Authors note: Hi guys. My name is Nevaeh, and as you can tell by the emptiness of my profile, this is my first fanfiction.
I'm not going to tell you to be gentle with me, just no outright hate comments. Constructive criticism is welcome, however. And nice comments to, hihi.
Just be mindful, this story will not be updated as much as I would like as I am also writing another personal story for myself, and the torture chamber, also known as high school, is giving me so many assignments at the moment, so yeah.
Hopefully you enjoy the prologue.
Disclaimer: I do not own Twilight, but I do own a DVD set with all the movies
In time
Prologue
The woman rested her hands on her knees, staring straight ahead at the white washed wall. Her long, caramel coloured hair spilled out across her shoulders, grimy with weeks of not washing it. Her bedraggled grey dress hung limply from her small frame, her dark eyes holding a far away sort of grief within their depths.
It was silent in the abandoned cottage, the only sounds being those of the creaky old house, and her own ragged breaths. The woman wondered at how long this place had left, surely not long, for it was not an ideal place to rest, nor care for a baby, but she had done her best, she reasoned with herself. She had done her best for all three of them.
However, no matter how much she told herself she had tried, the truth still was, Esme Anne Platt was destitute. That was the only way to put it. She did not have any family to speak of, nor home to call her own, which was why she sat in that abandoned old house, knees drawn to her chest, her baby beside her, sleeping in an old cardboard box, the only thing Esme could find for a cradle.
Her mother had died from the fever even before dear little Rose was born, and her father, well, he drank himself silly, haunting all the dark places that drink could be found, wasting what little money Esme had saved to quell his thirst. Esme wondered if there wasn't an ale house he had not visited in the vicinity of the small village where she grew up. Esme was alone, and she was okay with that, however, she did not want her children to be alone as well.
She steeled herself. She had done it twice before, why not again. Why couldn't she bring herself to give her child a better life.
Esme chided herself for being selfish, little Rose and surely Alice too would be living happy, safe lives, with a warm, kind, loving mother to take care of them. Then, they would be taken away, to be trained to become servant girls. They would earn a good wage as a maid in some rich person's household some day, and would be able to live a comfortable life. It would not be easy on poor Esme, but she would try to give the best life to her girls, and if that meant giving them away, then she would gladly make the sacrifice. And maybe, just maybe, her girls could be together.
Her child started to shriek from the old cardboard box beside her, and Esme scooped her into the warm cradle of her arms, nuzzling her face against the child's soft dark curls.
After the little one was fed, bathed, and changed into warm knew clothes, with a heavy heart, Esme walked out into the brisk autumn morning, her feet ached as she walked, her old boots rubbing uncomfortably against her roar feet, but she trudged on, her small child cradled protectively to her chest.
Her feet were swollen and aching by the time Esme reached the teaming streets of London at last, and she had developed a slight limp.
"We'll get there soon, sweetheart," Esme whispered soothingly to the baby in her arms as she struggled to reach the train station.
The train fair cost a lot more than she was expecting, and she worried if she would have enough for the cab to the Hospital.
Esme looked terribly drab and dishevelled compared to the finely dressed ladies, clutching Parasol's, and holding their coloured skirts demurely, or the finely dressed businessmen, in suits so knew, and shoes so highly polished, that Esme could see her own reflection reflected back at her.
Her stop arrived, and Esme hurried to get off the train, her dress catching in the closing doors and tearing with an awful ripping sound. She would not worry, she could mend it later, now all that mattered was getting her baby to safety.
Esme walked around for ten minutes or more trying to find a cab stand, and was almost about to give up, when she remembered the plight of her child. Once she eventually found one, Esme climbed into a waiting cab, then uttered the dreadful words, for the third time in her life. "The Foundling Hospital, please, if you would, sir."
The horses plodded against the road as Esme sank down into the uncomfortable seat, the smell of horse manure, permeated with sweet food smells making for an interesting feeling of hunger and sickness mixed into one. Eventually, the sickness won over and Esme began to feel as if she would throw up, when the cab came to a halt.
Esme hurriedly asked the driver to wait as she climbed out. He clucked his tongue and looked extremely displeased about it, however he agreed.
"Hurry along, would you miss. I have places to be."
Guards stationed at the gates let Esme in once they had scene her, and she walked on shaky legs to the front door, knocking so quietly she had to attempt it again.
An extremely small, stout woman answered the door. She had a nurses cap crammed onto her head, and her face looked as if she had eaten something nasty. A fleeting thought crossed Esme's mind that she looked rather like a pig, however, she cast it out immediately.
"Hello, Miss. My name is Matron Peters, Jane Peters. And may I enquire, what is yours?"
"Esme Platt, Matron," Esme managed to stutter.
"Ah yes, Miss Platt, we've been expecting you. Now, come this way and we shall discuss a few things."
The few things, turned out to be a mountain of paperwork, and they were discuss in a plain white room without any decoration, not a stick of furniture in sight apart for a white table in two chairs. Matron Peters sat in one, and Esme the other.
Now, Miss Platt, we are ready for you to hand your baby over to us now."
Esme held her child close, tears spilling down her cheeks. This did not get easier.
"Now Miss Platt, no need to get dramatic," Matron Peters snapped impatiently. Seeing the stern impression on the Matron's face, Esme leant her head into the child's soft dark hair, and whispered one final goodbye.
"Goodbye for now, my child. I love you, my Bella."
Authors note: So, do you like it? Hate it? The story is inspired by Hetty Feather by Jacqueline Wilson, a book that I read when I was quite a young girl, however, the Foundling Hospital part always stuck with me. So here is my prologue.
Feel free to leave me a review telling me your thoughts, I would love to hear from you.
Nevaeh