Lady No Soul (1)

Twit · 2011-07-30T23:33:10Z

ONE I press my nose against the shop window. Behind the mist my breath makes on the glass, the colours of the dress blur together; pink and white silk and lace trimmings smearing like the paints in a watercolour. ‘Chrissy!’ Mama’s hand lands on my shoulder, pulling me away from the floating dream of the dress trapped behind the glass and back to reality. ‘Chrissy, don’t do that, it’s so unhygienic. Really, child, do I always have to remind you?’ ‘But Mama, look, it’s so pretty.’ I touch the tips of my fingers to the white mist left on the glass. ‘Isn’t it the prettiest dress you’ve ever seen?’ ‘No,’ Mama says, as I’d known she would. I sigh. ‘The lace trim is very fetching, though,’ she says, and I look up at her in surprise. She pats my shoulder. ‘Maybe we’ll ask Papa about getting a new dress for your birthday.’ ‘Really?’ It’s my birthday in a few weeks. I’ll be fourteen, and I’ve been longing for a proper dress, not the little-girl plaids and patched cottons I’ve been wearing since I was twelve. The dress in the window shines like water, almost changing colour when the weak December sunlight touches it, the only really bright thing under the grey sky. Maybe, if we have enough money, Papa will say I can have a silk dress. Maybe. Maybe. I’m almost glad when Mama taps my shoulder again. Mama never dreams of silk dresses and knowing that, I can look at the dress in the window and bid it farewell with dignity. We’re meeting Gabriel at some gallery or other and Mama doesn’t want to keep him waiting, so we hurry on down Oxford Street. It’s busy, full of people shopping for Christmas, and I feel very small in the crowd. I’m bumped back and forth by elbows and umbrellas and brown paper-wrapped parcels, but Mama sails forward like a proud ship, calm and poised in her neat blue coat and bonnet. The wind is very cold in my nose and there’s a dry sharpness in the air that I hope means snow. ‘Come along Chrissy,’ Mama says. She holds out her hand as though she expects me to hold it when we cross the road. I pretend not to see it, but she’s insistent. ‘Chrissy, come on! Don’t dawdle, child.’ I bite my tongue and reluctantly take her gloved hand in mine. We cross the road and as soon as I’m on the pavement, I wriggle my fingers free and plunge them back into my muff. ‘Chrissy,’ Mama says reprovingly. ‘What?’ ‘Chrissy.’ ‘Sorry Mama. What, Mama?’’ ‘Don’t scowl so. It’s not becoming.’ ‘Yes, Mama.’ She sighs, and I struggle to form something like a smile. I glance up at her, but she’s looking ahead, scanning the crowd. I gnaw on my tongue and stare at the ground, but this means I’m looking at my shoes, and the faded spot on the right toe makes me think of the dress in the window, and I feel a hot rush of anger. I don’t know why I’m angry, or who I’m angry at, so I glare at Mama’s coat and think how unfair it is that she can have a nice coat and black gloves ( they’re patched gloves ) and I don’t have one really nice dress even though I’m practically fourteen, which is old enough to get married ( no one would want to marry you, and anyway, you know thinking about that scares you ) and it’s just not fair! Now I feel like crying. ‘Look, there’s Gabriel,’ Mama says. We’ve arrived at the gallery without my noticing, and Gabriel is outside, waiting by the steps. He comes to meet us, and at the sight of him I feel a little better. ‘Hello mother,’ he says, kissing Mama on the cheek. Then he turns me and grins. ‘Hello Chrissy.’ I grin back at him. He puts his hands on my shoulders and looks down into my face. He smiles, and for a moment, I am the whole of Gabriel’s world. ‘Well, Gabriel, are we going to stand out here in this wind forever?’ Mama asks. She’s laughing, teasing, but Gabriel turns away from me and I feel a flare of jealousy. Gabriel takes her hand and offers his other arm to me, smiling, and I feel ashamed, so I smile back and tuck my hand under his elbow and we go into the gallery together. Gabriel’s in his element here, standing in front of one painting for over five minutes, just staring and gazing at it, drinking in the colours and the lines and the symmetry. ‘Isn’t it beautiful?’ he says, wonderingly. ‘Isn’t it beautiful, Chrissy?’ Mama’s on the other side of the room, looking at an oil painting of dogs lying before a fireplace. I step closer to Gabriel. ‘Yes, very,’ I say, and it is. It’s a portrait of a girl, a young woman; she’s standing by an open window, one hand on the sill and the other holding a rose against her cheek as though smelling it isn’t enough but she must touch it to fully experience its beauty. The glow of the sunset lights on the bowl of cherries on the table and in her half-open eyes, and creates shiny diamonds in the glass window-panes. ‘See how there’s so many shadows,’ Gabriel says. ‘Shadows and light. If you look—can you see, Chrissy?—if you look at the light, you can tell where there must be a shadow. You’ve got to have both for the picture to be real.’ ‘I love the light in her eyes,’ I say. ‘And the fruit. Doesn’t the fruit look real?’ ‘Yes, it does.’ Gabriel smiles. ‘It’s because of the light.’ ‘Oh?’ I ask innocently. ‘Is light important, then?’ Gabriel laughs. ‘I’d like to draw you again sometime soon. You don’t mind sitting for me, do you?’ ‘Oh no!’ I assure him. ‘I love it.’ ‘What do you love, Chrissy?’ Mama joins us. She looks hard at the portrait and frowns. ‘Does that girl have red hair?’ ‘Oh no,’ Gabriel says easily, and it occurs to me that it might not matter to Gabriel even if the girl in the portrait had hair red as a fox-tail. ‘It looks distinctly auburn,’ Mama says. ‘Red is such an unholy colour. Unchaste.’ ‘Mother, it’s brown.’ Gabriel steers her onto the next painting, slyly winking at me, and I feel a warm glow inside at our shared jest. I pat Mama’s arm as we stand at the next painting. She looks down at me, a little surprised. ‘What was that for?’ ‘Nothing.’ I smile at her and she smiles back all the same. ‘Now here,’ Gabriel explains eagerly, ‘the blending is the important thing, do you see? With pastels you really have to blend and blend and blend. You see, Chrissy, there’s no harsh lines anywhere—it all fades together and there’s almost no distinction between the colours, but the artist has the skill not to blend so much that the colours fade away altogether. They still keep their vibrancy.’ I like this painting too. It’s a picture of a baby boy with yellow curls all around his rosy face. He’s sitting in a doorway, one hand extended upwards like a plump pink star, the other steadying himself against the stone step. His bare toes peep from the hem of his blue skirts like little pink fish, and I wish I could reach out and touch them. A strange longing swells inside me, spreading like a smile; a longing to join the little boy in the picture and take his outstretched hand and feel his tiny fingers wrap around mine and never let go. ‘It must take a lot of skill to colour like that,’ Mama remarks. ‘Well, all art takes skill,’ Gabriel says a little pompously, ‘but once you get the knack of them, pastels aren’t that hard.’ ‘I think they’re pretty,’ I say. ‘I like the way it all fades together. It looks like a rainbow.’ ‘Maybe I’ll try you in pastels, then,’ Gabriel says, then explains to Mama, ‘I want to try Chrissy’s portrait again. She sat so well for me last time.’ ‘I really don’t think it good for you to paint her too much,’ Mama says. ‘Children get nervous and high-strung under too much close attention.’ ‘But Mama!’ ‘Chrissy, what did I tell you—’ ‘Mama, I’m not—’ ‘ Christina .’ I flinch. She’s raised her voice, and everyone in the gallery must be looking at me. Please don’t let her carry on, don’t let her scold me in front of everyone, not in front of Gabriel, please please not in front of Gabriel— ‘Christina, you will not use such a tone with me, and especially not in a public place. You should be ashamed of yourself!’ My face is red. I’m hot with embarrassment. I want to throw my coat and muff on the floor and run out into the street. ‘I’m sorry, Mama,’ I whisper, hating the choke in my voice. I sound like a baby. ‘Very well.’ Mama pauses. ‘If you want to sit for your brother again, I would suggest that you learn to moderate your temper.’ ‘Yes, Mama. I will, Mama.’ ‘Good. Now. Shall we continue?’ I don’t look at Gabriel, but as we follow Mama into the next room, he reaches down and gives my hand a quick squeeze. * * * We catch the omnibus back home, which leaves me feeling grimy and even more miserable than before. Mama sends me to clean up for dinner and I slowly climb the stairs to my room. Lizzie’s already there, laying out a clean dress for me to change into. ‘Did you have a good time at the gallery, Miss Chrissy?’ she asks, coming to take my bonnet and cloak. ‘Yes,’ I say flatly. ‘The gallery was lovely.’ She looks at me shrewdly. I feel my face flush and I quickly sit down on the bed and start to unlace my boots, but I tug the wrong end and I’m left with a hopeless tangle. I wrestle with it for a moment longer but my nail catches painfully against one of the lace eyelets and I give up, flopping backward onto the bed. Behind my tightly closed eyelids, I’m desperately trying to hold back the tears, because I am not going to further humiliate myself by crying in front of Lizzie and crying won’t help anything and I don’t even know why I’m so confused and miserable, it makes no sense. ‘Miss Chrissy?’ I swallow hard. Lizzie lifts my foot and I feel her fingers start to work on my laces. I lie still and, even though I feel it’s not very mature, enjoy the moment of quiet with the fire crackling in the background, the vague murmur of movement from downstairs, the pressure of Lizzie’s fingers digging into my foot and the rush of cool air as she conquers the tangle and pulls off my boot. I sit up and pull my other foot into my lap and begin to tease the knot loose, more carefully this time. Lizzie rises and starts moving quietly about the room; she takes my hairbrush and sets it neatly on my bureau next to my box of hairpins, then takes out a clean handkerchief and sprinkles it with a few drops of lavender water. Her quietness soothes me somewhat, and I say, ‘How’s your sister’s baby, Lizzie?’ ‘Oh, she’s doing fine, thank you, miss.’ Lizzie folds the handkerchief and places it next to my hairbrush. ‘The water’s warmed for you, miss.’ I go to the table and pour water from the jug into the bowl. Steam rises into the air, and I begin to wash my face and hands. ‘She was a bit colicky a few nights ago,’ Lizzie says. Her voice is a little muffled by the washcloth over my ears. ‘She’s better now, though, and I think she’s getting over it.’ ‘I’d love to see her sometime,’ I say, drying my face with the towel and looking with distaste at the grimy water left in the basin. I’d never say so to Mama, but sometimes I wish I wasn’t the youngest child. I wish I had a little brother or sister so I’ll know what it’s like to have a baby in the house and so when I have my own children, it won’t be quite so alien an experience. Having children seems to be the best thing about getting married; after all, I can’t be sure that my husband will actually love me, but I can be sure that I’ll have children. I think about this as I change into my clean dress. Does Lizzie’s sister love her husband? Does he love her? I want to ask Lizzie, but I’m sure that wouldn’t be proper, so I hold my tongue and sit down in front of my mirror to brush my hair. My hair shines in the lamplight, but the sight of it always makes me feel sad and somehow helpless. It’s not the most original wish in the world, but I do sometimes hope that I’ll wake up one morning and find my hair miraculously changed to golden. When I was little, I used to pray for golden hair like the princesses in my stories every evening, and extra hard on Sundays; and it was always such a disappointment to wake up on Monday to find it still as brown as it was when I went to sleep. Lizzie’s hair is brown, so maybe her sister’s is as well. She found a husband and had a baby, though. Maybe things like how she looks doesn’t matter, though, because she’s a servant. Does her husband love her, anyway? Her baby probably loves her, but it can’t be nice for her if her husband doesn’t. Does Papa love Mama? That thought is so disrespectful and unexpected that I stare at my reflection in dismay. Of course Papa loves Mama, otherwise he wouldn’t have married her. But does Mama love Papa? I slam the brush down, gather up my hair and twist it into a bun so tight it stretches my eyebrows. Twice, I stab myself in the scalp with a hairpin, and when I finally finish, my black mood is back, heavy on my shoulders like a funeral shawl. I’m at the door, ready to go downstairs, when Lizzie touches my shoulder. She smiles at me, and I think she knows that I feel out of sorts. ‘You look very nice, Miss Chrissy.’ ‘Thank you,’ I say, even though I don’t believe her. ‘You could see the baby after dinner, miss, if you really want to.’ ‘Really?’ A little of the bleakness lifts. ‘My sister always pops round just before I finish for the day. If you come to the kitchen after dinner, you can see baby while Cook and I clean up.’ ‘Oh, I’d love to!’ I exclaim, not caring that it might not be proper and what Mama would call ladylike. I want to see the baby, suddenly desperate to reassure myself that brown hair and a turned down mouth doesn’t mean a childless future. I smile at Lizzie, the shawl of unhappiness slipping from my shoulders, and I go down the stairs to dinner.

