The Riverbank

Chapter One
7th December 1746

Jessica

The bright flittering colors rushed past in an exuberant blur, and a shock of ochre hair fluttered in the wind as she moved swiftly along the edge of the river – probing, searching. The squelch of the mud that made up the water’s edge was cool beneath her naked feet. She had always been too carefree to concern herself with silly little things such as shoes; they were frightfully uncomfortable and too dainty to get wet. Frankly they would just slow her down… and she had to catch that butterfly. The fierce gaze in her eyes clashed tremendously with her childlike features. Her rosy cheeks were plump and unblemished; on her lips, a pleasant, innocent smile that a proper young lady of seven years old should always possess. Yet in those eyes, was a passion and determination far beyond her years. Any onlooker could – and frequently did – mistake her wealth of charm and sweet disposition for good breeding; how truly misguided they were. For these were traits purely of her own devising, and for a very specific purpose.
Yes, Jessica Trussell was most definitely dealt more than her fair share of charm, and she was not afraid to use it to her advantage. This, if in nobody’s mind but her own, was her greatest asset, far reaching beyond any physical possessions with which she may have been bestowed. Her fair skin and tender expressions rendered her mother utterly convinced that in another six or seven years she would make any man a fine wife, and do her family proud. And yet, even in her youth, her heart knew she was destined for a greater purpose than to be somebody’s wife, and she was terrified at the thought of it. Her viewpoint she knew, was well embedded in fact, having recently experienced an event which justified exactly that.

***

         Her elder cousin Genevieve was recently married to a gentleman of great wealth and standing in society. In the ceremony itself in the June since gone, Jessica herself was a vital contributor in the scattering pale pink rose petals. This day she met with her now dear friend Natasha, and subsequently, Natasha’s recently widowed father, Sir John Catchford. Sir John was certainly a sight to be seen, she recalled. The memory of her aching neck as she bent it back to observe the gargantuan man was still all too vivid in her mind. The mere height of him was monumental, yet rendered minuscule when compared to his width. The overhang of his beastly gut, she observed, would have in all likelihood been preventing him from glimpsing his toes many years since, and placed significant pressure on the buttons of his waistcoat. Those buttons which, she was certain could be sprung at any moment, and take out the eye of an unsuspecting bystander. As her eyes ventured higher, she glimpsed the red blotchy cheeks, possessed only, she feared, by the most terrifying of clowns, in contrast to the pale, sickly constitution of his surrounding skin. His huge, hairy nostrils flared, as he boomed out a greeting towards her, and she was compelled to take a step back, with the onslaught of putrid air which was propelled through a huge chasm of missing teeth and a hollow emptiness where she suspected any trace of humanity would be stored.
This beastly character that stood before her was the soon to be husband, and subsequent captor, of the sweetest and dearest cousin she ever knew. Genevieve’s gentle and passive nature, rendered twice so by her youth and beauty, so heavily contrasted with the hideous creature before her that she felt a surge of panic go through her. It was as though the devil himself was disguised (rather badly in her mind) in order to secure an angel, and trap her within his ghastly abode forever more.
This was her first and so far her only introduction into the concept of a propitious marriage. She was assured by all around her, that Sir John was a most amiable match for her sister, and that he would bring her great comfort in her life. This subsequently, was the day, on which Jessica Ann Trussell, age seven, resolved to join a convent.

