Needles and Roses - Chap. 6

Miss Nathanial raves on and on about her nice visit with Mr. Darren. Many of us grow irritable and weary of hearing about it, although our young mistress doesn’t seem to notice that some things are amiss. ['Some things are amiss' sounds a little strange. Maybe '...doesn't seem to notice that anything is amiss.' would read more smoothly.] I sometimes wish I could be as oblivious as she. Miss Nathanial’s world is consistent, and those around her do not change in their attitudes toward her, however varied they may be.

I, on the other hand, am treated entirely different. I am an outsider now. Danielle must have babbled about the roses. Oh, Beatrice is as ornery and sure as always, but the other girls regard me with a new respect, and no longer treat me as an equal or gossip around me. Why? I don’t understand. One gentleman has expressed interest to me. [Interest in me would be more accurate.] How, and why, should distance be the result of this?

It doesn’t matter, anyhow. [I'd suggest now instead of anyhow. It makes it seem too casual.] I will be dismissed by Thursday afternoon. I have recovered from the painful letter, and have resigned myself to try and find another respectable job in London, [This could be more dramatic. Perhaps something like '...and have resigned myself to the fruitless search for another respectable job in London,'] as I don’t have near the sum the person demands of me. Whatever they seem to believe, my father did not leave me anything.

“Could have fooled me,” Beatrice says cheerfully. [You've got some great dialogue here. Beatrice is such a wonderful character, good work.] I just breathe in and out, and begin my dusting again. [I'd suggest obliterating that just. It serves no purpose except to lengthen the sentence which would actually run more smoothly without it.] She watches me. “Is it Mr. Garret? Did you see him with Miss Nathanial or something like that?”

Mr. Garret. Compared to the infuriating man who rescued me last night, he doesn’t hold a candle to him. [I think if you're going to use this phrase, it needs to be the other way around: 'He doesn't hold a candle to the infuriating man who rescued me last night' but I actually have quite a dislike of it anyway. I don't think it fits. Maybe something like 'Compared to the infuriating man who rescued me last night, he is a flimsy infatuation.'] After seeing the man in the shack, all awareness of any other male has departed.

“Mr. Darren?” Beatrice tries again. I wordlessly shake my head, the heaviness in my chest making my guilt for treating her like this lesser. [Maybe '...the heaviness in my chest lessening my guilt for treating her like this.' would read better?]

Thursday morning. The fluttering in my stomach refuses to abate. I can’t concentrate on my work. I can’t put together a sentence for Beatrice. When I do speak to her [Comma here.] my words are distracted, [Semi colon here.] distant. I know I am confusing her but I can’t take my mind off of the person who’ll go to that milk can, look underneath it, and find it empty. [Good use of fragments and short sentences here but I'd love you to contrast it with a really long sentence. Add some description of the milk can to that last line and also to the action of lifting it and finding it empty. Then end with one really short sentence. Something like 'I know I am confusing her, but I can't take my mind off of the person who will walk to that fateful milk can: the person who will lift it casually, look underneath its shiny, silver bottom, find the ground there flat and empty, replace it with a soft, decisive thud. Empty.']

Will the blackmailer immediately go to the mistress? Or will they wait, torturing me with the knowledge that they have the power of allowing me to keep or lose my job in their hands? Will the person do anything at all? This is what I hope they choose. [Maybe 'That is too much to hope for.']

Rand comes by and takes tea again with Miss Nathanial. I am again made to serve them. Their pointless, self-centered gossip makes my head ache. I feel him glancing at me frequently, but I am careful to keep my own gaze away from his. [Perhaps '...keep my own gaze averted.']

“Have a good day, sir,” I murmur. I look up in time to see the flash of anger that clouds his brilliant [Comma here.] violet eyes.

“Good day,” he says through gritted teeth, angry at my obvious detatchment, [Might be the difference between English and American spelling but I think it's spelled detachment?] and yanks his coat and hat from my arms. His fine jaw is clenched, and he walks stiffly out the door. I have no sorrow in watching him go. When he’s truly gone, I stand for a few moments, just gazing at the patterns in the door.

