Terribly Lottey
By Lacie Perry Parker
Copyright 2014 Lacie Perry Parker. All rights reserved. Cover art by Chad Roslan.
Table of contents
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Part I
Chapter One
Wits Are Feeble, Humor Is Wry
Especially When You Think You’re About To Die
Well, here I am. Found one of the servant girls with this book and just knew she stole it. The leather binding is almost as good as the ones I use for lessons, and I know all too well that no one would have given her a gift. So it was just as well that I took it from her, and saved her the shame of father finding it. My father, Sir Devingrole is in fact the descended of an earl. So that makes me, very far-fetched-ly, royal? I have always believed that. Mother says I act and look more regal than the rest of the family, and that is all too true. So what else can I do but believe her?
I am the middle child of two brothers, or devils, might I say. Fiendish creatures. Why did God create them? It’s hard sometimes to tell that they are even the same blood as I. My family is very noble, but Dichard and Frederam sometimes are a tad on the brutal side. Not in public, of course, but I know for a fact that when Dichard is hunting, nothing¬– no one, for that matter– is too innocent of a target. And Frederam, the younger of us, never hesitates to use his fists when a servant steps out of his place. I must say, though, I’m not the sweetest with them either. I don’t use my fist, heavens, but I don’t care to be around the creatures for more than is necessary. All my ladies maids do is nag, asking a list of never ending questions that rolls over from day to day. I often wish all the work was done on its own, so we wouldn’t be bothered with someone else doing it for us.
I must set my quill down and dress for supper. I anticipate it, for afterwards I shall sit for a portrait. Although it is most uncomfortable and unnatural, I can’t help but say the outcome is always well worth it.
The most noticeable difference between me and the rest of the family is my eyes. My mothers are violet, my father’s such a dark, royal blue that it nearly matches, and the boys are all in-between. Sadly mine are of a more common color– a sort of pale emerald green. A dreadful coincidence I must add, that most servants I run into have something of the same. But I do suppose it gives them something to gloat about– they have something in common with me. Not that I would sacrifice anything for them, heavens, but it must make them feel a bit bigger than the small insignificance they are in truth.
For the portrait I wore a light blue taffeta gown, lined in velvet in satin. The color distracts from my eyes, and I blend in more. I had my hair peppered, as is the style: darker hair. I must admit it’s an atrociously saddening thing; my hair is so light. Almost as if I worked in the sun. But, of course, one could simply look at my complexion or even the softness of my hands, and see I hadn’t worked in my life. And I am proud of the fact. Nor had my mother, the urchin of a lady. Sometimes I don’t even know if I love her, we are so different. And she won’t even let me court sweet Willy Gangrun, no matter how many times he begs father. I find the situation jovial. He may be a bit on the homely side, but I’d go with a pig to escape this wretched hole for any amount of time. I say, heavens, we need new servants. Two nights ago we sat nearly ten minutes waiting on our Spiked Chicken. If the fire takes that long to stoke, it should be started ages earlier!
Today we go to watch the peacocks dance. Not very sure why they call it dance, however. The only thing they do is run around while we play croquet, eat cakes and the like. And mingle. I do sorely suffer from companionship. Mother offered to have one brought it from a fine little land called Frumndun, but then I learned they have squinty eyes. I told her rather loudly that she knows all too well I am too good to have only a funny looking imp to gossip with! I’m not sure if she agreed, but I think she called me a name. She swears very frequently that if I weren’t her daughter, she’d ship me off to Frumndun, so I could wallow in the sand in develop squinty eyes, and she does sometimes add that may help me to stop looking in the mirror every other second. I scoff at her puny remarks. I tell her, why? I’m the most regal and elegant one in the household, and everyone would be lost without me.
She said, “Lost in their own jubilance.”
For the peacock dances I usually enjoy dressing upscale as ever, to try and draw attention from the peacocks and more to me. Magnificent creatures, they are, and I find it mighty difficult to duplicate those magnificent feathers. Especially sprouting out of my tail end, which I found to be rather impossible when it comes time to enter a carriage. Then they become crumpled and quite unruly, and by the time it comes to croquet and bending over to get the ball, which I rarely do on my own– only when the servants are insufficient, the feathers don’t even stand up. And floppy feather remakes are not attractive, at least not yet. And it would be too much of a burden to make them so.
I now flee. Must find something to wear, haven’t had a new dress made since last time. Pity. Perhaps I shall design one later. With feathers elsewhere than the rear.
I have found I take joy in writing down my daily events and thoughts. It’s as if I were writing a letter to me, that no one is permitted to read. That makes me think– must hide the book from the servants. For who wouldn’t die to know more about my life?
There is one person– shall I say her name? Jyne Perr. How can a girl with only two syllables in her own name be worth anything? She is a nice sight, however not nicer than I am. She has long dark brown hair, which unfortunately needs no peppering. I admit to jealousy there. Her eyes are so blue that they appear black, the color of her wretched heart. Oh– has she a heart? I’d hardly know. We don’t speak directly. It’s a case of she-knows-I’m-better-but-won’t-admit-it, so she avoids me. Very dramatic.
