AUTHORS NOTE: I deeply apologize for the lack of posting, and I can honestly sum it up in one word. Shitstorm. I'm currently a sophomore in high school (at the time of posting, 12 June 2016) and it's finals week. Additionally, my family has been going through a rather emotional time with moving house, car problems, emotional problems, and employment problems. I currently lack internet and I post primarily from public library computers. I promise though, that I'm not abandoning this story, and updates will hopefully resume on some schedule or another. Thank you for your continued or new readership, and enjoy!
-Cat (Exactly Who Am I), 12 June 2016, ~2 pm EST
When I woke, the sun was high in the sky, and the small alarm clock on my nightstand read that it was two in the afternoon. I shot up. The night's events flooded back like a tidal wave, sending shivers through me. Looking around, I took everything in. The room was how I remembered it, but with the early morning shadows melted away, I was able to fully take in the surroundings. Light green walls, yes. Dark stained wood floors, of course. The bed frame matched it exactly. Everything was neat, down to the sepia toned photographs of family I assumed long dead.
I stepped out of bed, feet contacting with cool floor. Stepping into the bathroom, I stared myself in the mirror for a long time. My face was both a blessing and a curse; a saving grace from staying in a tiny attic, but the factor that tore me away from my family. Closing my eyes, I recalled our biology lessons. Dominant genes were the traits that showed most often, and when two parents have similar features, there was a seventy-five to one hundred percent chance that they would be passed on to the offspring. Blonde was obviously the dominant trait. By the same token, recessive traits were the least common, and when dominant traits are present in both parents, there is a maximum twenty-five percent chance of the recessive trait appearing in the offspring. It was simple mathematics. Cathy, Chris, Carrie, and Corey were the seventy-five. I was the twenty-five. I, by some miracle or curse, was the recessive traits; brown hair, dark, almond shaped eyes, and freckled skin.
As if to wake me from the constant loop, I splashed cool water on my face. Then, I noted, I had to make a good first impression. Quickly, I went to my suitcase, yet paused, grandmother's words echoing in my memory. They were improper. I pushed the suitcase under the bed, then tidied said bed up. The four poster had curtains like Cathy's, though thicker and velvety. Another sign of wealth. I tied them to the posts neatly like they were the night before.
The closet, left of the bed and next to the bathroom door, was closed, and I pulled the doors open. It had clothing, all conveniently my size, within. Obviously picked out for me while we dropped momma off. I picked out a summery dress, a soft yellow, proper as the creamy dress, but a thinner, cooler material. Then, as I knew would be a proper decision, I bathed. The bath was nice, warm, and there was a number of flowery soaps. I didn't care what I picked. All I cared was getting it over with. And so I did. I cleaned. I dressed. The opal necklace was clipped around my neck, and with a final check in the mirror, I hoped I was presentable.
Once I slipped on stockings and shoes, I opened my bedroom door. On the floor, I found a tray, cold coffee, toast, and dry looking fruit lying on crisp white china. Frowning, I picked it up, bringing it in. I ate the toast, as it was still a little buttery, but dumped the coffee down the sink regretfully and tossed the fruit. As a polite measure, I brought the tray with me as I strode downstairs.
As soon as my foot hit the landing, a maid took the tray wordlessly, taking it to a set of swinging double doors I assumed to be the kitchen, as I appeared to be in the foyer, near a dining hall. Another maid paced to me, anxious looking.
"My Lady Foxworth is in the study, Miss Winfield." She said softly, a sense of urgency lining each syllable. "Down the hall, third door on the left." She informed, and then hurried away as if speaking to me was forbidden.
I followed her instructions, and found the door easily. It was closed, but I could hear soft speaking and the rustling of papers. I knocked.
Grandmother answered the door a moment later, a frown causing wrinkles to deepen around her lips. "Come in." She instructed, and opened the door. I did so obediently.
The room was less a study and more a makeshift hospital. There were a number of nurses all scurrying about, and medical equipment was on every surface possible. At the desk sat a younger man with dark hair and a moustache, writing down what was dictated to him from the figure in the center of the room. My eyes made contact.
An old man lay in the bed, breathing labored, and all sorts of machines hooked up to him. Wispy hair stuck to his face limply. He looked cold. I knew, however, from first look, that this was my grandfather. He paused his speaking to glance up at me.
