Boundary

by Mary Victoria Johnson

  I wasn’t stupid enough to try to cross the Boundary again.

  An angry tear trickled down my cheek. I knew that a world outside mine existed, since I had read about it and learned about it from Beatrix, though it was forbidden knowledge. Somehow, Beatrix got away with talking about things against the rules when we never did, but I was glad instead of jealous. It was as if she were a window.

  When I was younger I never questioned why the Boundary was there, or why we lived in the restricted environment of the estate. Now it felt claustrophobic. Fifteen years I had been stuck trying to scrape together a somewhat enjoyable life, but we couldn’t go on playing games forever. Time was ticking, and the older we grew, the more strangling the Boundary became. This wasn’t anything I could fight against, and it killed my pride.

  I collapsed down onto the mucky ground and wrapped my arms around my knees. “I hate you,” I spat into the air in front of me.

  Who was I talking to? The Master? The Boundary? My life? Maybe all of them.

  Why were we here? How could we get out? I had lived in compliance for too long now, and had no intention of staying on the estate for my rapidly approaching adult years, yet I had no idea where to even start. My friends got frustrated sometimes, definitely, but not enough so that they would do anything about it.

  I knotted my fingers tightly within my hair the powerlessness absolutely driving me past insanity. How much torture would we have to endure, and for how much longer would we remain in constant fear of Him?

  I remembered my dream. Perhaps it had been some sort of message: stand up, or be conquered.

  It took two sides to play a game. I knew what side I was on, and who my opponent was.

  The only question that remained, was would the threat and fear of being caught be enough to keep my friends from joining me, or would we finally be able to unite for a freedom that surely existed, if only we were brave enough to fight for it?

  4

  Evelyn almost died when she saw my dress.

  “Penny! How could you? That was one of your most flattering gowns! Not many shades go with your hair, but that one looked exquisite and you’ve ruined it!” Her voice rose hysterically. “Oh, I’m sure I can live without it.” I shivered, my teeth chattering. Tressa was equally appalled, but more for my lack of common sense. “You’re a fool, Penny,” she scolded, after returning with a pottery basin full of steaming hot water, which she had fetched from the bathroom. I had to agree with Tressa on that one, perched in my bed with a blanket thrown around my shuddering shoulders.

  I dipped my feet into the basin and sighed with pleasure. I had taken off my shoes, stockings, and outer dress so I was wearing only my camisole and petticoats under the shawl. “Thank you, Tressa,” I murmured contentedly.

  She didn’t reply, instead sorting through my wardrobe for another item of clothing for me to wear.

  “Where did you go, anyway?” Evelyn inquired, sitting down beside me frowning curiously.

  “The Boundary,” I admitted, squirming as I waited for the reprimand from Tressa.

  Sure enough, she whirled around and shouted, “You utter idiot! How could you? After being punished last night, it’s not a good idea to go galumphing around in an area you know He hates us to be! It’s dangerous!” She threw her arms around like a windmill.

  “You’re not in charge of me, Tressa,” I challenged. “I can do whatever I please. I needed to be alone and I just walked until I had to stop, and then plopped right down there. It’s not a crime.”

  “No, but suicide is.”

  “Oh, forget it. I couldn’t expect She-Who-Can-Do-No-Wrong to understand what punishments do to you.” I gave up arguing to savor the heavenly luxury of the boiling water in the basin.

  Tressa was the only one among us who had not been through punishments more than once or twice, largely due to her ability to keep her mouth shut and read people’s moods better than we did.

  “Well, it’s done now,” she harrumphed, changing the subject. “You’re out of decent day dresses. Mine will be much too long on you, as I must be at least a foot taller… Evelyn, could you be a darling and lend Penny something to wear for the afternoon? We’ll talk to Beatrix and see about getting her a few hardier garments made, but she needs something without ruffles and lace for lessons.”

  Tressa might have well suggested Evelyn go and set fire to a litter of kittens for the response she got.

