First, I want to give an apology for the cliff-hanger at the end of my last
chapter. I know I hate them as much as you. It just seemed like the best
wrap up for that moment. I didn't want to write further and not give the
next moments enough length, but also didn't want to end it before either. I
hope you can forgive me for the grave evilness thrust onto you. ;)
----
I was suddenly hit with a wave of musty air as it escaped it cage for years and escaped into freedom. The inlaid wood of the trunk also had a pungent, old smell, like books on the highest shelves of the library that no one ever read. With my heart still racing, I surveyed the trunks contents, wondering what of my mother's was inside. Pulling aside a white lace covering, I made my way to my new-found treasure-trove.
To my surprise, the first layer was letters tied together in bundles with pink ribbons-to my mother from my only guess being my grandmother. I could not think who else 'Lady Colette Alser' could have been, unless it was a sister or a distant relation. I didn't have time to find out. Placing them aside, I looked deeper in. Hoping for journals or some sort of documentation of my mother's childhood, which I was never told of, I was disappointed to find instead hair combs, ribbon-braided bracelets, and other frilly possessions a noble youth would have possessed. At least I found a lovely hand mirror of white marble or ivory with gold colored leaving of flowers on the handle. Still not informative or useful, it was much prettier and valuable then anything I ever had before.
Taking the mirror out carefully, I pushed the rest to the side. That is when I found out they were cushioning an 8X10 portrait of my mother when she was about my age. It was unframed, and the edges were crushed from being poorly stored for so long. It was surprising to find it here. My mother's family was not wealthy, though still noble, and a portrait like this one would cost a fortune to commission. Why was it tossed away so carelessly?
I stared down at the picture of my mother and noted that once she was so beautiful. Though in my memories of her she was still gorgeous, in this portrait she had the radiance of youth and a carefree innocence in her smile. There were no rings under eyes marring her fair complexion or a constant persona of sadness and stress that I remember having. Her hair was superbly braided and she wore a pearl necklace around her slender neck. The collar of her dress was embroidered with gold and blue flowers, and clasped at the throat. I knew it was her, but it looked so unlike her at the same time. She was once such a noble woman.
Lifting the painting up, to get a better look of it in the dim attic, I studied my mother's features. 'Did you have any idea what would befall you?' I asked the painting. Obviously it didn't, for it kept smiling at me. 'Did you ever think you would wash steps of a lesser noble just because you made a stupid decision in your youth?'
I then realized that if she was my age in the portrait, it wouldn't be long until she married my father. 'You will know all too well hardship in a little bit,' I spoke out loud to the painting. Then I decided that if I was talking to my dead mother's picture, I must be going crazy and set it aside.
I gasped when I saw what was beneath it.
It was the dress she wore in the portrait, with the gold and blue embroidery on the color and clasp at the throat. It was otherwise silky white, with a translucent overdress embroidered on the hem with the same pattern as the collar. The sleeves were made out of just the sheer fabric and were also embroidered, reaching my wrist in slight bells. There was also a blue and gold cord to tie around the waist. It was so beautiful and unblemished. Where on earth would my mother wear such a garment? A fancy ball? She was betrothed to a baron. Maybe it was a gift from him? My mind raced with questions, but I knew I was drawing near the end of my time in the attic.
I wouldn't be needed for the rest of the evening, but I had no reason to be in the attic if I were to be caught there. Quickly, not noting if anything else lay under the gown, I folded it as well as I could to prevent anymore creasing of the delicate fabric and placed the picture back on top of it. Recovering it with the hair pieces I pushed aside before, and placing the letters on top of that, and finally shoving in the lace, I shut the trunk as best I could. I then scooted it back in its place in the shadows and covered it once more. Now knowing what wonderful possessions now lay in it, I was more fearful of it being discovered. I had to remind myself that I was the only one whoever went up n the attic, which did ease my worries a bit. This time, I knew better then to tell Cook what I discovered. For some reason, I was afraid of another reaction like last time. The only thing I didn't pack up was the mirror. Remembering her portrait I looked into it once again, comparing my likeness to hers. I had her brown eyes and dark hair. Maybe even the fair complexion though mine was dirty and smudged. However, something different about me made me seem less radiant, less beautiful. What marred my appearance, preventing me to look like the gorgeous lady I saw in the picture?
Oh yeah, I thought bitterly, it was my father.
-----
Quickly, but making sure to still not make a sound, I went down the steps from the attic and the ones from the 2nd story into the main hallway. Luck was on my side and Iran into no one, and managed to get into my room unseen. Hiding my mirror the best I could in-amongst my straw mattress, I finally was able slow down and think straight.
Between running into the royal guard and finally finding out what was in my mother's trunk, my thoughts were in somersaults. I still wasn't used to being a 'fair lady' and the reflection I saw in the mirror reminded me why. What was he thinking? Why couldn't I be beautiful like my mother?
Then is suddenly dawned on me-I gave the rose I received from him to Madam Scheffield with the rest of the flowers in my basket.
