A/N: I will not be writing anymore of this until my other Dark Shadows fanfic is finished, but I thought I'd post the first chapter to see what you guys thought of this, so please let me know if you want me to continue, because if not many people are interested, then I'll just delete it :)

Six-year-old Angelique Bouchard stared out across the dirty streets of Liverpool, her face pressed eagerly against the filthy glass of the window. The streets were already thronging with people, busy buying wares for the day ahead. She had never been further than the estate's grounds before and this was as close as she got to the roads she longed to wander. She wished she could go, if only for a day, and be in among all the excitement. Yet she wasn't allowed. Her mother was a servant and one that rarely left the house. Even when she did, she wouldn't take Angelique with her. She would tell her that she needed to practise her sewing or give her something to polish. Nothing valuable mind, a six-year-old couldn't be trusted with a silver candlestick.

It was all part of her training. Angelique would be a servant too, when she was old enough. Not that she wanted to be. She didn't want to have to slip around the big, old, creepy mansion, unseen to everyone other than the other servants. She wanted to run her own company, like Mr Collins did, but there was no chance of that. That's what her mother had told her when she had scolded her daughter for even thinking about something so absurd. She was a woman; women didn't run companies. Women worked as servants or spent their days sewing or looking after their children. However, Angelique thought that was boring. She wanted to be able to read and write, to learn about the world, but girls didn't get an education like that. Most girls didn't get one at all. The men thought people like her didn't need one. Only, that left her destined to serve for all her life, like her mother was doing, and her grandmother had done before her.

"Angelique Bouchard, get down from there immediately!" Lucille reprimanded, coming in through the door to find her daughter straining to look out of the tiny window whilst standing on a wooden crate. Angelique jerked as though scalding water had just been poured over her and jumped down. "How many times have I told you not to go up there? You make your dress filthy, just look at it! C'est honteuse!"

"Je suis désolée, maman," Angelique whispered, lowering her head.

"Sorry is not good enough. Now go clean yourself up! You can't go around looking like that!"

"Yes, maman."

"I don't know what you think you were doing looking out like that; filling your silly head with fantasies no doubt." Lucille looked accusingly at her daughter. "Well, no good will come of it, Angelique. Your place is here, and don't you forget it."

Angelique opened her mouth, thinking of what to say, but once again she was cut off by her mother.

"What are you standing there for? Get a move on, we have work to do! And stop that foul gaping; you look like a fool!"

Angelique did as she was told before turning and scurrying out of the room.

Her dress wasn't too bad, she thought, looking in the cheap bit of glass her mother had managed to salvage in one of her few trips to town. By now, even though she was only six, she had learnt to wash her clothes and was highly accomplished at getting rid of dirt to a satisfactory standard in her mother's eyes.

Fetching a damp cloth, she went back to the mirror and carefully attempted to sponge away the dust, but it seemed to be stuck. It just wouldn't come out and she was reluctant to make the front of her dress too wet. She had to wear it all day and she did not want to become unwell; not with all the weird remedies her mother forced her to swallow when she did.

"Hurry up, girl, we don't have all day!" came Lucille's strict voice after a few minutes, making Angelique jump. The attic walls were thin where the servants lived and her mother's voice was loud. Not that anyone could complain; Lucille Bouchard was the head housekeeper.

Angelique frantically wiped at the dress, leaving huge wet streaks down the front. But the dust was still being stubborn and so, eventually, she gave up and laid the cloth out so it could dry. It would have to do. Hopefully her mother wouldn't notice for once, she thought, but, in the back of her mind, she knew her mother's sharp eyes could never miss it once it had dried. It wasn't that she didn't love her mother, for she did, but she just didn't understand how someone could be so strict on their own daughter. She spent most of her time trying to please the austere housekeeper, but nearly everything she did was wrong. It seemed she could never do anything right. If it wasn't her posture, it would be that she had a speck of dirt on her nose, or if she had done her sewing correctly, then it would be that she hadn't done enough in the time her mother had gone and come back.

"Whatever have you done to it, Angelique? It looks dreadful!" Lucille admonished, spotting the dark smudges as her daughter came up to her.

"Désolée, maman, it was–"

"No, I don't want to hear your pathetic excuses. Now come along, I want to get you started on your sewing before I'm called down."

"Yes, maman," Angelique answered quietly and obediently followed her mother to their own rather small, but private room before getting out her sewing from under the bed. For the past few weeks, she had been trying to embroider a little songbird onto the scrap of white linen she had been provided with. She was quite proud of it, but she only wished it could have been more colourful for her mother had only managed to find crimson and ochre coloured thread at an affordable price.

"Let me see what you did yesterday then?" Lucille asked, with a seemingly bored expression on her face. She did not expect much, but held out her hand expectantly. Angelique silently passed it over, feeling a bit nervous. Even though she was pleased with it, she knew there were several mistakes that she was sure her mother would pick out. And she did.

"There are lots of errors in this, Angelique. Just look at that cross stitch, c'est horrible! However, at least I can tell what it is this time, I suppose in that sense, it is an improvement."

Angelique's jaw nearly dropped open in surprise, but, fortunately, she managed to keep it in. She could not, however, stop her mouth twisting up into a triumphant smile. That was high praise coming from her mother!

"What are you grinning at, girl? This is far from perfect," Lucille snapped, carelessly handing it back and making Angelique's face drop. She should have known it was too good to be true. It seemed her mother couldn't praise her without lagging something bad on the end.

At that moment, a bell rang loudly from the wall opposite.

"It seems I'm wanted in the dining room," Lucille said, glancing at the arrangement of bells. "I'll be back up later and I expect you to have got on with this. Also, there better be some improvement. Practise that cross stitch."

"Bien sûr, maman."

"Good, and stop slouching," she added as she got to the doorway. "It's very un-ladylike."

The young girl sat up straighter, but as soon as the door had shut and her mother's footsteps had faded away, she relaxed again. She couldn't grasp how anyone could bear to sit so straight; it was so uncomfortable and it hurt after a while! Sighing, she picked up the needle and thread and started working on the spindly legs of the bird, practising the cross stitch as she'd been told.She wished she was allowed to wander the grounds
instead of being cooped up. What fun it would be to explore every nook and
cranny instead of having to take a sophisticated walk with her mother…

A/N: French translations are:
C'est honteuse - It is disgraceful
Je suis désolée - I am sorry
Maman - Mum/Mummy
C'est horrible (you can probably guess) - It is horrible
Bien sûr - Of course
I think that's all... sorry if my french is wrong at any time, I am nowhere near fluent! (However much I wish to be) Please let me know if something's wrong!