Page 5 of Unlikable

“Clifton is late,” my father sighs irritably. He stands in front of the large window in the tearoom. With his hands clasped impatiently behind his back, he peers out. In the past ten minutes, he has looked at his pocket watch as many as twenty times. I know this because every time he does, I make a mark on the notebook lying on my lap.

“Maybe something happened on his journey here.” Everett gets up from the seat next to me and walks over to Father, peering outside with him.

“I see no other reason to keep us waiting,” Father thinks aloud. He looks again at his pocket watch, and once again I make a mark on my notebook. Twenty-one times .

Everett snorted. “What are you writing down, sis?”

“I check that I have everything with me.”

“Women and their obsession with control.” He throws me a bored look.

I stick my tongue out at him. Childish? Maybe. But I am still uncomfortable. The cramps are already less, but still there.

“Have you heard the latest news?” Everett asks my father. “The one about Junior R.”

“It’s a disgrace,” Father responds, and his gaze slides briefly to me. Anxiety fills his eyes, but he quickly turns away from me to stare out the window again. “I want you to look after your sister properly. I hate to think of…Oh, there you will have it.”

Through the window, I can see a carriage, pulled by two strong horses, coming up the path in front of the house. I stand up, throw my notebook back on the seat and walk towards Father and Everett, who stare outside like two stray sheep when they see a young man getting out of the carriage.

“That’s not…” begins Everett.

“No,” Father concludes and strides to the door leading to the hall. “Mrs Jones, tell your chambermaids to take the items to Mr Clifton’s carriage. He has arrived.”

Mrs Jones, who has been standing rigidly by the door all this time like some kind of watchdog, nods and opens the door for Father, then follows him.

Everett and I stay behind, staring at the young man who looks around a little dazed. Then I see who it is.

It’s the young man from the train. The bastard who insulted me.

“You have a very scary grin on your face, sister dear.”

I startle and catch my brother’s gaze, which looks at me somewhat worriedly. “Everything okay?”

“Couldn’t be better, dear brother.”

Moments later, the other boy from the train also steps out of the carriage, the dark-skinned young man. He looks around inquisitively, and then his eyes linger on Everett and me.

I feel my grin get even wider.

The young man taps his friend, who is busy fixing his jacket.

I duck behind my brother.

“What are you doing?”

“I thought I saw something,” I whisper, afraid the boys might hear me, which is total nonsense, I know.

I want to see the young man’s gaze up close when I meet him. I want him to realise he messed with the wrong young lady. Is that mean? No, just his due.

Everett moves in to walk to the hall where our belongings are currently being moved to the carriage. The four chambermaids, led by Mrs Jones, lift the heavy crates of my father’s books out of the hall with sweaty foreheads. Mrs Jones stands by and watches them. Every now and again she snarls at the girls that they should keep working.

The door to the veranda is open, and Everett and I follow the chambermaids out. For a moment I consider taking a box with me, but I stop myself. This is not my job, no matter how bad I sometimes feel when I see the girls exploited like this. I know this is their work, that they get paid and that they are grateful to be allowed to work on our estate. But still…I remember when Mother was alive, the chambermaids were never treated like this. Not like dogs, at least.

Cecile is also working herself to the bone. She smiles briefly at me when she sees me and then walks on. In her hands she carries the case of my violin.

“Clifton,” I suddenly hear Father say. “But the young version. Felix Clifton, it has been a long time, my boy.”

“Mr Prime,” the young man from the train, Felix, responds extremely politely. His voice is exactly as I remember it; heavy and with a slight hint of sarcasm, only he no longer speaks with a double tongue. “My father is extremely sorry, but there are urgent matters on the estate that he needs to deal with. He has sent me and my servant to pick you up and escort you home.”

Father nods. “All right then. Nothing can be done about that. Business is business and time is money; I completely understand your father.”

“The carriage is just not big enough for all your things,” Felix remarks quietly. “Are you planning to move in with us?”

Father chuckles. A genuine, heart-warming laugh. A sound I haven’t heard in a long time. I search my brother’s gaze, and he looks back at me just as surprised.

“We can use a carriage of ours,” Father suggests. “Can your servant drive a carriage?”

“You will be amazed at what my servant can do, Mr Prime.”

The servant, the dark young man, steps forward and smiles warmly at my father, then takes a short bow. When he stands upright again, he says, “Jonathan Marlowe, Mr Prime. At your service.”

