A/N: Another English assignment from sophomore year, written in early 2007 as a prequel to the novel Rebecca. However, it's more a work of foreshadowing than anything. I'm not particularly proud of this piece, but I wrote it and critique would help either way. (Plus, I need to reach the word limit necessary to apply to become an official beta reader.)

Disclaimer: Daphne du Maurier owns all rights to Rebecca; I am merely borrowing her characters and setting.

Everything about the ball seemed perfect. The orchestra was the best money could buy (or hire, in this case), and the food was carefully cooked by gourmet chefs from all over Europe. Brilliant streamers of blue and silver decorated the halls and ceiling, reflecting the light from the huge chandelier in the centre of the room every which way. The new wife herself stood at the head of the marble staircase with her husband, and she was not to be outdone by the scenery. She was making small-talk with the guests, her billowing, black sleeves adding extra flourishes to her words and gestures.

While I was aware that Rebecca was from a wealthy family, this seemed like an extraordinary first costume ball. Giles and I had decided to arrive as shamans from the tribes of North America and had gotten quite a few comments about the authenticity of the dyed hides and face-paint we were wearing. Giles was busy talking to some of his old friends, but I quickly grew bored of the conversation. Small-talk has never been my strong suit; I always seem to make my company feel dreadfully awkward. It's not my fault that I am rather blunt, though. Better the truth than a lie, I always say. I decided to greet Rebecca, for it had been some time since we had last been able to talk, and the last time didn't really include much talking. I had been rather distracted, as Robert had pneumonia, and I just recall a cold, unsettling silence between Maxim, Rebecca, Giles, and me. Focusing back to the present, I squinted to discern Rebecca's form at the top of the staircase; she wasn't hard to miss with her glowing, pale face contrasting with her black witch attire. A shroud of gauzy spider-web was draped over her head, pooling at her shoulders in a kind of shawl. She must've been waiting a long time to wear this; she even had small, plastic spiders woven into the veil.

I felt my eyes flicker automatically to my brother, amused to see him looking so drab in comparison to his wife. He always has to destroy other people's fun, doesn't he? He can't stand to wear anything even remotely entertaining. Dread the thought of actually having people laugh at your attire, even if it's with you, not at you. I swear, the boy never could tell when someone was laughing with him instead of at him. I chuckled under my breath, remembering a certain costume party that had started his phobia of fun. He had been a ghost, and he was so proud of the fact that he had created the costume himself. I can still remember him dashing around, his little ten-year-old body weaving through the crowd… until he tripped. Apparently he had cut his costume too long for his small frame. He had tumbled for a good two feet until he slowed to a stop, and at that point all of the other children began to laugh, causing him to turn the same shade of red as a tomato and dash off into the unoccupied rooms of the house. Despite what most people think, Maxim is rather sensitive to the opinions of others; he's been like that since primary school. But, alas, that small event haunts him every time he attends dances such as these…

A chorus of gasps snapped me from my reverie, and I quickly looked up to the top of the staircase just in time to see champagne splash from Rebecca's glass onto the cuff of Maxim's suit. Evidently, Rebecca's grace had forsaken her for a mere second and she had tripped, unbalancing the glass and spilling it on Maxim. I watching in slight amusement as Rebecca grabbed a napkin and began to dab at the cuff, doing her best to get the drink out. I held back another laugh as Maxim tensed at the touch. He could do with relaxing once in a while; it could be rather good for him—As I looked up to his face, my thought came to an abrupt halt. His face seemed to be faltering between a normal, stern look and a grimace of complete disgust and hatred. While he quickly reigned in this ugly expression, it seemed to be superimposed onto my retinas, leaving a kind of after-image in its wake. He still had that revulsion shining out of his eyes. Perhaps the tension in his shoulders was from something else…? Did they have a row before the ball? That was probably it; he was probably just reading too far into things again. He has always been paranoid, after all. He's probably thinking that Rebecca did that on purpose to make a fool out of him. I mentally nodded. That had to be it. But, still… A little sliver of my common sense whispered to me, reminding me that I'd never seen Maxim with that much animosity in his expression before…

I snorted, clearing such indecisive thoughts from my head. Am I becoming some shy schoolgirl? Who has time to contemplate the actions of others? If he has something to tell me, then he will. Gathering my resolve, I scaled the stairs and clapped a hand on Maxim's rigid shoulder.

"Maxim! You seem tense. Do you need a masseuse? I could probably hook you up with someone, you know. I believe that Giles's friend is one, and I've heard that he's quite good." I grinned at him, but the man just tensed further and paled. I frowned. "What is wrong with you? Is it the champagne? It was just a few drops; nothing the maids can't get out. You're going to die of a heart attack if you keep this tension up twenty-four seven."

