Another sporadic update! This time, a flashback into Victoria's life. When will I return to the Emily Action? When my muse says so.

Warning- Graphic description of childbirth, if you're squeamish or a prude, that's too bad. There will be a few things in this chapter that connect to different points in the movie, see what they are!


It was no surprise to anyone that Maudeline and Finis Everglot only had one child. In fact, they disliked each other so intensely that it was a wonder that their marriage had even been consummated.

It was 1869, when Finis Everglot was forcibly married to his second cousin, Maudeline Spencer. Finis was a short and rather stout young man who was going prematurely bald, and his bride fared no better in the looks department. Maudeline was a rather tall and dour looking girl, with a prominent jaw and sharp nose. If that weren't bad enough, she insisted on styling her long dark hair into a ridiculous pouf reminiscent of Marie Antoinette, even though such coiffure had been out of fashion for nearly a century.

Now, such physical ugliness in a couple could often be overlooked if they were kind-hearted or interesting. But the truth was, that Maudeline and Finis were boring, bitter people and while one would say that they were perfectly matched in this, there hadn't been such an ill-matched couple in the country for nearly fifty years.

So on a rainy, March day, the depressing pair were joined in holy matrimony. When asked to kiss the bride, Finis had to stand on a ladder, supported by his groomsmen, who could barely contain their laughter.

That night, after a wedding feast that put one in mind of a funeral, Maudeline and Finis retired to their marriage bed. Finis took one look at his pale, sour bride in her puritan nightgown and voluminous nightcap covering her immense coiffure, and took a shot (or seven) of rather strong whiskey.

Having quaffed enough of the burning liquor to kill a small pony, Finis climbed into the bed and consummated his nuptials, the details of which I'll leave to your twisted imagination, dear reader.

The night was so unpleasant for both of them, they vowed to never ever touch each other again, and this would have boded ill for their marriage if Maudeline had not been lucky enough to conceive.

In the history of time, no pregnancy had ever been more unpleasant. Maudeline suffered morning sickness so vile, even sweet smells, such as roses, sent her into bouts of vomiting. The urge to void her bladder was so frequent and so intense, that she ceased leaving the house or having company to avoid the social humiliation it caused. When she was not attached to a chamber pot, she found herself sobbing hysterically at the slightest word. Finis for his part kept himself sequestered in his study, far from his hormonal wife.

Maudeline went into labor in winter of 1870, during a blizzard. The physician could not get to the mansion because of the storm, and the poor woman was left with naught but her maidservant Hildegard, a stooped old woman who'd served her since her childhood. Now in any other circumstances, this would not have been too harrowing an experience. But Maudeline's labor was harder than most, for the infant was breech and Maudeline had narrow hips, a fact disguised by the fashionably wide skirts of the time.

Finis' study could not keep out the sound of his wife's shrill penetrating screams of pain. Try as he might, he could not ignore them. His wife, when not suffering the trials of impending motherhood, was usually calm and reserved, restrained, if you will. To hear her scream like this, was profoundly disturbing.

Maudeline had been in labor since that morning, it was well nearing midnight and there was no sign of her baby. Panicked, afraid, losing her usual cool reserve, she asked Hildegarde what there was to be done.

"Ooh My Lady," Hildegarde cooed, sadly.

"The babe is breech, coming out feet first. There is only one thing I can do…"

"THEN DO IT!" Maudeline wailed, without realizing what "It" entailed.

Hildegarde, having birthed babies before, rolled up the black sleeve of her uniform and inserted her long skinny arm into the bloody birth canal, much to Maudeline's shock.

"What are you doing?" The young woman exclaimed in shock at the feeling of her maidservant's arm searching about inside of her, reaching into her womb, turning the baby.

"It's the only way to save you and the baby," Hildegarde grunted, feeling the baby turn in the right direction, feeling the warm gush of blood slide over her arm.

"It's almost over…"

Shortly after midnight, the butler, Emil, came to the door of Finis' study.

"You have been asked to Lady Everglot's Boudoir, Sir" he said crisply.

Finis grunted, and followed his butler down the dark, cold corridor to his wife's bedroom, admiring the portraits of his ancestors lining the walls, vaguely wondering what the next heir to The Everglot Estate would be like.

Finis entered the boudoir, his nose curling at the musky scent of afterbirth, the coppery tang of blood and sweat. Who knew birth smelled so? He heard a little cry, faint as a kitten's. In Hildegard's arms was a tiny bundle. Ah, that must be his son…

"It's a little girl," Hildegarde cooed, placing the child in Finis' arms.

He looked down at the little disappointment, at her wide eyes and dainty little mouth. He felt the corner of his mouth curve upwards.

"She looks…" he began slowly.

"Like an otter. An otter in disgrace."

He handed her to Hildegard, who cooed over the little girl before handing her off to the scullery maid, Bess, (who was acting as wet nurse, until a proper one could be hired) and walked over to his wife's bed.

