I had a lazy Sunday today due to the fact that I came down with a bit of a cold and spent most of the day resting and getting better. I'm working hard to finish this story and as such wrote out two chapters today instead of one. Hope you enjoy the treat.

************************************************

"We are taught you must blame your father, your sisters, your brothers, the school, the teachers - but never blame yourself. It's never your fault. But it's always your fault, because if you wanted to change you're the one who has got to change." ~ Katharine Hepburn.

Chapter 42.

Whose Fault?

Beatrice eyed her mother warily. What was the old witch going to do this time? No doubt she had discovered about how Lord Woodworth had been turned down. For a full five minutes Mrs. Llewelyn just stared at her daughter in silence, her dark brown eyes peering down in anger, hate, and fury. Beatrice broke away from the stare. If her mother hoped to indimitae her, she had chosen a wrong time! What did she care about her mother now? What did she care about anything now?

At last there was the sound of the doorknob turning and her uncle walked in.

"Wonderful, the dragon and the serpent," Beatrice growled under her breath. "Don't I feel like the sheep being led to the slaughter."

The Earl of Worthington, a tall and impresive figure, but who bore little resemblance to Beatrice's late father, motioned for his sister-in-law to take a seat, then sat down himself.

"You turned him down?" Mrs. Llewelyn hissed at her daughter. "After the whole world was talking about how he was courting you, you turned him down? I would shout, Beatrice if I thought it would do any good!"

Indeed, poor Mrs. Llewelyn was so angry, she was beyond shouting, she could only speak in a quiet, almost hissing voice.

"I told him you would go back and apologize, but he said he doesn't wish to ever bring up the subject about matrimony again," she continued, glaring at her daughter. "We are past the point of return, those are the very words he spoke to me. But we know better, oh yes, we do. Beatrice, go over to him at once and use the tricks I taught you, I don't care what it takes, just do it! You must have him as a husband! Morgan, tell her she must."

"Beatrice," her uncle began in a stern voice. "It is not proper of you to run around playing with the hearts of men. Every season you leave with at least five offers turned down. You have earned a repuation, you know. You encourage the gentlemen for a few months, some you have encouraged for two or three years, and then you refuse. It is not how a lady ought to behave. Lord Woodworth is a wonderful match. He has title, money, perfect family, excellent name. You must obey your mother this instant or I shall take away the dowry money."

"By all means," Beatrice coldly replied. "I never asked for that dowry money anyway. If I am to marry it will be for a man who will not care that I only have one hundred pounds a year to my name. I don't want to marry for money."

"Aren't you beginning to sound like Catrin now!" Mrs. Llewelyn snapped. "The difference is Catrin can speak like that all she wants, for she has money! You do not! Beatrice, I order you to go and ask him to forgive you! GO!"

"I shan't!" Beatrice snapped back. "I don't want to marry him! I never did. I am tired of you choosing suitors for me, Mamma."

"Beatrice, you are twenty one," her uncle cut in. "Twenty one and unmarried! Your time to find a good catch is running out."

"Then I shall be an old maid!"

"Oh no you won't!" Mrs. Llewelyn shook her head. "Old maid indeed! I spent twenty one years turning you into the fashion beauty that you are now, I spent hundreds of pounds on tutors and lessons to make you the fine lady you have become, and you turn around and say you are going to be an old maid? I don't think so!"

"It is my life, Mamma!"

"No, Beatrice, it is my life! I gave you this life, you are my daughter, and you will do as I say! We will both be ruined if you don't. One hundred pounds for you, one hundred pounds for me. A year, my dear girl, you only get that sum once a year! You have no idea how to live on that amount, because all this time we have been living off of Mr. Llewelyn's money. Why do you think I married that man? You think I loved him? I didn't care. It was pure luck that he was also good looking and kind, but I would have married him even if he was ugly and annoying. You have never known want because I have worked hard to make sure you never did. When your father died and left us with so little money I had to hurry and find a good match and I did. I made sure you lived in comfort, and this is how you repay me? By being a stubborn, rebellious and selfish daughter!"

