If you like Penny Dreadful, Kuroshitsuji, and Yuki Kaori, you might like this too. I really liked the idea of doing Code Geass with a Gothic Victorian theme. This story sat on the back burner for like six years. I had a rough outline of the story and little by little wrote the first chapter. I never did get to publish it. But since news of Code Geass' sequel came, I felt nostalgic and thought I would revive this story. I had to make some adjustments in writing style as certain parts were written around 2011. Some parts I rewrote, some I expanded. I hope the difference isn't too jarring. May you enjoy reading. :)
House of Lamperouge
Having lost her inheritance and title, the orphaned Kallen Stadtfelt finds herself in the employ of an eccentric nobleman who dwells in a secluded manor situated on very high ground, a place shrouded in secrets and mystery–The Lamperouge House.
Chapter 1
House
The Larousse Gala hosted by the Duke Montford was one of the grandest affairs of the season. Invitations were given out exclusively to the most prominent of the ton.
It would begin with a strut down the grand staircase, at which point, ensembles were critiqued for who donned the best and who donned the worst. There was one baroness who, fancying herself in atrociously gaudy shades, was doubtlessly the worst dressed of every gala according to general consensus. After every guest was announced and hailed by the host, dinner would be served replete with the finest wine and fancy gossip.
And the highlight of every year's event was the private auction engaged by the wealthiest aristocrats, bringing their wives or mistresses and aiming to please their paramours with fine jewelry, the occasional whimsical daughters and sons of nobility, jewel collectors, and appraisers, and men of business who kept a shrewd eye for potentially valuable items. There were also the 'antiquities' collectors, named so because they would not have shilly-shallies about buying any number of antiques and objects of mystification ranging from the powdered wig of an ancient lord who succumbed to an unknown illness to the paw of a mummified monkey said to bring luck to its owner.
Jeremiah Gottwald–a tall, well-built man whose trademark feature was his gold-rimmed monocle and starched coattail–belonged to none of the above. He was the well-dressed steward à la butler of one nobleman who made scant appearances in any affair, public or private. He attended the Larousse Auction every year in lieu of his mysterious master, who was rumored to dabble in the dark arts. For the better part of the auction, he was a silent, brooding, imposing presence standing straight and unmoving beside the double doors of the auction hall. Let it be known that he never failed to win a bid for his lord. The moment he laid down his master's price, nobody came equal enough to match the figures.
While he was going through the same ritual of seemingly becoming one with the furniture, manning his usual position, one side of the double doors opened less than halfway and a woman with a fair head peeked in between the crack.
"Is it starting already?" ventured the young woman in a low voice.
"Milly, this auction is for the upper crust," followed a nervous second voice belonging to a man who sounded slightly younger than the first speaker.
"Which describes us, does it not?" The woman called Milly chirped and proceeded to step into the room–head, body, and all. "Come, Rivalz. I want to be seated before they start bidding."
"We shouldn't be here," protested Rivalz–yes, his name was Rivalz, as unconventional as its contrivance may have been–helplessly trailing after the three flounce petticoat of the indomitable Milly Ashford.
"Oh, shush. I have every right to be here. If you must know, I am acting as proxy for my grandfather this year because he isn't well enough to attend the gala and you know how he never misses the auction. I also wish to bid for an item that belongs to a dear friend."
Milly Ashford's grandfather was proprietor of a hotel chain and one of the most well-known publishing houses. He maintained a long-lived partnership with Rivalz Candemonde's father, owner of the largest printing presses. The acquaintanceship of both successors to each respective enterprise was encouraged, but Milly never considered Rivalz as one of the innumerable men who applied to be her beau and rather enjoyed his company as a friend or more appropriately an underling that she could rely on.
"First item for sale is the Emerald of Serafin, fashioned by a jeweller of the same namesake. This exquisite gem was extracted from the Mines of Abberdon in the Granite Mountains of Merlsham. Bidding starts at ten thousand!"
"Ten thousand and five hundred!"
"We have ten thousand and five hundred! Any more bidders?"
"Eleven thousand!"