***
         
         Her mind returning to the task presently at hand, the young pair of feet stretched themselves up higher over the edge of the riverbank, allowing the net extending her tiny arm to reach out just that little bit further. She was so close she could almost touch it – that flutter of blue and gold reflected in the water below. Almost there, almost there… she felt the stretch in either side of her rib cage, as she pulled further, focusing on her single goal. And then, in one swift movement, although she felt it happening in slow motion, she caught it… success! And the sheer force of her arm swiping the net, coupled with the rapid shift in balance, was exactly what the riverbank needed to tip it over the edge… taking her along with it.
With barely enough time allowing a screech of shock to escape her lips, the edge of the bank crumbled underneath her delicately perched toes, and she was sent skidding down the edge with an avalanche of mud and rock into the deep murky water below.
         Groping around in the cloudy darkness, stirred by the jolt of her body falling down into its depths, she sought desperately for something to grab onto. Feeling as though she was drowning, she began to panic; searching, probing for something, anything to pull herself up. And then, just as she thought it was too late, she felt something, a tree root, she thought, though it seemed looser – yet whatever it was, she held it tightly, and pulled herself to the surface.
Gasping for air, she coughed and spluttered, clutching desperately to her new found refuge, and then a voice rang out from above her… very faint at first, and then more clearly…
“Hello! Miss! Are you okay? Miss! ”
Turning her head to the source of commotion, she removed one hand from her grip, and wiped the water from her face, feeling the sting as some of the mud ran into her eye. Then, looking up, her vision began to clear, and she could see the silhouetted outline of a person, leaning over the riverbank, calling down to her.
“Hold on, I’ll pull you up”
What? She thought… how could… and then taking another look at her tree root, she realized it was not connected to the bank at all – it was an old piece of rope, colored a murky brown from the water, extending all the way up to the silhouetted figure above. Within seconds, she felt the rope wrench upward, and she was hauled back onto the bank, coughing and spluttering.
         Dazed and confused by her ordeal, Jessica lay on her back breathing heavily, as the sun began to set, sending an array of reds, oranges and yellows shooting across the sky. Raising her head slightly, she could see a boy of approximately her age, sitting beside her, staring up at the sky. She thought it so curious that anyone remotely her age should be out here alone. After all, this was her parents’ estate, and nobody, she thought, should be visiting at this hour, especially not another child alone. At this, she stood up defensively, and with such vigor that caught the boy’s attention, also causing him to jump to his feet.
He opened his mouth to speak, but she cut him off.
“Who are you?! What are you doing here?!” she accused, standing up to her full height, she was at least a head taller than her companion, and she placed her hands on her hips.
Evidently offended at her reproach, he took a step towards her, “It just so happens, that I am the person who just saved your life… mademoiselle.” His words were slow and deliberate. “Would it hurt you to be at least a little bit grateful?” He stared back at her with the same intense disdain which he evidently received.
She could feel the anger welling up inside her, “Who do you think you are addressing a lady in that way?! And I was doing just fine on my own before you came along!”
“Oh really?” he scoffed, “my mistake, it appeared as though you were drowning, but I’ll bet you were probably just going for a swim were you? Fully clothed, by yourself, in the dirty river.”
Ooh, the nerve of some people. How dare he speak to her that way! “As a matter of fact, no”, she snapped back. “I was minding my own business, trying to catch a butterfly and I fell. But that does not mean I was drowning! I had it completely under control. I’ve fallen in there hundreds of times!”
This was partially true. She had indeed fallen into the river many a time before, but always much closer to the house where the water was shallow, and the banks not quite so high. Nevertheless, if this… ‘Trespasser’ thought that he had any chance of procuring gratitude from her now, he was very mistaken!
“A butterfly. You risked your life to catch a butterfly,” he retorted, then muttered something under his breath. 
“What would you know anyway?!” she yelled back at him, in a desperate attempt to regain the upper hand. Alas, she could not think of anything intelligent to say, and so resolved to turn her back, and storm off. This was usually an effective way of displaying dissatisfaction, regardless of its repercussions to follow. And with the flick of her hair, and a piercing expression of distaste, she moved to do exactly that, leaving him standing by the riverbank in his own disgruntled agitation.
Stomping her feet in a huff, all the way home, she repeated in her memory the events of the last hour. She felt as though there was something missing… some small detail that she had forgotten, and then, as though listening to her thoughts, the flow of the river washed by her discarded butterfly net. Of course! She knew she had forgotten something! And with a sigh of relief, she ran over to retrieve it. However, her light mood at the discovery of this lost toy was short lived, at the revelation of what it had managed to procure. There, she halted, watching in disbelief, as the waterlogged remains of her beautiful butterfly, floated limply beneath the surface of the net.
She had drowned it. One of the great beauties of the world was decimated by her foolish attempt to capture it. Kneeling on the bridge that made up the final leg of her journey home, she watched silently, as the butterfly’s watery grave washed past and into the distance...