Young Writers Society

This is a new idea that I might stick with if you guys think it's good. This is my second time writing in first person in a Regency style story. I hope you enjoy reading this and sorry for the length but I can't bring myself to cut it up. All reviews are welcomed and appreciated. Thanks.

The Wallflower

By Angel of Death

Chapter 1

I hated Rosamond Owen with a passion. When we were little we had always quarreled. Our arguments were usually ignited by the most nonsensical things, such as, who was prettier and whose manner was more amiable. Everyone knew that Rose was handsomer than I and to others, it would appear that she was the saint but I knew what she was really like. We hadn’t always been enemies, but our disagreements carried on for so long, that I can not remember a time when Rose and I were civil.

We had met when I was nine years old. Lady Hartwell had made acquaintance with Helena D’Amery, the wife of a respected businessman. She was very pretty and ever time she had came to visit Parish Manor, I had fought to catch a glimpse of her. Mary, the head maid and my keeper, scolded me on being so eager and would lecture me on how a servant shouldn’t interrupt their employer’s personal engagements. She had said other things to me but I can not recall them for they are no use to me now.

Though I knew I would be severely reprimanded if I didn’t obey the rules, when Mary had went away to read her Scriptures, I snuck away from the servant’s hall. First I examined myself in the looking glass. I was a plain sort. My eyes were a dark copper that bled against the ashen pallor my face had. I had a big nose that made me look like a duck and my lips were thin and wore an odd shade of crimson. Short curls the same tint as my eyes, fell to my shoulders framing the only elegant feature that I possessed, my neck. It was long and graceful, like a swan’s. Knowing that there was no magic potion that I could take to make me look like a lady instead of a maid’s little ward, I smoothed the skirt of my tan frock and continued my journey to the drawing room in which Lady Hartwell entertained her guest.

Parish Manor was a very large house. Often, if I wasn’t paying attention, I would get lost and turn down many hallways that I would get in trouble for going down. The servant’s hall was just behind the kitchen. It consisted of four rooms which were divided amongst eight maids. When I was old enough to be on my own, Mary had took me aside and showed me which rooms I was allowed to frequent. There was the kitchen, where most of the maids worked when preparing meals. I was very clumsy so I was often told to lessen my visits there. The washrooms and outside were the only other places I could go. All of the other rooms were assigned to maid’s whose job it was to maintain. I was too young to be assigned a job, so my day consisted of either picking fresh flowers for the table or being scolded by Mary. I wasn’t a bad child but I was very adventurous and sometimes, my curiosity got the best of me. That was how I had found the secret passageway that led to the main quarter.

It was a day when, I had nothing to do to busy myself but to roam the places in which I was allowed to venture. I had visited both the kitchen and the washroom until I had grew tired of seeing the same scenery. They weren’t interesting places to go to. The kitchen was very large with white-washed walls and a wood floor that stretched from wall to wall. An oak table sat in the very center adjacent to an oven. No one but me was in there so I immediately retired from the room. Deciding that my choices were limited inside, I ventured outside where the day was slowly turning into the afternoon. The sky was an endless torrent of blue boasting fluffy white clouds. A light fell over the ocean of green, bringing with it a wind that swayed the grass.

From where I was, you could see a chapel and a farm. Living in Harrington didn’t do much for my love of exploring. There were no alleys to wonder into or shops that contained other worldly trinkets. People on foot or in chaises weren’t roaming about regularly and there was nothing but peace. Sighing, I began to trail the perimeter of the large manor. My hand grazed the stone walls that were ensnared in vines from nearby trees. I had slowly drifted into a daydream, when my hand was pricked. Pain wove through my veins, making me pull my hand away from the wall. I looked down at it, assessing the scarlet liquid that trickled down my fingers. Looking over, I saw that there was a rather large hole before my eyes. Thorned vines were covering it, so at first I did not know it was there. I could feel Mary’s paddle, as I wiped my hand on the side of my frock. She would be very angry when she saw the red stain on my dress. I began pulling at the green strings. They were hard to rip and were very painful. The wind licked at my fingers, making the sores burn. One by one, pieces of stone fell to the ground. I had jumped back just in time before a part of the eroded wall fell down. Staring at me, was a door which was still veiled by a piece of the wall. If it were a dark night or if the sun was not shining on this particular spot, I do not think I would have discovered the passage way. Stepping over the debris I locked my hand round the knob and opened it.

