A note from the author: Hello everyone, here is the first chapter of the long awaited story by Mint Tea Rose (ha, ha). This is an original work and any similarities to any other stories are completely coincidental. I hope you enjoy!

Please review, this is my first fic and I have spent a lot of time on it. I would also like to thank my betas, Verdant Wings and CascadeOfBeauty, both of whom have wonderful stories of their own posted, so check them out. Now, without further ado,

Chapter 1 Silence

"Promise me my darling, promise me that when the time comes to leave this place, that you will go without a backward glance. Promise me!" I could only nod, my vision blurred by the tears that were threatening to spill down my cheeks, as her hand went suddenly limp against my own.

"She is sleeping, you must leave now. Er, yes." The doctor mumbled as I knelt on the floor beside my mother's lifeless body. I knew that he was only trying to get me away, so he wouldn't have to see my grief, and that was fine with me. I slowly rose from my position on the floor and looked the doctor straight in the eye, willing the tears away. After holding his gaze for a few seconds I nodded my head and I slowly walked out of the room, ignoring the astonished looks from the doctor.

I went to my secret place, just behind the kitchen cupboard, the only place that I could be alone with my jumbled thoughts. I don't know how long I sat there, wondering and crying my silent tears, until Kathryn the assistant cook found me and shooed me out the door. Apparently no one else knew yet. I grabbed up my skirts and ran, this time not caring where my feet took me.

By the time I returned to our, no my room now, her body had been removed along with all of her clothes and personal affects. I glanced about the room with a sense of detachment, which grew from the new knowledge that I was alone in the world; no one could save me now.

That night as I lay there in the cold, empty room, my five year-old heart made a promise to itself. One that it fully intended to keep. I promised myself that I would never let myself get attached to anyone or anything again, so that I might spare myself the pain of separation. I cried myself to sleep that night, and for many nights after.

The next morning, as I was dressing, I thought about how little my life would change now that I was an orphan. I am still a "sometimes" servant as everyone called those too little to do any real work, yet not young enough to get away with doing nothing at all. Later that day, as I was weeding the herb garden, under the watchful eye of Helga, the surly head of the kitchen garden, I was summoned to see the mistress. My heart was racing as I walked the distance from the garden to Her chambers. I had never met her in person, but I always imagined her to be very beautiful, and very kind.

Timidly stepping into the room I glanced around at its opulence, and realized just how shabby it made my own seem. The bed was large enough that three people could sleep in it and not be crowded; there were silk hangings everywhere and the mirrors were gilded. To me it seemed too fancy; I much preferred my sparse little room. Suddenly, I was knocked out of my daydream by the grating little voice of the mistress.

"Ah, so you're the little orphan, eh? Don't you know enough to curtsey to your betters?'' she demanded.

I curtseyed automatically, my mind on autopilot, my heart racing. Is she going to take care of me? I thought, Or is she going to kick me out now that I have no mommy? The latter seemed most likely, but my five-year-old heart refused to believe it.

"That's better. Now, do you know why you're here?" I shook my head, still not looking at her.

"I asked you a question, and I demand an answer! Do you know why you're here?!" Again I shook my head.

"Answer me you little ingrate!" I saw her hand only moments before it made contact with my cheek. It would have brought tears to my eyes, but I had no more tears to shed. Putting a hand to my injured cheek I turned to look at the lady. She was older than my mommy, with lots of wrinkles and her hair was full of grey. She was dressed in a poofy red dress with huge sleeves and a neckline that showed way too much. I wrinkled my nose in disgust.

"Forgive me, my lady, but the reason that this child doesn't answer you is because she can't." That was Sara, her maid, I liked Sara, sometimes she would give me some of the lady's leftover tarts as she returned her tray to the kitchen.

"Can't?!"

"Yes milady. Danielle has been mute since she was three years old. No one knows why."

"Thank you Sara" she grated. Exasperated, she turned to face me and asked, "Danielle, can you understand me?" I nodded.

"Do you know what happened to your mother?" another nod.

"Then you should know that there is no one to take care of you. You will either have to earn your own keep or be turned out onto the street. Is that understood?" I nodded yet again as a tear coursed down my cheek, but she wasn't paying me enough attention to notice.