There Maudeline lay, dressed in a clean nightgown, her dark hair free from it's usual coiffure. Her pinched face was pale and still shiny with sweat. She looked slightly traumatized.

Dearest wife…" he began stiffly.

"Never again," she hissed, cutting him off.

"I will never let you touch me again. I will never go through that torture again,"

And she never did have to again, for the couple decided that they would not share marital relations again, and one child, regardless of gender was certainly enough.

The little heiress was baptized Victoria Everglot less than a week later. Performing the ceremony was a one Pastor Galswells, a long nosed, thin holy man, who happened to be a distant cousin of her mother's. The child screamed during the ceremony, much to the mortification of her parents.

Victoria, despite her parents' ugliness, grew to become a beautiful child, with silky brown hair; a heart-shaped face, large eyes and a dainty bow of a mouth. Also, despite her parent's bitterness and repressive nature, she was a gentle, sweet girl with a fondness for dreaming.

The child's parents were not very active in Victoria's upbringing, only seeing her once or twice in a day. It was not that they did not love her, for they did, at least in their own dysfunctional and emotionally distant way. They loved her as one would a favorite hunting hound, or a prize-winning horse, she was a pawn in their battle for wealth, power and influence. That was the way the nobility viewed their children in those days, and their treatment of her was considered normal.

But little Victoria Everglot did not lack for affection. After her miraculous birth, Hildegarde took the duties of nursemaid once more, caring for Victoria as if they were flesh and blood. She made sure that not only did Victoria learn about discipline and etiquette, but also kindness and love.

Like most noble children, Victoria did not go to public school, but instead had a tutor give her lessons at home. Her tutor was named Elijah Brandon, and he was a tall, pale and strangely handsome man, who had a gentle manner. He was like no one in Victoria's life, for he was so well learned, and very open-minded. From the moment she saw him, the sensitive six-year-old knew she loved him, because reminded her of the princes in the fairy-tales Hildegarde told her, with his golden hair, sapphire eyes and the gallant way he kissed her hand at the beginning of each lesson.

"Good morning Lady Everglot, I trust you are well this day," he would say smoothly, eliciting a delighted giggle from the girl's lips.

One day, some years after he first started tutoring young Miss Everglot, Elijah Brandon led a twelve-year-old Victoria to the piano. The piano, was tuned once a week by a piano tuner that Lord Everglot hired at great expense, though the piano was never played and only kept for purposes of display. It had belonged to a maiden aunt of Finis', a stout woman who died of tuberculosis sometime in the 1840s, and had been buried in her favorite maroon dress and bonnet. The piano had not been played in forty years.

But on that morning, when Mr. Brandon sat Victoria beside him and began to play a song for her, it sounded exquisite, as if it had only been played the day before. A new world had opened up for the girl, as he played a beautiful, mournful tune for her, which years later, on a fateful winter's day, Victoria would hear once more, opening her heart and brightening her world as it was doing now.

"Oh Hildegarde," she would sigh that night as she got in bed.

"I think Professor Brandon may be my one true love, the one I'm destined to marry, the one I shall spend the rest of my days with…"

Hildegarde said nothing, but only smiled weakly. She knew such a match would never occur. The aristocracy never married for love, and certainly never married below themselves in social rank. Marriage was for wealth, connections, and the making of heirs. Love was not a part of the equation. But no one told Victoria this grim truth, and the girl was allowed to dream, imagining that her wedding day would be a beautiful, romantic event and that the bridegroom would be her one true love.

Outside of Victoria's rose-tinted imaginings, the Everglot world was falling apart. Like many old aristocratic families, the Everglots had an abundance of land and titles, but a dwindling fortune. Fearing the dreaded curse of poverty, Lord and Lady Everglot decided to make some sacrifices. The first to go was Victoria's tutor.

After Elijah Brandon left, Victoria was inconsolable. The heartbroken twelve-year-old locked herself in her room, and stayed there for weeks, not leaving. Her parents did not complain, for Maudeline believed she was suffering from "female vapors" and Finis was just glad not to have to look at her face, which he still often referred to as being otter-like. Only Hildegarde, her nurse and confidante knew why the girl was so depressed.

In her third week of exile, Victoria decided to venture out of her room, having smelled wondrous baking smells wafting up the stairs from the kitchen. Forgetting for a moment why she had exiled herself, she wandered out the door, down the hall and down the stairs, clad in a mauve silk robe and slippers.

Her quest for sugary treats was abandoned however, when she spotted the piano. It looked lonely, not having been touched by anyone in the past three weeks, except for the occasional dusting. Victoria stopped and stared at it, filled with longing for the music it played, and the tutor who taught her to play it. How she missed both of them!

Without giving it another thought, she fairly flew over to the instrument, and threw herself upon its bench with the fervor of a woman embracing a long-lost lover. Gently, she lifted the lid to reveal the ivory keys. Her hands ran over them tenderly, her mind awash in memories of her precious music lessons.

