Title: Thank You (tentative title)
Author: Pegasus
Rating: T
Summary:Ellie Vivien is a servant in the Richardson home. In one night, bonds are formed, enemies are made and there is no turning back to the life she once knew.
Disclaimer: I do not own the movie Newsies, or any of the characters from it.
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An ordinary life
Leaves much to be desired.
Chapter One
The Ordinary
The Richardson's home sat comfortably in the middle of a quiet neighborhood in Queens, New York. The homes were impeccable, pristine - a reflection of the neighborhood's clean and safe reputation. This was the type of place where everyone would know each other's names, smile and wave at each other in greeting. This was where idealism ruled, where the wealthy resided: Ivy Street. But the impressive houses were not as peaceful as they appeared. They were blinds obstructing the truths of the people within. At least, that was the case with the Richardson's.
"Felise, darling! Get down!"
The young lady stood in the middle of the backyard, raising her arms heavenward. She tiptoed, stretching her body, her brown curls bouncing with every frantic movement. And suddenly, a change in disposition.
"Felise! If you don't come down this instant!" she yelled in a high-pitched whine, her face turning red with impatience.
From inside the Richardson's kitchen, which overlooked the backyard, Ellie Vivien expounded her frustration with a vengeance, hacking at an innocent carrot on the cutting board. One would have thought that the carrot had backstabbed her. But the orange vegetable wasn't the offender. The problem was Francesca Richardson, who had been squealing from the backyard for at least half an hour. Ellie walloped off the end of the carrot, placed the knife in the sink and thrust open the window.
The breeze caught the black wavy hair that framed her oval face. Her well defined brows were furrowed in annoyance.
"Still can't get your cat down?" she asked mundanely, poking her head out the window. Her almond-shaped eyes questioned as she glanced upwards towards the roof.
Francesca glared at her. "Get back to work, Smelly Vivien," she snapped.
"Smelly Viv - ?" Fine then. Ellie shook her head and closed the window. Then she heard Francesca's squealing again, and decided that she would actually have to help the spoiled brat to stop the pounding in her own head. She opened the back door and stepped onto the backyard porch. Shielding her eyes against the summer sun, she measured the two story house. She stretched her body upwards before lifting herself onto the railing. Elllie placed her right foot on a jutting brick and grabbed onto the scattered protruding bricks above her, lifting and climbing up the house wall. When she reached the roof, Ellie eyed the cat, which was staring back at her curiously.
"Come on, you damn cat," she muttered. "I know you don't want to go back down to that owner of yours," she said as she scooped the cat into her left arm. "But I'll give you extra dinner if you cooperate."
Carefully and skillfully, Ellie stepped back onto the level ground. Francesca stomped towards her and grabbed Felise from her arms. Without a word, she proceeded back into the house.
"You're welcome!" Ellie said cheerily as the door slammed. Her smile faded instantly with a sigh.
They were the quintessential dysfunctional family, if there ever were one. Mr. Richardson was a politician. He had a bit of a drinking problem (which was a bit of an understatement). He had a tendency to throw things after drinking too much; Ellie still had a scar on her left shoulder from the glass pitcher he had thrown at her when she had asked him if he wanted more mashed potatoes on his dinner plate. Mrs. Richardson was cold and stiff, and only concerned herself with her appearance. She never cared about anyone but herself and was ruthless when crossed. Francesca Richardson, the pretty daughter, was as vain and selfish as her mother. Ellie and Francesca were the same age, and there had been too many fights – verbal and physical - between them to count.
This was the truth under their disguise as prestigious members of Ivy Street. To their neighbors, Mr. Richardson was just a jolly fellow with a feisty temper. Mrs. Richardson was an orderly, prim-and-proper woman. And Francesca… well, Miss Francesca Richardson was the belle of the whole damn neighborhood.
Though the family had given her plenty of headaches and nightmares, she was grateful for one thing: The Richardsons had allowed Francesca's Nanny to take Ellie in, after finding the three year old child shivering outside the house one night. How she had gotten there that night, no one knew. And if the family did know, it was kept a secret from Ellie. She resided in the Richardson's servants' quarters and worked for them for the following thirteen years. And for thirteen years, Ellie tried to fit into her role as the subservient housemaid (after all, in return, she had a roof over her head, food in her stomach and money in her pocket). But it always seemed to backfire for some reason. Like that one night three months ago, when Mr. Richardson invited a fellow politics man, wealthy Mr. Daniel Mason, to the house for dinner.
