{Chapter 1}

8th of September, 1858

Murder mysteries have always been Elizabeta's favourite kind of book. She savoured every twist of the plot, every surprise around the corner and every suspense filled moment like a delicacy, the residue lingering long after it had gone. She sighed contentedly as she prised open the front cover of her newest addition to her immense collection of books which were all currently tacked in a ceiling to floor mahogany bookshelf that dominated her room. This book had been brought from the second hand book shop on the corner across from her house. It is a ratty-tatty shop with paint peeling of the interior and exterior walls and rotting floor boards that emitted a creak that pierced the ever present silence of the shop when you stood on them. The owner of the shop was a young man by the name of Arthur. He is very eccentric for his age, wearing clothes that hang limply from his slim frame, rather like that of a beggar. His sandy blond hair covered his unusually thick, dark eyebrows which were his prominent facial features. His deep green eyes are those of a man who has seen many a century pass, containing many great tragedies. He is married to a spindly, gossip loving woman, three years his senior named Alice, who works as a launderer. Their sole child, Peter, is a boisterous eight year old who is always picking fights with other children, much to his parents' horror. Elizabeta was very fond of them and their old shop.

"Elizabeta, darling. It is unbecoming for a girl to be holed up in her room reading books." Elizabeta's mother glided into the room and took the book from her causing her daughter to cry out in indignation;

"Mother! Must you! I had only just started that one! DON'T LOSE MY PAGE!" She snatched the book back and hugged it to her chest, glaring at her mother. "And I am sixteen, Mother, I shall do as I please!"

"Not whilst you live under your father's roof. Once you have your own house, then you can go gallivanting around reading books and keeping up the façade that you can flourish in this world without a man (Which we both full well know you can't). No, whilst you are in this house you will act like a proper lady." Elizabeta rolled her eyes and unwillingly handed the book into her mother's out stretched hand. The woman took it and glided out of the room, stopping in the doorway are calling over her shoulder: "I don't want you going to that old nasty bookshop again, and meeting with those unsightly people. You must learn the responsibilities of being a woman, and if I have to cut the problem at its root then so be it." The door swung shut with a firm click.

"Argh!" Elizabeta flopped onto her bed in frustration, her skirt and petticoats fanning around her and floating over her head, she struggled with them for a few moments until admitting defeat and lying tangled under her cumbersome skirts.

"If only I had been born a boy." She whispered fiercely. "Then nobody would question my right to read and to learn." She half-heartedly pummelled her suppressor. Tears pricking at the corners of her bright green eyes. All of her life she had begged her mother and father to let her go to school, like all of her friends (in her younger years she had dressed in breeches and shirts just like her male counterparts until her mother put a stop to her boyish demeanour), but her parents had said a firm no and spoke of it no longer. "She must learn womanly activities such as sewing and the goings on of a household." Her mother had ordered to her more impressionable husband behind closed doors, when they thought Elizabeta wasn't there.

"But men these days are favouring a more learned wife." Elizabeta's father objected. Her mother dismissed the idea with a wave of her hand.

"Pish, it's just a passing fad. By the time our Elizabeta is to be married, men will want an obedient and timid wife, just as they always had, just as they always will." She replied haughtily.

Elizabeta scowled to herself, the only thing that kept her sane were her books. Her mother only taught her to read all that an "obedient and faithful wife" would need. So she taught herself to read from her father's records and later the books lent to her by Arthur.

"Well this is a compromising situation isn't it?" A familiar male voice taunted.

Gilbert! Elizabeta hurriedly sat up, wrestling the material before finally freeing herself. Her face flaming, hoping against all hopes that he hadn't seen her… unmentionables.

"W-who let you in? What do you want?" She sputtered fiercely.

"Your Mother let me in. She was almost in tears when I approached her. She said that you two had an argument, she entreated me to talk some sense into you." He grinned showing his unnaturally pointed canines. He was dressed smartly in red with gold and black accents. His snowy white hair fell over his crimson eyes which at the moment glinted mischievously.

Elizabeta scowled "Which I assume you will refrain from doing, and instead gloat over my defeat."

Gilbert chuckled, "Dear Eliza, you know me too well. Keseseses, you are learning a lot. It must be those books you consume." He laughed again as he saw her scowl deepen. "Oh, was that a tender subject? It must be after your Mother, how did she phrase it? Oh, that's right! Cut the problem at the roots…." He danced out of the way with a gleeful grin as a pillow flew towards him.

"Would you kindly leave?" Elizabeta growled through gritted teeth, pointing at the door.

"Anything for you sweetie." He winked coyly and exited the room.

Elizabeta stomped down the stairs, her heeled boots making loud, determined noises that reverberated down the stairwell. She glared at the gaily painted portraits on the wall, watching them turn a muddy brown and falling off the cream wall in her mind's eye. This gave her little satisfaction as when she opened her eyes, they were still hanging there, happy and smiling. She suppressed a roar of frustration that broiled inside of her. She instead turn to making as much noise as possible, kicking the walls and pushing over vases which smashed with a loud crash.