  “You can’t be serious?” Evelyn jumped off my bed, getting into a bigger and bigger fluster as she paced around. “She’ll be fine in a dinner frock, or we could at least turn up one of yours! Please, Tressa, you know she’ll just scuff and stain it something awful!”

  She started to blabber, oblivious to Tressa’s and my unimpressed expressions.

  “Your generosity and selflessness continue to inspire me,” I said sarcastically.

  “I can’t force you”—Tressa shrugged—“but it’s the only option. Either you grow up and lend poor Penny a dress, or she’ll simply have to go naked and you can explain to the Master why.”

  Tressa’s threat worked like a charm. I found myself wandering down the lower hallway towards the library in one of Evelyn’s most old and distasteful dresses. It was dusky pink with a silver rose pattern, and it clashed horribly with my red hair. The worst part was that I was a few inches wider than Evelyn in several places, so the seams around the shoulders and waist were straining and sucking me in worse than a corset. I could barely breathe.

  I was sweating by the time I fumbled into the library, having let Tressa and Evelyn go ahead without me under the pretense of a bathroom break.

  The library was, compared to the rest of the house, nothing particularly special. I had seen a picture in a book of a library in an estate the size of ours: masses upon masses of books piled from floor to ceiling, on shelves three stories high, with painted cherubs smiling down from a roof mural…but not here.

  Only slightly bigger than our common room, it contained a single bookcase, a few worn wooden desks, and a ceiling that sloped downwards towards a stained-glass window.

  The others were already sitting at their individual desks, getting out new ink pens and thick sheets of creamy paper to practice our usual thirty minutes of handwriting.

  “Penny, dear, please make sure you arrive with everyone else on time, please,” Beatrix scolded from her stool in the middle of the circle of desks.

  “I’m sorry for being late.” I sat down. A loud rip of material echoed, but not one of the supernatural kind.

  “Oops,” I whispered.

  I looked down. The side seam had torn. Evelyn flashed Tressa an I-told-you-so look, and I blushed.

  “I’ll see about getting you some more dresses,” Beatrix noted kindly. “For now, get out your supplies and start writing.”

  Beatrix really was an angel sometimes.

  I pulled out my pen, paper, and the dictionary I was copying from and began to write. Long, elegant, curved strokes soon began to fill my paper as I started where I had last left off at ‘lachrymiform.’

  I loathed handwriting with a passion. It was so pointless! When would I ever need to write? Why couldn’t we just read the dictionary and be done with it?

  I had mouthed my opinions to Beatrix a few years ago, and she had told me that good penmanship was a becoming and necessary talent every lady must possess, and that writing down definitions was much more effective than pure memorization. I had told her frankly that I wasn’t interested in becoming a lady, at which point she had snapped at me to stop complaining and to write for an extra ten minutes.

  I always started with lovely neat strokes, but towards the end my words were blotchy and scribbled with the telltale signs of a writer with hand cramp. In fact, by the time I had reached ‘mumpsimus,’ my letters were barely distinguishable.

  “That will do,” Beatrix called, after what seemed like forever.

  With barely concealed whoops of relief, we all dog-eared the dictionaries and tucked all the stationar
y into little cubbyholes fitted under our desks.

  “I’ve reached the Rs now,” Avery boasted, surveying us in a way that dared us to challenge his superiority.

  “Well done,” Beatrix said vaguely.

  Avery, like me, was too much of a handful to be very close to her heart, but he didn’t care. I had a feeling that he would have been more disgusted if she had showered him with hugs and mushy compliments instead of a polite, reserved affection.

  We all edged hopefully towards the bookshelf, but Beatrix had other ideas. “Boys, retrieve your numeracy workbooks and continue wherever you left off last time. Girls, fetch your tapestries and try to make some progress on those.”