It takes Father a while to answer as he looks at the boy from head to toe. I cannot see the expression on my father’s face, but judging by his suddenly tense shoulders, I can tell he is struggling to remain composed.

I clamp my jaws together and count the seconds.

After seven seconds, my brother clears his throat. “I’ll take you to the carriage,” Everett says, and he smiles at Jonathan, who nods at him gratefully and somewhat uncertainly. They walk down the garden path together, and not much later they turn the corner of the house before disappearing from sight.

Then I hear someone gasp. It’s Felix. For a moment, I had forgotten he was there. When I look at him, I see he has his gaze on me.

Does it make me a terrible person if I enjoy the startled expression in his eyes?

“Ah, right,” begins Father. “Felix, this is my daughter, Eleonora.”

I put on my most perfect smile and curtsy briefly.

Felix seems to be petrified, and I see him obviously struggling with himself, as his lips part but close again. A troubled frown appears on his forehead. I briefly think Felix has lost his tongue, but then he recovers. Faster than I expected.

With confident steps, he walks towards me and reaches for my outstretched hand, then presses a kiss on it. His fingers encircle mine, and a slight shock spreads through my body when he lightly squeezes my hand. His bright, moss-green eyes gleam as he pulls his lips away and takes a step back. Only when he stands upright does he let my hand slip from his. Quickly, as if I were vermin. Then he grins.

Here I am, thinking I can give this boy the fright of his life and he doesn’t even seem to be bothered in the slightest.

Although, I do see something flicker in his eyes. Anxiety? Nervousness?

“Pleased to meet you, Miss Prime,” he says coolly and with a half smile.

“Likewise, Mr Clifton,” I manage to reply in a steady voice. I am proud of myself.

“It seems like you guys already know each other,” Father brings out, laughing. “I’ve never seen Eleonora so at ease at a first meeting.”

Felix and I both turn our heads towards Father, who immediately stops smiling when he sees the expression on our faces.

It remains silent for a while. Only the chambermaids’ footsteps break that silence. Their shoes make rustling sounds in the gravel of the garden path. Cecile walks by, and when she sees Felix, she blushes. She exchanges a glance with him and then shyly bows her head before walking on. Felix looks her over from head to toe and smiles approvingly.

Disgusting.

Father and Felix get into a conversation about renovating the house, and I try to focus on something other than Felix, but after a while I find myself looking at him anyway. How he stands there confidently, his hands neatly slapped behind his back, his shoulders straight. He laughs at Father’s jokes, and when he does, he bares his white, straight teeth, dimples forming in his cheeks.

How terribly irritating that I find him attractive. I hardly ever find anyone attractive, and when I do, they are decent men. Not guys like Felix, who are smug and make out with strumpets on the train.

Thank God my brother and Jonathan come back into view, accompanied by the clatter of horses’ hooves pulling the carriage they are sitting on.

The chambermaids rush to load the remaining things into the second carriage, and not much later I am in the same carriage, along with Jonathan, Everett and three chambermaids. In the end, Jonathan does not have to drive the carriage; my father insists we let our regular coachman drive. Father and Felix share the carriage with the other chambermaids, including Cecile and Mrs Jones.

It doesn’t sit well with me at all that Cecile is stuck with that vulgar boy.

The journey takes a long time, almost seven hours. Along the way, Jonathan and Everett strike up a conversation. It is not a deep conversation, rather light-hearted to be honest, but nice to listen to. The two of them seem to get along well. I like Jonathan too, in as far as I know him. He seems like a civilised young man, much more civilised than his employer. His chestnut-brown eyes gleam cheerfully when he speaks, and sometimes he looks at me too, only to give me a slightly shy smile.

The chambermaids in the carriage repeatedly ask me if I need anything, but after a while they give up and are quiet.

I like that. I’m fine just listening to my brother and Jonathan talk for a while. After a while, I don’t really listen but just hear their voices. Sometimes I don’t feel like talking. Then I just want to be alone with my thoughts. It’s not that I find the people around me annoying, not always, at least. Especially on days like this, when I’m menstruating, talking seems to be too much trouble.

Fortunately, the cramps are already easing a little.

We are no longer in Canterbury. The beautiful buildings have long disappeared from view, giving way to grass and vast plains. Outside, the wind begins to blow. The sky fills with dark clouds, and soon the first flashes of lightning appear in the sky, followed by loud bangs. The chambermaids and I are startled. The boys chuckle.

