said in a conceited voice. "Naturally, I don't have time to investigate those sorts of things, but I had time on my hands, so I poked my head in, and you'll never guess what I saw, you'll just never guess."
Although Satine could see neither see her mother, her friends, or Charles, she could tell the whole party was intrigued by this oh-so-drab story. "Well, I saw a boy!"
The women in the room gasped. "A boy?"
"Yes, a boy! He looked to be as old as your own Satine. A street boy at that, and he was willing to put up a fight when I found him, let me tell you."
"How absurd!" Satine's mother gasped. "I've never heard of such a thing," a few of the women said. "Why on earth would a street boy be sleeping in a vacant bank office?"
Charles laughed and took a sip of brandy. "You answer me that!"
"Well what did you do?" someone questioned.
"I locked him in the barn for now," Charles said casually.
"Why didn't you just take him to the police station?" Satine's mother asked in a horrified voice, terrified that a dangerous street boy was in her barn at that very moment.
"They had no room in the cells, not uncommon these days in Ireland, so they suggested I store him somewhere else until they could drag him off. Most likely he'll get a few year sentence. Filthy trash."
Satine was intrigued. "The barn." she though to herself.
Satine sat quietly, more or less properly, with her back straight sipping her tea in the dark wood chair. She brushed a red curl from her face as she stared out into the Irish countryside.
"Satine, the ladies and I would like you to play the piano now," a tall, slightly wrinkled woman demanded in a kind way, shattering Satine's daydream.
"Mother, I'm not in a musical mood," Satine retorted in a whisper so that none of her mother's high society friends would hear. Her mother blinked a few times, swallowed, and opened her mouth slowly. "Dear, I said the ladies and I would like you to play the piano now, don't make me repeat myself again," she whispered sternly.
Satine broke eye contact with her mother and stared into the adjacent parlor where the light conversation of middle-aged women in dark colored party dresses was floating up around her ears.
"She'd love to play," a deep voice suddenly joined in and Satine felt cold strong hands grasp her shoulders. Satine whipped her head around to see a man in a tall top hat with a handlebar mustache covering a small grin.
"Oh Charles, how delightful to see you," Satine's mother exclaimed as he kissed her white-gloved hand.
"You're looking radiant as always, Satine," he said, now turning his attitude towards the seventeen year old. Her blue eyes turned cold and she thanked him for the compliment.
"Now, my dear, let us hear you play," Charles insisted. Satine felt defeated and angrily floated over to the grandiose piano. The women watched as her nimble, long fingers effortlessly spun the ivory keys into a light, cheery song.
"Ruth, you've raised her well," one of Satine's mother's friends stated with a smile after taking an elegant sip of tea. Charles sat down and took off his hat as the melody filled the room, sternly smiling.
"Yes Ruth, if I do say so myself, your daughter has a gift for song and art," he twisted his mustache, staring at the beauty playing the piano. Ruth blushed, and motioned for the maid to bring more tea.
"Well, do you hear that Satine? You have been complimented." Satine said nothing and continued playing, half concentrating on the notes, half in her own world; a world away from this prison where she performed like an animal in a circus.
Her mother cleared her throat. "Satine, you have been complimented."
The joyful music stopped.
"Thank you Charles," she said without an ounce of emotion or affection towards the pompous suitor and turned on her heal to leave.
Satine's ankle boots tapped softly on the hardwood floor. She slowed as she began to realize that voices in the parlor room still seemed as pleasant, light, and petty as they had been before. "An act," she thought to herself. "This whole world's an act. Mother will act calm and pleasant as long as she has guests. and. Charles," she shuddered at that name. She knew, as much as she wanted to block the idea out of her mind, that her mother would force marriage upon her with Charles. "He has money," she once said. "And in our world, Satine, money marries money."
Satine stood in the hallway outside the parlor room, cold tears falling onto her blue dress.
"She's quite stubborn," the faint voce of Charles said. Satine drew closer to the room with curiosity.
"Yes Charles, that she is," her mother said.
"That's what I love about her," he said, and she could tell he was smiling his idiotic pretentious smile. "Love!" she thought with a laugh through her tears.
"But that's beside the point, I've had quite the exciting day," he continued.
"Oh yes and what has happened?"
"Well, I was just packing up, getting ready to head home from my fathers bank As I was passing the vacant office on the ground floor I heard some strange noise coming from that room," he said in a conceited voice. "Naturally, I don't have time to investigate those sorts of things, but I had time on my hands, so I poked my head in, and you'll never guess what I saw, you'll just never guess."
Although Satine could see neither see her mother, her friends, or Charles, she could tell the whole party was intrigued by this oh-so-drab story. "Well, I saw a boy!"
The women in the room gasped. "A boy?"
"Yes, a boy! He looked to be as old as your own Satine. A street boy at that, and he was willing to put up a fight when I found him, let me tell you."
"How absurd!" Satine's mother gasped. "I've never heard of such a thing," a few of the women said. "Why on earth would a street boy be sleeping in a vacant bank office?"
Charles laughed and took a sip of brandy. "You answer me that!"
"Well what did you do?" someone questioned.
"I locked him in the barn for now," Charles said casually.
"Why didn't you just take him to the police station?" Satine's mother asked in a horrified voice, terrified that a dangerous street boy was in her barn at that very moment.
"They had no room in the cells, not uncommon these days in Ireland, so they suggested I store him somewhere else until they could drag him off. Most likely he'll get a few year sentence. Filthy trash."
Satine was intrigued. "The barn." she though to herself.