  Flexing my sore fingers carefully, I pulled out the fine cloth on which I had been embroidering a fancy likeness of the chandelier in the foyer. I had originally chosen the design because I had thought it would be simpler than doing a landscape like Evelyn and Tressa, but it had turned out to be most difficult with all the little details.

  Tapestry was, though, one of the perks of being a girl. Despite the fact it sometimes frustrated me to distraction, the end result seemed a lot more useful than the pointless juggling of numbers that the boys did. We ended up with a beautiful (though imperfect) representation of an aspect of the estate, whilst they ended up with nothing but a calculation of figures scribbled on paper. Why grown gentlemen needed the skill, I would never understand.

  I fiddled with the needle and thread for another half an hour, succeeding in only pricking my fingers once. I fumbled with a knot in the last few minutes and had to get Tressa to help me untangle it, but apart from that, I thought I had done rather a decent job.

  Beatrix was too preoccupied by something, it wasn’t clear what, to notice my little hiccup, toying with her apron distractedly, occasionally glancing up in nervous, jerky movements. She clearly had a lot on her mind. I supposed it must be hard work being the sole servant of such a grand estate, in addition to tutoring every day.

  She even made us work for an extra few minutes before jolting out of her reverie and checking her pocket watch.

  “Sorry, my dears, I was daydreaming! Good on you all for working so well. You may have a few minutes of reading before luncheon.”

  I tore towards the bookcase happily, desperate to have first choice of material.

  Beatrix retreated into her mind, the worried expression still fixed upon her brow.

  Besides Beatrix herself, these books were our best source to what life was like outside the Boundary. The shelf itself was mainly full of reference textbooks for our studies, but if you knew what you were looking for, then you would be able to find the three or four that contained information on outside life. Every couple of weeks they would be replaced by new ones. I was certain that the Master had no idea of their existence, either because he couldn’t be bothered to censor what we were reading or because he actually trusted Beatrix. Although the latter was more likely, it was also quite a strange notion.

  I grabbed a large worn book, which, like them all, I had previously read, and slammed it down on my desk. The others were still fighting for space and grabbing what books they could.

  I pulled back the green leather cover and flipped to where I had left off, my heart pounding in anticipation. The more I discovered about the world, the more I ached for freedom, while equally my loathing for Him grew.

  I had decent reading skills, but for me, the pictures and illustrations held more information than the tiny printed words. I poured over dazzling paintings of cobbled city streets in which masses of gorgeously clad men, women, and children walked or rode in boxes on wheels called ‘carriages’ sometimes pulled by several horses. I marveled at the density of buildings, which lined the streets, and at how small and rickety they all were compared to our manor. I puzzled over why there were no plants or lawns anywhere to be seen. And I learned about ‘money’ and how the amount of it people had decided how they lived, whether they were rich or poor.

  “Beatrix?” I called, still enveloped in the splendor shown to me on the pages of the book. She jumped, looking around wildly for a moment, before relaxing and coming over to where I sat.

  “What is it, Penny?”

  This city,” I said, jabbing my fingers at a sketch of the skyline. “Do we get to go there when we grow up? Is that why you teach us all these things?”

  Everyone’s head had slowly lifted at my questions. They had lowered their eyes but no longer scanned the words, as they listened intently for an answer.

  “Why the sudden interest?” Beatrix retorted, uncharacteristically sharp. “Last night I would have thought you’d learned your lesson! I only allowed you to read such a book to stop you from asking questions like this, not to educate you about a future home! Have you no common sense?”

  To my mortification, I felt tears pool in my eyes. Beatrix never spoke with such abruptness to anyone, ever.

  “Then why teach us?” I managed to croak.

  Evelyn gave a barely audible squeak, burying her nose in her book again to shield herself from such behavior. Apart from her and Lucas, who was deeply absorbed in his own pages, everyone else had dropped their subtlety and was watching our exchange thoughtfully.

  “Would you prefer to know nothing?” Beatrix snapped, a flush winding up her neck.

