Disclaimer: Every character essentially belongs to Frances Hodges Burnett and any spin-off or movie that has arisen from this novel. This is based mainly on the 1993 movie version.

 

 

A Cage for an Ivory Elephant

 

Chapter 1

 

 

Mary gasped in startled pain as her ribs felt very nearly to the breaking point. She clutched her hands to the table as shoots of mind-numbing flashes seared along her chest. Her pulse quickened considerably as her breath was restrained to short, tiny gasps. She ran one hand alongside the curve of her side as she stared up at Miss. Medlock in shock, a look of disbelief etching across her face.

 

“Please, please I beg you Miss. Medlock, loosen the strings some more. I cannot breathe.”

 

The only answer Mary received was a tight jerk against her rib cage. The corset made what little extra skin Mary had, which was barely any, and deemed it invisible to the naked eye. Mary stared across onto the nearby dresser, focusing on her pain and dwindling it away, staring intently upon the tine ivory elephant that sat idly by, majestic despite the ridicule of its missing trunk. She gazed upon every curve and plane that etched secretly alongside its carved scratching, all the while wincing silently at every tug that marred her already perfect figure.

 

 Miss. Medlock stood towering above her, a black shroud bent on creating as much physical pain for Mary as possible. It wasn’t that she disliked the girl; it was only that she had felt as though she failed Mr. Archibald Craven.

Mary recently turned sixteen years old, and still had never experienced the womanly obligations of corsets and of maintaining perfect manners. Mr. Craven had placed Mary’s introduction into society into Medlock’s hands, and because Mary seemed to have impeccable manners around guests, Medlock simply assumed that the girl was fit for the time being. It was only recently that she realized Mary was no longer a child when, on the prowl for the young Colin Craven merely a week ago, she glimpsed an absolutely horrendous sight. There was Mary and the gardener boy, the young Sowerby, romping around upon Misselthwaite grounds tickling each other into frenzy. What Medlock saw, however, horrified her beyond reasonable proportions. Mary’s skirt was hiked up ever-so slightly from trying to resist the advantages of the older boy, revealing, and horrors upon horrors, a quick flash of ankles and the ruffle of her undergarments. Well, as long as Miss. Medlock was head housekeeper of Misselthwaite manor, no lady of the house, servant or otherwise, would be going about revealing such improper attributes. Especially to a Sowerby boy. With each passing thought Medlock jerked against the strings of the corset, oblivious to the hiss of pain emitted from the girl. She had waited long enough, and it was obvious that Mary had already acquired the curves that arrive with the coming of womanhood, it was time. Thankfully Mary had been hiding most of her new found body under layers of simple clothing appropriate for gardening.

 ‘That Dickon boy would be hard-pressed to find anything to his liking underneath those clothes’, she contemplated bitterly.

A restricted gasp broke through her reverie. She stepped back and her eyes traced the undergarment that encaged the young Mary’s body like an extra skin. Her waist was deemed suitably tinier, and the girl’s breasts were pushed ever so slightly higher. Medlock surveyed the strings with an impenetrable eye, and nodded her head curtly.

 

“This will do for now. I won’t have you wearing it today; it does need some adjustments however.”

 

Mary tensed her shoulders and stood up tall, staring numbly at Miss. Medlock’s stoic reflection upon the gilded-crested framed mirror sitting softly upon the dresser. A few candles provided the only light in the darkened room.

 

“Miss. Medlock, why must I wear this? I find myself hardly capable of breathing!”

 

Medlock stared straight-faced into the reflection, settling her cold gaze on the defiant eyes of the young girl.

 

“You, Miss Mary, are no longer a child. You will be introduced to society as your mother and aunt before you have done respectably and on time. I have conferred with Mr. Craven, and we have both agreed you deserve a coming out ball, meaning it is your turn to play your part in society. It is up to in finding, perchance and god be willing, a wealthy and important suitor.”

 

Mary widened her eyes in pure horror. She clenched her knuckles for a moment, letting silence reign for a moment or two. When she finally gained her voice, she looked up into the reflection and spoke firmly, her voice strong and cold.

 

“Miss. Medlock, whatever plans you have set for me, I must deter you. I refuse to participate in another scheme of people dictating my life for me. I cannot imagine marrying a man I do not love merely for the sake of society. I canno…”

 

She was not given the chance to finish as Miss. Medlock suddenly swerved Mary’s body to face her own and as swiftly as she had turned the girl around she slapped Mary with an unimaginable speed. The girl cried out and clutched onto the table-top for support, the sound of the slap resonating in the slight echo of the spacious room.

