Chapter 4
A Whole New Life






The rope tugged at my wrists as I jogged by the carriage. I tripped and fell unable to keep up with the horses anymore. The rope pulled me along the dusty ground in the wake of the carriage as I tried to get back to my feet. I eventually stood up; my small dress was covered in dust and mud from the experience. I began to run again, breathing heavily. I looked towards the end of the road and stared in amazement as I saw the house to which we were heading. It was like a mansion to me, old and ornate. I could see in front of it, a small fountain in the centre of the gravel drive. There were other carriages parked there, and I guessed that he had a stable with horses somewhere in the grounds. I loved horses and I wondered if I would ever get to see them. I stopped that idea as quickly as it had come. There was no point wishing for things anymore, wishes wouldn’t come true here. The carriage slowed as the horse’s hooves touched the gravel, making a crunching sound. A man got down from the front of the carriage and opened the door, my master stepped down. A servant opened the door to the house and held it open for my master. He whispered something and pointed to me. The servant nodded, and closed the door behind him, walking down to me. He untied the rope from the carriage and from my wrists. He grasped my upper arm and led me around the house.

“This will be your entrance to the house. You should be neither seen nor heard unless spoken to. Understand.” I nodded, he was scary. He let go of my arm, ushering me inside. I followed him down a dark flight of stairs to what appeared to be a cellar. “You will sleep down here,” he said lighting a small candle. “You will have to make your own food and bring it down here to eat. You will see the master in the morning and he will tell you your duties.” He marched out, leaving me the candle.

It was dark and cold down here, moss grew on the walls and the light couldn’t quite reach into the far shadows. I didn’t like it. The dark had always made me uneasy.

“Hello?” I started as I heard a voice from the shadows. A small boy stepped forward.

“Who are you?” I asked backing away picking up the candle from the floor and holding it out in front of me like a weapon. I felt my heart thumping in my chest. The small boy stepped forward. He was short and covered in soot. He wore a cap which sat lopsidedly on his head.

“I’m James, I’m the chimney sweep.”He held out his hand confidently. I didn’t shake it. He sighed and showed me a stick with bristles on the end that was covered in soot. He swung it onto his shoulder and buckled with the weight, his cap slipping over his eyes. “Whoops,” he said pushing his cap up and dropping the sweep on the floor.

“It must be horrible,” I said to him lowering the candle. “Going up a chimney.” I tried to imagine what it would be like to crawl up such a small space.

“And dangerous,” he stated. “How old are you?”

“I’m eight, nine in 3 days,” I replied proudly. Charlie might have been older than me, but... I stopped the thought, thinking about my friend hurt. I placed the candle back on the floor and stepped forward cautiously.

“Eight, that’s young,” he whispered slumping onto a thin mattress on the floor. I noticed another one beside it. It looked slightly newer than his but I had no doubts that it would end up that way, worn thinner and thinner.

“How old are you?” I asked annoyed that he thought I was small.

“Ten,” he said smiling. I sat down on the mattress opposite him. He handed me a piece of bread, it was a little sooty, but it was food.

“Oh.” I said, as I took the bread. I had assumed that he would be the same age as me, he was really small. But I guessed that you needed to be small, to fit up a chimney. I nibbled the bread and then realising how ravenous I was I attacked it, hungrily.

“Sorry,” he said when I had finished. “It was all that was left, I wasn’t expecting anyone.”

“You talk like an adult.” I observed aloud. He nodded grimly, and then laughed at my worried expression.

“It hardens you up, this life. You learn to be older than you actually are.” I nodded. I already felt like I had been plunged into something that I, as a girl of eight was incapable of. But I guess now I would have to be older. Act older and speak older.

“You never told me your name,” he asked curiously taking off his cap.

“Lila.”

“It’s pretty,” he said absentmindedly watching a small spider crawl into his cap. I shrugged, he laughed again.

“It’s unoosual too,” I said trying to talk like he did.

“Unusual!” He laughed; I was painfully reminded of Charlie.

