Victoria, fair lady and daughter of the Tuite household and young lady of the Bridgefold Manor, sat beside the edge of her window admiring the rain falling upon the glass. The constants of the outside view had long bored her, glazed over by the rain regardless.
The droplets could be counted, named, and renamed as they collect and race down but only for so long. And only before the tempest began in earnest. Fire roared behind her besides, a rare pleasure but one most enjoyed.
Deep shadows cast harsh against the early morning light. The mood set dim on Victoria's part, for after hours and weeks of colder, stricter than usual etiquette training, a moment of warm reprieve became more than a faint craving.
With great appreciation, a free weekend fell upon her, and with her parents away on business, the whole of the estate lay empty.
Save, of course, for the young lady, her help, and the under-the-breathe wishes that danced quiet through the halls. Echoing silence made the recollections of her lessons peaceful.
She was told her work was not work at all, and more of a preparation to become a housewife; Yet, the lectures dragged on like a broken leg through a muddy field.
Sets of mannerisms and routined talking points memorized, though the shaping of any woman would only stretch so far. At the end of the day, it would be comparable to forming clay. The clay stays still itself, no matter what you create. The rain painted itself across the glass, Victoria relaxed.
For but a moment, through the fog of the glass, almost not beyond view she saw the painted black snout of a doe. Deep, beady eyed and scared, it pranced off away from an unseen foe back and back into the safety of the trees.
Nervous enough to make a man on a half quart of snuff ashamed, commanding attention for not but a moment and astonishingly still embarrassed.
Clad in beauty and fresh make-up, she lowered her form and mass of fabric into a luxurious fainting couch off to the corner of the room. The whole of the couch was barely too large for her, but still the armrest fit beneath the back of her neck in a comfortable fashion.
It was one of the nicer pieces of furniture in the room notwithstanding of course her fireplace, which on occasion had been the root of many more pains than pleasures. Dressed in a dark, deep velvet accompanied by meticulously sewn gold thread and buttons, the entire piece gave Victoria the impression of a skinned King, splayed out for her own comfort.
It was from here that it seemed she heard not quite the entire property. It was from here that she learned to regret listening in. It was from here, also, that she was now hearing footsteps nearing in on her door.
“Breakfast is almost ready, my dear.” Her young governess said knocking on the door, before peeking her head in.
“Thank you Meredith, I’ll be out soon.”
She wondered then if the house had ever once been empty. Standing up and leaning against the fire she tried to wake herself up, but only warmed up enough to start moving.
Her room was soft & dim, with most of the windows locked tightly, and so she took her time pretending to dress, since she woke up a few hours before and had long since composed herself.
The cold floors helped to shock just a bit as she led herself downstairs; not asleep but barely awake.
Downstairs, she was greeted with an indulgent ensemble of assortments, including filets of steamed haddock laid atop a parade of julienned carrots and greens, various nuts and grapes and a warm, never empty pot of tea.
Snacking on a handful of walnuts in a slow contemplation, she dissected and tested the fish from every angle.
A steamed fish was a marvelously delicate thing, missing the cruel marks of frying, a pale blush instead compliments the white flakes, from skin to flesh. Engaged with dainty lemon peels and sweet herbs atop, the sculpture could not be more romantic.
A charming thing, reminiscent of a resting child's cheek. Pieces of the simple creature and its decorated parsley danced across her fork as she considered its composition. There was not much merit in cooking but to Victoria it seemed a fine act, akin to a painting you get to make again and again until you perfected it, and even still then unfinished.
All the ingredients each its own color, together a melody of highs and lows. Parsley atop, the varnish to finish the product, though a wonderful note all in itself alone.
One could bathe in or be buried amongst a casket of parsley without complaint, truly a gift of God’s for us to share in but a hint of Heaven's glory. A flower so well it may boast a better bouquet than any rose yet discovered.