Ellie had been pouring more water into Daniel Mason's glass, when the corpulent man suddenly gurgled with laughter.
"These potatoes are excellent, Mrs. Richardson. My compliments to your skilled chef," Mason gushed. He closed his eyes as he slowly chewed, emphasizing his fondness for the baked potatoes. Ellie thought he looked like a cow.
"Ah, Miss Francesca," he said, directing his attention across the table where she sat. He tore a piece of chicken and stuffed it into his mouth. "You certainly become lovelier every time I see you!" His chewing made a disturbing plop! plop! sound as he spoke. Grease dribbled over his lower lip. He looked at Francesca over his glasses and wriggled his eyebrows, as though he were trying to give her some sort of hint.
Francesca giggled. Mr. and Mrs. Richardson smiled.
Ellie wrinkled her nose as she watched the interplay between Francesca and the old man. "Eugh."
The clanging of forks and scraping of knives against plates came to a stop. All eyes were on Ellie.
She noticed the sudden silence and had to keep herself from clasping her hand over her big mouth. "Uh… eugh-oh! Agnes, I'll be right there!" she had excused herself awkwardly. She had bowed and had scurried into the kitchen.
Ellie dropped the carrots into the stew, sighing as she recalled that particular occasion. Apparently, Mr. Mason had been looking to court Francesca and upon hearing that bit, Ellie had wrinkled her nose again. She had gotten into a lot of trouble that night. Ellie picked up the stack of plates and headed towards the dining room. Francesca was already sitting at the table, admiring her own reflection from her powder case.
"You're late with dinner," she said.
Agnes, the Richardson's cook, had fallen ill and had been in bed for almost a week; Ellie had taken up her chores in addition to her own.
Ellie bit back her lip from retorting - to argue with Francesca was like opening fire on a never-ending battle.
She had been setting the table when the doorbell rang.
"Go get the door," Francesca barked, closing her powder case with a snap. "It's probably father's guests."
Ellie eyed her before setting the last plate down. Francesca was becoming more unbearable by the day. Ellie wiped her hands on her apron as she briskly walked towards the door. Upon opening it, she was surprised to see a complete stranger.
The young man looked shock to see her; he quickly ran his hand through his sandy brown hair.
"Care to donate to the Newsies Strike Fund, Miss?"
She raised her eyebrow in question. "Since when were the Newsboys going on strike?"
"Since today, Miss," he answered politely.
"Ellie Vivien!" came a command from inside the house. "Why is the table not set for dinner?" It was the voice of Mrs. Richardson.
"Coming, ma'am," Ellie called back. She turned to the young man and searched inside her apron pockets. She handed him twenty cents. "It's all I can afford," she said apologetically.
He was clearly surprised, looking down at the coins she just handed him. He looked back at her and beamed. "Thank you, Miss."
"Good luck." She smiled, and closed the door.
The young man exhaled slowly and slowly a smile formed on his handsome face. Ellie Vivien, was it? He turned and jumped off the front steps. Two figures appeared from behind the side bushes.
"What'd I tell ya?" he asked his two friends, triumphant.
"You got lucky!" David exclaimed. "No one else in this neighborhood donated," he said, pouting slightly.
"And you got a pretty girl!" added Boots. "All we got was a pair o' hoity toity grannies slammin' the door in our faces."
The three newsboys had traveled to Brooklyn that day to spread the word that the Manhattan newsies were planning to go on strike against Joseph Pulitzer. Pulitzer owned The World, a major New York newspaper, and he had raised the newspaper prices upon newsboys who were already struggling for money. On their way back to Manhattan, the trio made a detour into the flowery Queens neighborhood, betting over who would be able to collect the most money for their cause.
"So how'd you do it?" David asked.
Jack Kelly raised the coins for David and Boots to examine.
"It's called charm, fellas," Jack said with a grin.
Boots looked up to Jack in awe. Davey looked at him skeptically, but let him have his moment of victory.