Here’s the next chapter. I had it written….then…my netbook crapped out on me. So…here we go again.
Chapter 8
I didn’t even finish my tea. I put the cup down and left without another word. I went straight to my room and opened the wardrobe that stood in the corner. Despite having so many dresses, none of them seemed right.
Why am I having such a hard time finding a dress for dinner? It’s just John!
I slumped to a pathetic heap on the floor. I stared forlornly at the wardrobe.
“There is nothing even remotely descent in there,” a muttering came from the entry to my bedroom.
“I don’t remember asking for your advice, Elizabeth.”
“Come on,” she turned and walked down the hallway.
“Where?”
“I have something you can wear,” she said.
“Why are you offering me one of your dresses. I thought they were your most prized possessions.”
“If it will get you out of the house and married, I can spare one. Maybe two.”
“Why are you so horrible?” I asked.
“Because I can’t get married and move out until you do. And while you may enjoy staying here and becoming a spinster, I want to get married and get away.”
“Why do you want to get away so bad?” I asked.
“You’re not the only one who wants to get away from mother and father. But, unlike you, I go along with what they want and I’ll be getting out of here. If only you would get married. And you need to get away from Thom.”
“Why is everyone so hung up on him?” I asked her.
“He’s not good for you. And I’m not saying that as a he’s below your status type of thing. I couldn’t care less if you married a king or a pauper. He’s just not good for you,” she muttered, pushing beautiful dress after beautiful dress to the side.
“What does that mean?” I asked.
Sighing heavily she pulled out a beautiful black dress with blue lace flowers all over it, “Here, take this. Stop asking questions, marry John, and please get away from here.”
She pushed me out the bedroom door and left me with nothing but questions.
Is there something about Thom that nobody is telling me? Or do they all want me to just get out of the house.
I wasn’t really paying attention to where I was going, I kept rubbing the soft fabric as I made my way to my room.
“Where did you get that?” Thom asked, almost running into me.
“Oh, um, Elizabeth is letting me borrow it.”
“For what?” he pried.
“Dinner. Tonight. My parents are having guests over,” I mumbled absent-mindedly.
“You mean they’re having Inspector John over.”
“Yes, he’s one of them.”
“Are you trying to impress him?” Thom reached out and grabbed my arm.
He wrenched it around and I felt a horrible pressure in my elbow.
“Stop! What are you doing?”
“Why are you getting all dressed up?’ he growled in my ear.
“Let her go!” the soft, airy voice came from the end of the hall.
I looked and saw my sister step out of her room. Her beautiful hazel eyes were wild, her soft blonde hair hung around her shoulders, and she held something in her hands.
“I won’t tell you again, Thomas. Let my sister go.”
“Stay out of this, Elizabeth,” he yelled at her.
“What the hell is going on!” I yelled, which made Thom wrench my harder.
Elizabeth ran down the hall toward us, the blunt object raised above her head. She brought it down on Thom’s shoulder. He shouted and let me go.
“Get out of here! Now!” she screamed at him.
He glowered at her, then at me, and ran down the stairs. I didn’t see him leave, but I heard the door open and slam shut. I looked at my crazy, little sister. Tears streamed down her face.
“What is going on?” I asked.
Our parents came running up the back stairs. Wild eyed and staring at us.
“Elizabeth? Anne? Why did Thomas just run out of the house like a mad man?”
“Yes, Elizabeth. Please, tell us,” the three of us looked at her.
“He’s a monster!” she cried, sinking to the ground.
“What?”
“He’s a monster!”
“You keep saying that and it doesn’t get any clearer,” I said.
“I saw him. A few weeks ago. I was out with Captain Henry, we was walking me home from dinner, I saw Thomas in an alley with this…this…thing. Captain Henry was talking and not paying attention. I stopped and watched as he turned into this big, hairy beast.”
“How is that possible?” I asked.
“I don’t know. I’m not an expert on big, hairy monsters,” her same snotty attitude came out.
I stood there, my hands clenched around the fabric.
What the hell is going on!
“I have to get ready,” I muttered, turning away from the confused people in the hallway.
I shut the door and slid to the floor crying.