Victoria continued on this thought as the sun came in through the open windows onto the long table, empty but for herself. Mornings were never loud but this one was quiet, resembling not many before.
The next few days were due to be increasingly exciting, but not much so for Victoria. Standing near and staying pretty was a skill in itself anyway, so for now she would enjoy whatever peace she stood to gain.
“So…” Meredith ran into the dining hall to join Victoria, obviously excited. “Are you ready for this year's dance, my lady?” The question had been expected all morning, as it had been asked with the same enthusiasm for many mornings before.
Talk of the town was the dance at Bridgefold Manor, and it would not be missed for the world by any single respectable lady in the neighborhood. Some had claimed before that only the death of a mother might or should keep one away, yet any lady who would let such a small trifle keep their daughters at length from proper and respectable marriageability was no lady indeed.
As a matter of fact, it was only six or so years back when something quite similar happened that, as it was reported by the two daughters of the missus, one mother had so begged and so pleaded upon her death bed as to her girls attending themselves to Bridgefold that the very thought of refusal brought upon such pains of betrayal as to render the idea of their absence impossible.
On this note Mr. Wilhelm, the father, found the account incorrigible yet neither Victoria nor Meredith would hear a word of it. The two daughters, now missus their own of estates quite respectable, were too fine of face and figure to be thought liars.
She had it on quite high authority that liars and cheats were ugly and pig-faced, and with a cumulative yearly total close to complimenting their own, in addition to personal and preordained family funds, the truth mattered little regardless. And in fact, if the truth of the matter were to reveal such a miserly matriarch existing, the whole of it might be disregarded as never at all having been heard in the first place.
To this point, her ballerina fork ceased its lifetime performance and was set to the wayside with enough slow purpose for Victoria to think of something smart to say.
“Our famous ‘Husband Roulette’ you mean? Oh yes of course! I am sure you understand how overjoyed the thought leaves me! Forever how I have longed to be pawned off to the highest bidder, hung up on the highest shelf much obliged to perform the act of a ceremonial sheath.”
She smiled at her own quips, taking the conversation only half serious. Meredith didn’t think it was so funny.
“Oh don’t say such things! Your parents do so well to engage you and to keep their yearly ball as fashionable as one could ever imagine. You’d be best to not ruin opportunities for yourself before realizing how crucial they might be”
A passive groan somehow resembling the phrase Perish the thought may have come from the dining table but was disregarded as quick as it was heard.
“Have you any idea how many beautiful couples have come together during this time of year?”
“Perhaps… five? No wait! Six!”
She laughed again to herself, of course their yearly dances were important, and a great deal more for women scarcely coming of age such as herself. Unfortunately however, it was more fun to tease than to take any of that seriously so early in the day.
Still, a cold glare was all it took to force a realignment in the conversation, “Yes, yes fine, I do understand that it is important. Husbands and all, children and legacies and the like. And yes, I have tried my best to prepare, you should know that better than anyone else. You do worry quite a bit too much, do you not?”
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"Oh how could I worry too much about you? Ridiculous I say” She said, returning a smile “Now eat up, you have plenty to catch up on once your parents get back.” And with that Meredith got up and left, patting Victoria on the head before leaving.
They were as good as the same age, maybe Victoria seemed slightly older from solely looking at them but somehow the young governess had always been something like an older sister to her, for as long as she remembered.
The two girls were just about the same height, though Meredith hunched a slight and her shoes were never as tall. One might at a glance assume them to be lifelong friends so similar was their looks and demeanor; friends but never sisters.
For one Victoria had bright blonde hair, with neat white streaks running through, that reflected in light matching the sun off the ocean. In contrast Meredith had a beautiful bun of light brown hair always hung up, exposing the back of her bone frail neck decorated with a scant vail of angel hairs.
The two were the peak beauties of their respective classes. Lhotse and Everest forever stuck above the clouds among their peers. Peers came few and far between either way; Even with a day so free to Victoria no friends came to mind for who she might enjoy calling on.