"If I had known that a mother's kindness came with such a high price," Beatrice coldly stated. "I would have asked you to be cruel and let me be poor. I would rather be poor and free than live in a golden cage."

Mrs. Llewelyn set her lips in a tight line. "You say that now, Beatrice Morton, but you have no idea what poverty is. You are afraid of it, oh yes you are. Don't give me that look of defiance. If you would only be honest to yourself you would see that you don't want to be poor, or you would have run off a long, long, long time ago. But if you run away, Beatrice, how will you survive. You don't know how to live on a little! You only know how to spend a lot of money. Trust me, you spend more than one hundred pouds every year. And you think you can just run and suddenly, magically learn to live economically? Let us consider some practical questions. Where will you live? What will you do? You have no profession, no skill, nothing. Useless, that is what you are, completely and utterly useless. You draw a little, you paint a little, you sing a little, you dance a little, you play music a little...but only a little! You are the jack of all trades and the master of none. You have never done a proper day's work in all your life. If I thrust you out into the world, you will not know what to do or how to live."

Mrs. Llewelyn paused here and her eyes met with Beatrice's.

"That is not true!" Beatrice whispered.

Her words caused Mrs. Llewelyn to let out a laugh, the Earl also chuckled.

"Not true?" Mrs. Llewelyn patronized. "Beatrice, Beatrice, if thou canst to thine own self be true, thou can be false to no man. Why aren't you honest with yourself? Of course it is true. You are good for nothing other than to be the wife of a rich man, who will pamper you and give you want you want. Do you know how I know this? Because that is what I have made you! Yes, you are the product of my labor. Everything you know, everything you do, it is what I have shown you, taught you. I made sure you didn't know how to be stingy, didn't know how to be wise when it came to funds. And I was careful, Beatrice, oh so very careful, to carve you, my little procelian poodle, into something that only a very rich man would want. As far as the rest of the world is concerned you are as useful as a dolly, and as shallow as a peacock."

Every word stung Beatrice's pride, but deep down she could not argue with her mother. She knew nothing of how to survive in the world, and she didn't know how not to spend money. It was always there and she always spent it. That was why she had remained with her mother, because that was the only support the girl had.

"I don't need a working woman for a daughter, Beatrice," Mrs. Llewelyn continued. "That is not how it is done in our circles. Your goal is to catch a rich husband who will supply for you and for me! That is all I have ever asked of you, and that is all you must ever ask of yourself. You cannot survive without me, or else you would have abandoned me long ago! But you return, every time your return, and if you are going to live under my roof than you will abide under my rules. Tomorrow, Miss Morton, you will go and you will get Lord Woodworth to change his mind about you!"

"Don't even think of arguing, Beatrice," her uncle cut in. "There is no way out. Your mother is right, you are good for nothing and must accept your lot in life."

Beatrice shook her head desperatly.

"I warned you," Mrs. Llewelyn kept on. "I told you not to go against me or what would happen? Your beloved dog..."

Fear gripped Beatrice's heart and she rushed forward and grabbed her mother roughly. "What have you done with Argos?"

The hard gaze of the mother met the desperate one of the daughter.

"I had him poisoned." It was a flat voice, but the eyes burned with triumph.

Beatrice gasped and rising, backed away. "You didn't!"

"Go to the kitchen and see what is left of him. And you have no one to blame but yourself, Beatrice. If you had obeyed and played by the rules, the dog would still be alive. Go! Go and see that I am a woman of my word!"

Beatrice fled out of the room and to the kitchen. It couldn't be true. Her mother wouldn't have done such a evil, wicked thing. But the cold truth had her stopping short in the kitchen doorway. Her heart rose to her throat when she saw the form of Argos lying down in a heap. She walked up to him haltingly, but couldn't bring herself to touch him.

"I told you not to challenge my imagination!" Mrs. Llewelyn's voice sounded behind her.

Beatrice turned in fury.

