What Do You Know of Love?

I must have made a pathetic sight: dirt on my cloak and blood on my face.

Somehow I made it home. Though I was not eager to meet anyone, I longed for the comfort and tranquility of my room. Where else could I have gone in my pitiful state?

My hope of avoiding any encounter shattered in the entranceway with the appearance of Elisabeth.

'Miss Lister, what on earth ...'

'None of your business.' I hurried past her and hoped, she had understood the earnest in my words.

I could hear the clatter of cutlery and vivid chatter from the sitting room. 'Is that her?', a male voice asked.

Oh shit, that commoner is still here.

I hasted up the stairs, but Marian was already on her feet and right behind me.

'Anne, where have you been? Mr. Abbot and I would have appreciat… Oh Anne, what's wrong?'

'Nothing. It's NOTHING.'

'B-but what happened to your nose?'

I sighed. 'It's broken. OBVIOUSLY.'

I took the remaining steps but Marian would not let up.

'No wonder, when you get about … w-wherever you've been... and pretend to be someone you're not.'

'Leave me alone!'

'It was only a matter of time until someone would pick a fight with you. Oh no, let me guess: YOU picked a fight.'

I slammed the door only to have her open it again. How could she be so persistent? And why now of all times?

'People talk, Anne.'

'So what? They've always been talking.'

'Yes, but now ...'

'Don't tell me, you're ashamed of me in front of your rug merchant?!'

'Leave Mr. Abbot out of it. He at least is a respectable and decent person.'

'Unlike me? Is that what you wanted to say?'

'You know, your doings will reflect badly on all of us. Do you want to sabotage my chances of happiness? Of love?'

'Love? What do YOU know of LOVE?'

Marian gasped.

'Now get out of my sight!'

She startled and turned on the doorstep.

I slammed the door a second time, leaned against it and took a deep breath, glad to be finally rid of Marian.

Had I been too harsh with her? But what did I care at this miserable moment about my pathetic little sister?

Darn!

I hammered my fists at the wall. I kicked at the bedpost and suppressed a scream when I felt the pain in my toe. My bloody face glared at me from the mirror. Some of the servants had put some greens in a vase: flowers that mockingly embodied life's beauty in full bloom. Furiously I swiped everything from the dresser that was sitting on it to give vent to my anger. My diary, among other things, landed in a puddle between shards and greens, ink blurred and pages creased.

No, no, no!

I muffled my cries with a pillow. How could she do that to me? How could she let me down like that?

'Oh god, why do you punish me? Am I not your creation? Why did you make me like this?'

I felt sick. Powerless. Drained of all confidence.

I would have called for a drink, but then I would have to face Elisabeth or Eugenie. So I just crawled into my bed and closed my eyes, hoping to sink into the forgetful embrace of sleep.