Unwelcome

My dress is a little too tight around the bust, but as it is by far by most beautiful in watered emerald silk with velvet print, I had decided against my better judgement to wear it. My dear fiance approves, remarking on my colouring and kissing my neck. We are leaving the comfort of my quarters to meet his uncle for the first time, and I am anxious to please. I feel unclean, awkward after not washing after his attentions, and hope this new acquaintance will not see me as impurely as I am tainted.

I am much younger than my beau, but I love him as truly as any one of my age ever could. Being eighteen and blossoming into a pale innocent with wide dark eyes, it had seemed fitting for me to leave my mother and my siblings and seek better things in the city. I had gained work as a shop girl in London, but my education from my late father's books lead me to gain a post as a librarian at a crumbling borough. It was there I had met him in the pursuit of a book by Newton, and after several visits he asked me to walk out with him, and eventually stay in his apartments. He was a good fellow and I felt for him well, and I did not wish to stay in the disreputable boarding house. Being virginal and of fair education and voice, I had attracted his attentions before the claws of the brothel madame's had time to reach, and I had lived comfortably in fine quarters with all the books and sweetmeats I cared for.

He was kind enough, a middling scientist at the Royal Institute, and satisfied his lust in me, being a good pure sort not riled with the diseases of the street, in respectable seclusion. He spoke to me with reassuring formality of what to expect with such dealings in the way of my womanhood, and before long I had grown to enjoy our tender nights and his attentive nature. Soon he had discovered my hunger for books and knowledge, and, impressed at my knowledge of philosophers had began to read to me before I slept. So became discussion, and discussion respect. Before long he had grown fonder of me than just a mistress, and, as unmarried in his fifties, asked for my hand.

Having no need of inheritance or fear of ridicule on account of my reputation as an innocent, it was not something anyone would reject on the status of my class. I felt for him more than I had ever felt for simple farm boys, and as he was sweet and gentle to me, and holder of my virtue, I saw no reason to deny his hand. After all, what was a pretty young country girl on the arm of an aging middle class gentleman?

The gas lamps were fully lit by the time the hansom cab arrived to take us to the borough of the uncle, and my perfume has worn stale in the air, rendering it a strange mix of soap and rose water. I hope he does not think me too common at such a low scent, as I have heard he is a well to do gentleman from the other side of the family. The Mileau family have lived in London since the terror in France, and despite the lack of a title they hold much influence over polite society. I, in my origins, am humbled by such a connection.

The horses stopped at a tall white plastered house with a pillared front, terraced between an uproaring celebration of cackling ladies on the right and a boarded house on the left. It was normal in those days for houses to be left empty in season if a family had fallen upon hard times. The house itself stood dark with one room lit on the second floor, sparkling with yellow glass. The butler took my cape without so much as a raised brow at it's tallow nature, and addressed my husband with a respectful tone.

We were led through to the lounge, carpeted in gold cord and soft sand silks, the ceiling adorned with round cherubs and a great dome of empty summer skies falsifying the winter night. Art I had never seen nor truly wished to lay around the room as if half unpacked on easels and out of frames, displaying bizarre half dressed nymphs, their hair crowded with flowers, surrounded with odd gold and strange brush strokes. The seemed to be dancing from the frames and the strangeness of this dazzled me.

A tall man, about six or more foot, stood in the doorway when my eyes became raised, and in truth, alarmed at his silhouette, I rose sharply to my feet. My fiance rose too so not to humiliate me in my humble nature, and took my arm to steady me, his grip firm. The man laughed softly, in an accent I hadn't yet heard. Perhaps it was French, but in truth I knew not.

"I hope I did not alarm you, Mademoiselle. They say I am as tall as St Paul and twice as striking."

I did not know if he was joking or not so I turned to my fiance, who laughed shortly, and I joined him, not wanting to meet his gaze in case he thought me impudent. Every inch of my body wanted to leave that room, run far from this gilded bird cage in which I was being weighed up ounce for ounce. I wanted to turn with my partner and sink into the cold dark of the night away from those bitter blue eyes.

"Madeline, you must learn my uncle has a wit to be reckoned with." my suitor said in a light voice, trying to relax me from such obvious discomfort in my embarrassment. The uncle's eyes shone into me as if seeing all, a wide smile across his thin lips.

"Madeline? You are French?" He asked, stepping closer, watching me carefully.

"No sir, my mother just liked the name." He raised his eyebrows a little, obviously disapproving at such flamboyancy. "Although my father was German-" I added, regretting it immediately for the dark shadow that fell across his face. France had been at war with Germany since I was a little girl. I needn't have worried for angering him- the shadow faded immediately and he kissed my cheek warmly, as if meeting an old friend.

"Welcome, Madeline. And welcome to you too, nephew."