“It’s just a natural phenomenon,” Everett tries to reassure me.

“That can cause a lot of damage,” Jonathan adds.

The boys look at each other and start laughing.

“I’m glad you are enjoying yourselves so much,” I bring out, and when another bang sounds, I anxiously huddle down.

I hate thunderstorms. Even as a child. My mother always had to comfort me when it thundered and I was in bed. After a while, I didn’t even have to call her; she would come by herself. Then we would lie in bed together all night, even if the storm had already passed. All night she would hold my hand and hum soothing melodies.

Everett stops laughing, as if he senses what I’m thinking about. That is perhaps what I appreciate most about my brother, he gets me. Sometimes he can be a boor, but he has his sweet moments.

Another thunderclap.

“You shouldn’t look so furious.” Everett chuckles. “It makes the air angry.”

Never mind .

The road below us gets rougher, and the carriage shakes back and forth, causing my shoulder to collide with that of the chambermaid next to me. She immediately apologises, but I am too tense to respond.

“We are almost there,” Jonathan says calmly and not at all panicked, as if he rides in a carriage in a thunderstorm every day.

I look out through the window right when we pass a sign saying, “Welcome to Kennington”. I press my back against the hard surface of the carriage and sigh with relief. Almost there. Then we can get inside and be safe.

The last few minutes feel like a year. At last, the Clifton estate comes into view. I feel a bumpy surface under the carriage and notice the dirt road we were driving on has given way to cobblestones.

A fence composed of plants and trees looms ahead. A wrought-iron gate is opened by two figures in mackintoshes. We pass them, and a moment later we drive into the courtyard. A large mansion, though no bigger than ours, becomes visible in the dark sky. It looks a bit like ours, but the stones used to build it are white, not cream. There are more pillars supporting the roof above the veranda. So many, in fact, that it almost feels like the mansion was built in the wrong country.

Everett helps me exit the carriage. I stand there feeling a little lost while all the chambermaids immediately start moving. More chambermaids come rushing out of the mansion to help us with our luggage. One girl walks straight up to me with an umbrella to shield me from the rain. I give her a grateful smile.

As Felix walks towards the veranda and passes the girls, there is an excited giggle. He smiles and greets them briefly, then walks inside and disappears.

“Not this one,” I hear my brother hurriedly exclaim. I turn to him and watch him pull a small suitcase out of a maid’s hands. “I’ll bring these in myself.”

“It’s really no problem, sir. I’ll make sure your things get safely to your quarters.” The chambermaid tries to take back the suitcase, but my brother clamps the thing between his arms as if his life depends on it.

“No need.”

The girl makes a short bow and then walks on to the other stuff.

“What’s in that suitcase?” I walk towards it. The girl shielding me from the rain follows closely behind. “You act like it’s your child.”

“Why do you always have to be so nosy?” Everett walks to the front door of the mansion and disappears inside.

“Milady?” The chambermaid with the umbrella looks at me cautiously. “Shall I take you inside and point out your room?”

I look at the door through which my brother has disappeared, not understanding why he is suddenly so secretive. The rain rhythmically clatters down on the fabric of the umbrella, and for a moment that is all I hear, along with footsteps sauntering through the gravel.

“Milady?”

A lightning bolt appears in the sky, followed by a loud bang.

I am immediately escorted inside.

· · ·

“I can’t get up anymore,” I whisper to the ceiling.

I am sprawled out on the four-poster bed, like some kind of starfish. My hair is still damp from the bath I took, and my dress feels warm and comfortable. The corset presses tightly on my lower abdomen, but it helps against the cramps. Next to me is the newspaper Cecile managed to smuggle from Canterbury for me. The front page once again carries disturbing news.

THE SOUTH EASTERN GAZETTE

MAIDSTONE GAZETTE, KENTISHE COURANT, SURREY NEWS, AND ADVERTISER FOR KENT, SURREY, AND SUSSEX

BODY OF YOUNG WOMAN FOUND IN WESTMINSTER. HAS JUNIOR R MOVED TO THE HEART OF LONDON TO CLAIM NEW VICTIMS?

Canterbury, November 1889— The danger extends beyond Canterbury. Once again a body has turned up. This time of a young, unknown woman. After inspecting the teeth, police suspect she must have been between seventeen and eighteen. This is not easy to estimate, as the body shows signs of age. There is nothing to suggest that the perpetrator first engaged this woman. There are no traces of a struggle or substances to show that the woman was abused or assaulted first.