"Elizabeta!" Her mother's head, contorted with fury and red as a tomato appeared from behind one of the many doors lining the hallway. "We have a guest! Stop throwing a tantrum!

A low laugh boomed through the air, coming from the doorway which lead to the drawing room.

Ugh, Elizabeta thought disgustedly, Francis.

Francis Bonnefoy was a Frenchman whose family immigrated to London during the French Revolution. He made his wealth in what he claimed to be a small, honest and respectable business. But in reality he owned a chain of brothels, everyone knew, but no one notified the police out of respect for Francis's father who brought much business to the town.

"Ohonhonhon, Ugor you are too amusing. You must regale some more of your excellent stories to me."

Elizabeta could hear her father's voice swell with pride. "Y-you really think so?"

"Of course, mon ami! You are utterly hilarious!"

Elizabeta scowled darkly. Francis was always trying to con someone out of their money with his sweet words and handsome smile.

Elizabeta's mother glanced at the broken vase with a distraught look. "My vase! That was an heirloom piece! My grandmother-"

"Was an old bag!" Elizabeta ran out into the kitchen slamming the door behind her, cutting off her mother's shocked gasp.

She ran through the kitchens knocking over silver platters and shattering crystal wine glasses. She knocked into Franz Edelstienthe chef, who was carrying an already precariously balanced trifle. He fell over and landed with a thump on the tile floor, the trifle came next, landing in his lap with a great schloop.

"You ruined my art, you fiend!" He yelled, his face steaming with rage and shaking his fist.

Elizabeta ignored him, running even faster still. She turned back to look at the now mess of a kitchen. She then ran into a wall. Or at least what felt like a wall. She looked up at the thing that stood in front of her from her position on the ground. It was Ludwig, the town's sole black smith and a good friend of her father.

"Hello Miss Hénderváry." He rumbled. A smile playing on the corner of his lips. "Going somewhere?"

"No." She glared at him furiously.

"Good. Can you go to the pub to get a flask of champagne? I have a feeling your Vatti will be in need of it."

Glad to have any excuse to get out of the house, Elizabeta accepted the errand and walked out into the brisk autumn day. Elizabeta hugged herself, wishing that she had brought her warm coat that her Apa brought from Siberia last winter. She walked past Von Bok's tailor shop and stood stock still, listening hard, muffled shouting noises issued from the lace framed windows. Elizabeta jumped back in surprise as the door flung open and a small flailing body was hurled out.

"And stay out!" Yelled the shop owner who was standing in the doorway, promptly slamming the door.

Elizabeta turned to see who had been expelled from the dress shop and was not surprised to see her best friend Feliks Lukasiewicz jumping up and shaking his shoulder length blond hair out of face.

"I see that Eduard has had enough of you sulking around his shop, Feliks." Elizabeta smiled tauntingly at him.

"I was not sulking! I was admiring his dresses." The blond turned away crossing his arms.

Elizabeta lifted her eyebrow questioningly. Feliks scowled at her.

"I only tried on one! It was so beautiful and so, so soft." He sighed with glassy eyes, as if mesmerised by the memory. "And then he wanted me to take it off! He said that I couldn't try it on if I wasn't going to buy it. Then I offered to buy it and he laughed at me!" He gestured angrily at himself. "He laughed. At me!" Frustrated tears pricked at his eyes, he backhanded them off angrily. Elizabeta slung her arm around his shoulder, brushing off a stray leaf from his shoulder.

"Don't worry Feliks. Some people are extraordinarily closed minded." She gave him a squeeze and let go. "Come along, I'm running an errand for my father, do you want to come with me?"

Feliks sniffed and nodded, slightly smiling. Elizabeta grinned back, hooking her arm into his. His smile widened, "You should have seen Eduard when I walked out in that dress, his jaw was touching the ground, and then his face went the brightest red I've ever seen!"

Elizabeta laughed, she could picture Eduard's reaction clearly. Feliks joined in and soon they were unsteady on their feet with laughter, their cheeks hurting from the strain of smiling continuously.

A/N: 'Ello there. First chapter done! I spent ages on this one. And yes, this is my first Fanfic so right now is a significant moment in the history of me.

Few things to point out:

Explaining the *. For those with a dirty mind and those who are unknowledgeable about the Victorian era, the word unmentionables is referring to their knickers.

Yes, Arthur is married to Fem!England. I couldn't think of anyone else to pair him up with. Why not Fem!USA? He comes up later in the story.

The reason Poland doesn't have his Valley girl voice is because it would've sounded stupid in Victorian London.

Franz is the name I'm using for Kugelmugel

Hungary's parents are OCs.

When Germany says Vatti he is referring to Hungary's father.

Thanks for reading everyone, and also feel obliged to review. (Not really but please do!)