I studied him closely over supper, trying to pinpoint his age. He can't have been more than sixty, although he looked younger in features and gait apart from his fraught hands and greying hair. He was a powerful, cutting figure, and walked with a weight and assurance that left me dwarfed next to him. He talked on eagerly through the night, and I sat listen and occasionally attempting to join the debates, desperate to display my intelligence. He spoke over me a little but I did not dare raise it further. He had a wife, back in France, whom he loved dearly, more children than I could name and a desire to use his fortune to bring peace to Europe, although I did not believe even the Mileau family fortune could stop the angry gunshots shattering through the paper thin borderlines.

After a few glasses of wine, I began to feel more settled, although it was clear that he disapproved of how little I ate of what was clearly expensive cuisine, and I was there simply as a common courtesy. My fiance rose to be excused for a telegram and I sat calmly in front of the uncle, not expecting anything from so gentlemanly a man.

His smile dropped, his eyes filling with distaste and his hand slamming on my wrist.

"How old are you, girl." He demanded, pressing my wrist into the table I nearly cried out in fear.

"18, sir." I gasped, not daring to pull away.

"You will not inherit anything. His wage will stop when he is gone and you will get nothing from me."

"I know sir."

" I do not like being humiliated, Madeline."

I stopped, not sure what to say, so I just met him with a cold stare.

" I know your sort. You are nothing but a common whore." He spat, his fingers tightening around my small wrist until my veins trembled. "Do you have to pox? With how many men have you lain?"

"No sir. Only him sir, I was a virgin before meeting him."

He laughed sharply. "Do not take me for a fool. Pretty girls like you don't last until they are of your years. My nephew may have fallen for you and your elecutional lies but I haven't." He snorted, leaning closer. "German officer father indeed. The only thing Germanic about you is your impudence. Do not keep your airs with me girl. You are nothing in my eyes, nothing. Do you understand?"

I did not know how to reply, as his cruelty had stunned me. "Yes sir." He released his grip slightly, looking into my eyes searchingly. Then, as if unable to stop himself, he reached out and touched my jaw line, tracing my neck. He withdrew his fingers sharply, spitting in my face.

"Whore."

My husband returned not long after I had cleansed my face, and his uncle's facade of content was placed so firmly on I resolved not to tell him. I could not risk the wedge of disbelief that would drive between us both. They talked on about a bizarre system of scientific instruments I did not fully understand beyond a few basic greek and latinate forms, so I sat calmly and smiled through the conversation like a doll, robust in my innocence, and his.

"I was explaining to Madeline the nature of the new artwork in the drawing room." The uncle said slickly, smiling at me with a kindness that almost left my uncertain of its reality. I nodded limply, my mouth too dry from fear for any quick lies. "Clever little one you have there, my dear nephew." He patted my hand across the table kindly. "Treasure her, God only knows how I miss my Idene in this god forsaken city." He looked up to the heavens with a sorrow that almost left me outraged, after his vulgarity to me minutes ago.

My fiance greeted this compliment gushingly, desperate to validate his desire to marry me beyond lust and silly foolishness. I felt like one of the painted nymphs, hung on the wall, meaningless, for men to boast and argue purpose for while I remained as silent and still as stone.

"Perhaps if she wishes she could come to the drawing room to examine them while you deal with this irritating flaw in Hedgeham's mathematical device." I heard the uncle say, hitting me soberly back from my daydreaming. "He is only a few streets away, down Old Tavistock Street. There is no need to bore the ladies with such talk here, or bring that confounded contraption here when it is in perfectly good order there."

"It can wait until the morning, uncle."

"Nonsense. I won't hear of it. You have been itching to see it from the minute you heard."

My suitor paused, pushing his glasses up his nose thoughtfully, his thin small body dwarfed as if by Satan himself. His face flickered slightly, and I could see he was eager to excuse himself, however much I gave him my firmest gaze. He looked at me quickly, misreading my wide eyed stare for enthusiasm.

"Well, my darling does seem awfully keen on those absurd scrawlings of yours." He mused, standing slowly, reaching for his pocket-watch. "Yes. I think I will. It shouldn't take long."

"Not at all." The uncle finished smoothly, like the devil he was signing a deal to some pitiful Faust. "I promise you Madeline will be in the very heights of visual debate. I'll see my butler walks you there."

And so the fool fetched his coat, and his gloves from the butler, and bowed his way from the doors with a quickness in his step. I did not dare meet his gaze, for fear of another mocking. This time he just stood, drank back a glass of bloodish port, and marched round the table to behind me, cupping my neck in his hands, roughly but not with the intent of pain as before. He lowered his lips to my ear and I could feel his hot breath sharp and full against my eardrum.

