1
The basement. It was something she had almost come to love, her little cot in the damp, musky basement. Sure, during the long winter nights she shivered, and through the even longer summer nights, she sweated, but it was the one thing she felt truly safe in.
Every night, before she went to bed, she brushed her long, dark hair a hundred times with a brush she had stolen from her mistress-er-mother, while softly singing a lullaby. Then she tied her hair up and climbed into her haystack and lightly dozed until she heard her mistress-er-mother call her name.
Her mistresses’ call was always a loud, harsh one that set the cows mooing and chickens clucking. It woke her up with a vengeful taunt, as if the very sound of the loud, cruel voice was taunting her every minute she was alive.
In a way, it was. As the girl went through her mind-numbing chores, the voice of her mistress followed her, ‘Victoria, do this, Victoria, you missed a spot.’ Add in a few very unladylike curses, and her mistress’ voice would haunt Victoria forever.
One of these mornings, Victoria was, awake and dressed in a threadbare skirt, and rag to tie her long hair back, scrubbing the kitchen floor, with her master and mistress in the sitting room. Sometimes, one would call her name, and she would get up and run as fast as she could to tend to their needs, ‘Victoria, get me a fan, Victoria, paper and ink.’ She would then have to fetch the item in question as fast as she could and return to her previous work.
Her stomach rumbled. Victoria was allowed a bit of bread, and a small bowl of soup for supper. She was tiny and frail, her little hands chapped raw with all the cleaning she did. Again, Victoria sung the lullaby, the only thing she knew of her childhood. She sung it over and over until it was the only thing she could think about.
“Victoria!” it was her master, “stop with that infernal racket, and come here immdeatly.’ Victoria ran across the little foyer to the sitting room. A tray, two empty cups, and three plates, one with an uneaten scone. She quickly dropped a curtsy and prayed her stomach grumbling wasn’t audible.
“Victoria, my pet. See, William, she’ll have to do. We don’t have another daughter.” Victoria looked from her master to mistres in dull surprise.
“Don’t gawk.” Her master said, “clean up these plates.” Victoria set to the task set with shaking hands.
“Victoria, my pet, how would you like to go to a ball?” her mistress asked, her voice hold so much warmth that she didn’t know her mistress could possess. Victoria could do nothing but stare.
“A ball?” she asked, “yes, “I would love too.” Her mistress shot her master a taunting, teasing look.
“Well, you’ll have to listen to me-er-us, and do every instruction down to the letter, alright.”
“Yes, yes ma’am.” Victoria said immediately. Her big gray eyes gleamed, either with hope or with tears. She let a small smile grace her pink, bow shaped lips.
“If you’re pretty enough, if you’re agreeable enough, you may wed the prince. Do you want that?”
“Yes, ma’am.” Victoria repeated.
“William, write the letter. We will attend, and bring the darling Victoria Bailey.” Her mistress commanded. Victoria continued to clean up the plates, systematically putting the dishes on the tray. Carrying the tray, she scurried into the kitchen, and smiled to herself. She picked up the scone, and took a good large bite.
That night, after Victoria had sung herself to sleep, her master and mistress stayed up, sipping a finely aged wine, and plotting. They sat in the room adjacent to their bedroom, with four chairs and a couple of end tables.
“Think of it, William.” Victoria’s mother, Anne, sighed, “royalty. We’d be royalty.”
“No, we wouldn’t.” William replied, sipping the last few dregs of wine, and putting the glass on an end table, “not until we get the girl to kill the royal family.” Anna gasped, but wasn’t shocked. A little part of her had hoped that her husband would say.
“William!” She partly scolded, but was intrigued, “that’s a blasphemous thought.”
“But it could work. No one would suspect her. She’s too meek, to nervous.” William said. He got up and began to pace the length of the room, meticulously without cutting off a corner.
“She’s a lovely girl. Why wouldn’t the prince fancy her? All she’d have to do is marry him, and then kill him. That’s all. It could work, my love. It will work.” Anna giggled. The more tipsy she got, the more giggly and air-headed she got.
“But what if she doesn’t want too? There’s that too.” Anna said.
“She had better do everything I-we-say. If she doesn’t, well, I’ll have to deal with her.” William said. He stopped pacing and sat back down. Anna turned towards him. The candlelight caught her slim neck, elegant nose, danced in her soft gray eyes. She was beautiful, and Victoria looked almost exactly like her. There was no way a prince wouldn’t fancy her.
“Well, she’ll have to be memorable. She’ll have to have a grand, late entrance, and leave early. Very early.” Anna plotted, “and what would she wear? Oh, I know exactly it. And the shoes, the shoes. Darling, leave this to me. I know exactly how to make our daughter a princess.” She finished her wine, and put the glass next to William’s. This would be too perfect.
Also, "It was her master." should be a statement just like I wrote it, it's not a speech tag.