No plays or rehearsals for which she might like to share and, as the name suggested, the governess was in no position to go off gallivanting.
The lady of the house had once mentioned having had Meredith’s mother in their service before, but had not gone on to say what happened. Nor could she think of any reason or circumstance to inquire, since having a girl the same age as her was much nicer than any old woman might ever be, Victoria reasoned.
Seemed a shame, but if it bothered Meredith then none were able to tell. Not that that had ever stopped Missus Tuite from commenting on the apparently unending inadequacies of their fair governess.
Now left without a purpose, Victoria took all the time she wanted in finishing her meal and headed back upstairs. The day gained a brighter light but it meant nothing to her, for there was not a lady in the country that spent her days baking in the sun.
The railings and walls had all been freshly dusted and scrubbed back and beyond their original shine, with new curtains and stair runners to match the tastes of this season. Everything old or in the way had been moved or discarded in preparation for this weekend, save for a few of her fathers items.
Of where they kept the old and brought the new, she knew not and cared little. An ashtray here, a cocktail glass there and a book on a pier table beside the entrance of her room. All of it had been ignored now for just over a week which, as it just so happened, was exactly as long as it took before peaking her interest.
The novel was a small, quaint little thing with a ghastly, herbal green, fabric hardcover. Though it was seemingly recently printed, already the pages were beginning to yellow against the near constant of its reader's habit of smoking, yet still retaining the damp, dusty scent of fresh paper.
The author was listed as an assortment of three initials, a tactic her father had once declared meant that they were probably a woman, or perhaps a Frenchman in the guise of an intellectual. Despite this opinion the novel seemed well read enough, sporting a dogear page somewhere near the middle, however untouched it had been in those past weeks.
The pages still felt cold from the morning air, and pressing them against her cheek left a smooth and comforting sensation as if one was a cat being pet by only the most sensitive of owners.
She didn’t read much.
The rest of the day she spent alone in her room, rising only for a spot of tea in the afternoon, but otherwise content in rest. Day turned to night and the pot that was her patience had since started to boil over. Matched with the energy she bottled up over the course of her day and the veil of darkness, a plan of escape emerged.
Tidying up her room she bid time until Meredith came back for one last visit, inquiring for anything else that may be needed before being graciously sent away until morning.
And with that, the adventure began!
Especially so with the dance coming up, she knew that all the extra maids would be busy for the night. No doubt by now they had already thought she was asleep, so getting caught sneaking out was of little worry.
Even with the extra hands, many years had come before this night to memorize every step and schedule of all on the estate. This left her first task of escape as an easy footnote.
In the past, returning had always been the real problem. It wouldn’t be until near midnight that the halls would be empty, so the main entrance absolutely would not do, but this was far from the first time.
Victoria started by putting out the fire and opening the latch of the window, left close to rusted away from lack of use. Letting out the smoke so as to not come back home to any unfortunate, sooty, surprises, she turned to prepare her climb out. Being on the 2nd floor helped to not sprain an ankle but just that was not enough.
Besides injury, the real danger was of the potential damage to the white lilacs below. Ankles be damned, if her mother found the flowers destroyed she would find the rest of her childhood beat out of her with a whisk.
With that in mind, tying herself up to repel down was out of the question. Even if it would be a soft landing into the shrubs, anything that left the vaguest Victoria-shaped silhouette was not an option.
So she reasoned, if common sense (the front door) and safety were being thrown out the window, she might as well be doing the same herself.
Grabbing the largest pillow she had, Victoria held it tight against her chest, opened the window as much as it could stand, prepared a running start and with one thud, bump, and roll she was out. Tucking in her knees against the pillow helped to protect her ankles, a hint she had once learned from great pains before.
While maybe not the most elegant of solutions, she was assured that if someone were to ever see her leap, they quite literally may not believe their eyes. The onset of an opium fever perhaps, yes, but the young lady of the house, jumping headfirst into the mud at night? No, surely not.