Amongst all this excitement and rapid-thinking, I felt so sad-I thought my heart would then break. How could I have been so thoughtless? It was such a lovely rose.
----
I was suddenly hit with a wave of musty air as it escaped it cage for years and escaped into freedom. The inlaid wood of the trunk also had a pungent, old smell, like books on the highest shelves of the library that no one ever read. With my heart still racing, I surveyed the trunks contents, wondering what of my mother's was inside. Pulling aside a white lace covering, I made my way to my new-found treasure-trove.
To my surprise, the first layer was letters tied together in bundles with pink ribbons-to my mother from my only guess being my grandmother. I could not think who else 'Lady Colette Alser' could have been, unless it was a sister or a distant relation. I didn't have time to find out. Placing them aside, I looked deeper in. Hoping for journals or some sort of documentation of my mother's childhood, which I was never told of, I was disappointed to find instead hair combs, ribbon-braided bracelets, and other frilly possessions a noble youth would have possessed. At least I found a lovely hand mirror of white marble or ivory with gold colored leaving of flowers on the handle. Still not informative or useful, it was much prettier and valuable then anything I ever had before.
Taking the mirror out carefully, I pushed the rest to the side. That is when I found out they were cushioning an 8X10 portrait of my mother when she was about my age. It was unframed, and the edges were crushed from being poorly stored for so long. It was surprising to find it here. My mother's family was not wealthy, though still noble, and a portrait like this one would cost a fortune to commission. Why was it tossed away so carelessly?
I stared down at the picture of my mother and noted that once she was so beautiful. Though in my memories of her she was still gorgeous, in this portrait she had the radiance of youth and a carefree innocence in her smile. There were no rings under eyes marring her fair complexion or a constant persona of sadness and stress that I remember having. Her hair was superbly braided and she wore a pearl necklace around her slender neck. The collar of her dress was embroidered with gold and blue flowers, and clasped at the throat. I knew it was her, but it looked so unlike her at the same time. She was once such a noble woman.
Lifting the painting up, to get a better look of it in the dim attic, I studied my mother's features. 'Did you have any idea what would befall you?' I asked the painting. Obviously it didn't, for it kept smiling at me. 'Did you ever think you would wash steps of a lesser noble just because you made a stupid decision in your youth?'
I then realized that if she was my age in the portrait, it wouldn't be long until she married my father. 'You will know all too well hardship in a little bit,' I spoke out loud to the painting. Then I decided that if I was talking to my dead mother's picture, I must be going crazy and set it aside.
I gasped when I saw what was beneath it.
It was the dress she wore in the portrait, with the gold and blue embroidery on the color and clasp at the throat. It was otherwise silky white, with a translucent overdress embroidered on the hem with the same pattern as the collar. The sleeves were made out of just the sheer fabric and were also embroidered, reaching my wrist in slight bells. There was also a blue and gold cord to tie around the waist. It was so beautiful and unblemished. Where on earth would my mother wear such a garment? A fancy ball? She was betrothed to a baron. Maybe it was a gift from him? My mind raced with questions, but I knew I was drawing near the end of my time in the attic.
I wouldn't be needed for the rest of the evening, but I had no reason to be in the attic if I were to be caught there. Quickly, not noting if anything else lay under the gown, I folded it as well as I could to prevent anymore creasing of the delicate fabric and placed the picture back on top of it. Recovering it with the hair pieces I pushed aside before, and placing the letters on top of that, and finally shoving in the lace, I shut the trunk as best I could. I then scooted it back in its place in the shadows and covered it once more. Now knowing what wonderful possessions now lay in it, I was more fearful of it being discovered. I had to remind myself that I was the only one whoever went up n the attic, which did ease my worries a bit. This time, I knew better then to tell Cook what I discovered. For some reason, I was afraid of another reaction like last time. The only thing I didn't pack up was the mirror. Remembering her portrait I looked into it once again, comparing my likeness to hers. I had her brown eyes and dark hair. Maybe even the fair complexion though mine was dirty and smudged. However, something different about me made me seem less radiant, less beautiful. What marred my appearance, preventing me to look like the gorgeous lady I saw in the picture?
Oh yeah, I thought bitterly, it was my father.
-----
Quickly, but making sure to still not make a sound, I went down the steps from the attic and the ones from the 2nd story into the main hallway. Luck was on my side and Iran into no one, and managed to get into my room unseen. Hiding my mirror the best I could in-amongst my straw mattress, I finally was able slow down and think straight.
Between running into the royal guard and finally finding out what was in my mother's trunk, my thoughts were in somersaults. I still wasn't used to being a 'fair lady' and the reflection I saw in the mirror reminded me why. What was he thinking? Why couldn't I be beautiful like my mother?
Then is suddenly dawned on me-I gave the rose I received from him to Madam Scheffield with the rest of the flowers in my basket.
Amongst all this excitement and rapid-thinking, I felt so sad-I thought my heart would then break. How could I have been so thoughtless? It was such a lovely rose.