  “Yes,” I whispered. “I would rather not know of what could be, if it will never be mine. It’s like…like showing a pauper fabulous riches and jewels, and setting them before him only to say that he is never to touch nor spend the fortune, only look. He would rather not have that constant reminder of his poverty.”

  Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Fred had also, like Evelyn, averted his gaze but Tressa and Avery were nodding to themselves in agreement.

  “So be it.” Beatrix sighed. Suddenly, she seemed very tired. Though she couldn’t have been much over sixty, she appeared a much older woman at that moment. “I shall remove the books from the library.”

  “No!” we all shouted in unison.

  “Please don’t, Beatrix, it’s the best book there!” I cried.

  “Don’t do this—” echoed Avery.

  “She’s not herself after last night—” pleaded Tressa.

  “Enough!” Beatrix thumped the desk. “It was due time I hid it away again anyway, since the Master is more suspicious than ever now you have grown older. If He ever discovered you had seen this book, then it would be death to all of us.”

  With a wave of her hand, more exhausted than ever, there was the tiniest of rips and our beloved books disappeared. We all gasped, staring at Beatrix in shock. Unaware of our reaction, she dismissed us and stumbled out of the library.

  We all sat transfixed, staring at my empty desk. Avery, as usual, was the first one to speak.

  “Since when did Beatrix have the same abilities as Him?”

  We had no answer to that, no comment on the fact that she appeared to have the same power as the Master himself.

  5

  ‘Traitor’ was a very loose term. I couldn’t decide exactly how it applied to Beatrix, but the sting of pain I felt in my chest whenever I reminisced about that afternoon was most definitely the hurt of one betrayed. All this time, she had let Him bully us into submission using the threat of His powers, when she possessed her own! Poor, gentle, overworked Beatrix could have challenged Him when He tortured us and stood up for us, but instead she had cowed away from Him like the powerless servant she had led us to believe she was. It was infuriating.

  “I don’t see what all the fuss is about,” Fred defended her, characteristically, refusing to see the bad in anyone. “Maybe she can only do little things.”

  “Fred,” I confronted him, swinging from my comfortable position in front of the fire to stare him in the eyes. “She made the only blasted decent book we had disappear into thin air.”

  “Don’t swear, Penny!” Tressa reprimanded me sternly.

  I stuck out my tongue when she turned away.

  It had been five days since
that dreadful afternoon. We had all been significantly more distant towards Beatrix during lessons and walking to dinner, though she was so tired lately that she never seemed to notice.

  Lessons had become duller and more of a chore than ever now. And without my trust for Beatrix I felt more trapped inside the Boundary than I thought previously possible.

  The persistent rain had started again, confining us to the house. With the attic floor forbidden and the lower containing nothing of interest, we had spent most of our time in the common room. Today was no different.

  Tressa, Fred, and Avery were half-heartedly matching their wits at cards, whilst Lucas was curled up on the window seat reading. Evelyn was still in our bedchamber mending a bracelet. I stared into the fire. The hissing and flaring of the quietly destructive flames rather reminded me of my thoughts, and perhaps that was why I was drawn to it as my place to brood.

  “You know, as much as I hate to admit it, Penny does have a point,” Avery piped up. I was too glad of his support to gloat. I tried to catch his eyes, but they were fixated on his hand of cards. “If Beatrix could only do party tricks, then why hide it from us? If there was nothing she could do to protect us, why keep it a secret? You’d have thought it would have been so much simpler to say, ‘Oh, I can rip, too, but don’t pester me because I can’t do anything useful.’”

  Tressa cursed under her breath as Fred slapped a card joyously onto the playing table, taking another from their huge deck. “I know, I know. It’s hurt me as much as any of you, and don’t think I’m not suspicious of why she hid it for so long. Actually, I’m more interested in what was going on in her life which caused such a slip in discretion, but anyway”—she sighed still not looking up from her game—“what can we do? Sulk about it for the rest of our lives?”

  “Confront her,” I suggested.