The bid went up to fifteen thousand before it went into the hands of an entrepreneur keen on procuring all kinds of emeralds.
The next succession of items was an assortment of jewelry, paintings, vases, porcelain, interspersed with the infrequent but bafflingly odd, mystic objects of anonymous origin. Milly did not care much for the dubious Arabian brass lamp that was said to house the spirit of a djinn or the stuffed calico cat, so lifelike it might spring to life at any moment. She had set her sights on but one item. Finally, the auctioneer presented the one remaining item that would end this year's auction.
"Here it comes."
There was a glint of excitement in Milly's eyes as she saw the item being wheeled out in its glass encasement by the auctioneer's assistants. The auctioneer tilted the glass at an angle and slipped a hand beneath to take out the miniscule item the case held inside. He held it up in the air for everyone to admire.
"Last but not the least, we have a most rare treat, a treasure of one of the oldest noble houses–the Crimson Lotus–a band made of the highest quality of gold, mounted with a lotus flower that is studded with a hundred 'dewdrops' of finely cut diamonds, rubies, and other precious stones. This particular piece, belonging to the late Marquis Stadtfelt, was fashioned after the family emblem. Contrary to the rumors surrounding the demise of the late lord, the ring is said to bring immense fortune and luck to its owner. Bidding begins at fifty thousand!"
"One hundred thousand," rang out a strong, male voice. All eyes turned to the bidder who was standing at the very back of the room. It was the steward with the striking appearance. Voices ceased as if that singular voice held power over them.
"Are there any other takers?" The auctioneer took a sweeping glance at the audience. When it seemed that there would be no other contenders, he knocked his gavel on the wood with a final, resounding tap and announced, "Sold."
"Noooo!" a horrified voice cried out, somewhere around the region where Milly was sitting. To the indignation of one Milly Ashford, the bid for the Crimson Lotus was done before it could even begin–another Larousse Auction spectacularly ended.
A woman with rich, auburn hair that fell to the middle of her back, stood wistfully from the window of her father's study and watched as the footmen carried out the crates which contained the lifeblood of her family legacy. Her father's solicitors were efficient when she sought their assistance in selling off a large fraction of the family property. In a matter of months, they found buyers for all the valuable artworks and antiques. Her mother's jewelry collection was brought under the hammer at several large auction houses. The not-so-valuable articles were to be left and sold along with the house. It was all to settle the huge debt that her father burdened her with.
In the end, she knew that, "everything would have to go." By that, she did not only mean the property.
One day, she assembled all the remaining staff. A few months before, she had to let go of more than half of the household staff. The numbers dwindled to less than ten. Only the oldest and most trusted were retained. And now, the young lady of the house was regretful that she would have to send them away as well.
"I've gathered all of you today as I have an important announcement to make. As all of you are aware, I have bestead the aid of father's solicitors in selling the family property. A substantial number of employees in this household have also been sent away. Unfortunately, even with these measures taken, the matter of father's liabilities still persists."
She paused. The staff held their breath, knowing what would come next.
"I've consulted this with the solicitors and I've come to a decision. As a final resolution, the whole Stadtfelt Estate will be offered for sale. There are already a few potential buyers."
At this point, there was a collective gasp. They anticipated this moment would arrive but to hear the very words come from the mouth of their beloved young mistress, who spoke with calm and unconcern, was still shocking for them.
For her, it was very difficult news to deliver. But, she knew she must continue. "I wish to express my gratitude to those who have remained loyal to the family throughout these years. You have all provided excellent service. However, as I am selling the estate, I am unable to continue employing all of you. It is with sadness that I am relieving you all from duty. I have a friend who is willing to find employment for some of you. As for the rest, I understand that it will be difficult for you to find another employer for several reasons."
She was addressing the butler, the most senior of the staff. He was close to retirement, but still exceeded expectations. He would find it arduous to fit into another household at his age. She gave him a kind smile.
"Please do not worry, for you are all entitled to your share of the family fortune. It is only a meager sum, but those who cannot continue working, will be able to live comfortably."