"Olivia?" He asked sharply. "Is this the cousin you spoke of to me?"
She nodded, face still firm. "As I said, arrived this morning. She's been settling in."
I quickly curtsied, not quite knowing what else to do.
He looked me up and down, before barking an orde. "Well, girl? Can you speak? Address your cousin!"
"Yes sir." I quickly responded. "I'm Lucille Winfield. I'd like to thank you for allowing me to live here after my parent's passing."
He took in the information, letting it steep like a teabag in warm water. "I see. I hope you will continue the gratitude. Maria!"
A short, slim maid pattered to his bedside.
"Give her the full tour." He commanded. "And direct her to her duties."
Duties? I was certain I was a relative, not a servant. However, I was whisked away before a word could slip out. Maria led me around, and showed me where everything was – library, kitchen, dining hall, and so forth. I found that her voice was high, and both physical appearance and demeanor reminded me of a mouse. After the very quick tour, she paused.
"Here at Foxworth manor, you are expected to work for your board. You may be Lady Foxworth's cousin, but she very clearly stated that you will be helping in some way. She asked me to ask you what your skills are." She wrung her hands in her apron.
I was hesitant, but complied. "I… I can cook." Was my final and only answer.
She nodded quickly. I'll inform Lady Foxworth immediately, and you will begin work tomorrow. Supper will be served in an hour. Thank you, miss Winfield."
With that, she scurried away, and I was left alone in the foyer. A massive house, a hundred rooms, and even with a family here and dozens of maids and butlers, I felt alone. I didn't know where to go. After I let out a long, slow breath, I padded up the stairs, racking my memory in hopes of remembering where Cathy, Chris, Carrie, and Corey were. I hadn't been taken all the way to the third level as it was solemnly used, and even the second level where my room was wasn't heavily trafficked besides the weekly cleanings.
The third floor landing was dark. The only light was dim, thin beams from underneath doors. I saw that the electric lights were unused, judging on how old the lightbulbs looked. There were even recent-looking marks from where gas lamps would have been. I took a few steps across the heavy carpet. Faint voices could be heard from one of the far rooms, and I could make out the familiar tones of Christopher! I nearly ran, when I was stopped short by a firm hand gripping my collar.
It was Grandmother. She pulled me into a spare room, shutting the door behind us. She leaned down, slow, building terror. "You will not come up here without explicit instructions or purpose." She instructed, flat and cool. "I told you and your siblings last night. They. Do. Not. Exist. Therefore, you have to reason to be here. You hear me?"
I nodded quickly, terrified.
She hissed, and then, raised her hand. It contacted my cheek with a painful thwack, and I had to bring myself not to cry. I could feel my skin rise, warm and red.
"When you are spoken to, you will respond yes, ma'am, or no, ma'am."
I nodded again, quicker. "Yes, ma'am."
She continued. "You will never acknowledge your siblings existence. You will be obedient. Never speak unless spoken to, better seen than heard."
"Yes, ma'am." I said, a little quieter.
"You will be sinless, you will be godly, you will not ever commit acts that will reflect your cursed soul from the depths of Hell."
"Yes, ma'am."
"You will bathe twice daily, and never be disorganized with your belongings, manners, or behavior. You will be a proper young lady."
"Yes, ma'am."
"And child, you will never go by the name Camille as long as your grandfather lives."
I nodded again. "Yes, ma'am."
Grandmother stood up straight. For an old woman, she was much taller than I, though part of it may have been that I felt two inches tall. Her entire being was imposing. She wordlessly led me downstairs, and began informing me of my kitchen duties. In short, I'd be a kitchen helper – for the time being, washing dishes and peeling vegetables. In return I'd receive my room and board, and she added that if I did a good enough job, she would allow me to do actual cooking and receive a small allowance. The small offer gave me hope. Even with inheritance inevitably coming, money of my own felt like freedom, or at least a taste of it.
She led me back to the study. It didn't sound like anyone was inside, which puzzled me already. Either Grandfather had sent all the nurses away, he was moved, or he had died already. I doubted the latter, yet hoped for it. The door was opened, and I had to stifle a gasp.
Mother was here.