The fact that the eyes have been removed points a big finger at Junior R, who at first seemed to keep himself to Canterbury. Police are still investigating whether Junior R is actually the culprit or whether we are dealing with an impersonator. They have not ruled out the possibility that Junior R is operating with accomplices.

A small breakthrough in the investigation has been made, however. The new victim had a considerable bruise on the back of her neck. Further investigation showed that this was the result of a hypodermic needle being forcibly pricked into the skin. Junior R’s other victims were exhumed and examined when this news came out. A proper investigation was no longer possible there. The rotting process made it difficult for the investigators. However, some of the victims were found to have a small spot on their necks as well, a sign that a needle pierced their skin too. That this had not been noticed before is not surprising, as the traces of the needle were almost not visible in the other victims. The investigation team suspects that in the recent victim, the needle was forced into the skin with such brute force that the body showed this reaction as a result.

Why the woman’s body turned up in London is still a big mystery. What is Junior R up to? Did he get tired of Canterbury, and should London now fear this killer? In any case, it is wise to look out and protect the neck. A scarf or high collar should do the trick. Clothing designer Lucius Lowe is marketing elegant neck protectors. The first protectors are expected to go on sale as early as tomorrow morning.

Once again, the article is disturbing. The idea of Junior R or an impersonator suddenly finding himself very close worries me greatly. I worry for myself, but also for Cecile and every other girl who is nearby.

I stretch and look around me. The room is not much bigger than my own, but a lot cooler. There are blackout curtains in front of the windows. I push them open, but the windows don’t let in much light because of the storm and thunderstorm.

Besides an outdated four-poster bed, an empty wardrobe, a dressing table and a sofa, my room does not have much to offer.

I already miss our home.

Enough feeling sorry for yourself, Eleonora. Get up and do something productive until you are expected in the dining room where you will meet the lord of the house .

Encouraging yourself is necessary sometimes.

With the most uncharming movement, I climb off the bed and walk to my suitcases. They are half unpacked. I asked Cecile if she would unpack my things while I’m at dinner because I really wanted to be alone for a while. Thunderstorms, menstruation and a brother acting secretive piled up, and I can’t think when others are around me. After reading the paper, I regret sending her away. Being alone in an unfamiliar room suddenly does not feel nice at all.

I kneel down to start with the first suitcase. I’d better keep myself busy, then I won’t have time to think about other things either.

After hanging a few garments in my closet, I come to the conclusion that this does not help my mood either. My eyes fall on the violin case against the cabinet, and I walk towards it to free the instrument. When the familiar piece of wood finds its place of support on my neck, I feel a wave of calm wash over me. I start playing a soft and soothing melody. A melody I actually always play first. Just to become one with the violin again, to regain that familiar feeling.

The bow glides across the strings, and I close my eyes.

Iron .

Canterbury is miles away.

Iron.

I am in uncharted territory.

Iron.

I miss my familiar surroundings.

Iron.

There is a killer on the loose.

My bow gets stuck on a string when I stop playing. Even playing the violin, something that gives me the most peace of mind, doesn’t work for me at the moment.

I let the violin and bow dangle in my hands and stare out the window. It is still dark. It feels like I am in a black hole from which escape seems impossible. Nothing feels familiar; everything is unfamiliar.

I am just about to turn myself away from the window when the sky is illuminated by another lightning bolt. In those brief seconds, I see the silhouette of a person leaving the mansion. He or she—I cannot see clearly in the dark—moves towards the nearest bushes to hide. I take a step closer to the window and place my violin and bow against the wall without releasing my gaze from the mysterious form. When my hands are free, I place them against the glass to shut out the light from the room.

My eyes take time to focus, but after a while, I see the person step out of the bush and then run for some distance across the estate and into another bush. My heart beats like mad in my throat.

Another flash of lightning plays up just as the form reappears. It is a woman. She is wearing a dress and a hat. The strong wind makes her long hair blow wildly around her head. She is not dressed at all for this weather. No mackintosh, no umbrella. Her dress seems to be made for spring.

She walks further and further away from me. Or rather, sneaks further away from me. When another flash of light appears in the sky, she turns around and looks me straight in the eye, as if she realises someone is watching her.

My instinct tells me to hide, not to show myself. However, I am so startled by the familiar face that I freeze in place, petrified.

“Mother?”