#she’s very curious about my fountain pens and loves stationery in general and i think if these work out

[fingertipsmp3]

I feel like today is the only time in my life when I’ve checked my bank statement and been pleasantly surprised

[ellebeebee]

A character study of Victoire, Sabine’s foster sister/lady’s maid.

1749 words, no paring, general rating

Once, Chrétien, the second child and the oldest son, asked her where she came from.

“I am a fae,” Victoire had said. “Sent out from the other realms as punishment.”

“Did you do something bad?”

“Yes, very.  I was too inquisitive.  You see, Her Majesty, the Fae Queen, has a little room she locks from the rest of us with a little golden key.  Beneath the door is a crack from which such strange shadows slipped.  I could never get a hold of the key, so instead one day I peeked into that crack.  I was caught and cast out.”

“What was in the room?”

“Perhaps I will tell you when you are older.”

“Ugh, you’re just like Mama and Papa.”

“And you are just like the silly little gnomes of the other realms.  Foolish and impatient.”

“Is Madame Jean a fae?  She is very strange.”

“No, she’s a witch.  I don’t think there is anyone like me here.  I think I shall always be alone.”

“You’re with us though.  Won’t you be like us?”

Victoire had sent Chrétien out to play.  No, she would never really be like this family.  She stuck out like sudden snow on spring soil, among their brown and tawny faces.  Two foolish parents with more blood than sense, and eight children riding a thin edge between little aristocrats and wildlings.  Victoire was not one of them, but so what?  What was one more amongst their brood?  Especially when she could cook and clean and play a pretty tune on the pianoforte.

Inevitably, she became Sabine’s companion by way of the closeness in their ages and the girl’s own persistent sociability.  Sometimes the other girl had moods of sullenness and vanity, but she did have much to resent in her situation and too few opportunities to merely be herself without the responsibility of irresponsible parents.  Victoire weathered it all coolly; the excessive bad temper along with the sweetness desperately struggling to survive in such hostile conditions.

Of course, it was not always so bad.  There were periods of better situation, and it is curious to note that as wealth became more plentiful in the house, Victoire’s own position as companion or foster sister became demoted to lady’s maid.

It mattered little.

It was all the same to Victoire, as long as she had warm feet, a square meal, and a quiet corner in which to read and recover from the day.  She did not desire further relationships, but did not begrudge Sabine’s desire for her company.  She did not harbor ambition, but did not mind assisting with Sabine’s deep-rooted dissatisfaction.

Victoire had no great designs on being a grand lady’s maid, but neither did it repel her.

Yet when they entered Namaire’s house, and certain entrenched women in the staff began vying for a spot on the baroness’s personal staff, her reaction surprised her.  Victoire dug in her heels and rebuffed those that could not be trusted.

“It’s not as if you have any say in it,” a particularly brazen of these had said to her face. “After all, I heard you were just some foundling-- a little orphan that wandered into that decrepit old house of theirs.”

“Well, you were misinformed,” Victoire had said. “I am a ghost made flesh.  I had haunted that house for centuries, in such pain and distress that I had long since forgot my original humanity.  Then I heard a pretty little song sung by those children.  My feelings were so moved, I became corporeal again, so that I could protect them.  But I do still feel dark currents of the dead.  Everywhere.  Especially in this house.”

“W-well, I never!”

When the baron died, Victoire had ordered all the red silk, helped Sabine through her tears, and given the widow all the names that should be expunged from the household.  The days were much more orderly, afterward, and Victoire was pleased to be able to read a great deal more. Not that there weren’t things to be done; no, there were the parties, and the scheming, and all the new business and political speculations.  Not to mention to mention the romantic misadventures.

Victoire sometimes supposed she should attempt to get more from life.  Being good at being a lady’s maid or the staff supervisor was one thing.  But a family or a lover or anything of that nature did not interest her.  People, on the whole, did little to interest her.

So she did not think much on her own feelings when Sabine departed for the Summit.

“What will you do, Victoire?”

“Perhaps I will fly back to my homeland on the moon where there is perpetual twilight.  Or visit my mer cousins deep beneath the blue waves.”

“Oh haha, very funny.  This may be the last time we see each other.  I will write, of course, to tell you if I make any decisions, but…  I want you to know that you are free to choose another life.”

“You say that quite a lot.”