Slowly, her fingers began to press down on the keys, playing a few soft notes here and there. The random notes progressed to scales, and then she ceased playing scales, and began to play the piece that Elijah had played for her, which she had memorized, and had learned to play by ear.

Victoria was so lost in the music she was playing, the rapture she felt, that she failed to see her mother enter the room, having just returned from paying a call. Maudeline's face blanched at the sight of her daughter, clad in her nightclothes, playing the piano with an expression of utter ecstasy writ upon her young face. The scandal! Maudeline Everglot steadfastly believed that music of any kind was too passionate for a young lady, and exposure to it could cause impure thoughts and hysteria. She had always refused to allow Victoria music lessons of any sort, so it came as quite a shock to find her daughter in this situation. How did she even know how to play that wretched piano?

"VICTORIA!" She exclaimed, causing the girl to jump up in fright and surprise.

Upon hearing her mother's shocked voice, Victoria's hands flew off the piano, and she rose off the bench so quickly it toppled over. She turned to face her mother, shame-faced and incredibly nervous.

"What on Earth are you doing?" Maudeline exclaimed, grabbing her daughter's wrist.

"Who taught you? Who taught you to play that sinful music?"

She spat out that last word, as if she had said something incredible foul, a swear word perhaps, but for Maudeline Everglot, music was obscene, and all words pertaining to it might as well have been swears.

"Mr. Brandon did," Victoria bleated, in a trembling voice.

"Well, he didn't mean to, I just learned it by accident…"

"Your father was right to dismiss that blackguard! What kind of man exposes impressionable young women to…music!" Maudeline raved.

"Don't you know, Victoria? Don't you listen to your mother? Music is too passionate for a young woman, especially a developing one! It invites wicked thoughts, and brings on bouts of hysteria! Only married women, should listen to or play music, and only then with the permission and supervision of their husbands…"

Maudeline continued to rant and rave about the negative effect music would have upon Victoria's delicate pysche, and about how it would effect her growth and development. She told Victoria that excessive exposure to the piano, and to music would make her unfit for marriage, that no man, would ever want a woman who enjoyed music more than she enjoyed her household duties.

The speech had a lasting effect on Victoria. For years, she avoided the piano like a plague, and did not allow herself the pleasure of attending dances or balls for fear of being exposed to the sin of music, and ruining her marriage prospects.

But despite this, as the years progressed, Victoria grew into a young lady of rare prettiness. She was rather skilled in the arts of sewing, embroidery and quilting and spent many hours a day creating all kinds of beautiful things. Whenever she finished a quilt or a lacy pillow sham or some other lovely little thing, she would place them in a hope chest, where they waited for the day she would be wed, and they would have a place in a household of her very own. While Victoria, sewed, knit, quilted and stitched, her parents despaired at their dwindling fortune, and at their daughter they feared would become a spinster.

When Victoria was fifteen, a new family moved into the vacant mansion across the street. Nouveau Riche, her parents sniffed with disdain. But Victoria could see nothing wrong with this little family, whom she glimpsed through the window. A tall balding man, in a top hat, a short round woman, and a tall dark-haired boy about her age, carrying an ancient dog tenderly in her arms. But being incredibly shy, she made no move to befriend any of them, not even the boy her age, despite the fact that their destinies were entwined (though she was not aware of this little fact).

Four more years passed, and one day, Victoria's mother received a letter from Mrs. Van Dort, the rather coarse lady who lived across the street. It read:

To the Lady Everglot,

I have heard of your family's plight and that I understood your grievous situation entirely. Why, I myself have been trying to marry off my only son, Victor, but seem to be having trouble finding someone socially acceptable. I have seen your fine daughter on rare occasion and find her to be a demure young woman. If only I could find a girl like her to be a proper bride to be dear son, would I be happy.

Yours, Mrs. William Van Dort

Ever the cunning woman, a plan hatched in Maudeline Everglot's mind. They were desperate for money, and these plebeian Van Dort's had plenty of that. The Van Dort's were desperate for social status, and the Everglot's had a great deal of that. She was aware that both she and Mrs. Van Dort were also desperate to marry off their children. While she despised the idea of giving away her daughter to the son of a fish merchant, she was aware that Victoria had no other prospects on her horizon, and went to her husband with the note.

Finis was uncharacteristically enthusiastic to the idea. Downright chuffed. While he knew absolutely nothing about Victor, whether or not he was decent and kind, he was just glad that he wouldn't have to put up wit ha spinster daughter for the rest of his days. The Everglots need two things, money and heirs, and by God, the Van Dorts had practically laid their salvation on the doorstep.

When they told Victoria of her impending engagement, she was horrified. How could they sell he to a complete stranger? Victoria still held out on the notion of marriage for love, and not once, during all her years did a single person set her straight on the matter.

But little did she, or anyone else realize that the Van Dort boy would turn out to be her true love, and despite the marriage having initially been arranged for the purposes of convenience, that it would turn out to be a love match after all.