After that, the young woman could not remember how many times she reiterated that she was very grateful for their dedication and service to the family. By the time she ended her speech, the maids were teary-eyed. The head cook dabbed his eye with the tip of his apron, mumbling that it was hot that day, but everyone knew he was a sentimental sop. The butler, standing prim and upright, looked unaffected. Later, he was seen emerging from a room, covertly replacing his handkerchief in the pocket of his coat. The footmen noted that his eyes were red-rimmed. They also noted that the gardener, in his depression, was attacking the shrubbery vigorously and without mercy.
The transfer of ownership was finalized by the end of the month. The house was given one last scouring from top to bottom. Then, the footmen and the maids draped the white mantles over the furniture.
On the last day, Kallen Statdfelt took one long, lingering look and when she gathered enough courage, walked through the gates, away from the comfort and wealth that her home afforded for the past eighteen years.
They gossiped–not caring enough to be discreet about being overheard–even when the subject of gossip was so close by.
"Her family is ruined."
"Lord Stadtfelt wasn't thinking when he gambled his family's wealth. When they were forced to sell piece by piece their property in order to scrape by, he sold his soul to the spirits and fell to his death overly inebriated. On the other hand, the mother has also given herself up to hysteria. When her husband died, she gave herself large doses of that drug–what's it called, that popular drug that makes you hallucinate?"
"Refrain, you mean."
"That's it. Her mother's now in a hospital, in a coma like a vegetable. She's as good as gone."
"Poor girl, robbed of an inheritance, with nowhere else to go."
Kallen heard enough and walked by as swiftly as she could with her head down. She had just come from the hospital to visit the exact same person they were gossiping about. The doctor told her that there had been no changes in her mother's condition. Kallen could not decide whether that was good or bad. Six months had gone by since the entire Stadtfelt fortune changed hands. Having given up her inheritance, she herself held no value in marriage. If she chose, she could have kept a town house for her own use, retaining the service of the most minimal of household staff. She could have lived like a lord's daughter, maintaining connections with various acquaintances in her father's circle, and eventually making a suitable match. The reality was Kallen Stadtfelt was determined to live au contraire. She rather considered herself as now being part of the hoi polloi.
Kallen kept her eyes on the pavement the entire duration until she reached her residence. She slowed to a halt as she approached the tenement. There stood a young man at the very front of her building. He was tall and of slender build, garbed in expensive and apparently tailor-made clothing. He could be gentility, Kallen judged from the gold-studded walking stick and thick, dark hair hidden under his top hat.
The man seemed to have noticed her presence, tearing his gaze away from the building and turning to her. Kallen could not discern the expression on his face, as it was largely concealed in the shadow of his hat. She somewhat absurdly felt he was drinking in her appearance. As the seconds ticked, she grew increasingly conscious of his eyes on her and was on the edge of verbalizing her discomfort when she perceived the corners of his mouth turn up in a mysterious, amused smile. Finally, he dropped his gaze and stepped past her as easily as if nothing had happened. Kallen twisted her head, watching his back as he went the way she came.
"Miss Stadtfelt, somebody left this for you," accosted the kindly, middle-aged landlady as Kallen entered through the main door. The landlady was dangling a square package in brown wrapping paper and secured with twine. A stalk of iris was tucked beneath the twine.
Kallen scrunched her forehead. Nevertheless, she accepted the package with a grateful smile. "Thank you, Mrs. Basil. I'll take it."
"There's also this." Mrs. Basil produced a white square envelope addressed to 'Ms, Kallen Stadtfelt'.
The former noblewoman blinked. It confounded her that she was receiving packages and letters. To the best of her knowledge, there was not one who should have been aware of her location with the exception of a bosom friend and one such trusted solicitor of her father.
"The package was delivered by a messenger. The envelope was handed to me by my daughter. She said it was given to her by Mrs. Hodge's little boy."
"Thank you," was all Kallen could say, as she received the letter.
Kallen trudged up to the highest floor and opened the door to Room 503. She deposited the package on the kitchen table. Upon closer inspection, she noticed a scrap of parchment under the iris. She slipped her fingers beneath the twine to take out the parchment and perused the message quickly.