I overheard, “Tell the balloon if she wins, I’ll let her borrow my seamstress. Perhaps she can fix that moon of a dress.” Apparently she lacks no sarcasm.
My dress was no balloon, however! Heavens! It was just a large skirt, to draw attention. And it obviously did, according to her. But I would bet no one took a bit of notice to her, in her slim fitted skirt and bodice. So thin it was as if she wasn’t even there at all.
But, perhaps I should try her technique. After all, it couldn’t hurt.
I just called in my seamstress and gave her my new dress orders. A velvet navy blue that was snugly fit all over.
“Would your mother approve?” She asked.
And why would that matter to her? “You’d do best to let that to me!” It took more strength not to backhand her than it did to yell at her. She left with her eyes cast down, which in my opinion, is where they should stay.
Life is anything but droll around here, in this Devingrole Mansion. Maybe the king and queen will come and stir things up a bit. Except that would be about as likely as me getting a job as a scullery maid.
“Lady Perr has asked us over for tea.” Mother told me, daintily wiping her mouth with her one hundred percent wool napkin. Anything else makes her itch.
Her words only slightly annoyed me. Even though I hated the grit of Jyne’s bones, it wouldn’t stop me from peeking in her wardrobe if I were given the right chance. I am afraid my brain is failing to come up with new ideas for my own gowns. And since she seems to be so popular (I came to conclude it was her naturally dark hair) any style she had would be worthy of me.
I set my fork on the dark wooden table. I felt a mile away from mother, though she was hardly across the table. “When mother? What shall we wear?
”
So I sit on the windowsill in my room, staring at the vast sky. Except for today, it seems so shallow. And purple. More purple than blue. And I have decided I shall wear a pink satin gown, the sort that flops down over the shoulders. I shall have one of my ladies maids search out my longest, whitest pair of gloves.
There’s not much more to write, until I get back.
This is how it went.
We pulled up to the Perr Mansion, our carriage rattling the way it does. A servant boy helped me out, though he was hardly in the position to do so. He had on the sort of clothes a stable boy, or a hall boy would wear. In fact, I think he was a hall boy.
I wonder why they’re called that?
The steps leading up to the house are grand, I must admit. White marble inlaid with the most silvery silver in special little designs that I made sure to step on. The door was opened for us at once, and I won’t even mention what kind of wood the door was made of.
We were led to the biggest of the three parlors where Jyne and her mother Jyssel were waiting for our arrival. We took out seat at the tea table, saying our hellos:
“Oh, Jyssel, dear! So good of you to invite us!”
“Oh, Marish, I knew it had been too long!”
Jyne gave me the most devilish little smile.
I wrinkled my nose and nodded. She didn’t deserve my smile turned upon her.
The tea they had prepared for us was of the oddest sort; it was completely clear. It only changed color when I added my sugar. “Lady Jyssel, wherever did you get this magnificent tea?”
Lady Jyssel swallowed a snort. She was an odd cookie. “ParKesh, dear, ParKesh!”
When I didn’t look enlightened, she continued.
“ParKesh are known for their rare and expensive teas. Jyne’s father had to take a trip there for business and brought back simply loads of it!” She laughed into the air and took another sip, spilling it down her chin.
I stared down into the tea. I was so foolish! I knew at once that I would have one of my ladies maids get me a book from the library so I could study ParKesh, if that’s even how you spell it, and know just as much as dreadful Jyne and her even more dreadful mother.
The cakes– I didn’t even ask where they came from. I had been humiliated enough for the day.
Speaking of humiliation, Jyne was wearing no gloves.
“Dressing up is fun, isn’t it dear? For tea? Especially when you wear your grandmother’s old things.” She smiled glaringly and drank her tea.
She looked so ugly at that moment: her chin four inches longer than usual, for it is a little long, the poor dear, her eyes bulging out, and her long fingers like claws around her delicate china.
She was wearing a gross, dark green, that made her skin look so very dark– like a gypsy. In fact, she looked so much like a gypsy, I had to tell her.
“Dearest Jyne, have you been out with the gypsies lately? Your skin seems to have darkened since last I saw you.”
The pig ignored my comment. She was good at that.
And another thing I ought to mention about Jyne– if ever one though that I were impatient with servants, they should visit little Lady Jyne Perr! She hesitated not a second before she backhanded one of her ladies maid while we were for a stroll in the gardens. One thing I admire about her. The only thing.
“Where are my fans, imp? If I break a sweat, I’ll break your back.”
I figured I’d have to remember that line. The servant girl hurried with the fans, so hurriedly that she fell at our feet, tripping over herself. Jyne jerked her up and slapped her across the face, and that mark is still there to my knowledge. I would have felt bad for the girl, except, one, she is a servant and, two, she wasn’t very pretty. And, oh yes, three, she was a servant. That ruined her chances.
“She’s a replacement,” Jyne told me. “They are simply the worst.”
Replacement for what? “What of the girl she is replacing?”
Jyne laughed, her deep husky voice. “The one she is replacing isn’t well. She got herself hurt. Why, are you in need of another servant girl?”
“I wouldn’t know,” I said, trying to sound intelligent. “I try to have as little to do with those matters as possible. If it were my choice, I’d have all the servants turn invisible, that way I wouldn’t have to lay eyes on them.”