 

“Listen here, child, you did not come here to Misselthwaite so that you could be free as one of your precious flowers. You have an obligation to Mr. Craven and I and to all of Misselthwaite, and the best way you can fulfill it is to marry and marry well. Even your cousin Colin would be an appropriate choice. Mr. Craven gave me the duty to set you off in society, and I will not fail him. As long as I am in charge of this, you will not be permitted to have a say in this matter.”

 

All Mary could do was stare in open-mouthed horror as her mind went numb over Medlock’s words, a red mark creeping along her cream painted cheek. Miss. Medlock glanced at the reddening skin and sighed pityingly. Her eyes softened as she placed a hand to Mary’s cheek.

 

“I know my dear, I understand how you feel. No woman wants to live under the hand of another. But I’m afraid that that is how it has always been done, and just because you are an orphan does not change the matter. This is how it has to be. I’m sorry for slapping you, my dear, but it was the only way to wake you up to your senses.”

 

Mary stared silently into the softened face of the woman who cared for her, though not lovingly, for the past six years. She stepped back, never releasing her eyes off the hawk-eyed gaze of Miss. Medlock.

 

“Now, young Miss, please change into something suitable and leave the corset upon the bed, I will retrieve Martha to take it in for alterations.”

 

With that Medlock swung on her heels, and without a second glance backwards opened the door smartly, only to crash into the elder Sowerby sister.

 

“Oh, Miss, I canna be sorry enouh, t’is me clumsy heels, you see, I find myself tripping over and about. Does thee forgive me?”

 

Medlock crossed her arms across her chest, glaring at the young woman with one eye brow raised.

 

“The next time you are listening at the door, Martha, try to stand a few paces away. If you heard well enough, remember to take the corset in to the shop.”

 

Martha bowed her head in shame and replied, a tint of the ever-apparent amusement still lining her words.

 

“Aye ma’am. That I will.”

 

With that reply Medlock disappeared in a black huff down the hallway. Martha stared as she turned the corner, mocking her very words with her lips. She turned towards the entrance of Mary’s room, still making fun of Medlock.

 

“Well then, I wonder what has gotten that lasses knickers into a twist.”

 

However, one sight of Mary trembling at the dresser stole all the words from Martha’s mouth. There the young girl stood, her hand clutching a finger-tainted face, entombed in strings of corsets and undergarments. The light of one remaining candle flickered, dancing shadows fluttering upon her perfect skin. Mary would not permit herself to cry, instead staring in shock upon the wooden floor. Martha let out a small cry and rushed to her side, coaxing her and resting her own hand upon the red marks.

“Oh, Miss Mary, what has tha’ done to provoke her? T’is ‘bout the marriage thing, I know it. Dinna listen to her, lass, she’s jus’ bitter ‘cause old Mr. Townsend ne’er wanted to marry ‘er.  Thee must marry for love, miss.”

 

Mary swung around, facing the table yet again, her arms trembling with obvious tenseness. She stood up tall, resting her hands upon the table.

 

“Please, just take the corset off. I can not even breathe, much less think. No questions, Martha.”

 

Silently, Martha began to untie the strings that bound the young girl together, disgusted by the contraption and staring forlornly at poor Miss Mary, for having to be subjected to this monstrosity. Silence descended like a plague, the only sound was the silk of the strings rustling. Neither would talk for many minutes, until eventually it was Mary that broke the silence.

 

“You know perfectly well whom it is I love, Martha.” Her voice was cold and distant, refusing to display any emotion.

 

Martha could not resist a tug of an excited smile quirk in the corner of her mouth. However, judging by the coldness in Mary’s voice, she deemed it best not to answer. Immediately Mary felt guilty for being so rude, and spoke in a softer tone of voice.

 

“Oh Martha, where has the magic gone?

 

To this, Martha slowed almost imperceptibly, silence choking on her words. For this question, she had no answer. She continued to softly tug away at the strings, her heart lifting as Miss Mary’s breath began to resume at a more normal pace. This was a moment in time in which Martha wished she would one day forget. Her, undoing the encaging corset binding such a wild creature in the dark, flickering room. All the while Mary stared numbly, with such intensity, at the forlorn, broken ivory elephant. The light from the candle flickering upon its sleek, white skin.

 

To be continued soon enough. Reviews are more then welcome ,lol. Thanks!