Pippa's Story
Part of the Before Gemma series
Inspired by the Gemma Doyle series
Chapter 1
London, England
August 25, 1885
I am sitting in my room in our fashionable house in London, facing my dresser mirror. My maid brushes my hair, slowly counting to 200, because my mother insists that 100 strokes are not enough to keep me looking beautiful. So that I may marry a rich husband. But what about true love? My mother tells me that it doesn't exist, and I must be content with a husband who is kind to me and gives me everything that I want or need. But I don't want that. I want to be more that content, I want to love and be loved in return.
I sigh deeply, and my mother, who was talking to me about today's events, looks at me sharply.
"Are you listening to me, Pippa? Don't get lost in one of daydreams, now. Do you want me to slap you again? This is what I'm worried you'll do while you're at school. Now this is your first year at Spence Academy for Young Ladies, and at seven years old, I think you're old enough to stop this nonsense. You know how unbecoming it is not to pay attention to others, especially when they are talking to you."
She speaks to my maid, Abigail, now. Abigail can't be more than 12, and she's already working to support her family. At least she doesn't have to be paraded around like a fine piece of jewelry.
"Abigail, can't you hurry up? We can't be late to our appointment at Spence. It's at three and it's already ten o'clock."
"Yes, ma'am." She has reached 200, finally, and now begins to braid my hair.
"Now Pippa, remember, no daydreaming about love or anything like that while you're at school. Always be on your best behavior, and make sure you're always looking your best. A lady must always look her best. How else will she get a rich husband? Make sure you make plenty of friends, but only of the high class. No scholarship students or the like of them. They will be a bad influence on you and will degrade your social status. Remember, we wish to better our standing, not lower it. Now let me look at you."
Abigail has finished with my hair and I'm all ready now. My mother looks me over.
"I suppose it will do, you don't look quite beautiful yet, but soon, you will be very beautiful. I'll just have to wait a few more years. You are only seven, after all. Now, come on, let's get to our carriage."
She gives me her hand and practically drags me down the stairs and out the front door. My mother is obsessed with climbing the social ladder, and she sees me as something she can use to better herself. If I turn out a beautiful, fine lady who marries a rich man, I will be an achievement. If not, well, they will be very disappointed in me and punish me again. I wish they did not punish me so much, but they say it is always my fault, and who am I to argue with them? Last time they punished me, I was locked in my room for a day and a half with nothing to do and no food, only water. They said I deserved it.
I am glad to be leaving. Perhaps my life will be better at school. Perhaps, I will even find true love.