“I see we have something in common,” Jyne looked at me with an evil smirk.
We may have a million things in common, but that wouldn’t ever make us friends. And I know we both feel the same way (another thing in common?).
I conclude that the replacement girl was replacing someone Jyne had brutally beaten– or perhaps she had fallen out of a tree.
Mother found my book and told me it was rubbish to waste my time writing things down in a book.
“It’s better than wasting away my brain, being dumber than Issa Leesa!” Issa Leesa is mental, or at least that’s my opinion.
“At least Issa Leesa can embroider!” Mother and I often have these shooting-words-back-and-forth games.
“Yes, but did you remember? She uses her teeth!”
“That’s– she does?”
“Yes mother, that’s the only way she can accomplish anything. She has the largest teeth in the country.”
“Maybe you should try it then!”
“Or maybe not!”
Since she thinks the book is rubbish, I shall write in it all I can. Use ever second of my spare time writing. Maybe that will teach the wretch a lesson. What if she were to read this? Would I be punished for calling my mother names? Of course not! I’d faint and win father’s sympathy. Except… father was away. In fact, he has been gone quite a long time. I think I shall go find out very quickly.
By the way, I can embroider.
This… this is a shock. But I don’t know what’s more– that I wasn’t told before, or that I know now.
I have no father. Not anymore.
As is the fashion, all lords of mansions go on business trips and father had gone to Umblrania. He said he would bring me back a sweet little parasol with all the little pink– anyway. He was on a business trip in Umblrania when he and his horse were struck by a bolt of green lightning.
Oh, how dreadful!
And how odd.
It’s hard to accept. But I suppose I must be strong; for it would not be wise of me to stress myself and therefore ruin my perfect complexion– and crying will do that.
I must say, heavens, I have been craving food lately. And it is as if everyone knows it. A manservant in a billowy hat– which was quite ridiculous looking, actually– just came in and gave me four little cakes that taste quite good. They have white powdery things sprinkled all inside and I keep dropping crumbs on the paper and in my ink. Or maybe it’s that everyone keeps bringing me food, and that’s why I think I am hungry? I don’t wish to suffer my waistline, though. I am not the thinnest in the world, though no where near plump. But I fear that may change if I keep up these new habits.
Heavens how fast I have forgotten about father! Maybe it will not be hard to get used to his absence. I hadn’t realized he had been gone for a while anyway.
However, his absence will give me an excuse to throw a party. A rather quaint cotillion, for mother will be in mourning, but I will not wear black on behalf of a man I hardly new.
Gasp– I hardly knew him? I suppose it’s true! Ah, well, that explains the lack of emotions.
I am off to tell mother of my little party plan.
“You want to throw a cotillion on behalf of your dead father!?”
“It’s not as if I am celebrating his death–”
“Think how people will talk, and, oh– what are you wearing? Green!? You are supposed to be in mourning!”
I refused to wear black. Yet, as I am sitting here, I am wearing black.
Life is harsh and cruel to me.
I have decided to take up riding lessons again; since there is little else to do on this horrid piece of property I call my home.
My instructor’s name is Horrace, whom I’d like to call horror-face. He is short and muscle-y and bulky and has the most horrid scars all over his face. I asked him what they were from.
“Leopard attacked me.”
It is difficult to allow him to help me onto my horse, for that requires for him to touch me. And that is most revolting.
And he treats me like a baby sparrow! As if I were plain. Oh, I don’t mean that he treats me as if I were ugly or homely; I mean he only lets me trot around in circles for the time being.
Tomorrow I shall force him to let me gallop. On my own.
“Who cares what you think is wise?” I asked, looking at him down my nose.
“I just don’t want you to get hurt, milady–”
I snorted. “As if you care.”
I allowed him to trot me around in three hundred circles. When I began to get dizzy, I told him to let me alone– I wanted to go around in circles by myself. That was perfectly safe. What could happen in the corral? So he bowed himself out of the way and let me be.
Of course I know how to make a horse go faster– I squeezed the horse’s sides. And off we went, out of the corral, and out into the fields. The flowers were so high that they nearly towered over my head, and I sneezed quite a few times.
Colors whizzed by my head: yellow and purple and orange and red. I meant to close my mouth, but I got a bug before I had the chance. My stomach cramped and I nearly vomited.
After a minute or two I was ready to go back, so I tried to jerk the horse’s head the direction she should go. But the lazy beast– she jerked me back and went the other way! My hair was so windblown I was afraid to touch it– not that I could, for if I had let my hands off the reigns I would have gone flying off and into a pile of tall flower stalks.
I starting screaming and flailing my legs, anything to make the stupid thing stop. But it wouldn’t. I jabbed my legs into her side, trying to hurt her so she would slow. She only went faster.
“Horrace!” I shrieked. The stupid man– he should have known better than to let me do something I wasn’t ready for! I didn’t know how to stop!
I saw what we were headed for, and my life flashed before my eyes. It was a little duck pond, or stream type body of water. “Horrace!” I shrieked again. “If you don’t stop me I’ll have you whipped ‘till your head is numb!”
I heard him shout, “Whoa!” Not to me, but to the horse.
And it stopped.