Demoness

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Sun Jul 31, 2011 11:47 pm

Demoness says... · Sun Jul 31, 2011 11:47 pm

Oooh yes, I'd like to keep on reading! Great description and even though nothing much happened it was still an intruging beginning. As for my impressions on the characters..
The mother seems like one of thos lady-like people who must keep up appearances at all times, she also seems tense and a bit harsh on her daughter while alot kinder to the other people they meet.
Gabriel seems like an interesting characther... spiritual and like the person who couldn't care less about what other people think about him as long as he's comfortable with himself.
As for Chrissy... She seems like a nice girl, she's not too in to what other people think but she still wants to be approved by the crowds and therefore do her best to act properly... Three words for Chrissy, I'd say. Shy, a bit Insecure but Kind-hearted.

Good Luck & Keep Writing

// Demoness

"Some say the world will end in fire;
Some say in ice.
From what I've tasted of desire
I hold with those who favor fire.
But if it had to perish twice,
I think I know enough of hate
To say that for destruction ice
Is also great
And would suffice." - Robert Frost

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PenguinAttack

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Tue Aug 02, 2011 11:18 am

PenguinAttack says... · Tue Aug 02, 2011 11:18 am

Twitter! I am here.

You know I always love reading your work. You have such an excellent grasp on keeping the little details from being mundane. While I could be whinging that nothing happens in this first chapter, a stack of things do and each one is particularly interesting. You advance your characters well, I like Gabriel the most, I think.

You dialogue is, as always, wonderfully done. I agree about the exchange with the maid some people have mentioned. While it's all done well, her thoughts do not match her actions. I think I would prefer if you connected Lizzie to her a little more. It's the line where she says she doesn't want to cry in front of a maid. If you stuck a simple "Even if it's just Lizzie" we can know she is a maid but that she's someone that Chrissy knows well and likes, despite the gap in their stations.

I don't think you should add anything more to this chapter at the moment, although it's the only one I've read. Perhaps by the time I've gone through the rest I'll suggest more for this chapter. You know not to throw us into the fantasy just yet. You're easing your reader into the world, letting us get to know the main character before we plunge into the meat. I prefer my stories this way.

I'm glad you send me this, Twitter. I've been yearning for your reads, I didn't know how much.

I like you as an enemy, but I love you as a friend.

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FadingBrighter

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Wed Aug 03, 2011 12:07 am

FadingBrighter says... · Wed Aug 03, 2011 12:07 am

Your Characters are wonderful, very well written. they almost seem to leap off the page. but Chrissy seems very young. Her thoughts are short and simple,with no real depth. Also, the way she describes the world around her has no real insight. She seems like she's four, not fourteen. Also, when her mother says 'Do not scowl so...' is improper, even for the time period. But how you compared her mother to a boat was wonderful. And, on a final note(i'm sorry to be such a downer) research your time period. Chrissy and her mother sound like a mixture of working and wealthy classes. That would infuriate many of readers (such as myself) who are history buffs. Otherwise, your story is fantastic, and the beginning really brings out your characters. Keep up the good work!

“Omnia mutantur, nihil interit (everything changes, nothing perishes).”
― Ovid, Metamorphoses

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borntobeawriter

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Thu Aug 11, 2011 2:13 pm

borntobeawriter says... · Thu Aug 11, 2011 2:13 pm

Wow, Twit. Just Wow.

I read this out of curiosity, and although, as it was mentioned, not much happens in this chapter, I have no complaints.

You bring your characters to life so well that it isn't a hardship to read this.