A soft but confident voice soon joined the one-sided conversation. "That sounds lovely; could you perhaps give me the masseuse's card?" Rebecca turned to Maxim. "Darling, we should hire him, don't you think?"

Maxim's face hardened somewhat, but he seemed to coax it back into a calmer expression. "If you arrange it, I would be happy to. If you want, you could even stay longer; perhaps go to London? I could manage Manderley for a few days while you go relax." I detected a strange bite in Maxim's words, but Rebecca seemed unaffected except for a slight twitch of her red lips.

"Excellent! You won't be sorry for this, Max." Rebecca reached out a hand and squeezed Maxim's, causing more of his muscles to stand on end.

I turned to Rebecca. "Perhaps we should leave this wet-blanket here to loosen up?" I began to stride away with Rebecca, calling over my shoulder, "Don't worry, we won't watch you stretch! We'll let you have that dignity. You can thank us later."

Grinning, I walked to the opposite side of the staircase and faced Rebecca. However, she was the first person to speak: "I'm so glad that you are here, Beatrice. We didn't get to speak very much last time. Is Robert alright? I heard that he got better, but those kinds of colds have a nasty habit of sticking around."

I waved off her concern. "He's fine, he's fine. Giles and I have never been particularly sickly, and I think that he's inherited that from us. Every since then, he's been as fit as an ox. But you, on the other hand… I heard that you just got over a cold and had to go to London to treat it, didn't you?"

"Yes. Luckily it was just a virus. It was quite a nuisance, though; I couldn't sail or ride for a week." A sly smile made its way across her face. "I'm sorry for the slight change in mood, but you in that costume… You would be a sight to see on a horse, don't you think? Especially with your foxhounds. I can't imagine what you'd do to onlookers."

I gave a wide grin. "You shouldn't have done that. Now I'll have to coerce Giles into doing it. At least I can say that it wasn't my crazy idea this time, and obeying the new bride's suggestion is only courteous, is it not?"

Her dark eyes glittered with amusement. "Of course." Before she could say more, a shout of her name cut into her words. She turned back to me and gave an apologetic smile. "I'm very sorry, and I wish that I could talk more, but I really must continue socialising. Just imagine the gossip that would circle if I didn't!" She grinned again.

"Oh, it's no problem. I believe that Giles is almost done, too. I hope to talk to you later, if you survive the harpies of gossip." I watched her chuckle and nod, gliding down the stairs to talk to the group of "harpies." Turning to join Giles, I sighed in exasperation as another group of equally-boring friends engaged him in small-talk. I leant back against the banister, tuning into the conversations of others from sheer boredom. Almost immediately, I picked up some sound-bites of Rebecca's new discussion.

"Actually, I think that sailing is going to be played down in favour of painting, really. Art is just so complex…"

I frowned. I thought that sailing was everything to Rebecca? I lurked in the staircase, watching as Rebecca moved to another conversation and yet another topic.

"Sailing is so liberating. I don't think anything could be better for the body, mind, or spirit…"

Confusion overtook me. Why was Rebecca lying to her guests, especially about something so well-known? I quickly made my way down the stairs to her.

"Rebecca… What is this I hear about you abandoning sailing for the arts? I thought that gliding across the waters was 'the most liberating pastime ever created'…?"

Rebecca immediately looked to the ground guiltily, but not before I caught sight of a calculating look on her face. "Oh, so you heard that?" She ran a hand nervously through her hair. "Isn't this awkward… I know it's dishonest to change my opinion like that, but I simply don't know what to do… This is rather new to me, and I don't want to bore anyone. I just thought the best way to keep everyone happy would be to agree with them…"

I grinned. "I understand. Just don't lie about something that's so well-known: It'll cause more trouble than it's worth."

She grinned back at me, but my gaze was torn from her to the line of Maxim on the staircase. That fragment of my common sense was speaking again, noting Maxim's paleness and the amount of tension in his body… My eyes darted back to the woman in front of me, taking in the bright red of her curved lips and the almost cold look in her smiling eyes. There was something strange about Rebecca. I felt goosebumps rise on my skin. She seemed perfect, entertaining, and capable, but… something told me that she was someone to be wary of.

A/N: I'd appreciate critiques very much, especially since I was having trouble with the tenses in this piece. I normally don't write in first-person past-tense, so I wasn't sure how to incorporate Beatrice's thoughts into the action. Thank you all for reading.