But I wasn’t ready. I went sailing through the air, skimming flowers along the way. And I fell into the stream. “Aaawoo!” I yelped, spitting mad. Someone was going to pay for this.
And… this part… should I write it? Oh, I nearly fainted.
I was bleeding.
So now I lay in my bed, my knee bandaged up. Oh, if it leaves a scar… when I am well enough to walk I will beat everyone in this house with the sharpest brambles in the woods!
I beat Jacy, who is one of my ladies maids, over the head with my fist, and she stood there taking it. Would you like to know why I beat her over the head?
“I think, maybe miss– milady, you could be overreacting?” She was speaking of my knee. I told her I couldn’t walk for at least another week, and she disagreed.
So I beat her over the head. And that’s what she gets.
But how I would much rather beat Horrace over the head! With a stick! Oh, flying through the flowers I attained these awful little things, chiggers I think they called them, and they ITCH. So very, very, very badly. I am afraid they have upset my mood somewhat.
When I found one of the little red bugs behind my ear, I wailed. “MOTHER! Mother! Oh, mother, come quick!” So a million people, which were all servants, save mother, poured into my room.
“I’m infested!” I squealed. I showed them the bug.
One plump servant woman took it from me and squeezed it. “Do you itch anywhere, dear milady?”
I didn’t, until she mentioned it. Now I can’t stop scratching. Oh, my skin! My skin my skin my skin is red!
“Mother, you have to do something! Call a magician or an herbal healer or something!” I screamed at her, not sure what to do. It’s so very frightening– knowing you have insects crawling on your body.
“Pull yourself together, my dear, you’re not dying. It isn’t as if it’s the end of the world.” Her tone didn’t show she thought I was her dear.
And how could she not be worried about my skin! How was her lovely daughter supposed to catch a husband with red skin!? “But mother– it is the end of the world if you don’t bloody do something!” I screamed louder, for she was about to leave my room.
She stopped and turned. She stared at me for a second, and then her hand went flying.
I hate her.
She slapped me across the face, just as Jyne slapped her servant girl. Mother slapped me as if I were a servant girl.
“You are a tormenting brat, girl. I am lucky I have two other sons to make up for you.”
And she left.
So I am here all alone in my bed, and no one even wants to come near me. And I just know why– I look disgusting. A nasty scraped knee and red itchy bumps all over.
This morning Dichard came to visit me in my current state. I was grateful to him for not looking upon me and seeing my imperfections, but seeing me as his sister. His one and only sister.
“Guess what I did to Horrace?” He said, a wide grin on his face.
I forced myself to sit up. “What?”
Dich sat himself at the end of my bed. “I took him hunting with me.”
“As a companion, or as a target?” I sniggered gleefully.
“Ah, I wouldn’t shoot him, Lottey. But… you won’t have to worry about him being your riding instructor anymore.”
I bit my lip, trying to figure out what he did to him before he could tell me.
“He got lost.”
Too late.
“On his own?” I asked, knowing very well what the answer was.
He shook his head. “And I don’t think he’ll find his way home. He was a little… disoriented.”
So, that visit from my older brother made my day a little bit better.
And just a note: even if prince charming were my riding instructor, there would be no way I am getting back on a horse. It is going to be difficult to sit in a carriage, knowing those unruly creatures are pulling it.
I think I am better today. It has been three days since my accident, and although my knee is still bandaged, I believe I can manage. I am sitting in the parlor with my breakfast tea, dreading the day. My life is a total bore. But what is new? Who doesn’t have a boring life around this place? At least Dich and Frederam can go hunting and the like. I am confined to the house and the gardens. And the gardens are brownish for some reason; that makes me in a wilted mood.
I had a ladies maid that was not Jacy make me a special powder to cover my face. It kind of soothes the itching too, although I didn’t commend her for that. Wouldn’t want her to get a hot head. She isn’t even an herbalist, and she told me she wanted to me. I didn’t slap her, although I should have. All servants should know their place is where we out them– and that doesn’t change, unless we put them somewhere else.
Someone has arrived in a carriage. I hope it’s the king and queen.
“Mister Willy Gangrun is here to call on you, milady.”
At that moment I was ever so grateful for the face powder.
“Show him in,” I said. Mother was on a walk with some other important Ladies and Lord knows where Dichard and Frederam were. No one need know Willy was here until he had gone.
In he came: red hair and all. Tall and lanky, not so dashing, but he brought me a chocolate rose.
“So nice of you to drop in, Mister Gangrun.”
“My pleasure, Miss Devingrole, and please call me Willy.”
I smiled, and underneath the smile was deviousness. “You may call me Lottey then, and won’t you have a seat, Willy?” I gestured to the settee
to my right.
“I was just finishing my breakfast tea. Would you like anything? I wouldn’t want to make you thirsty.” I took a sip, nice and slowly. That is when he shook his head to answer my question, and quickly handed me the rose.
I took it placidly, and smiled brightly. “I shan’t eat it– it’s too much of a picture!”
He smiled and looked down. “I was wondering, since your father is gone, uh– God rest him, do you think I would be allowed to court you?” He looked like a rabbit, a twitchy nose, and impatiently nervous. “I know I should be asking your mother, since you father– God rest him–”
“God has rested him, Willy! And my mother isn’t here at present. You have done the right thing.” I cut him off, taking another sip of my tea, which was now cold.