The air was damper than usual and it was still raining, but only lightly and enough to still be able to dry off. The rain felt nice against her skin, and was a good cover anyways.
There was nothing else in the world like this to her. Escaping from the mundane, if only for a moment, and drinking in the wilderness of her surroundings. A young woman such as herself only ever drank this in so many times in their lives, and she knew this.
Consuming every drop, every sight and every sensation before her.
Their manor was pressed against a forest, quite away from much of the main city, for as it grew so too did the filth, but she kept little care enough to dwell on them. The forest was what had always amazed her, not the people.
Though it was not to the liking of her mother, the few trips she went with her father to the woods when she was younger was enough to solidify the interest.
Her muffled steps pranced into the forest, careful not to be seen or heard, and slowly the trees began to catch the rain for her. There was no particularity in the adventure, rather a general need to see the sky and stars for as long as she could afford was the only catalyst for her misdeeds.
The stars asked no questions, and the sky would never once care if you lived or died. The moist air about would especially be an anxiety to her mother, for fear of disease, yet still she never hoped to care. Besides, just so long as Victoria kept clean, there would always be no one to find out.
Head in the grass she considered the values and issues of keeping clean, the considerable repetitiveness of it all, when turning to the side left her face to face with the blood dyed, black beady eyes of a dead bunny.
Curious. How peculiar… Rabbits live in holes, no?
It made no sense why one would be left dead outside, true, however the marks of a wolf's jaw on the exterior of its thigh gave a hint. Perhaps something scared the wolf off and the rabbit was left to die long after? But what would scare a wolf and not eat a bunny? Guess it doesn’t matter Victoria reasoned before sitting up to look upon the corpse.
It seemed largely unharmed. Save for the dots of blood from the holes in the thigh and all from its face, otherwise still picture perfection and when she turned it over onto the other side, the missing holes made even clearer its white coat. After a nice wash she was sure the color would be beyond stunning.
Spreading the legs of the rabbit, Victoria revealed the deepest section of its wound where the fur was thinnest and the skin shown pink. Shoving her right index finger and left thumb inside made clear an opening to what she was looking for.
After tearing the fur down into its extended leg bone and pushing aside its fleshy tendons, it was finally shown through like a white, heavenly lighthouse, the joint connecting the leg and foot bones.
There was a rumor or legend, whatever the difference was, that a rabbit's foot was good luck, and she felt she needed as much as a hoard of feet might give.
Gripping her thumbs inside the rabbit, deep against opposing bones and leaving the remainder of her hands to twist the outside body, with a quick rip, pop and pull, the foot of the bunny had at last been relieved of its master. Now, given instead the duty to provide the good luck she so hoped for.
With the acquisition of a neat trinket, Victoria had so quickly traded the very cleanliness that was only recently being considered. Though it had only been a visit perhaps no longer than an hour, the newfound need to clean up her bloodied hands now expedited the end. With only the moonlight to see under, her bloodied hands resembled more of a black than red. The sight was almost unsettling.
With these expeditions, she kept her secrets simple, while others kept her life luxurious. It was the secret of a noble daughter, a daughter destined to be handed off to the richest, most worthwhile man within arms reach. That was what she learned to do, day in and day out. Not to live as a creature in the forest.
Simple things come and stay and leave all just as simply. For by the time the rain ended, the air chilled enough to force her away.
She never liked the cold, besides her parents were due to arrive tonight and she was sure her father would be less than pleased to know she was rolling around in the mud for pleasure. Victoria wrapped the foot in her sleeve and continued back.
Getting home was easier than leaving, since she could simply go through the front door with everyone asleep, and thankfully she did not need to risk almost breaking her neck being stupid again.
The hard part was cleaning up afterwards, but with some water heated from the charcoal of the dead fire, she was soon clean and asleep.
Holding the rabbit’s pink paw pads against her cheek, the girl was truly a model of peace.