"There is no reason to pull away, or make a fuss. What my nephew thinks of his whore is his business. But I will have you, whether you are willing or not." He ran his thumb along my neck, pressing sharply into my hollow until I choked. "You see," he said, kissing my earlobe, softly. " If I am going to accept a common bitch like you into my circle I am going to have my fill." He moved his hands down suddenly, cupping my breasts over my corset and bodice, feeling the exposed skin on the surface with his rough hands.

Quickly, he pulled up my skirts around my knees and threw me to the floor, leaving me half lying there, my long white undergarments exposed in the yellow light. He laughed coldly, enjoying my humiliation. "Oh, you really were going for the innocent virginal act." He sneered, crouching down and holding my shoulders to the ground, a knee against my right thigh. "Why go to all that effort-"he said, pulling down my drawers with such force I cried out. "If you weren't planning on having me inspect them this evening."

I was bare from the waist down, and he reached with sharp nailed fingers into my bodice to force my breasts out. "Yes, dear little Madeline." He held them in either hand, enjoying my fear and disgust at myself. "Why go to all that trouble when you belong naked in some filthy brothel in Fleet Street tied to the bed posts?" Reaching round to my buttocks he slapped me firmly, taking hold and pushing my body up to him. "You are nothing but a common prostitute, coming begging to my door for my nephew's will once you've flattered him into bed."

Hot tears were running down my face, despite my desire to show no emotion, and he pushed deep into me, laughing softly as he cradled my neck and my lower back, forcing himself into me with hard, quick strokes. "Still so tight my dear?" He murmured, mockingly. "Badly endowed clients or did my nephew just not enjoy taking his little innocent the way she deserves?"

I looked at him fiercely, unable to take anymore of his false accusations. "He loves me. I do not deserve this. I am innocent of all you accuse me of!" I tried to push him off but he grabbed my wrists and slammed them down above my head. He leaned closer, laughing gently.

"Petite salope," he said, knowing I did not understand his insult, "Of course you deserve this. All lying, thieving little whores deserve to be taken roughly and without pleasure." I tried to look away, but he pushed my wrists together and encircled them with one hand, grabbing my chin to look at him. "Even pretty ones."

"Let me go. I'll tell my husband what you did to me. I'll tell the world!" My legs were weak from the weight of his thighs, and I felt as if my womb would break from the pain of him inside of me. He smiled, kissing me on the lips firmly, careful not to put his tongue in my mouth in case I bit, then on my nose, then my forehead, as a reassuring parent might. "Hush now, little one. Do you really think anyone would believe you? Or that your husband would still want the sweet little virgin who had whored herself to richer men?"

He was right. Once he had forced up my undergarments and replaced his facade, there was nothing I could do. No one would believe a mistress of a struggling scientist over a well to do, kindly gentlemen. I lay there, trying to count the leaves in the pattern on his cravat, trying to shut out the monstrosity of his actions. It didn't hurt anymore, he had brought me to a shameful pleasure and despite the relief, the guilt was worse. As if in another world, I heard myself speak in a quiet, trance like voice. "Why me?"

He looked at me, a flicker of confusion crossing his cruel face. He smiled to cover his loss of control, and placed his thumb on my bottom lip. "Because you are very pretty, dear." He pressed harder, until it hurt. "Don't you know to say thank you when you get a compliment, you unpleasant little girl?" I didn't answer, just stared at him coldly. He couldn't leave any marks, I realised. That would be the one thing the police would listen to over his sly cunning. He looked at me frustratedly, trying to read my confusion. "You are mine. You will be mine. I have taken you. Do you understand?"

I nodded in exhaustion, but did not give him the satisfaction of my tears, or my care. He could have my body, but he could never have my mind, my soul, my fearful worship. "Yes. Now let me go. My husband will be back in a short while." For a moment, I saw through the mask. I had referred to my fiance as my husband.

The one man who would always own me over him.

He grabbed my neck, stopping his forcing but snarling with the anger of a beast. "If I let you marry him- if- you will have to give yourself to me when I wish. If you decide it would be better to run: run. I will have you hunted down and in my quarters for the rest of your days."

I stared it him coldly, aware that my dark eyes frightened him a little with their emotion masking nature. "Why me?" His jaw tightened, and I believe he himself did not know what had riled him about me so. He hit my shoulders against the floor, moving harder and faster until I was forced to close my eyes and he moved out suddenly, covering my bare legs with his fluid. He looked at me, delighted at having defiled me, and staggered back to do up his breeches. Throwing some napkins to the floor, he walked sharply from the room, turning at the door. "Clean yourself up. You know how. Your fiance will be back soon." He turned slightly, as if hiding a smile.

"Then go stand in the drawing room by the paintings. Your fool will be keen to hear about what you have learnt." He pulled off his drenched shirt and sat there, watching me cleaning my trembling legs.

"You are mine, dear. You belong to me or the brothels."