“So– would you– do you–” Willy couldn’t seem to find the right words. He will be most annoying to court. But as I said before, anything to get me out of the mansion.
“Of course I like you, Willy!” I bit my tongue, and it hurt. Lying always made me bite my tongue. “What shall we do?”
Willy loosened his collar. He was turning red, and he looked as if he would explode. Or melt. “We could, go… riding. My father had magnificent stables, and–”
I sat my teacup down with a rattle and a thump. I nearly choke. “No. I do not ride. Bad experiences.” I lifted my skirt and showed him my knee.
He flushed, embarrassed at me showing him past my ankles. I just smiled.
“Butler– or whatever you’re called– can you show Mister Willy out? I think I hear mother.” I turned to my guest. “Thank you so much, Willy. Oh, the fun we shall have.” I pulled the rose to my nose and smelled it. It– it didn’t smell. Then I remembered it was not a rose, but something edible and I jerked it back down. “Ta,” I said. And he was shown out.
Mother came in to find me eating my rose (how could I resist?) and sitting on the plush velvet couch in our best parlor.
“Was that Willy Gangrun I just saw leaving?” She looked angry. But I was gleeful, so spiteful, I didn’t care.
“Oh yes mother, it was. I took the chocolate and shoved him away.”
She came closer to me, her hands on her hips. She knew otherwise, I could tell. “Then why in heavens did he say, ‘Thank you Lady Marish, your daughter is an angel, I’ll send notice next time I come to call’ then?”
I sat up. The chocolate was scrumptious. “Well then maybe I told him I was going to court him, because he asked me and not you.”
She reached forward and jerked the chocolate from my hands and slapped me. Slapped me. Again. And I wanted to slap her back.
“You are too young, Sharlotte Marish Rose Devingrole!”
I stared at her. How dare her. I stood up and reacquired my chocolate. “Stop me then, mother. Stop me.”
And I left the room. Heavens, that woman is difficult to live with. My brothers are lucky they have me.
The chocolate made me sick and I vomited all last night. I dirtied probably three chamber pots. I haven’t left my room since yesterday, and I don’t plan to soon, either.
Needless to say, my brothers haven’t visited me.
And Dich is right. Horrace is gone. I feel no loss.
Three days have passed since I was ill. The sky has been gray for several days now, since before Willy came to call. I don’t know why, but I wish it would turn back blue so the garden would come back to life. I don’t even have anywhere to go when I am sad, which is constant now. I thought that maybe a miniature dragon would be a good pet, but then I remembered how deathly afraid I was of the one Frederam had once, but that was mainly because it caught my dress on fire.
I can’t even have an animal for a friend! With so many people around me, I really do feel alone. And it isn’t fair, not one bit.
Maybe I should go tromping in the servant’s quarters, and wallop everyone I see. Hitting people always makes me feel better.
Had a strange occurrence last night. I think it was a dream, but it was so real. I dreamt father came home. I ran to him to give be gathered into an embrace, but he hit me. I fell to the dirt. When I stood up he hit me again, and again, until I woke up.
I quickly grabbed my hand held looking mirror to make sure I didn’t have any bruises on my face, and I don’t think I did. But it was dark then, and I am too afraid to look again now that it is light.
A ladies maid entered my room, scaring me. I jumped; my bed creaked. “What’s your name?” I asked, breathlessly, and the question sounded a little odd.
“Caribess, milady. Are you alright?” She looked at me, and the tray she was holding tipped to one side.
“Of course I’m alright,” I snapped. I sounded so bitter. But, then again, I felt bitter. Like a rotten soy nut.
She gave me my breakfast and left in a rush. Probably afraid of me. Then Frederam came in, and he had a funny smile on his face.
“Good morning,” I said in my new bitter way.“Very good. Has Willy called again?”
My eyes shot up and met his. “Mother told you about that?”
“You’re such a scatter brain,” he shook his head.
“So suddenly?”
“I read your book.”
I put my hand behind my back, touching my pillow protectively, which was where I kept the book. Behind it. “You low, filthy rotten beheaded duck.”
“I know. Can I give you some tips?”
“Tips? From you?”
“Sure,” he shrugged. “You should write your events as if they were a story. I think you write things as you want them, and it’s difficult to comprehend.”
I snarled. “No one is supposed to read it except for me, so what does it matter?”
He shrugged again, this time smiling widely, and he left.
But maybe his suggestions aren’t so bad. Maybe someone will want to read this book someday, a commoner, who wants to know the whole life story of the magnificent Sharlotte Marish Rose Devingrole.
I fear they would be sorely disappointed.
It’s been a week since the dream. I haven’t thought about it once, but it flashes through my mind earlier when I was bashing one of the servants.
The garden is beginning to bloom again– and for that everyone is wonderfully gleeful. Frederam says everyone is happy because I will be in a better mood, but who wouldn’t be happy about the garden coming back to life? Soon I will be able to look out the window and see pinks and purples and blues and reds– and greens! I had one of the servants plant me some edible herbs. I want to be able to go out into the garden and not have to retreat into the house when I get hungry. Pulling food out of the ground– well, having someone else pull it up and hand it to me; can’t get my hands dirty– is going to be such a convenient treat.
