There were only a few people who would argue the case of Mrs Elliot and even fewer who would question her beauty.
The daughter of a third class merchant, Adele, was taught by her father that personal security and prosperity are the highest goals in one's life. Needless to say that his rules were almost as tight as Adele's corsets, leaving no room for breathing, let alone talking. At the tender age of sixteen, she found herself married to twenty-six years older Mr Henry Elliot, the local tycoon and slave driver, a charming upper-class womaniser who happily took Adele under his wing.
In the ten years of their marriage, Mr Elliot has turned richer, fatter and more disreputable than ever before, yet Adele's efflorescence has stunned the populace beyond repair.
The blasphemous cretin; he is the only one her beauty never touched, the only one who can ignore her adorableness, the only one not dazzled by her light. He is partial to bedding the filthy harlots of the harbour, and go to his wife drunk and begrimed whom she accepts without expostulation.
The word has it that it is because she never gave him an heir for his cotton factory. Barren, infertile, sterile they call her out of jealousy and spite but I know.
I know that I am the only one who can fill her womb with life. My seed inside of her will produce a dozen strong sons and a fairy daughter for I am young and full of burning love,
I am the one who knows.
(Lady Alice Mary Kerr, Portrait of Wilfrid Scawen Blunt c1870)
Who am I?
"Hello cousin!" she says whenever I find the courage to reveal my presence to her.
"Adele." I whisper and bow to peck her icy, gloved hand. Our eyes meet and then she pulls away.
"I intend to call on you and your husband..."
"But you never do.."
"I..."
"You don't like him..you never did."
"Maybe when he is absent.." I mutter.
"I do not think that's possible cousin.." she says and pulls away. I watch her as she turns round the corner.
If only was strong enough to kill the bloody beast.
In my sleepless nights, she walks into my room and lays next to me. I wrap my arms around her and keep her warm. Her belly is swollen and her breasts are ripe. She's mine and we are together. The room is breaking at the seams, the windows burst open and sweet, night breeze creeps under our sheets. She sighs softly and I weep.
If only I was strong enough for her, strong enough to kill the bloody beast.
I start to follow him at nights, I find no rest in my own room. So it happens that he is more corrupted then I thought; he gambles, drinks and smokes together with a throng of whores.
I sit at a table opposite him and in my head his neck bleeds dry, I see his eye sockets crack and empty on his vest, his guts already hung outside to dry.
(Claude Monet - Houses of Parliament)
I decided to rent a room in the building that faces her house. That way I will find out more about his daily habits. From my bedroom window I can see her silhouette walking back and forth. He's there beside her, her head is bowed, she nods and leaves...with tears no doubt.
Tonight she came into the bed and talked to me, she's never uttered a word before, only sighs and tiny sounds escaped her lips. Tonight she called my name.
"Wilfrid..." she said, not cousin Wilfrid. I am taking this as a sign.
The corset leaves deep marks on her pale flesh..
"I don't want you to wear this thing ever again...not ever, you are with me now.."
..............................................................................
It was midday when I heard his shouts, the window was open. He was screaming at her. I have discovered that he does this often, however, this time he is out of his right mind. Again not a sound from her. The maid sped to shut the windows and saw me staring in. I know she's seen me before but I don't care, I will be her master someday whether she likes it or not.
My spirit is dead, my fist shatters against the wall, I'd rather jump out of the window and die that endure this pain. I lean and prepare to let go and right then I see something I had never laid eyes on before;
a white, riderless chariot with two white steeds is galloping on the High street below, whiter than the clouds, fastest that thought and then I just knew what I had to do and suddenly I felt strong.
There were only a few people who would argue the case of Mrs Elliot and even fewer who would question the brutal circumstances of her husband's death.
The local newspaper gnawed on Mr Elliot's severed limbs for months, even though his murderer, or 'butcher' as the locals call him, remains obscure. Mr Elliot's head was found floating in stinking river Fleet while his torso and leg were scavenged by dogs in an alley near the flesh market. His two arms and left leg are still missing though. Even the butcher himself doesn't know why they haven't been recovered yet though, truth be told, he couldn't care less.
All the sawing, biting, flaying and gutting...Mr Elliot WAS a very beefy man you see... was worth it...she was worth it and she still is.
At the funeral, Mrs Elliot looked absolutely devastated in the arms of her beloved cousin, the only family she has left since the death of her beloved mother a few months earlier. Wilfrid has made all the necessary arrangements so that Adele is comforted, entertained and though she doesn't know it, she will grow in love with him and soon grow out of her corsets too...that is after all the miracle of love and the omnipotence of persistence.