I do so, shutting the door gently behind me. I don’t gaze around; I know the room well. I’ve cleaned it many times. The golden walls, the white velvet on the chairs. The only thing [s]difference[/s] different now is the mistress herself [Comma here.] seated primly at her small table. I move to stand before her, and curtsey.

“You wanted to see me, Mistress?” I ask, pasting on the expected [Comma here.] bland face. Her disdainful gaze sweeps over me, and she delicately takes a sip of her tea.

Mrs. Nathanial now looks thoroughly disgusted. She stands, leaning away from me as if I’ll give her a disease. [Maybe simple '...as if I'm diseased' would be smoother.]

“Do you mean to tell me that I’ve had—had—a—a person such as you underneath my roof, tending to my daughter, cleaning and touching my possesions?” [Spelled possessions.] she demands. As she says this, the lady is edging away from me much the way Heather [s]had[/s] did. Her small nose is wrinkled, even though I know I have no repulsive smell; I took a bath last night.

I turn around and study the room. She doesn’t deserve such comfort. None of them do. Destroy it, a voice says in my head. Tear up the curtains and break the furniture. Let them know whom they dismissed. Let them know that the Baldwin name is not something to be spit [Should be spat.] at. Make them fear you.

As if controlled, my eyes now drift to the bedroom beyond this sitting room, and [s]at[/s] to Mrs. Nathanial’s closet. I don’t know where it comes from—I don’t know why it comes—but a wicked idea plants itself in my mind.

Take something, the voice urges. Take something you know she will be sure to miss. Something that she will weep over because of its loss. The closet door is already open, so Mrs. Nathanial can show the world what she has. Well, pride goeth before the fall. It was something my father always said. Your fall is coming, Mrs. Nathanial, I think grimly. I run my hand over all her fine things. Her dresses, her petticoats, her shawls, her camisoles, her chemises, her grand coats. Her coats. My hand stops its course, and it grasps the thick, warm fur of one of her [s]most[/s] favorite coats. She has just recently worn it to the opera.

At the mention of my mother’s approval I clutch the coat tight to me again. I picture her face when I find her and stand in front of her; I could tell her that I am surviving on my own and with means I [s]had[/s] have gotten [This really doesn't fit the tone or period. Select a different word.] by myself. I don’t wonder what Father would think. I just leave the room. Briefly I panic as it occurs to me that someone could see me leaving with this coat, but I quickly smother it.

With horror, I turn to see that both Violet and Danielle[s] has[/s] have followed me out the door, with Jillian by their side. Danielle points at me with accusation, but Jillian regards me with a strange expression I cannot interpret. Without even thinking about it, I start to run.

All my scruples and what my father taught me come back in a rush. I gasp, and tears smart my eyes. Shame chokes me. What have I done? I have become a thief. Whatever good reputation I had left is officially gone. Gone.

I feel sick. How could I have been so dense? I had been a fool to think I could have earned my mother’s approval by showing her a mere stolen coat. Especially if it had been to get back at Mrs. Nathaniel. Mother had been brought up in the church all her life, and her favorite saying had been, “If someone slaps one cheek, then turn the other cheek too”. [More fitting for your period would be '...turn the other cheek also.']

A horrid thing occurs to me. Beatrice knew everything. She and Johnny needed money to marry. Could it be…? No. I can’t believe I even thought it. We had heard someone out in the hall that day I told her my story. It was undoubtedly that person who[s] had went and[/s] told the mistress.

I’ve found it. I’ve undeniably found the source of all the mysterious deaths and what the young man warned me from. The bodies were drained, is what the newspapers [s]had[/s] said. Now I know all. Yes, they [s]had been[/s] were drained—by something drinking the blood. How ironic, that the mystery has been revealed to me, and at the worst possible time in my life. Suddenly my death does not sound so appealing, and as quietly as I can, I start to back away. I’m afraid the thunderous beating of my own heart will give me away.