Even mother thinks so. We are slightly on speaking terms, although I do my best to avoid her. I suspect she does the same. It really makes life easier, and it’s no hassle.
I have the most wonderful news! We are going to be paid a visit by a longtime friend, mother has told me, and they have a daughter my age. She sounded so happy, almost tearful when she told me. And not only that, she has been so happy lately: she has started her own garden, with her own hands and everything, so she is always pulling weeds and picking seeds, and she sighs often. But it’s a happy sigh. These must be very great friends of hers. I once asked their names, but mother didn’t seem to hear me.
This visit is doing well to mend me and mother’s relationship. She hasn’t slapped me once in the past week.
We have lots to do to prepare for these guests. Everyone is acting as I if it is the king and queen coming. A room has been prepared in the east wing, but the odd thing is that it is the only room that has been prepared. I asked mother where the daughter my age would sleep, and she told me not to worry about it.
If she thinks the girl is sleeping in my room with me, she has another thing coming.
I’ve pounded so many servants today it’s a blessing the floors are still whole.
Dichard surprised me today with a tiger pelt. “Shot him myself, and, well, I attempted to do the skinning but I don’t think I’m quite ready.”
I took it in my arms and rubbed it on my face. “Oh, Dich! It’s so marvelous. I should have a shawl made of it so I can show it off.”
It really was magnificent, with its rich oranges and blacks and yellows, zigzags going in every direction. And it was softer than I’d imagined a tiger would be.
Dichard had laughing eyes as he bowed at me. I decided not to reprimand him for mocking me.
I folded the pelt and laid it on my bed. “Don’t anyone touch!” I screeched at the nearest maid before I left my room.
Mother was in the dining room, discussing flower arrangements with the gardener servant. As much as I despise the servants, I really do mention them rather often.
“Petunias, peonies or poppies?” She asked, as if she were a bowl of glitter.
“Anything that isn’t red,” I retorted. She ignored me and kept her business with the gardener servant. I swept past them and went out onto the balcony.
Behind our mansion there are hundreds and hundreds of mountains, right after the valley. It’s rather nice to look at, but I’m glad I’ll never have to cross it. If I were a man I would, however, to go on a business trip. How I hate business dealings and such. I would abhor to be bothered by money matters! And working hours, and how much to pay whom. I don’t know a thing on the subject. And I don’t plan to.
I wanted to do something special for the visiting family, something to make us seem regal. So they would enjoy their stay and tell everyone they know about their joyous stay at the Devingrole Mansion. And perhaps the king and queen– whatever their names are– would hear and they would come to see if the rumors were true.
Oh, if only the country’s castle weren’t miles and miles away. I know I could make the prince fall for me. There is a prince, isn’t there?
A life of royalty is what I deserve.
One week until the family comes to our welcoming mansion. How I wish I knew what their names were.
Today I went out into the garden. My herbs are growing, though not yet edible.
“What kind did you plant for me?” I asked some servant girl.
“I– I believe it is mint sprig and hink leaves.”
“You believe? Well what if I believe it is something different? Will it change, then?” I rolled my eyes. What dreadful impertinence. And whatever she said– mint and hink. I do hope it tastes good. I am picky with my food, and I know what is worth putting into my stomach or not.
I dusted my hands off and strolled inside the mansion. We really do need some more tapestries if we are to make a good impression on anybody. But I don’t want to make them– heavens! What a tedious task. I could never sit hours just to make something to hang on the wall, unless it meant I got to live in the castle.
I heard mother talking to someone in our second best parlor. She sounded so merry and gay– quite a turnaround from a month ago. But it made the mood of the household quite easier. Her voice carried easily through the warm air, though I could hardly hear the other voice. Then they stopped and came out of the room.
“Hello, dear,” it was Lady Jyssel. Her eyes danced as she walked past me.
“It’s so nice to see you having friends over for tea again,” I told mother once Lady Jyssel had been led out by the butler-sort servant. I’m not sure if he is as high as a butler, but he does the same jobs (as I’ve seen).
“Yes, it is nice,” mother said, but her eyes seemed to see right past me, as if she weren’t looking at me at all. It was slightly odd. “She brought me some ParKesh tea.” Then she brushed past me to work on her garden.
I am beginning to think the ParKesh tea was drugged. Mother isn’t usually so jovial, and never nonchalant. But she is now. It’s a striking change, but I’ll say it’s done her good, put color into her dreadfully pale and ugly cheeks.
I decided to give a lecture to all the servants– household ones, anyway, not the kitchen ones and such, only those who are seen. I called them to the hall at the top of the stairs and had them line up in alphabetical order. I know it’s cruel, since they are all uneducated anyway, but I needed a bit of fun. So once they were lined up, I began speaking.
“As you all know, we are going to have visitors. And these people are so incredibly important– especially to mother, or to you, Lady Marish. And we must keep her happy, yes? You should all treat these people like the king and queen, whom I hold in the deepest honor. None of the scum picking you do about me all day long. I am a very tolerant person, but you may find that some aren’t as easily won over. Have I made myself unambiguous?” I got no response. “That means understood. Do you understand? Or are you really that dumb?”