What I found on the other side shocked me. There was a spiraling staircase and a few more doors. It was a long thin antechamber that was dark save for the light that poured in from the hole that I made. I knew that the drawing room was on the first floor, so I hurried over to the door adjacent to the one I went through. When I opened it, I was met with a hallway. I heard voices coming from somewhere to my right, so I quietly shut the door and ventured down the hall only to find the source of the clamor. It was coming from a room whose door was closed but I could still hear faint laughter and the familiar sound of cups clanking and lady-like sips. They were having tea.

“Oh, your son is very delightful.” It was Mrs. D’ Amery. Her voice was the equivalent of a thousand bells, it swept across the room with an elegant air, attuned with Lady Hartwell’s soft laughter. I had thought about interrupting their conversation but I knew that I had no reason for doing so. Mary could not vouch for me, for she had not known of my departure from the servant’s quarters. My appearance, which was regularly not presentable, was even worse now. I looked down at my frock to see a dried red trail and dust covering my apron. The black boots that I had on were terribly scuffed and there was a hole in my stockings. It angered me that I had traveled all this way to see Mrs. D’Amery, the one guest that ever frequented Parish Manor, and now I could not. Then an idea came to me. The keyhole shed enough light for an eye as small as mine to peer through. Lowering my head to the level of the doorknob, I looked in only to see a few chairs turned towards the fire. Lady Hartwell was sitting closest to the door, so I could see the back of her head which was adorned with red curls that were fashioned into a bun at the nape of her neck.

“What are you doing?” The voice startled me, making me bump my head against the door. I had not heard anyone coming, so I was surprised when I looked up to find a girl about my height standing before me. She had long marigold ringlets that were tied in numerous blue ribbons that matched her blue spotted muslin frock. Her rosy cheeks looked porcelain and her eyes were a startling cerulean that mirrored the ocean. I wanted to answer her question, but I felt my cheeks flush when I went over in my mind the reason for my actions. There was noise behind the door and then it opened and a yellow light poured over us. It was Mrs. D’Amery. She looked much like the little girl except her hair was much darker and her eyes were more green than blue. I stared at her and she gazed down at me and then at the girl beside me.

“Who is your little friend, Rosamond?” she asked, her lips forming a thin line. Rosamond did not get a chance to answer because Lady Hartwell came into view. Her glare was cold as she looked at me, but I was not afraid. She had always lent me this look, even when I did nothing to displease her.

“This is Emily and she was just going, were you not?” she explained, placing her hands on my shoulder.

“Oh my, look at her hand!” Mrs. D’Amery knelt beside me and took my hand into hers. True concern was displayed on her face and I almost felt that I could smile at her but then Lady Hartwell shrieked and everyone looked at her. She had covered her mouth with her hands and fear was in her eyes.

“What a ghastly sight! Please, do not get blood on my carpets."

"I fair that not a spot will graze your carpet, Lady Hartwell. Now, come along, Emily."

Mrs. D'Amery accompanied me to a washing room, where she mended my sore. After she finished bandaging it, she kissed it softly and we began to speak. She had asked me many questions, such as how I enjoyed Parish Manor and who my parents were. When I had told her that I thought the Manor to be dismal and boring, she laughed and said that my judgment was very true. But her eyes fell from the sky in which it was birthed, when I spoke of how my mother died giving birth to me. I scolded myself inwardly, knowing that I should not have upset a guest. The frown from Mrs. D'Amery was soon replaced with a soft smile and then she told me to go play. I did not want to part with her, for I had been through a lot just to meet her but the rooms that have remained untouched by my feet were calling me. So I obliged Mrs. D'Amery and skipped away eager to explore.