The thing whirls, and I feel my mouth drop open in a wide O of terror. I freeze, unable to turn and run. Its eyes hold me… just the way that young man’s [s]had[/s] did [Your use of had to show the past, what's happened earlier in the story, distances your reader from the action. I think it's one of your worst habits. Try to avoid it. Particularly in scenes like this.]. Only this is not a good feeling of being held—it means me harm. Long, drawn out, painful harm.

Its eyes are red and glinting. It drops the girl in its arms, and I cringe at the thud as she lands. As the monster steps closer, I can see the details of its [s]appearence[/s] appearance. It has no face. Only the red eyes, that are two slits in the darkness, and a wide, gaping hole of what I can only assume is its mouth. The mouth [Try not to repeat mouth here. Perhaps use 'the hole' to affirm her uncertainty and avoid repetition?] quirks into a grin at the sight of me, and I see that it has teeth. Extensive, and hideously pointed teeth. The body is impossible to discern. There seems to be a human shape to it, a man shape, but the smoke-like air around its form makes it uncertain.

The thing is still screeching. There are grunts, and crunching sounds. The pain in my body is less now that the teeth are gone, but a burning sensation is [s]now[/s] making its way down my neck. [I'd suggest changing this to pure present tense. To '...sensation makes its way...'] I am slipping in and out of consciousness, fighting to stay awake. Something tells me that if I were to fall completely under I would not be able to wake up again.

Isn’t that what I [s]had[/s] wanted only a few moments ago? So I close my eyes and let sleep come and take me. But the creature speaks, wrenching me awake.

“Give me your hand!” the voice thunders. The feel of something slicing my palm barely penetrates my senses. I don’t feel the cut. I open my eyes enough to see the shadow above me slice his own palm. He now takes my wrist, and presses our two palms together. I gasp in shock. Our blood mingles together, becomes one. The two cuts [s]merger[/s] merge, and the man ignores my cries of pain. Different blood pours through my veins, like fine needles penetrating so deep that I can feel it in every part of my body. It is agony. [Is this a different sort of pain to the previous one? Describe it!]

*EDITED*

Before I Read

Aw, it’s not in my format! Oh well, this version’s easier to alter than the other type you usually use.

And I’m soooooo sorry about the wait!

After I Read

Well, this proves that reading is all about opinion. While Esme thought it was your best chapter, I thought it was your worst.

Now, that doesn’t mean it’s bad. It's much better than some things on here. It just means I’ve seen better from you. (And isn't writing a competition with yourself, not others? Or at least, writing for fun, as you are right now.)

I was bored when reading this. Yes, I need the descriptions, but do I really need so much? Do I really need to know of every pang of pain she feels?

Go read action books. You really need that – I think it’s your weakest point. At everything else, you’re amazing. When you get to the action, like this chapter, it’s boring! We need quick, short sentences. We need to be pulled into the scene. You describe things first, then just remind us later.

Also, this is first person. Show us how her mind changes! The ‘one problem at a time’ is good. She needs to control herself – show us this! Don’t let her sound so smart, so in-control. Let us see her struggle within herself, as well as outside herself.

And don’t rush to put this up so fast! We can wait. I saw several pointless mistakes that could easily have been avoided.

Last Notes

I doubt I was clear at all – I was trying to hurry to get this done for you. (Jeez – with this and the edited version of chapter one, I’ve been critiquing your story for over two hours today!) So just PM me with questions. I can be more clear. I just don’t want to ramble here – you may understand what I did put, and I feel awful for taking so long.

~JFW1415

KJ,

To tell the truth, I think that this is my favorite chapter. I mean, I do like all of them - your writing is just awesome - but this one was fantastic overall. Nitpicky Esme is admitting that, so, you know... I do hope that the next chapter will be posted soon.