I got a handful of mumbled, “Yes’mum”’s and “Yes milady”’s. It was hardly at all satisfying, but decided to let them off rather nicely. My fist was sore anyhow, and I wasn’t about to hit one of them and bruise my hand. How would that look for a first impression on these people?
“Back to your work!” I screeched, and watched as they all filed about into different rooms and down the staircase.
Lunch was anything but droll, seeing as I ate alone. No one was there, and I didn’t bother to ask why. Mother was probably busy with preparation work, and I didn’t give a care where the boys were. We didn’t really keep track of each other that much.
I ate my spiked duck, which was a little on the greasy side. I bawled at the butler tell the cook if he didn’t stop making food that would make me fat, I would make sure he didn’t eat another rotten morsel for the rest of his measly life.
The Mansion was quite deserted, and I occupied myself to stroll around in circles, admiring all the portraits of myself on the walls.
I would really love to strangled whoever is responsible for bringing dark hair to be so very popular. I am the only one in my family’s history to have such light hair. And it had to be in this era. So shameful.
The day is dragging by so dreadfully. It seems as though it will never end, although I no better. Everyday has its end, though it never comes soon enough.
Oh! Must dress in a hurry. Willy is calling on me.
I put on my new favorite gown– sort of in the style of Jyne’s but in a dark purple with embroidered flowers. Much more becoming than a night blue. My hair hung loose in many braids, some coiled to my head. All my red bumps are far healed, luckily, and I threw the powder out the window.
I ran down the gilded stairs so gracefully, I am sure I looked more beautiful and elegant than a graceful swan. I met Willy at the bottom, and held out my hand. He did look rather nervous as he took it, held it to his mouth, but didn’t kiss it. He dropped it like it was a dead fish.
“Miss Devingrole–”
“I told you, it’s–”
He shook his head and spoke so quickly I couldn’t understand. “I can’t be on first name basis, Miss Devingrole. I came to tell you I am to be married– next month– to–” he sneezed.
How valiant.
“To… my betrothed. Forgive me if I’ve caused you pain.”
I curtsied lowly, ready to spit on him. I couldn’t decide what I’d rather do: fuss and whine and cry and make him feel sorry, or be as seductive as possible and make him regret his decision. “No pain at all.” I kept my cool. “I do hope I’m invited to the wedding.”
He made an odd grunt– somewhere between yes and no, and left.
And that left me in a daze.
I went back up to my room to let my hair down. It was giving me a headache. Now how would I get away from the house? No one else had to call on me– though I couldn’t see why ever not. It was a bugging thought and I tried to make it buzz out of my head. But with nothing else to think of, it was really rather hard.
My hair was a ball of frizz after taking out those masses of braids, and I looked like a dandelion. “Lady Maid!” I wailed. I didn’t know exactly who to call, at least not by name.
But fo
r some reason, no one came. No one.
I felt very… alone.
Trumpets blasted, and I woke up screaming. I was used to being woken up easily, not with such a fright. I let myself back down, meaning to hit the pillows, but I hit the bed post. I wanted to bawl, but instead I yelled for my breakfast.
“What were the trumpets for?” I asked the servant who brought me my food.
“Well, for Lady Terre, of course,” she said with a startled look.
But I was even more startled. “Who is that? The head of the household who is paying us the visit?”
The servant sighed. “Eat your breakfast, and then we’ll dress you, and you can ask your mother.”
I was about to scream in protest, but then I tasted the muffin. It was… very good. There were little bits of purple flakes that looked a lot like sleeping potion herb.
I lay asleep for seven hours.
By the time I woke up it was time for supper, and my stomach was emptier than it ever had been before. I can’t remember the last time I had went without a whole entire meal. But being asleep, I couldn’t have very well eating my lunch. Not that anyone brought me any.
I shot up, angry as a hornet. I saved my lungs, for I knew I was about to scream at everyone in this Mansion. I haven’t yet, though, I sorely regret.
We had guests in this house! Since ten in the morning, and they had made me sleep until five! When our long awaited guests were here! I couldn’t believe it.
I dressed myself in a flash, not bothering to yodel for help. Something had to be wrong. I fled down stairs, not feeling as graceful as usual. And as I came around the corner of our best parlor, I felt a bit awkward in fact.
We only had one visitor.
It was her, the girl my age. And she looked… she looked just like mother.
“Is she your sister?” I blurted, and everyone turned to look at me. Everyone being Dichard, Frederam, Mother and new girl.
Mother turned to me, and for a moment she didn’t have any expression at all. Then she smiled.
“Dear child, come in.” Mother was acting– I don’t know exactly how to say it. Plainly, it was odd. Almost enchanting.
I came into the room, very warily, but also intrigued. For a few moments I forgot entirely about the fact I had just been asleep for seven hours because I was drugged.
“Who is she,” I said quietly. She had raven black hair, the lightest violet eyes and perfect skin. Like a cloud. Sitting by mother, the two looked like two portraits of the same person, fifteen years apart.
“Let me introduce you to my daughter,” mother said proudly.
Her words knocked me back about twenty feet. I coughed. “I have a sister!?”
