.Sample:
Prologue:
15th June 1752
The floor was cold. This first impression floated through her mind as the deep dark of unconsciousness began to shift from her. As she struggled to wake, she registered that she lay twisted and awkward on a hard parquet floor. The unyielding surface sent small stabs of pain through her limbs and confusion set in. Why was she slumped on a hard floor? That question took longer to decipher as her thoughts seemed unwilling to move at a faster rate. Her head felt heavy and somehow hollow, even though the darkness that clouded her vision had slowly begun to recede. She managed to blink, the mundane task rendered difficult by the lassitude swamping her. As she struggled closer to full awareness, she became aware of something clasped in her hand, something smooth with petals. Despite her temporary lack of memory, its presence between her fingers sparked a wary, almost sick sensation of worry.
"I think she's waking up."
A voice, feminine and vaguely familiar, sounded close to her head. She tried to move, to turn her head to stare at the speaker, yet her body refused to cooperate, still caught in the spell of near insensibility.
“Yes, I can see that.” Another voice, male this time and disapproving, spoke from further away. “You need not sound so thrilled; I doubt she will welcome you when she opens her eyes.”
“Oh, Hugh darling, how can you say that?” Petulant yet teasing notes flowed through the woman’s light lilting speech and she longed to see the face that it belonged to. Those tones invoked cautious recognition, a recognition which did not bring her any sense of peace.
“I say it because it is the truth,” The man moved position, coming closer to her prone figure. “Why on earth did you do it?” The voice dropped lower, becoming accusatory in tone and timbre. She wondered at this, struggling with tattered threads of memory that refused to make sense.
“It solved a problem.”
“I beg to differ,” He was standing over her now; she could feel the tips of his toes against her side. “Do you think that Justin will thank you?”
Justin, that name caught at her mind, dragging it free from the sludge her mind had become. She knew that name and the feelings it provoked were soft and wondrous. Once again the memories fluttered close to the surface yet she was still not awake enough to make sense of it all.
“He should,” The voice argued, louder and less teasing than before, “This solves all,” She felt the woman move, the edge of a skirt brushed against her side and she wondered how long they were going to stand and argue over her.
“Really?” There was a bark of incredulous laughter. “Our Justin, who promised never to curse another,” Her eyelids opened slightly and she focused blearily on the rich brocade silk that tickled her nose. “Do you honestly think he would be happy that you damned someone else?” From her position on the floor, she could see the man’s calves and a pair of silver buckled shoes.
“Yes Hugh,” The skirt rustled as the woman stepped away from her side to face the man before her. “The chit is now safe. John will not be able to hurt her.” Another memory pulled at the edges of her mind, this one sending a thrill of fear through her as she struggled again to remember more fully. “And Justin...” The woman laughed shortly, bitterly, “Justin will not spend the next fifty years in depression because he had to leave her.”
“Don’t try to claim that you did this for him,” The man knelt down now and she felt his hand close about her wrist. Her limited vision took in a rose pink satin frock coat and embroidered lavender waistcoat. “You did it for yourself. You’ve always felt like the youngest and now you’re not.” His other hand reached down and settled in the small of her back. “Come on now Melissa, let me help you up.” She did not question her name, for she remembered that at least.
With sure movements, he helped her to her feet. Her eyes opened fully and she took in her surroundings. She was in a parlour, mahogany wainscoting covered the walls and a thick blue rug topped the parquet floor. Several chairs stood round a card table in the corner of the room and a fire was burning brightly in the hearth. Behind her was a closed door and she could hear conversation and music from beyond the closed portal. As the man guided her into a cushioned chair, she glanced up, taking in the extravagant clothing that seemed totally at odds with the serious cast that were over his features. Behind him, the woman stepped back and out of sight.
“You’ll be a little disorientated at first.” She could see pity in his eyes and she wondered at it. “It’ll pass.” He reached out to one of the small tables in the corner of the room and picked up a glass of amber liquid. “Take a snifter of that, it’ll strengthen your nerves.” The scent of brandy filled her nostrils and she took a deep gulp, feeling the liquid burn down her throat, making her splutter. As she controlled her coughs, her eyes took in the form of the woman. Taller than her, the woman had blonde ringlets worn up and powdered. An expensive dress of dark blue brocade covered her form and blue eyes sparked with mischief or malice.
“What happened?” She asked, staring at the pair of them in confusion. “Did I faint?”
The man sighed and knelt down, staring at her with sorrowful eyes. “I’m sorry my dear, but,” He held up his hand and she stared down at the small snuff box before her. Set into the lid of the box was an enamel lotus blossom. It filled her vision and sent shocks of horrified recognition through her. “You have one of these now and I’m so very sorry.”
It was then that she looked down, at the item clasped between her fingers, a lotus flower, enamelled black and hinged at the side, a twin to the one on the snuff box before her. The sight of it surged through her and she remembered what it stood for. Her head snapped up and she stared at the blonde woman, hatred surging through her as her mind finally filled in the blanks.
“You bitch!”