“There you are saying I talk like an adult, what kind of eight year old says unusual?”
I shrugged and laughed along with him.

“So, how did you end up here?” He asked suddenly serious. My laughter died in my throat.

“Men came to our road and they paid my mother and took me away,” I whispered remembering the tall and short strangers and how I had run back home, showing them where they could find me. He nodded, an expression of understanding on his face.

“My mother sold me too,” he whispered. “She told me that I was helping to raise my baby sister by leaving to work. She thought that they would pay me, but they don’t.” He nodded darkly.

“She has no money to look after me anymore, so I’m stuck as a sweep until I’m too big.” He looked at me and added, “Well, at least I have company now.” He smiled at me and I smiled back.

I began to open up to him, to tell him that I was worried that my mother had sold me because she didn’t want me anymore, but he told me not to think about it. I told him about the snow, leaving out the parts about Charlie. He found my stories of making snowmen amusing.

The candle stub was getting to be quite small by this time. James glanced at it.
“We best turn in,” he said handing me an itchy blanket. I curled into a ball on the mattress, huddling under the blanket. James made to blow out the candle but I stopped him.

“I don’t like the dark,” I whispered. He nodded.

“I’ll leave that on then.” He saw that I was frightened and he gave me a hug. “Would you like me to tell you a story? I know a few.” I nodded gratefully. He brought his blanket over and sat next to me on my mattress.

“Once upon a time there lived a group of pirates! They were swashbuckling heroes...”

The story was comforting. My mother always used to tell me stories and it felt homely cuddled up to James listening to the exciting adventures of the pirates. Even when the story had ended and James went to lie down on his own mattress I felt safe. I was sure that as long as we were young, the dark would not touch us, because we were not evil like the pirates in James’ story. We were children, innocent and simple.

Hello!

Forgive me, but I haven't read any of the previous chapters. I figure I'd see what I can do to help out with just this by itself though! And it seems to work out for me 'cause you introduced an entirely new character anyway!

Firstly, this sounds like a historical fiction romance, ja? Because I like those. xD I remember one of my favorites being set during the Russian Revolution (or some such). It was really cool! But anyway. I think you have potential here!

Ages

Your characters both admit to this, but they sound much older than they are. I'm talking maybe ten years? I'm not sure that's normal even in the past. I mean, sure, they can act independently and make some mature decisions, but they still sound and act like children, right? The way they walk, the way they talk (It sounds like your characters need accents. Perhaps play with the dialogue?). They're still light-weight, so (for example) if James swung the chimney sweeper thingy onto his shoulder, his body would bucket beneath the weight. And generally speaking, if a child acts like an adult, they tend to think they know everything. I dunno if you have any siblings, but from personal experience, it can get annoying after a while. xD

Narrator

I did think your narrator was maybe 17/18 years old? No good, lol. She's almost seven! I think what makes this difficult is the first person narrative. Now that you're in first person, you have to think and talk like a six-year-old. You would need a very good reason for her to talk like a seventeen-year-old, and I mean very good; otherwise, it's just cliche and unsatisfying to the reader.

I'd suggest taking a third person perspective on this story or redo the narrating to sound more like a six-year-old. I don't like this last suggestion though 'cause it could get repetitive and rather annoying after a while. Perhaps consider thrid person? Although, maybe someone else will come by and give a better suggestion. xD

----

That's really all I have! Just watch out for the kids and their ages. Once you have the characters down and know them like the back of your hand, the story will be easy pickings. Kinda. xD Feel free to PM me if you have any questions or concerns! I'm more than willing to lend a hand.

Keep writing!

Jabber, the One and Only!

Thanks Jabber,

I had a major problem with trying to keep it young without losing the perception of certain things like the candle. I will work on that and see were I get to with it. The narration is her looking back and telling the story to someone else so that fits, but the actions of her and James and their dialogue needs to be more childish.

Anyway, thank you!

~Lydia

Hi Ledge,
I really like it. I can't see anything wrong with it so I have no nit-picks.
Can PM me when you post more?
midnightread

Yep sure thing Midnightread.
And thanks for reading.