Mother laughed, throwing her head back. Her ‘daughter’ grinned. “No, Sharlotte, you don’t have a sister.”
Wait a second, this did not make sense. Mother– my mother– was telling me she had a daughter, but I had no sister. That wasn’t physically possible. Psychotically either.
I wanted to scream and yell and wail, and demand an explanation. But I couldn’t. I just stood there, my throat all closed up. I couldn’t talk, I couldn’t breathe– it was strange. I felt fire consuming me, and I sweated as if it really were.
“Darling child, don’t hold your breath so. It isn’t healthy.”
I let out in a gasp and said, “I don’t understand.”
“It’s difficult, really. This is Lady Terre. When she was born, I was told she had died. But in fact, my midwife, who was barren herself, had taken the baby. I was devastated, as you can imagine, and didn’t want the shame of a stillborn. So I was presented with you– and, really, I don’t even know where you came from.”
I wanted to vomit. Was she playing tricks on me? How cruel. This couldn’t be right. It was mean. Dirty and filthy and rotten and mean. And it couldn’t be true. “So– you are taking her back?” I couldn’t even think of a reasonable question.
Mother slightly nodded. “Do you know what happened to her? The midwife took her and sold her– for quite a high price, I imagine; noble blood is precious– to a wealthier family who was incapable of producing their own. And now that they have passed on, the midwife confessed in full– odd, I know, and hard to believe. But could you ever mistake her as my own blood?”
My breath was rigid. I tried to keep it steady. I needed smelling salts, but I wasn’t about to ask for them. Mother had known all along, forever, that I wasn’t her child. And she never told me. Is that why she didn’t mind slapping me? “I’ve always wanted a sister,” I said, trying not to sound jealous and bitter (as I was).
Mother’s daughter, Lady Terre I presumed, laughed a tinkling little laugh. “She just told you. You don’t have a sister.”
I clenched my fists and balled my toes. I wanted so badly so close my eyes tightly and never ever open them. “What is to happen to me, then?”
Frederam sniggered. I shot my gaze to him.
“Don’t go crazy when you hear, Lottey.”
“I don’t ever go crazy, I’m quite capable of keeping my cool, you–”
“Would you like to hear, then?” Lady Terre cut me off.
I’d like to cut her off, and I don’t mean just in the middle of a sentence.
“Tell me.” I gulped. If I were being sent to another family to be adopted, maybe they would let me court.
Mother stood. Terre followed. “You will take your place, where you belong– as a servant.”
My ears exploded, as did the world around me. I could hear myself shrieking, but I was so numb I couldn’t tell if it was me or my imagination. Everything whirred; my stomach included. I wanted to throw myself to the floor, or tear Lady Terre’s eyes out. But I stood still, my knees locked. And I started to hiccough.
“You’re taking it quite well, Sharlotte.” Mother sounded so spiteful. It reminded me of… well, myself.
We did have our differences. But she had raised me. She is the one I call mother, even now, now that I know that truth– that she isn’t my mother. “Can’t you spare me?” I cried. “I’ll kiss your feet, dig in the dirt, I’ll do anything! I just don’t want to wait on you.”
“Oh, you won’t be waiting on us,” Terre said.
I wanted to grab her by her silky, long hair and swing her around above my head until she popped.
“Who then?” I shouted, digging my fingernails into the inside of my palms.
Mother came up to me and put her hands on my shoulders. I wanted to take her arms and shake them violently, until they came out of her shoulders.
“Lady Jyssel has kindly offered to take you in. it was Jyne’s idea. You should thank her, really.”
I jerked away from her, staring out in disbelief. Of all the horrors in the world, this would be the worst. The scariest, most frightening and humiliating thing I will ever, ever, ever encounter.
I know how Jyne treats her servants. And she hates me already. I can feel the time will come when skin and hair and appearance won’t matter. It will be difficult just to stay alive at the Perr Mansion.
“How could you do this to me!?” I screamed at mother, backing off slowly. “You raised me! You said you loved me! I don’t understand! What did I ever do wrong!?” I quieted my voice, trying to stop my uncontrollable shaking. “I even wrote good things in my book about you. And you don’t even care.” I wiped the tears from my face violently.
Dichard stood up and took a step towards me. “That’s a lie, Lott. A lie.”
I stood, still trembling all over. “How would you know?” I spat.
“I read it. And I quote, ‘would I be punished for calling my mother names?’” He stared at me, a piercing stare.
I wanted to kill him. But he is so much stronger than I.
“And you said that you wouldn’t be punished, but win over fathers appeal.” He paused again. “Father isn’t here.”
I did all I could to keep from falling to my knees. “You’re the closest thing now, Dich. The closest,” I whispered. But his eyes were cold, an
d looked past me. As if he’d already forgotten me.
They all looked like that, except for Terre. She looked as if she knew me all too well. It made me hate her even more.
I looked at them for a long, hard, second. Then I let out a scream, “I hate everybody!” I screamed so hard, long and loud that it tensed and strained all the muscles in my body. I turned and fled to my room, wishing I had never woken up.
And that’s where I sit! On the bed that’s no longer mine!
How is this for you, Frederam? Story-like enough for you??