"You murder!" She shouted. "You witch! You dragon! I often wondered why my life was hell, but with the devil as my mother I should not be surprised. I can almost see the horns and til and pitchfork!"

She would have struck her mother, but Mrs. Llewelyn caught her arm and held it in an iron grip. She snatched the other arm as well, and though Beatrice struggled to do something to her mother, she had to at last submit to the fact that Mrs. Llewelyn was so much stronger than her, both mentally and physically.

"You have a way with words, Beatrice Morton, and you had better make good use of that gift tomorrow! At eleven o'clock sharp we will drive to the Errol mansion!" Mrs. Llewelyn coolly informed her daughte. "And remember all I have said, Beatrice. Remember it as long as you live. Shallow as a peacock, useful as a dolly. And you there, take that dog and dispose of him!"

Beatrice watched helplessly as two servants came up to Argos, then she shook herself from her mother's grasp and ran to her room.

It was too much for one day. First the death of Captain Fleets and now Mamma had just killed Argos. But what stung the most were the words her mother had told her, the bitter truth she had just lashed out, without feeling or mercy, at her own daughter.

"You are useless, Beatrice, useless," she wept. "And it is all Mamma's fault. She did this to you! It's her fault! Her fault!"

But even as she sobbed a little voice seemed to ask her. "Is it really Mamma's fault?"

This caused Beatrice to question herself. After all, she had always gone along with it, because she was afraid, afraid of being alone, afraid of no support, afraid of poverty. Oh yes, she would die before she admitted it, but Mamma had been right of course. Her mother provided support and safety, and Beatrice enjoyed both and so tried to have her cake and eat it too.

"You keep telling Catrin to break out, because you knew she could afford too," Beatrice sobbed to herself. "And all the while you let Mamma turn you into...what was that phrase she used? Porcelian poodle. You liked the lessons, you wanted to be the jack of all trades and ended up the master of none. What good are you now? What good will you be? You wouldn't even have been able to be a proper wife to Captain Fleets, he had no money and you have no money and no skills. Oh Papa, what would you have done in my case?" Curling up in her bed, Beatrice wept for her dog, and for Captain Fleets, and wished her father or even Mr. Llewelyn were alive. They would have helped her.

"But really, Beatrice," a little voice inside her head whispered continued to whisper. "What has ever stopped you from helping yourself?"

The little voice had a point. Who was stopping her? She could change her life, she had always had the power to change it, and she never had.

"I will not go to Charles tomorrow," she hissed to herself suddenly. "There is no need to put the pressure on him. Of course he is going to say that he does not want me anymore, and then his father will say that he must and it will be terrible! No, Mamma has no right to do this to me. Uncle doesn't have the right either. I may be a porcelian poodle, but at least I will be my own porcelian poodle and not Mamma's!"

Enough was enough and her mother had really gone too far. Poverty and death by starvation was more appealing at the moment then the hell that had become her life. She had suffered long enough. She had been a coward long enough. Better die in a gutter than remain her mother's plaything.

Rising from her bed and wiping her tears, Beatrice gathered her wits about her. Going to her closet she changed into the simplest gown and coat she could find. Stuffing her small funds into her purse, she took a few jewels with her and tied a bonnet around her head. Going to the dressing table she scratched a little note and left it waiting for Catrin to come and discover it.

"Poor old Argos," she whispered as she quietly opened the door to her room and checked to make sure the coast was clear. "I'm so sorry, my boy! What a cruel mistress you had in the end, letting you die like that. I'm so sorry, so sorry."

She slipped down the hallways and out the front door. It was midday, a lazy hour in the house, with few servants walking about. No one of course expected her to run off in broad daylight, and she got away without any drama at all. Hurrying down the street, Beatrice caught a cab and then another cab, and then another. Of course they would start looking for her, so it would be best if she traveled around the city for a little to throw everyone off course. That evening, Beatrice boarded the mail coach and before nightfall she was out of the city.

She didn't know where she was going or what was going to happen, all she knew was that come hell or high water she would never return to London or to Mamma.