Post by ella clarke on Aug 14, 2010 18:41:29 GMT -5
“Open wide,” Dr. Edwards instructed as he nimbly plucked a small wooden depressor from the lapel of his jacket and flattened Ella’s tongue. He leaned forward, peering down her throat; his moist breath unwelcome against her face. Closing her eyes, she willed herself to not stare at the long hairs in his nose – she’d encountered that misfortune more times than she cared to count. Another soft breath assaulted her as the doctor exhaled and cleared his throat with a low, contemplative hum. The sound broke through the stillness that permeated the room and Ella could envision the way her mother’s spine would straighten in response as she awaited the diagnosis, vindicated. It was a scene Ella had seen delivered countless times and understood the performance as well as the most skilled actress. Instead she focused her mind on the faint scent of peppermint and tobacco upon his breath. She wondered idly if it was his wife that loathed cigars and if that was the reason why he attempted to conceal that he’d had one on his way to their home. She knew it was not for her mother’s benefit – she frequently purchased fine cigars as a gift for her father.
A faint cough escaped her throat as the doctor removed the stale-tasting board from her tongue. “You did well to call me,” Dr. Edwards announced as though Ella was not present. In many ways she wasn’t. The doctor was always eager to provide her mother, Lady Elsbeth Clarke, with a new remedy while working to further his connections within the Clarke’s extensive circle. Over the years Ella had come to read his mannerisms as indicators for her prognosis. A suggestion that he remain for tea meant her condition was grave and would require further isolation and bed rest whereas the soft clearing of his throat and scratching of his nose meant he was working to formulate a fictitious malady. Her life was comprised of such illnesses. She was always told that she was unwell and her own opinion discarded. While other children played outdoors Ella remained in her room, the sound of their laughter lulling her to sleep, beckoning her to join them in her dreams. Such activity would be detrimental to her fragile constitution. Though Ella had no idea what it meant to be well, she was certain that she was not as ill as Dr. Edwards wished her mother to believe. Especially today.
“I knew it,” her mother breathed as though the words had the ability to revive her from her the vigil she held across the room. Slipping from the shadows, Elsbeth quickly reclaimed her place beside Ella, reaching for her hand and patting it for good measure. “Perhaps we should adjourn so that we might discuss treatment,” Dr. Edwards suggested as Ella closed her eyes once more, knowing that her mother would accept the bait. She always did.
Ella inched beneath the silk sheets until her chin rested on the plush coverlet. She had no doubt as to what was motivating the doctor’s diagnosis: Lady Denworth. It was no secret that she was looking to replace her family doctor as her husband’s condition continued to worsen. Their story was discussed over tea with hushed voices and knowing glances. Ella was certain Dr. Edwards was seeking a recommendation. Her mother, however, remained oblivious to his motivations. “Unless it would be too much trouble. I only wished to allow the young Miss Clarke to rest without further interruption. I would be loathe to do anything that would cause her condition to worsen.”
“Oh! It would be no bother at all, Dr. Edwards. I’ll ring for tea right away,” Elsbeth agreed hastily, ushering the smug doctor from the room.
Alone once more, Ella groaned, pulling a pillow over her face as she did. In many ways her mother was nothing more than a puppet being led by the doctor’s whims. She never questioned his diagnoses or requested a second opinion. Instead Ella often thought that she appeared relieved to discover that her daughter was ill once more and needed to remain confined to her room. It seemed contrary to what most parents would desire for their child – illness rather than health. She had often heard the hushed conversations of family and friends discussing her fragile state and what a pity it was. Ella never understood why her mother didn’t seem to share their sentiment. The thought that there was more to her family than she knew often pricked her consciousness with unease.
Her gaze fell on her well-loved copy of Northanger Abbey and she chuckled to herself. “You’re a daft daydreamer,” she chided as she reached for the familiar tale once more. Like Catherine, the heroine of the novel, Ella longed for adventure; for something more than the life she knew. More than that, she longed for the one thing she knew would forever elude her: romance. Who would ever love an invalid?
Ella inched the down-filled coverlet upwards until it was a tent above her head and peered down at her slender frame. She wondered if she would ever feel strong arms about her waist as they danced or have someone whisper lovingly in her ear. The only romance she knew was penned by another; her adventures the result of someone else’s imaginings. Extending her right leg, Ella lifted it, allowing it to support her makeshift tent. She rotated it slowly, examining it for some indication of what was ailing her. To her untrained eye, Ella could not find anything abnormal. Her opinion regarding her health was always discarded with an assurance that this was merely a good day but she was not well enough to venture outdoors.
The problem was that she felt well. Her wardrobe was stocked with expensive gowns that she seldom had opportunity to wear. Lowering the blanket, Ella glanced at the sunlight filtering through the drawn curtains. She wanted nothing more than a few moments of freedom. If she were going to be confined to her room it would be more tolerable if she felt ill. After all, Ella was certain that she knew more about her health than the stuffy Dr. Edwards ever would.
Slipping from the covers, Ella glanced toward the door, her mind resolute. She had to work fast or her plan would be thwarted, and if she did manage to pull it off, she knew she would not leave the house again for some time. She made her way to her wardrobe and quickly retrieved the first gown she found – a simple navy and cream. Throwing it onto her bed she quickly gathered her underclothing. She could not ring for assistance dressing and thrilled with the prospect of taking care of herself for once; to be independent.
With the final hairpin in place, Ella crept from her room, wincing at the soft rustle her skirts made through the still hallways. The voices of her mother and doctor, hushed and urgent, curved into the stillness. Her heart accelerated in response and she pressed herself against the wall as she continued toward the front door. Her fingers brushed against the polished brass handle, curving around it as she hesitated. It was dangerous and improper for a young lady to traipse about London unescorted. As a young girl her mother and nanny had delighted in telling her cautionary tales of what happened to girls who did not follow the rules; who were daring and brash. As she opened the door and stepped outside, Ella reassured herself with the knowledge that she was not about to run through the slums but take a tour about the park.
With that she hurried down the front walk and out the iron gate, no longer caring what anyone else thought.
OOC -- this is terrible. I'm so sorry