As I've said before, I have never been in any other room or chamber in the main quarters. I was accustomed to the white walls and dreary tapestry of the Servant's hall. When my eyes first assessed my surroundings, I immediately discarded all knowledge of chipping paint and holes and time eaten furniture. It was as if I stepped into another world. The halls were painted with rich chocolates and vibrant marigolds and warm reds. Wood of the finest ebony graced each banister and doorframe. Paintings of respected members of the Hartwell family were hung round, amongst many different pieces of abstract art. There was a door at the end of a hallway, that was creaked open. Music poured out into the air, caressing my ears. It was a joyous sound, tainted with sunlight and vibrant Spring afternoons. I advanced towards the room and shyly looked in.

The room mirrored the hallway except couches and chairs sat before a fireplace that breathed warmth. To the far right of the room sat a pianoforte and seated at the instrument was the young Misses Owen. Her small pale fingers danced across the keys. She had not heard my entrance, which on my account was good for I did not want to speak with her just yet. There was not much in here that held my interest but the portrait that hung above the fireplace. The painting was of a boy. He was very handsome with large brown eyes and short black curls. His Cupid's bow lips sat under his strong nose and his facial attire boasted maturity. It was indeed Colin, or as I was instructed to address him, Master Hartwell. He was sixteen summers old and though I didn't talk to him often, I found him to be a very agreeable young man. When he wasn't visiting his relations in London or going hunting with his father, he'd either speak to me about his adventures or read a story from the library to me. He had been away from the Manor for a fortnight and was expected to return for this winter's holidays.

"May I help you?"

The small yet refined voice did not startle me this time. I looked over to find that Rosamond was standing but a few paces away. At a closer inspection, I could tell that she was a few year older than me. Her rosy cheeks had lost their pink color and the tendrils that I had thought most delightful were drowned out by the atmosphere of the room.

"No ma'am." I replied, curtsying. It wasn't necessary to be so civil with someone who was also a child but if I were to treat her as we were equal, I would be in much trouble. Mary was all about respecting rank and or wealth. That was one of the reasons why she forbade me from venturing out into the main parts of the Manor. She had said that in life people had their places and ours was in the Servant's hall.

"My name is Rosamond but you shall call me Rose. Your name is Emily, is it not?"

"Yes it is, Rose." I replied.

"Do you know how to play the pianoforte. I was playing a piece Ambrose, my brother, wrote for me. Did you hear it? Hopefully you did so that you can tell me what you thought of it."

She stared at me, waiting for me to answer her questions. When I told her that I did not play the piano, her lips curled down and all interest in me faded from her eyes. But when I said that I thought she was a wonderful pianist she smiled and sat me down on one of the couches. It felt odd sitting on such plush fabric. I worriedly looked towards the door, hoping that Lady Hartwell or Mary would not walk by.

"What was your favorite part of the composition. I must say that in its entirety, it was quite breathtaking. But I did ask your opinion, did I not?" And our conversation went on in this manner. She asked me questions, and when I answered them with an amiable remark she lent me a smile but when she wasn't pleased with anything I said, she would become distant. For the most part, Rosamond Owen appeared to be someone who could be a good friend. She didn't belittle me or scold me like everyone else and though she only wanted to talk about herself, at least I was conversing with someone.

I was eventually found by Mary, whose brow was wet and furrowed. Rose did not say anything when I was whisked away but I did not expect her to for there was not a word she could say to convince Mary to leave me be and I do not think she cared. When I was back in the Servant's hall, Mary lectured me once more on the importance of obeying the rules and told me that because of my actions, I was going to bed without dinner. That did not hurt me much because dinner for a servant consisted of cold broth and piece of hard bread. I went the bed that night, listening to the crickets chirp against the starless black sky.