Prologue:
15th June 1752
The floor was cold. This first impression floated through her mind as the deep dark of unconsciousness began to shift from her. As she struggled to wake, she registered that she lay twisted and awkward on a hard parquet floor. The unyielding surface sent small stabs of pain through her limbs and confusion set in. Why was she slumped on a hard floor? That question took longer to decipher as her thoughts seemed unwilling to move at a faster rate. Her head felt heavy and somehow hollow, even though the darkness that clouded her vision had slowly begun to recede. She managed to blink, the mundane task rendered difficult by the lassitude swamping her. As she struggled closer to full awareness, she became aware of something clasped in her hand, something smooth with petals. Despite her temporary lack of memory, its presence between her fingers sparked a wary, almost sick sensation of worry.
"I think she's waking up."
A voice, feminine and vaguely familiar, sounded close to her head. She tried to move, to turn her head to stare at the speaker, yet her body refused to cooperate, still caught in the spell of near insensibility.
“Yes, I can see that.” Another voice, male this time and disapproving, spoke from further away. “You need not sound so thrilled; I doubt she will welcome you when she opens her eyes.”
“Oh, Hugh darling, how can you say that?” Petulant yet teasing notes flowed through the woman’s light lilting speech and she longed to see the face that it belonged to. Those tones invoked cautious recognition, a recognition which did not bring her any sense of peace.
“I say it because it is the truth,” The man moved position, coming closer to her prone figure. “Why on earth did you do it?” The voice dropped lower, becoming accusatory in tone and timbre. She wondered at this, struggling with tattered threads of memory that refused to make sense.
“It solved a problem.”
“I beg to differ,” He was standing over her now; she could feel the tips of his toes against her side. “Do you think that Justin will thank you?”
Justin, that name caught at her mind, dragging it free from the sludge her mind had become. She knew that name and the feelings it provoked were soft and wondrous. Once again the memories fluttered close to the surface yet she was still not awake enough to make sense of it all.
“He should,” The voice argued, louder and less teasing than before, “This solves all,” She felt the woman move, the edge of a skirt brushed against her side and she wondered how long they were going to stand and argue over her.
“Really?” There was a bark of incredulous laughter. “Our Justin, who promised never to curse another,” Her eyelids opened slightly and she focused blearily on the rich brocade silk that tickled her nose. “Do you honestly think he would be happy that you damned someone else?” From her position on the floor, she could see the man’s calves and a pair of silver buckled shoes.
“Yes Hugh,” The skirt rustled as the woman stepped away from her side to face the man before her. “The chit is now safe. John will not be able to hurt her.” Another memory pulled at the edges of her mind, this one sending a thrill of fear through her as she struggled again to remember more fully. “And Justin...” The woman laughed shortly, bitterly, “Justin will not spend the next fifty years in depression because he had to leave her.”
“Don’t try to claim that you did this for him,” The man knelt down now and she felt his hand close about her wrist. Her limited vision took in a rose pink satin frock coat and embroidered lavender waistcoat. “You did it for yourself. You’ve always felt like the youngest and now you’re not.” His other hand reached down and settled in the small of her back. “Come on now Melissa, let me help you up.” She did not question her name, for she remembered that at least.
With sure movements, he helped her to her feet. Her eyes opened fully and she took in her surroundings. She was in a parlour, mahogany wainscoting covered the walls and a thick blue rug topped the parquet floor. Several chairs stood round a card table in the corner of the room and a fire was burning brightly in the hearth. Behind her was a closed door and she could hear conversation and music from beyond the closed portal. As the man guided her into a cushioned chair, she glanced up, taking in the extravagant clothing that seemed totally at odds with the serious cast that were over his features. Behind him, the woman stepped back and out of sight.
“You’ll be a little disorientated at first.” She could see pity in his eyes and she wondered at it. “It’ll pass.” He reached out to one of the small tables in the corner of the room and picked up a glass of amber liquid. “Take a snifter of that, it’ll strengthen your nerves.” The scent of brandy filled her nostrils and she took a deep gulp, feeling the liquid burn down her throat, making her splutter. As she controlled her coughs, her eyes took in the form of the woman. Taller than her, the woman had blonde ringlets worn up and powdered. An expensive dress of dark blue brocade covered her form and blue eyes sparked with mischief or malice.
“What happened?” She asked, staring at the pair of them in confusion. “Did I faint?”
The man sighed and knelt down, staring at her with sorrowful eyes. “I’m sorry my dear, but,” He held up his hand and she stared down at the small snuff box before her. Set into the lid of the box was an enamel lotus blossom. It filled her vision and sent shocks of horrified recognition through her. “You have one of these now and I’m so very sorry.”
It was then that she looked down, at the item clasped between her fingers, a lotus flower, enamelled black and hinged at the side, a twin to the one on the snuff box before her. The sight of it surged through her and she remembered what it stood for. Her head snapped up and she stared at the blonde woman, hatred surging through her as her mind finally filled in the blanks.
“You bitch!”