The Lady of the Manor

I looked at the reflection in the mirror, but the face that stared back at me surely was not my own, nor had I seen my own in quite some time. This girl in the mirror, she was pale, almost sickly so, with rosy pink lips, seemingly fuller than my own. Her hair was neatly pulled back, and I lifted my fingers to trace the braids that wrapped to the back of her head. I looked at her petite frame and a waist so thin I wondered how she ate. My hands fell to my side, and I followed the outline of my own body. Though my waist curved inward, it was the result of a corset tied so tight, it was fighting my lungs to prevent any breath from entering my body. Surely, the girl in the mirror didn’t feel the same pain and restriction, as she must have been naturally slim. We did have the same collarbones, however– subtly accentuated by our posture. Around her neck sat a hefty looking diamond necklace, shining under the light from the grand windows beside her. It magnified her beauty, as did the dress she wore. It was a ballgown of a pale pink shade, one that complemented the tone of her lips. It was adorned with a white lace trim along the neckline that shaped her breasts quite nicely. Two dainty silk bows sat on the hem of the puffy short sleeves of the dress. This girl in the mirror resembled me, but she had a sense of poise and beauty about her that I surely wouldn’t emanate on my own. She seemed to be a true lady, one who may have even been fit for King George IV himself, whereas I, myself, am merely an imposter. The life of wealth I found myself in was one of marriage, not of blood, but the girl in the mirror surely was born into such a life. Despite this, behind her glassy eyes that stared back at me, she looked empty. Although, for a moment so brief I am not sure whether or not I had imagined it, I could have sworn I saw a glimmer of personality, like the ghost of a person who had once inhabited her body.

I could have pondered about her true identity all day, but my dear husband awaited my arrival downstairs, as he did every morning. I greeted him with a kiss on his cheek, but was caught off guard at the sight of a woman hastily moving across our grounds beyond the window. I turned my head, and began to speak of an intruder as I made my way to the front door. My husband grabbed my wrist, however, and stopped me from getting a better view. I resisted at first, but soon realized what was happening. 

“Another lady of the night, I presume?” I rolled my eyes while I let out my cheeky comment. My husband simply sighed and told me not to worry about matters that, supposedly, weren’t my own. So I chose to let it go, as I did every time I caught sight of his many nighttime affairs. After the heat of the moment came to pass, I retrieved a pair of white silk gloves and we left for town.

After some time browsing the many shops, my dear bought me new hats, jewels, and dresses; a gesture he typically made when he had wronged me in some way. Though they were of nice quality and quite pricey, I didn’t particularly care for them. None of the windows of the stores interested me, except for one. I stopped outside a shop that advertised the different tea leaves and fine China they sold. My husband gave his nod of approval for me to browse their products, so I went inside and left him on the street where he didn’t hesitate to strike up a conversation with two women passing by. Once in the store, I greeted the shopkeeper. He was a short old man, with a smile that brightened my day. 

He showed off his best cups and saucers to me, and allowed me to sample a variety of teas. I engaged in conversation with him as I slipped off my gloves without proper attention. As I raised a teacup to my lips, pinky extended, the smile on the shopkeeper’s face quickly faltered. 

“A real gentleman wouldn’t harm his lady, let alone leave such ugly marks that distract from her beauty,” he said, looking at the faint bruises that remained on my wrist from the time my husband grabbed me a little too harshly a few days prior. I dismissed his comment, assuring him I merely had a stumble. The excuse was all too familiar to me, as it was one I often resorted to using whenever someone had taken the time to notice the marks left on my skin; the only indicators to the outside world what my husband was truly like behind closed doors.

“Hm, I suppose,” the man sighed, reluctantly accepting my excuse. “Though if a lady did enter my shop and really was suffering from mistreatment, I would advise her to defend herself and walk away.” I merely nodded, purchased a few products, and left the shop. I found my husband still fraternizing with the women, so I decided to go and see myself back to the manor. 

On my walk back, I began to think to myself, as I often did. I hadn’t always been so submissive to the actions of others. There was a time when, had my husband dared lay a hand on me, I would have surely left him. But somewhere along the way, I let him convince me he genuinely cared for me, and that every incident was truly an accident, as he always claimed.

I arrived home and as I filled my new kettle with water for tea, I found myself repeating the shop owner's words in my head. Suddenly, my tolerance for my husband’s constant behavior had worn thin. I wanted a life of my own, one that did not revolve around the mood of someone else. I wanted a man who did not take me for a fool and treat me as I had been treated for years. Simply leaving my husband would no longer be enough. I needed to be rid of him for good, or else I might find myself tempted back into his life.

I made up my mind that night. My future, whatever and whoever it may entail, was surely not to be found in this manor. 

The following morning, I greeted my husband with a kiss on the cheek as he smoked his pipe, as usual. I found myself in the parlor later that day, drinking my afternoon tea. My husband called out to me from the study, requesting I fetch him a journal he kept on his bedside table. I obliged, and gracefully made my way up the staircase. Before retrieving the journal, however, I rummaged through my husband’s armoire. On the bottom shelf, beneath his neatly folded nightshirts, I found his loaded pistol. I slipped it into the waistband of the stockings I was wearing, before quickly picking up the journal and descending back downstairs. Upon entering the study, I found my husband’s back towards me. I quietly placed the journal on a table, before retrieving the weapon that waited against my leg.

“I have had enough, my dear.” The words barely escaped my lips as I let out an exhale. My husband turned to face me from the bookcase he had been inspecting, but before his gaze could meet mine, I clenched the pistol and pulled the trigger.

He collapsed before me, a book still in his hand. I carefully approached his body, being sure not to pass through the blood and risk leaving a trail. I crouched down and delicately took the handkerchief in his front pocket and used it to generously wipe away the bit of blood that had managed to find its way on to my cheeks. I gave him one last kiss on the cheek and placed the weapon beside him, before standing back up and walking away. Passing by the fireplace, I tossed the handkerchief in, and continued on towards the staircase as the flames consumed the cloth.

Once back upstairs, I returned to the room I had come to call my own and sought out the trunk I had initially brought with me when I first arrived at this manor. I filled it with simple pieces of clothing, the kind that would attract no attention. I topped it off with a few books I had come to love reading in my loneliness over the years before closing its clasps. I blew out the candles on the bedside tables and closed the curtains around the grand windows. I tossed a sheet over the mirror in the corner, and, before covering the glass completely, I remembered how I had discovered it for the first time all those years ago. I was optimistic for the new chapter of my life that awaited me at this manor with the man I was to wed. Oh, how much has since changed. I then remembered watching me lose myself through its reflection with every passing day. That hope for the future had since been replaced with disdain for the present. 

I pulled the cloth down to cover the last remaining glint of glass. 

And with that, the room was left as I once had found it– abandoned, with no indication that anyone had inhabited it in quite some time. Much like the room would become, I, too, would be forgotten with time. No one would remember my name, my face, or the jewels I once wore. I turned towards the doorway, thinking of the woman I would be once I left the manor. She would be rather plain looking upon the initial glance, but had a rare beauty only visible to those who cared to look at her long enough; an image that mirror had captured in its reflection, once upon a time. And so I left, with little regard for the woman I had become, her wealthy nobleman of a husband, and the lonely life she had lived as the lady of the manor.