The Silver Frame

Part I: Pondero

It has occasionally pleased me to consider whether the sole purpose of my ears is to provide me with a frame in which to display my jewels.

I do not know of any other part of my body for which there is no use. There is my nose, of course – but a flat stretch of skin between my eyes and mouth would surely look so very odd that a purpose is almost formed from the singular necessity of beauty. And then there is hair – but again, it serves for the worthy cause of beauty, and a form of distinction between individuals. Ears, though; ears seem entirely without purpose.

Still, they do what they do; framing earrings as if they were made to do it, rather than the other way around. The rubies I am now fastening in, for example, are most flattering. They emphasise every one of my exquisite beauties –green eyes, auburn hair, pink cheeks, red lips, white teeth. My crimson dress, too, is made more beautiful by the long, queenly jewels. To make me so much more beautiful, then, is perhaps their purpose. They serve it well. Indeed, I am very beautiful; my reflection tells me that.

Oh! suddenly the earring slips from my slender fingers – my nails painted red, and another sweet ruby on my middle finger – and it falls to the floor, where it shatters into a thousand tiny gems. I do not drop to my knees, though; not to collect the broken shards nor even to mourn their loss. No, instead, I turn; turn to face the one behind me whose presence caused such a tragedy. Flawlessly, elegantly I turn, but when I see his face – no, even before I see his face, for his very stature, even the first glimpse of the edge of his coat tells me who is here – I forget the rubies, for I had not hoped to see him for a long time, and while he is gentle, he is a man: his ego therefore must be great indeed; and if I am to have him later, he must now be the centre of my focus.

James.

His lips wrap themselves snugly around the familiar pattern of my name, and something in me gives cause to move forward – so – as if to kiss them. Of course, I cannot behave so. Poor James is the greatest slave there ever was to propriety, and would never dare to risk the approval of society for one moment of raw instinctive passion. Once he has wed me he may have me whenever he likes, when we are not in company, so of course we must wait our few months. I have no objection, although he should make just as good a conclusion to my maidenhood as any other man might.

His lips shape words, but words I do not care for. My eyes drop away from his face – what if he were to know what I am thinking? If he knew I had already lost interest, he should never marry me, and I should be fated to die – oh horrors! - an old maid.

I am glad James does not know what I am thinking.

Indeed, nobody can – not my mother, in the next room, nor my governess, nor even my reflection. My reflection – does she think what I think, or has she a mind all her own? Has she her own intentions? Would she rather marry someone else, not James, but lives as a slave of every move I make? Could I separate us, that both may do whatever we wish?

My hands, which do not require rational thought before action, dart forward, grasp the frame of the mirror on the wall, hurl it – onto James’ head. Even before his head hits the floor, thick blood, blood the red of my lost rubies, spills out onto the wooden floor.

And the mirror lies in pieces.

But when I glance at my reflection – she is immaculate, her body unbroken by the splintered glass. No; it is my own world, which lies shattered on her floor.

Part II: Aminadverto

The rubies, certainly, flatter me, but their weight pulls, and I am almost afraid that I shall tear my earlobes.

Of course, though, I have to be a vision of beauty tonight. I shall take my every asset and emphasise it; make myself so beautiful that Maria and Isabella, the little daughters of the host of the ball, shall think me a fairy princess – and talk, if I am as successful as I intend to be, shall reach the twenty miles to London, in which delightful town resides-

“Miss Elizabeth Byrne!”

The crash as my earring slips from startled fingers and shatters onto the floor is delightful, and I am elated indeed to be rid of the cruel thing, even if it does subtract a little from my beauty. But now, now that is of little matter; for the voice belongs to James. I must regain my breath: hold, Eliza; hold. Elegance, now, is more important than e'er it were before. My eyes meet his, and I allow a joyful smile to spread across my face.

“Miss Elizabeth,” he says again. Such lips! Such beautiful lips: full, moist, dark; they are crying out for me to kiss them. My body moves forward – but no! I cannot. James is so insistent on propriety that I must allow him to suppose I have the same respect for it that he does. If we are improper now, he shall never marry me, for society’s censure is the greatest shame he could bear - as he once told me in confidence, as we danced together at Mr. Preston’s ball last summer.

“Mr. Abbot, how wonderful to see you here! I was quite certain we should not meet again for months! or even years! Might I be so bold as to ask what brings you back to us?”

James hangs his head so low that I am surprised it stays on his neck. “I am afraid... It is a dreadfully improper request I have come to make, Elizabeth. I am greatly ashamed to be asking this of you, but...”

He trails off, his face reddened. “Why, James, there is no need. You ought not to fear me! We shall be shameless together.” I laugh playfully, and the sound of happy silver bells echoes around us in the great hall. James does not smile. Of course, my poor lover must feel it terribly, and at once I drop my eyes, that he may see how understanding I am and love me all the more for it – we shall be the most loving couple in the land by the time we are married. Of course there is nothing improper about him confessing his love, but I suppose he is afraid that I should not love him back – oh! James, dearest, of course I love you.

“I have come to you at this agitating time, Miss Elizabeth, for advice regarding La- your sister, Miss Byrne. I know that you must be her confidante, so tell me, I beg of you – have I any hope in securing her?”

Lavinia? But James cannot love Lavinia, surely. She is much too plain, and old, and dull. The compliments she has paid him when the two of us are alone must have been for my benefit. She must have known of my love for James, for since childhood we have always known what the other was thinking. Lavinia does not love James, and I am certain he cannot really love her. There may be – nay, must be a misfunction in his thinking. He might have hurt his head, he might be delirious. James, my love, I owe you this, at least – to remove the damage. And if it pains you – I am not so very sorry. You ought know better than to fall for the charms of foolish Lavinia, and if this be your punishment, I may say that it is just.

The mirror, now in my hands – it has much less weight than I had always supposed. Perhaps the silver is false - 'twas Lavinia that bought it. It smashes over his head, and the sound – oh, the sound! Such a crashing, in our huge, lonesome, echoing hall, that thunder never made. When Mamma knocked Papa's favourite maid, Betty, down three flights of stairs, by way of an accident, when I was small, there was not such a noise.

I kneel, and look into the glass. Blood is on my hands, but I do not care; now, perhaps, James will come to understand just who it is he truly loves.