'My dearest Ms. Stadtfelt,
Please accept my condolences with regards to your father, Lord Stadtfelt. If you'll allow my indiscretion, my offer still stands. My feelings have not altered despite the circumstances. In all truthfulness, I have come to admire you even greater now. My family would be honored to have you as a daughter-in-law...
Yours truly'
"…Gino Weinberg." Kallen read aloud. A frown was etched on her face. How could he have found out where I live?
Kallen turned her attention next to the envelope. Her name was penned in a rather elaborate style. She turned the envelope over to study the wax seal. The insignia was indistinctly familiar to her. She could not recall how or where she had identified it. Kallen used a butter knife to open the missive.
'Miss Stadtfelt,
You and I are not personal acquaintances. However, let me express my heartfelt condolences. I am sorry to hear about your father's passing, as well as the circumstances that lead you to relinquish the entirety of your family's fortune. As a matter of fact, I have in my possession one of your family's most valued items. It is an object of such eloquent beauty that I have gained a strong desire to meet the owner in person.'
The letter abruptly ended there. There was no sender or address. Kallen would not be allowed to puzzle over it. At the moment, there was an interruption at her door when the landlady's daughter came knocking. "Miss Stadtfelt?"
"Yes? What is it, Lucy?" Kallen responded.
"There's a guest to see you downstairs."
"A visitor?" Surely not him! Does he expect me to reply so soon?
Kallen was relieved that her conclusion was wrong. Instead, her first question was indeed answered upon discovering who her actual visitor was.
"Milly," Kallen said. "I should have known."
Milly Ashford was smiling radiantly. Almost too radiantly. "Whatever are you talking about, my dear Kallen? Are you not happy to see me?"
Milly Ashford was a bona fide confidant of Kallen, one of the few persons Kallen remained in contact with after what happened. There were certain times, though, that Kallen wondered if there were more cons than pros to their friendship.
Kallen brought Milly to her room, knowing her friend would have no qualms about witnessing "Miss Stadtfelt's state of poverty", quoting one or two members of the upper strata. Milly was not one to be pretentious and feigning pity over Kallen's situation because the former knew Kallen herself was above self-pity. Whatever it was that Milly observed from her surroundings, she kept to herself.
Kallen aimed an apologetic look at the blonde woman. "This room could have been one of the smaller parlors in our house and I could be having a maid serve tea and biscuits right now, but unfortunately, it isn't the case."
Milly, who had settled on the bed, shook her head and allowed herself a tender smile. "It is fine, Kallen."
"So, your grandfather and parents do not have objections to your visiting a friend living in a poor community?"
"Kallen, you know very well that I am careful to keep my endeavors utterly clandestine."
"True. Pray, tell me, was it one of your endeavors to divulge to certain individuals of my whereabouts?" Kallen asked meaningfully.
Milly, of course, was quick to elude the subject. "I do not know what you mean. My reason for coming is because I have news to deliver."
Kallen lifted her brows, interested. "Oh?"
"My cousin, Francis William–you have met him once before–called on me yesterday. His father runs an agency and he heard of a posting for additional household staff. They were looking to employ a maid. The predicament is that the aforementioned household is one being shunned by many because of strange, unverified accounts. I informed my cousin that I can recommend somebody."
Kallen surmised where their conversation was leading. "Milly, I really appreciate your concern about my welfare, but I've decided to stop finding work as a maid. I will find other means of living. And from what you are telling me, this employer seems suspicious."
"I know that your previous employers have not been sympathetic to you, but you would not want to turn down this opportunity."
The redhead snapped eyes on Milly. "What makes you think that? Do you even know who this 'mystery employer' is?"
Milly was gravely silent for a while, as if what she was about to say was a matter of utmost secrecy. Then, she motioned for Kallen to sit down beside her. "It's the Earl of Lamperouge."
Kallen was sorely underwhelmed, having expected a bigger revelation. "Oh, is that the nobleman who has dark dealings? Though, I doubt if the rumors are true."