I have to say that my biggest issue, though, is how young Chrissy sounds. Yes, her mother's overbearing. But still, I found that she could use a little growing up. Her thoughts, when describing the paintings in her mind, where clear and grown up, unlike her thought-voice. Does this make sense?

I was also stumped about the maid, and they have a cook, if they are supposedly poor. But I figure you have your reasons.
Maybe it's to keep up appearances. And maybe, the mother only leads Chrissy to believe they are poor, when in fact, they are not.

I also think it would be good to mention her desire for babies before. Have her notice them on the street or something, with the parents.

Other than that, I think this was close to perfect. You definitely have a way with words, my friend, and of bringing your characters and your story to life. Kudos to you!

Tanya

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StellaThomas

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Mon Aug 15, 2011 12:23 pm

StellaThomas says... · Mon Aug 15, 2011 12:23 pm

Twit! Honestly, I've been planning on reading this all along... only I didn't originally because it already had so many reviews and I felt that by reviewing it I would be neglecting the less fortunate pieces in the forum... that's honestly my reason for not reading until now! But! Here I am!

I. NITPICKS

not the little-girl plaids and patched cottons I’ve been wearing since I was twelve.

So what did she wear before she was twelve?

‘Chrissy.’ Mama says reprovingly.

I get you're trying to be emphatic with that full stop... but doesn't it deny the rules of dialogue punctuation?

He smiles, and for a moment, I am the whole of Gabriel’s world.

‘Well, Gabriel, are we going to stand out here in this wind forever?’ Mama asks.

I both love and hate this. I love that first line and I love Mama's interrupting. But at the same time, the pace seems a little off just here.

‘What do you love, Chrissy?’ Mama joins us. She looks hard at the portrait and frowns. ‘Does that picture have red hair?’

Even if the girl has red hair, I'm sure the picture doesn't...

II. OVERALL

I like this a lot

I'm assuming Lizzie and goblin-men are all references to The Goblin Market? I'm looking forward to reading more of this, if so! Ooh, and Christina. A couple of things I have problems with, however:

-Chrissy's age. I know I sort of look back at my thirteen year old self and scoff, but I don't think thirteen year olds are usually quite as petulant and childish as she seems to act in some of this. A lot of it, I think, is to do with the way her mother treats her as well. It just makes her look about six... maybe that's what you're going for, I don't know. But it seems a little weird.
-I got really interested in her relationship with Gabriel- I'm assuming he's her brother. But I'd like to get a little bit more of a feel for said relationship. Like, what age is he, how often does she see him? It just didn't feel entirely clear either.

Other than that, I enjoyed it!

Hope I helped, drop me a note if you need anything!

-Stella x

"Stella. You were in my dream the other night. And everyone called you Princess." -Lauren2010

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Rydia

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Sun Aug 28, 2011 1:53 pm

Rydia says... · Sun Aug 28, 2011 1:53 pm

Hello my dear! I believe I promised you a nice, shiny review before the month is out and since the month is almost out, here you go...

Or at least that was going to be the plan. I don't think I've felt at such a loss for critiques for some time but, my dear, this was beautifully written. I love the descriptions and the feel of your character, how she opens up to us ever so steadily and is so real and so lovely in all her flaws and virtues. She's a darling, really she is! I thought perhaps I'd have liked a little more of Gabriel but I imagine that shall come later. I would have liked to see Chrissy really bud in his presence though. The sulky manner she uses with her mother makes her seem so much younger than the thoughts in her head make her out to be and I'd like her to reveal some of this inner self to Gabriel so that the reader can see that she can be an intelligent, mindful little thing when the right mood is upon her/ the right people around.

Also, I like Lizzie but at the moment she seems a very typical maid. I mean I know she's a maid but you have maids and then you have people who are more than maids like Martha from The Secret Garden. I'd like to see Lizzie have just a little more personality than the polite servant to her wilfull mistress, even if it's just a touch of playfulness about her or a desription which shows her clothes aren't entirely neat. Maybe she occasionally stares into the distance, as if she's dreaming of other things and then recalls herself and hurries on with another job.

So far very beautifully written though, my love. I have great expectations of your next chapter,

Heather xxx

Writing Gooder

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The light shines brightest in the darkest places.

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