Marshmoore

Edy was in a foul mood today because she had smoked the last of her lavender cigarettes. Whether they are made from lavender or it is just the color of the wrapper, I do not know. I do know that she had been saying awfully rude things to Greg and Dora when they crossed her path.
By the time she had written a letter to her friend, Lady Marianne in Paris, for more boxes her mood was worse than ever. She kicked the dog and tripped the gardener while he was planting the roses she had requested. She spat on the windows after Frida had washed them. Edy gets very silly when she can’t have her lavender cigarettes.

Dora on the other hand is very quiet. I hardly ever hear Dora, but she hardly ever hears me. Greg is the only one in the family who knows when I’m present. He gets all fidgety and takes out the rosary from his breast pocket. Ever since he went to Rome he came back quite changed. He never noticed me before. But I must admit, having Greg notice me, even if it produces a panicked reaction, is quite nice. One of these days I’m going to get quite bored and make Greg fidget all the time, especially at dinner, he’s getting too fat!

Marshmoore was not called so because it had been a marsh once. Nor is it surrounded by a moor. Marshmoore is called so because it once belonged to a man called Marsh, who in turn sold it to the young Roger Gascoyne, who never changed the name. Mr. Gascoyne did not pay much attention to the name, mostly because he was very self involved. He didn’t pay much attention to any names. It wasn’t until his son, Gregory, was six months that he noticed the boy wasn’t named after him. Gascoyne flew into a terrible rage and began knocking over everything in sight. Edy, his second eldest, inherited his temper and his nose. Gascoyne had a pointed nose, which was very unflattering on a man, but on Edy it worked just fine. Dora received his widows peak, which made her rotund face look like a heart. Mrs. Lydia Gascoyne, his gaunt wife, was also pointed. Her cheekbones looked much too chiseled and her elbows formed sharp points. How she carried her children was a mystery, as she locked herself in the attic the moment she began to show. Only Dorcas, the ladies maid, was allowed up to see her. Which is a testament to how much Mrs. Gascoyne didn’t want people to see her condition, because no one really liked Dorcas.

“I want to go to Paris, Mother.” Edy sniffed. They were in the drawing room looking out on the cold rainy afternoon that had suddenly come upon them.
“You went last year Edy. We can’t afford to send you again.”
“I’d like to go to Paris.” Dora chimed in.
“To do what?” Edy said dryly.
“Go shopping, see shows. I think Paris would be awfully romantic.”
“No couturier makes clothes large enough to fit you, you never learned French so you wouldn’t understand the shows, and no young man is going to fall in love, not for your looks anyways. Paris would be wasted on you.”
“Edy. Don‘t say that.” Mrs. Gascoyne said it because she had to. Not because she disagreed with Edy. She was perfectly right. Dora did not receive the looks that Edy did, nor did she possess the mind for languages.
“I think I would do quite well in Paris. Or anywhere for that matter. I’m not as stuck up as you are.”
“Oh shut up Dora, you’re giving me a headache. I wish those cigarettes would get here faster. These headaches are agonizing.”
“Dora, could you please hand me the letter opener?” Mrs. Gascoyne had taken to blocking most of what her children said out of her mind since they were old enough to talk. Her eyes perked up for the mean, nasty, rude things they said to each other, but other than that she was oblivious to what Edy was moaning on about.
“If I were in Paris I’d get myself a black dress and go to the ballet.”
“You don’t need to know French to understand a ballet.” Dora sneered.
“But you do need intelligence and culture to appreciate it.” Edy sighed back. She was stretched out on the fainting couch, one hand draped dramatically across her forehead.
“Mama, you said we could go anywhere when we turned eighteen.”
“Yes Dora.” Mrs. Gascoyne had no idea what she was talking about.
“I don’t think I would like to go to Paris when I turn eighteen, Mama.”
“Oh call her Mother for Christ’s sake, Dora! ‘Mama’ is so common.”
At this point Greg had joined them with his bible.
“Please watch your language Edy. The Lord,”
“Oh shut up Gregory! No one needs to hear your incessant biblical babbling.”
They proceeded to fight, because, that’s what brothers and sisters do. Dora, however, left the room. Her mother didn’t really want to hear what she had to say and Edy would make fun of her anyways.
The fact was the Dora wanted to go to Australia for her eighteenth birthday. And she busied herself that afternoon dreaming about it.

Marshmoore wasn’t an expansive estate. It had gardens and pathways to walk through. There was a servants house at the edge of the gardens, hidden by a large gate. Dorcas lived there, with Frida, Wallace, and the gardener. They were a small staff. The Gascoynes couldn’t afford to have more than five. They fired Edward two years ago and never bothered to replace him. It was a comfortable arrangement, except for when Edy would be in one of her moods.

I watched Dora go through father’s atlas this afternoon. She was looking for Australia. From what I could tell, I don’t think she’ll get on well there. It looks to be wasteland and full of heathens. Dora is far too comfortable in her ways here to live there. She’s so fond of eating, I can hardly imagine what they eat there, nothing to Dora’s liking I don’t think.
I don’t think she’ll go anyways. Father would never pay for a trip that far away. It is sad that Dora never gets what she wants and Edy always does.

“Have you seen my Bible, mother?”
“No I haven’t dear. Have you tried looking in the study?”
“It is not there!”
“Oh.”
Greg Gascoyne had taken his eighteenth year trip to Rome and come back completely changed. He was once a carefree, joyful boy. He loved the outdoors and running through the gardens. Once he came back from Rome, however, he had grown a beard and taken to carrying around a small leather bound Bible that the Pope had blessed.
“You look like a hermit.” Edy said in disgust.
“I think he looks very dignified.” Dora smiled.
“For a caveman.”