"Rumor or not, but you've been searching for your family heirloom, are you not? You didn't intend to sell it, but whether it was accidental or deliberate, it was auctioned off, along with your mother's jewelry. I didn't inform you, but I was able to track it at the Larousse Auction. Sadly, I was not able to win the bid."
"I don't see how this relates to—"
'…I desire to meet the owner in person.' Kallen's thoughts returned very briefly to the missive she read earlier.
"Are you telling me that—?" She trailed off.
Milly nodded. "Yes. I have word that your family heirloom is in the care of the Earl of Lamperouge. It seems that he is an avid collector of many things."
Kallen would soon discover what exactly "many things" meant.
"Lady, this is the last stop. You getting off or not?" grumbled the gruff conductor from his side of the windowed partition.
Kallen blinked out of her daze. She stood up, struggling with her suitcase, and alighted from the tram car. She surveyed her surroundings, only to find the platform devoid of any living thing.
There was nobody to ask for directions except the ticket master at the booth.
"I beg your pardon, sir."
The ticket master–a middle-aged, bespectacled, stern-looking man–did not immediately look up.
"Sir–"
Kallen was about to call on his attention once more when he snapped his eyes on her.
"I heard you the first time, girl. What is it?"
Kallen felt her presence was unwelcome and rushed to get to the point of her concern. "Might I ask for directions to the Lamperouge House?"
The ticket master gazed at Kallen over his spectacles for a moment, as if trying to discern her intentions. Finally, he seemed to have come to a decision when he turned his concentration back to the crossword puzzle he was working on.
"Once you exit the station, walk towards The Black Knight–it's the biggest inn around here, stands out like its name. You can't miss it. The inn is right where the ground starts rising uphill. Follow the road uphill until you reach the manor," intoned the ticket master. He waved Kallen away with an impatient fling of his hand.
Kallen mumbled a hasty 'thank you' that she was not sure he heard and exited the train station.
As she made her way to The Black Knight, Kallen hardly encountered any townspeople. Well, it was a Sunday afternoon after all, she allowed herself to admit. People could simply be resting in the comfort of their homes. The few that she did encounter, were not as friendly as she hoped. They did not take too kindly to strangers, it appeared. They would reply with a grunt or a nudge of the chin.
Kallen was starting to feel fatigued from carrying the weight of her luggage and about to lose hope, yet rounding a corner, she was unprepared for the sight that loomed before her. She was right underneath the shadow of a five-story building, color black as charcoal. At the very peak of its slated roof sat a weathervane carrying the unmistakable figure of a black-armored knight on a rearing horse.
"The Black Knight," murmured Kallen.
As the ticket master had told her, the inn did stand at the bottom of a slope not so steep but still requiring significant effort against gravity. Kallen craned her neck but it eluded her what was beyond the hill. She turned to look back briefly at the structure behind an inn, The Black Knight seemed none too welcoming. She wondered if the interior might be just as bleak as its exterior. Kallen shook off her grim thoughts and turned away from the inn.
Inhaling a deep breath and adjusting the weight in her hands, she began the climb uphill.
None of the townspeople had given her fair warning about how long it would take to reach her destination. She was certain she had been walking for over an hour. It was becoming more obvious, too, that the mansion was quite the distance from the town. Already, Kallen was having second thoughts about her new employer. However, only a few more hours of daylight remained. If she made the trip downhill, it would imply staying at the inn. The idea of spending the night there did not too bode well with her.
And so, Kallen had little choice but to go up.
The ground leveled out eventually. Soon, Kallen found herself standing in front of an elaborate iron gate. Stone walls stretched out on both sides. She traversed the wall until she came upon a smaller gate a few yards away from the manor's front gate. She came closer to inspect the gate. It was unlocked, both to her surprise and relief. She slid the bolt and pushed the gate inwards. The gate shuddered with a squeak that sounded too loud.
It made Kallen feel much like an intruder, so before she could change her mind, she hurriedly stepped onto the other side and slid back the bolt in place.
