The graveyard had long since emptied out, but one girl still stood by a mound of freshly-overturned earth. Her father's body, wasted by a strange disease, lay buried beneath it; her tears fell freely down her cheeks as she realised that she had lost the only person who had truly loved her.
A strange condition for a girl with titled parents, to be sure, but Emma de Winter was no longer a girl with parents. Orphaned at the age of 13, she was now left with nowhere to go and nobody to turn to. Her stepmother was a cruel woman and her stepsister was selfish and wicked. Her grandfather, who had arranged the marriage, cared no more for the little girl than he had cared for her father. He had always seen him as a fool and a daydreamer, and his child appeared to be no better.
The stepmother had, rather unwillingly, acquiesced to care for the orphaned girl. This did not mean that she actually had any affection for her, which would manifest itself in the treatment the girl was to receive.
For now, Emma stood over the grave, wondering what cruel spirit had stolen first her mother and now her father from her.
"Why did you leave me, Papa? You know she is a cruel woman! Why did you leave me!" Her sobs echoed through the empty graveyard and frightened a small group of swallows which had alighted on the tree that covered the grave.
"Emma?" a voice rang out. "Emma, you wicked child. Come, it is time to go home."
Emma recognized in this voice the harsh tones of her stepmother, and she inched closer to the little grave. The Duchess emerged through the underbrush, swiping at nonexistent burrs on her skirt.
"You little fool, everybody left hours ago! What are you still doing here?"
"I wanted to say farewell to Papa…"
"Your Papa is dead, and you would do well to remember that you belong to me now."
"I don't belong to you! Papa asked you to care for me, and you make it sound as though, as though-"
"You are my slave? When I am through with you, you will be little better, don't worry. Max spoiled you, and it is my duty to see that you are taught to work," she finished with a sneer. "Now come along!"
OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO
Years passed, and Emma grew older. The Duchess had moved back into her own palace, and Emma became one of the servants there. The first year had been the most difficult, for Emma had been raised a privileged child and had never known a day's work in her life. The Duchess had her taken to the Servants' Quarters in the palace and had assigned to her the most grueling, never-ending tasks.
That first day, Emma had washed all of the flagstones of the entrance hall. Since it was the first week after the death of her husband, the Duchess had a great many sympathizers over to visit and pity her. Emma washed and re-washed the same flagstones, as muddy boots dragged in more and more dirt into the entrance hall. By the end of the day, her fingers were red and raw with effort, and her face was grimy with sweat and dirt. The entrance hall was still filthy, for she had retired, exhausted, before the last guests had arrived.
The Duchess, upon seeing the dirty floors, gave Emma a lashing and told her to work harder if she wanted to retain her position. Emma wanted nothing more than to leave, but her mind sensibly advised her to listen, for where would she go?
Lord de Winter had lived in a mansion far from the capital city, in a country region, tucked away between two mountains. The Duchess's mansion, however, was located in the very centre of the capital, which stood on the seashore and was known for its magnificent ports. It was the first time that Emma had ever seen the sea, and whenever she found a spare moment, she would sneak over to the cliffs which marked the rift between land and sea. She loved to stare at the foamy depths and wonder how life might be different in the lands which this sea might carry her to.
Before leaving, Emma had managed to snatch up a small treasure of possessions. Her mother had owned a beautiful gilded silver mirror, which was marked with lovely roses all around the edges. She had also left her a beautiful bracelet of silver, so fine it looked as if it might break, and so small that it could only fit on Emma's slender, child-like wrist.
Emma tucked these precious gifts into a small sack of books, wrapped in the dirtiest dust cloth she could find. Knowing how averse Maria and the Duchess were to reading, and knowing how the Duchess could not tolerate filth, Emma was able to transport these things to the palace without the Duchess suspecting their presence.
A small passage from the Servants' Quarters led to a small wooden building outdoors, which was rather dusty and rotting from disuse. In this abandoned building, Emma hid her treasures, and sought peace from long days of work.
Before her father had died, he had passed to his daughter his love of the hunt and his great talents at shooting from a bow and riding. His most magnificent stallion, a purebred called Snowflake (lovingly named by Emma for his white colour, when she was but nine), was coveted by the Duchess, who saw him as a chance to show off. She did not ride on horseback, herself, but she loved nothing more than to lead her guests into the stables and boast before his gleaming coat.
Snowflake was one of Emma's greatest comforts, for when the Duchess went out of town, she would sneak away from the palace, saddle him, and ride through the surrounding woods. These revels were short-lived and she would often return quickly, for fear that the Duchess might suspect her prize horse had been taken out at all. Snowflake appreciated these rides, as well, for he received very little exercise.
Upon one occasion, when Emma was sixteen, the Duchess was indisposed with guests and asked one of the servants, a boy called Henry, to fetch several lengths of cloth from a local milliner. Henry had taken a liking to Emma and often followed her around, for he saw that she was a kind girl and put up with the stepmother's malevolence. He did not understand why the Duchess hated the girl so much, for nobody knew that Emma was her stepdaughter. Before she had taken Emma home, the Duchess had made her swear never to reveal that to anybody; she had no patience to deal with the foolish whims of children who thought that they could attach themselves to her. She was offering her a place in her household and thus she would fulfill her promise to care for her late husband's child. From that day forth, Emma had ceased to call the Duchess "Mother", and began to call her "M'lady".
At any rate, Henry pitied this girl who was, for no particular reason, so hated by the Duchess, yet never left. As he was riding toward the milliner's shop, he stopped his cart and leaned over the side to look down at the stream by the palace. At the side of this stream, Emma was washing a pile of clothing, all Maria's, which had all been worn in one day. The water was freezing and snow fell gently in her hair and on her clothes. Henry shouted down to her to get inside and warm up, but Emma shook her head, saying that the Duchess had sent her here to get these things washed.
"The clothes'll freeze 'fore you're finish'd washin' 'em! Or, at any rate, you will!"
"I'll be fine, Henry. You had better go and pick up the material. She'll be after your blood if you're late, you know that."
"Can I bring anythin' back for you, Miss?" he shouted down, with a grin.
"Don't call me that," she snapped, thinking of the days when she was known only as "Miss" or as "Dearest Emma" with pain.
"A'ight, can I bring anything' back for you, Emms," he amended, flashing another grin at her.
"Bring me whatever falls on your thick head!" she cried, frustrated with his teasing.
Henry smiled again and set off, wondering what it was that he would bring back for pretty little Emma, the scullery maid.
A/N: Questions? Comments? Please let me know! I am very much enjoying writing this and school is almost over, so I will be able to finish this story! I just need a little nudge from reviewers…
For those who have reviewed… THANK YOU! I am very grateful for your response and I hope this chapter met your expectations!
Titania