Chapters An Artist's Masterpiece Book 1 Chapter 1
July 2045
If there was ever a problem in her life, Emily could trace it back to her brother Branwell. Whilst she knew that it was both unkind and undutiful to think so ill of a family member, whenever her brother entered the room she heaved a sigh of disappointment. He would always make some cutting or hurtful remark, give her a task to do that was rightly his but he was too lazy, or invoke a negative comparison from her parents. She wished that she could be more like her younger sister Anne who was far more forgiving and kind but, alas, God had not made her that way. Anne was truly an angel whereas she was all too human.
Even so, nothing could have prepared her for what was to happen that fateful summer Saturday.
Things had started quite well. The day before had been the day when they all collected their final examination results from school, the results that could decide if they would go on to university or not. As anticipated, her results had been outstanding, top marks in every subject save for History where she’d got a B+ rather than an A. Not only could she go to the university in Oxford, but she could even get a scholarship, which was vital since there was no way that her cash-strapped parents would have paid for a mere girl to study (“After all, what is the point,” her father had said countless times, “when your only purpose in life is to look pretty and make babies?”). But on top of that, when Branwell had gone to get his results, they turned out to be far better than anticipated and he too could scrape into a university, albeit one of the lesser institutions. So, there were great celebrations in the house for the conquering son who was treated to numerous presents and the summer looked set to be fine.
How little did she know…
The evening before it was announced that they had all been invited for dinner at the home of a Mr. Battersby of Thornfield Hall in Oxfordshire, and they all had to dress up smartly and behave. Both Emily and Anne were laced into their best stays, struggling down to a mind-blowing 21 inches which left them gasping for breath, over which their matching grey satin travelling gowns were worn. Then they took the morning bullet train from their Devonshire home, travelling through the countryside until they steamed into Didcot station just after one. There an auto-carriage was waiting for them which took them several miles along winding country lanes until they came at last to an enormous mansion.
When they first entered Thornfield Hall, they were received by a maid dressed in a minimal lavender dress (pure colours being the custom these days), but what she was wearing was not what most struck Emily. As Anne, her father, and Branwell pushed through and beckoned, her eyes were stuck on the blank white porcelain faceplate, the pale plastic skin, and if you ignored the joints, the lifelike nature of the womanly robot attendant. This machine was not like the crude metal conductors on the train ride here, there was obviously a level of refinement she had not seen before in person. Emily snapped back from her reverie as the silent automaid made a beckoning gesture, and as she regained her composure, Emily continued through the front door.
They were all ushered into the reception room where they were greeted by their host, a Mr. Battersby who, their father had told them, had made his fortune through insurance. He was a small, balding man in his fifties with a mousey look about him and rather piercing eyes which unnerved Emily a little. He suggested they go out onto the terrace which they did and where they drank tea and he talked about his late wife and also Branwell’s university prospects. At five they were called in for dinner which was a delicious meal of venison washed down with port, after which Battersby withdrew into the smoking room with Emily’s father and brother, leaving the three Lowood females to amuse themselves until, most unexpectedly, Emily was called in by a robotic servant to meet with the gentlemen.
Confused, she entered the room to see Branwell standing by the fireplace smoking whilst her father and Battersby sat in armchairs. There was a third chair free and Battersby motioned for her to sit in it.
“Emily my dear, we’ve called you in here today because Mr. Battersby here has a most excellent proposal to put to you.”
“What is that, sir?” she asked.
“Well Emily,” said Battersby, “I should like to ask you to give me the honour of your hand in marriage.”
Shamefully, her first reaction was to laugh, although thankfully she stifled it before it came out. “But sir, I do not know you, nor you me.”
“That is true, but I know your family and I can see that you have a good nature. Love comes with familiarity.”
“That may be true sir, but I am young and about to start university whereas you are past my father in years.”
“Here, Emily, I must say something,” interjected that father. “You mention university, yet there is no guarantee that you shall be attending. The fact is that, as a family, we have insufficient funds.”
“But I have won a scholarship, Father, you know that.”
“That as may be, but Branwell here has shamefully been passed over and so we would have to fund him and it would be most remiss of us to have a daughter in education and a son out of it. Therefore, unless we can raise the funds for Branwell, then you attending university is simply out of the question.”
“Yeah, sis, think of that,” added Branwell, still smirking.
“But here is where Mr. Battersby has very kindly offered to help us. He has agreed to pay Branwell’s fees in full and give him a grant for living costs if you agree to marry him.”
With those words, things started to become clear. Once again, her brother’s very existence was causing her problems. “But what of me, father, I still wish to attend as well.”
“That would be a matter for your husband to decide, Emily.”
“And, if you would grace me with your hand, then I do not say I shall refuse. The practicalities will have to be considered of course, but I do not rule it out.”
“But why me? I am naught but a plain and homely girl. I am no match for a gentleman such as yourself.”
“On the contrary my dear, you are exactly the kind of lady I have been searching for. So, what is your answer?”
“You require an answer now?”
“Of course he does, Emily, the university will not hold Branwell’s place open any longer!”
Realising that she had to think fast, Emily did just that. Marrying this Battersby, whom she could not imagine ever loving, would mean that Branwell went to university, but the comments about her were no guarantee that she could. But then, what of Anne? What if she refused and he asked Anne instead? She would never be undutiful and all her dreams of university next year would be dashed. In an instant she knew what to say: “I accept sir, on one condition: that my sister Anne is never forced to marry and that, next year, she too will be able to attend university.”
Battersby and Lowood looked at one another and then Battersby nodded. “We shall marry next month in the church here on the estate. My darling, you have made me so happy! Would it be remiss of me to kiss my fiancé?”