Ahead of her, a dirt road lead the way to where the woods awaited. But Kallen did not dare take that path and instead, walked along the wider gravel lane. She was expecting someone to come meet her at any moment. Surely they might have heard the noise at the gate. And yet, the path remained clear. It took another half hour before she could catch a glimpse of the roof line of the house. Kallen focused her gaze upon it while her feet kept moving. The house grew bigger and bigger until she realized she was already face to face with the edifice.
Kallen paused for a moment to observe the architecture. With its white-washed walls, it was quite the complete opposite of The Black Knight. The portico front, the gable roof, and the symmetrical windows hinted largely of Palladian influence. There was absolutely nothing menacing about the house.
Her eyes caught the flutter of a white curtain in one of the open bay windows of an upper floor. There was no wind blowing at all, yet Kallen could not help the shiver washing over her skin. She approached the house, apprehensive.
She knew a maid most definitely should not be entering through the front, so she circled around the estate until she found the servants' entrance. Softly, she tapped the knocker against the door several times. There was no response. She was about to knock again when the door swung open from the inside.
A short-haired brunette housemaid stood behind the door.
"You must be the new maid," the woman said with smiling eyes. "Please, come in."
The woman ushered her into the kitchen. She left Kallen to sit on one of the benches near the hearth while she excused herself to find someone or so Kallen was told.
Kallen spent enough time in their own kitchen at House Stadtfelt that she was familiar with her surroundings. She was by no means a skilled cook–her father had also objected to her cooking forays–but she could differentiate between pot and pan and knew at least how to operate oven and stove.
"Mr. Gottwald will be here shortly."
Kallen turned her attention from the fireplace to the woman who had just returned from upstairs. By instinct, she bolted up from her seat.
"Did you have a hard time finding the house?" The housemaid asked.
Kallen shook her head lightly.
The woman smiled. "We were beginning to despair about not getting the staff we needed. But it looks like our worries will be alleviated now that you have arrived." She held out her hand towards Kallen. "I am Sayoko Shinozaki, head maid to the lord and lady of the house."
It was that moment Kallen noticed the slanted Asian eyes, the ink-black hair, and the trace of accent in her voice which altogether revealed she was not a native of this country.
Kallen became conscious she was staring rudely. She berated herself for her momentary lapse and returned the gesture. "Kallen Kouzuki, ma'am."
Kallen Stadtfelt was not exactly disguising her name. Kouzuki was, in fact, her mother's surname.
Sayoko spoke a few foreign words that Kallen did not recognize at first. A childhood memory flashed in her mind–a memory of Lady Stadtfelt.
Kallen's mother was Japanese. Although she grew up in her father's Britannian household, her mother did teach her daughter a little bit of her native tongue.
"…Y-yoroshiku onegai itashimasu."
Kallen's voice quivered as she tested the sound of the words on her tongue. She was aware that her accent was far from perfect. Nevertheless, Sayoko seemed pleased.
The housemaid flitted around the kitchen, heating up a pot on the stove and proffering a bowl of stew to Kallen. Kallen had just ladled the last of the soup when the upstairs door opened.
"Ah, here is Mr. Gottwald."
On cue, a well-built man entered from upstairs. He wore a butler's attire and donned a gold-rimmed monocle on his left eye. The butler stopped at the bottom most step, eyeing Kallen critically.
"She is the one sent by the agency?"
Sayoko nodded as she stood up to take away Kallen's bowl.
"I am Jeremiah Gottwald, steward of House Lamperouge," said Jeremiah in a stiff monotone.
For the second time, Kallen got to her feet and introduced herself once more.
"I trust your travel was not too difficult?"
"No, sir. It was a swift travel."
His expression remained unchanged. "Very well. I will take you to the servant's quarters. Follow me."
Jeremiah spun around and disappeared through one of the doors without waiting at all for Kallen. The latter snatched up her luggage and hastened to catch up.
"This will be your quarters. There is a washroom along the corridor if you must use it. As soon as you're settled, you may change into your uniform. There are two sets of the same uniform for everyday use in the drawer. The third one is for more formal occasions."
"Thank you, Mr. Gottwald."
Jeremiah was silent. Kallen waited for him to say more. His tall frame stock still at the door. Kallen could not stand the silence and asked, "Is there anything else I must know, Mr. Gottwald?"