"There will be no more playing. You are now to work in the laundry, doing everything that Annabell tells you to do. Is that understood? Good. You may go and begin work now." Walking down the hall I began to re-think my earlier assumption.

No more playing, she can't mean at all; can she? I was going to play tag with Jenny and Ben tomorrow, they'll be mad at me, and never speak to me again. I began to get hysterical now. I've never worked a whole day in my life. What will I do? Will there be naps? The answer I found, was a resounding no.

Making my way to the laundry room, I realized that my life had changed, and not for the better. I just did not know how much worse it was going to get.

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Laundry duty was the hardest job in the house, everyone knew that. I worked from dawn to dusk, the fumes in the laundry making me vomit at least three times a day the first week, and twice I was found asleep on a pile of laundry by Annabelle and given a sound whipping for laziness, never mind that I was only five.

Each night I would collapse onto my thin blanket right after dinner, if I even made it that long without falling asleep. And every day I wondered if I had done something wrong that I was being punished for. I thought that if I worked hard enough that I could go play, but the harder I worked, the more work I seemed to get.

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The bags of laundry I was told to haul were nearly as large as I was, and if I let one touch the floor I received several lashes for dirtying the laundry, even though it was on its way to the tubs. I also became the lye fetcher, made to walk to the soap sheds and retrieve the buckets of the potent solution.

The first time when I returned struggling under the weight of a single bucket, being careful not to spill a single drop, I was beaten and sent back to the sheds and to return with no less that two buckets. I spilled much of it all over my arms and would have screamed if I could have. If felt like my arms were slowly being roasted over an open spit while someone was cutting large chunks out of them with a dull knife. Though in complete agony I still didn't dare to drop the buckets for fear of another beating on top of the pain I was currently experiencing.

Stumbling back into the sweltering heat of the laundry, I threw down the buckets and ran to a secluded corner to tend to my wounds. Uncorking my flask of vinegar (vinegar neutralizes the strong base of the lye) that had been my last gift from Sara, I poured it slowly over my ruined arms as silent tears coursed down my cheeks and mixed with the soothing vinegar running down my arms.

Wrapping them clumsily with rags I quickly returned to my tub, lest I be missed and beaten yet again. The next few days were pure torture. Two weeks later, however, when I finally removed the bandages I was amazed to find that I was completely healed, with a only faint lines to mark what had happened and those went away within a week. I thought that this was a little strange, but I was young enough not to dwell on it, I had work to do.

I soon proved to be a blessing to the other laundresses. They learned that they could slip a good portion of their laundry into my own pile and I couldn't do a thing about it. Once, when it first began, I tried to tell Annabelle, but she couldn't understand what I was trying to tell her, through gestures; she just gave me several lashes from her reed cane and screamed, "You stupid, insolent child! Too much work, is it? Why you haven't made so much as a dent in your pile in three hours! I'll just have to beat the laziness out of you!"

Things quickly progressed this way until I was doing half of the laundry of the household by the time I was ten, as well as some of the more general cleaning duties such as scrubbing floors, turning spits and dusting. These were increasingly assigned to me as I proved myself competent enough to handle them.

Despite lack of food, for if I overslept or did something wrong during the day food deprivation seemed to be a favorite punishment, I was growing like a weed. Several times a year I had to use spare scraps of cloth to enlarge my pitiful garment since I only earned one new pair of shoes and a new dress every two years. So by the end of the two years my dress had ragged and patched sleeves, and my skirt, which started as floor length was above my knees, I didn't elongate it since this length was preferable in the heat of the laundry, but I had to add two broad multicolored stripes extending from armpit to hip. I also had to complete all of my own mending in my spare time since I could not ask anyone else to do it for me.

Sara was no longer able to see me and all of my former friends were still playing. I became a robot in the eyes of the staff, a being who only ate and worked, since my lack of speech prohibited the development of friends in a life when the only conversation is shouted over the slap of wet clothing hitting the tubs.

While I worked I used to imagine myself in the stories that mother used to tell to me. First, I was the queen, stolen from her castle, who has to slave away to earn her freedom; then the kitchen drudge who would one day meet her prince who would take her away from this life of menial servitude, but in my heart, I knew that there would be no princes for me; I would end up like my mommy, slaving away until the day that I die. . . but fate seemed to have something different in mind.