Disclaimer: I do not own anything except the characters I have created.
Author's Note: I hope you enjoy my first fan fiction! Please read and review.
Chapter One: The Beginning
Mr. and Mrs. Darcy stepped into the office of the Brighton workhouse. Mrs. Darcy gripped the hand of a small girl with light brown hair and deep brown eyes standing bewildered at her side. She was a pretty woman with dark brown hair and liquid blue eyes. She wore a dark green dress that complemented her figure immensely. Her hair was tied around her head in two long braids. Being very attached to the three year old who stood beside her, she decided to ask if they really had to sell her. "John," she said to her husband timidly, "do we really have to do this?"
"Yes, we do not have enough money to keep her."
"John, I know very well that we have plenty of money to keep the girl."
"Elizabeth, we hardly have enough to keep ourselves alive, much less a little girl. You know I do not care for the girl." seeing a surprised look from his wife he explained, "When I married you, I did not want another man's child. I married you as a widow, but I did not know you had a three year old daughter. I want you to myself. And besides," he added, "this place will give her a good education." Mrs. Darcy tried to reply, but Mr. Darcy rang the bell near the door and cut her off.
Soon there was a sound of footsteps in the hall and in walked a short, businesslike man wearing a black suit with black pants and a black tie and shoes. He seemed a very dreary person. "Hello, pleased to meet you," he said in his surprisingly high voice, "my name is Mr. Gibson and I am the director of this establishment." Mr. and Mrs. Darcy stood staring for a moment before either of them could think of anything to say.
Finally Mr. Darcy spoke, "Pleased to meet you, Mr. Gibson," he said, "I am Mr. Darcy. I believe I made an appointment about my daughter, Kathryn."
"Ah yes, little Kathryn!" squeaked Mr. Gibson looking at the small girl who clung to her mother's arm. "I believe we have an appointment for you. If you would kindly step into the next room," he said looking at Mr. and Mrs. Darcy, "we will have a little chat about your darling little girl."
They stepped into a small room that appeared to be Mr. Gibson's personal office. Black seemed to be Mr. Gibson's favorite color because everything in the room was black: the curtains, the wallpaper, the bookcases, and even the books!There was a worn black leather chair sitting neatly behind a small black writing desk and two hard, black wooden chairs in front of the desk which were plainly meant for guests. This proved true when Mr. Gibson sat down with a slight grunt into the leather chair and motioned for them to sit in the wooden ones. As there were only two chairs, Kathryn sat in her mother's lap. Her mother squeezed her tightly as the two men began their conversation.
Mr. Gibson was not one to waste words. As soon as he sat down, he got straight to the point. "So you want to sell me your daughter. Is that correct?" Mr. Darcy slowly nodded his head. He was a little nervous as he wasn't sure it was legal to sell a stepchild. "Very good, very good!" squeaked Mr. Gibson. "We must agree on a price immediately."
Kathryn did not understand what was happening. Her three-year old brain could only comprehend so much. After much talk about money between the two men, a nurse was called to take her away. She recalled later how her mother begged her father not to follow through with selling her. Her mother was subdued by pulling her out of the room as Kathryn was taken to her doom.
She was led (or rather dragged) up three flights of stairs of which each step was almost as tall as she was. Finally finding herself at the top of the stairs, she collapsed in a dead faint and knew no more until she woke up several hours later in a small room filled with children of all ages. She didn't understand; one moment she was happily with her mother, and the next she was dragged away to this awful place. Little did she know that things were about to get a lot worse.
~10 years later...~
"Crack!" Kathryn flinched as Mr. Berkeley, the beadle of the workhouse, snapped his whip once again at the girls and boys pushing hard at a grinding wheel. Only a few more minutes, she thought. Her bare toes pushed against the dirty ground as she and the other tired children pushed the huge wheel around and around in a neverending circle. After what seemed like hours instead of minutes, the bell rang and the girls and boys formed a tired line to eat.
They marched in two straight lines to their assigned benches, the boys on the left and the girls on the right. Mr. Berkeley walked up and down the long rows, inspecting everyone. One boy sat slumped over in his seat crying. There was a crack and screams of pain as Mr. Berkeley cut the crying boy and the boys around him with the menacing whip. Every eye followed Mr. Berkeley as he stalked around the room. Not being very tall, he had to look up at some of the older boys. He was very fat and walked with a slight limp due to falling down a flight of stairs. Being very proud of his situation as beadle, he wore a top hat and a grey suit. He carried a wooden staff with a gold eagle on the top. This staff and his whip were the instruments of punishment for anyone who stepped out of line in any way. His shoes were always highly polished where he could very nearly see his face in them. Kathryn remembered the dreadful time when one of the young boys had stepped on one of Mr. Berkeley's precious shoes. The young boy, Thomas by name, had not been seen for three days. When he came back, he was covered with bruises and very careful where he put his feet.
When Mr. Berkeley was satisfied that everyone was sufficiently scared of him, he called in the servants who served the meals. They brought the nastiest gruel they could make.
As the miserable children filed up in lines to get their gruel, the servants sneered at them, remembering the time when they were the hungry little urchins. Some would think that having been in the same awful situation as these poor children, the servants would be kind and sympathetic with them, but it was not so; the way the servants had been brought up in the workhouse made them very mean and cruel. The children went back to their places at the table and set their tiny bowls down on the table.
When Mr. Berkeley rapped his staff on the ground, they all sat down to pray the traditional workhouse prayer. Every workhouse and boarding school in the country used this prayer at mealtimes: "For what you are about to receive, may The Lord make you truly thankful," sang Mr. Berkeley in a very deep voice. "Amen!" shrilled all the children in their high voices. They grabbed their spoons immediately after the "amen" was over. Mr. Berkeley rapped his stick on the floor again, and the deafening sound of spoons could be heard throughout the building.
Almost as soon as they started, they finished. A groan arose from everyone in the room. I can't go on like this! thought Kathryn. No one had eaten near enough; they only ate two small meals a day even though they worked hard twelve hours a day. Mr. Berkeley rapped his stick on the floor yet again, and everyone lined up to go back to work.
I have to run away! she thought for the 10,000th time. This time, she was actually going to follow through with her long-thought-out plan to run away. Quietly she ducked under the table to hide when everyone else was going back to work. When the room was deserted, Kathryn sneaked out of a window and into the street.
Kathryn ran until she was out of the town. She wanted to stop and look at all of the shops and things she hadn't seen since she was three: the toy shops with dolls and stuffed cloth horses, the candy shops filled with lollipops and mints. Forcing herself to run past it all, she finally reached the edge of the town. Then she lay down by the side of the road to rest. Children at the workhouse received so little food that they hardly made it through their hard-working day; some even fainted during work.
Kathryn shuddered to think what happened to the poor children who fainted: they were beaten and thrown in a tiny, rat-infested room for their "laziness." From what she heard, they were not fed anything and often died in that horrible room. Thinking of this, she realized that she would have to find a way to get money to feed herself. Just at the thought of food, actual food not that nasty gruel, made her mouth water and her stomach moan. Hiding under a bush, still breathing hard from all of her running, she finally fell into a restless sleep.