She might have imagined it but Jeremiah seemed to hesitate for a flicker of a moment. "Not as of the moment. For now, you will be assisting Sayoko in the kitchen and wherever your services will be called for. Dinner for the family is served at 6. However, the master is presently away on business and the lady prefers to have her meals in her room while he is away."
The mention of the master and mistress of the house intrigued her, but Kallen only bobbed her head in understanding and did not ask further questions.
"I will now leave you. Tomorrow, you will report to me promptly at the 4th hour of dawn."
The door clicked shut. Kallen sighed in relief. She studied the room. The furnishings were sparse–a bed, a lamp stand, and a simple chest of drawers. Kallen pulled out the said drawer and leaned over to check the uniforms she was instructed to wear. They were similar to Sayoko's black gown and white apron and cap, only with some…modifications.
"Surely, this is a jest."
Kallen spent the suceeding days getting acquainted with the house work.
There was a time, during dinner with Sayoko, that she let her curiosity get the better of her and asked the older woman about the other household staff.
"You have met them all," was Sayoko's only answer.
By them, Sayoko alluded to herself and Jeremiah, Kallen discovered. She wondered up to what extent this was true. While Jeremiah did prove his mettle in managing the general household affairs, it was also apparent Sayoko was capable of cleaning the whole house without much help. However, when Kallen came, Sayoko delegated the tasks of upper housemaid to her while the head maid attended to other duties in the kitchen, wash house, as well as, acted as lady's maid to the earl's sister, who Kallen had not seen since her stay.
It was not required of her to clean every room everyday, but she needed to make daily rounds cleaning the more commonly occupied rooms such as the drawing rooms and–upon the behest of Jeremiah–the master's library. It appeared the Lord of the house loved his almanacs and history books and, as such, they were not allowed to collect dust.
One day, as she was standing by the library windows, holding a feather duster, she heard the clatter of horse hooves below. Kallen glanced down in time to see a carriage pull up at the front of the estate. The master of the house had arrived. Jeremiah came out to meet him. Kallen could not see his face, obscured by a hat, while he got off the carriage.
Kallen anticipated Mr. Gottwald would call for an assembly. That was indeed how it was in her father's household. Whenever the lord of the house returned from a long trip, the steward would ring for all the servants to assemble them for their Lord's homecoming. But three days have passed and still there was no summons. Kallen began to doubt if she would ever have the chance to meet her employer.
He rarely makes an appearance in public. Some say he is young, while others say he is old.
Milly's words float in her thoughts. Kallen fought to shrug off her uneasiness. For as long as she was not receiving any complaints about her work, she would continue on with her business, she decided.
It was now precisely a fortnight since the beginning of her employment that Kallen chanced upon a strange room in the west wing. As far as she could recall, she had never been inside it. She would certainly remember if she did. The room was draped with heavy, dark curtains. At first, Kallen thought it was another one of the largely unused parlors. But as she stepped deeper inside, something made her stop cold in her tracks.
In the middle of the room was a human-sized gilded birdcage.
Kallen's heart pounded in her ribcage. She would have turned tail and immediately ran out of the house if not for the realization that the cage was empty. She dared not imagine what the birdcage was used for.
She walked around the circumference of the cage, unconsciously brushing a hand across the thin bars. She raised her head up to the ceiling—almost twice her height—and only found an obscure shroud of darkness.
Kallen gasped all of a sudden, retracting her hand. She felt a prick on her finger. Blood trickled from the small wound.
The auburn-haired woman stared at the cage and instinct made her step back. Golden eyes flickered in the dark. A disembodied female voice spoke out.
"You've come at last, Kallen." The voice giggled.
Kallen's world grew dim afterwards.
I was aiming for a modernish Gothic Victorian feel to the story, so some elements may not be in keeping with the Victorian era. I would put the period right on the brink of the Victorina boom, when steam engines started gaining popularity. Though, I visualize the Lamperouge house, not in a Gothic style, but more of a Palladian style like the Lathom House. You can search the net to have an idea. Until then, I'll be looking forward to hear feedback from readers. :)