“Well, I mean it.  You do puzzle me, dear.  I can never tell if you are happy with me or not.  And I have known you too long to be insensitive to your well-being.”

“The barony still needs looking after.  That steward can’t handle everything.  I am quite content with that.”

“Very well.  Do write.  And not just about the barony.  About yourself, and if you change your mind.”

“Good-bye, Sabine.”

As was her habit, the baroness parted tearfully.

And Victoire spent some weeks walking the quiet halls of the Namaire estate, only half-remembering the peals of laughter and the clink of champagne flutes and the music of the absent guests and their entertainments.  Everyone walked on timid feet, especially around Victoire.  If the baroness married again, and moved away, then much of the staff would be let go.  And Victoire would be making many of those decisions.

It was nice to be respected, but it was better to be left in peace.

-

My darling Victoire,

I have been quite foolish, my dear.  I have somehow misplaced my senses entirely these past few weeks, and allowed myself to be swept up in the empty flatteries of a paramour.  I am to be wed.  To His Highness, Prince Zarad of Corval.

What can I say?  He is a fool, I am a fool, and we shall be terrible little fools together.

I know you don’t care for these sort of details, but I am helpless in the face of my own silliness-- I must confess that he is dreadfully glib and overtly charming and with such an ego!  And before you say that sounds familiar, I shall inform you that I am always sincere, and never do I participate in his sort of chicanery. 

But I am so fond of him.

I am sure I am losing your attention at this point, so I will get straight to it.  I would like to know what you want to do.  You are free to stay at Namaire, but if you wish for a different position, in Revaire or wherever your heart should fancy, merely say the word and I will manage it.  If you wish for an alliance, I may have some ideas that could put you in a very nice station in life.

If, and I will confess this is the option I selfishly prefer-- if you wish to follow me to Corval, I will exert my utmost influence to allow it.  I think Corval will suit you, and I mean that in the most complimentary way.

Perhaps not the heat, though.  You do burn so easily.  We shall buy hats.

Write to me soon, as there are only a few weeks left.

Your loving Sabine

-

The next day, Victoire pinned a list of names to the board in the servants’ quarters where unpleasant announcements were attached.

She spent the morning in a rotation of brief meetings with certain staff members.  Several generous parcels of coins sat in her desk drawer, and as one maid or under-butler came in, they left with their severance pay, instructions on when and how they should exit the Namaire estate and whether they would be getting a recommendation.  Also, tears.  They often left with tears.

Victore finally pushed her door open to stare down the line of servants sitting in a row of chairs against the wall.

“I have had quite enough of the crying,” Victoire stated coolly. “It is unprofessional and is quickly dissolving any desire I have to impart pay and recommendation letters.  I suggest leaving this moment if you plan on shedding tears in my office.”

The door clicked decisively behind her, shutting out the wide eyes and trembling lips.

Really.  Trembling lips!

It was easier when Sabine was here.  It was easier for Sabine.  She could be the sweet and sympathetic one.  Victoire was the authority, the hammer.  She didn’t mind.

It suited her.

Suitably threatened, the last of the fired maids and manservants passed in and out of her office with dry cheeks.  Afternoon bent back high in the yellow sky before Victoire was finally left alone with her thoughts.  Her office: cozy at about six paces in any direction, with a little worn desk, a velvet tufted chair on her side, and a plain wooden seat on the other.  Neatly organized staff records in her desk drawers, a brand new blotter on the surface, and an elegant mother-of-pearl fountain pen.  A gift.

Victoire pulled open her top drawer.  She was half-startled by the palor of her own slim hand on the mahogany woodwork.  She took out Sabine’s letter.  Outside her half-open window, the stablemasters were discussing the plans for selling the estate’s horses.  Not all of them could go; Precious, Marble Oracle, and Tantivy were all great sources of income as proven studs, and of course the work horses for the estate’s skeleton crew would stay.  But the others would be sold.

Victoire looked back down at the letter.

“Perhaps I will transform back into a fine mare; dun-colored and white-maned with violets in my tail.  I will run and run and leave nothing behind.  I will be flotsam and jetsam on a cold summer breeze.”

There was no reply.

Victoire sighed.  She pulled blank stationery out, and plucked the mother-of-pearl fountain pen from its stand.  She would write to Sabine, and admit a preference for headscarves over hats for the Corvali sun.

After all, she would perhaps miss the girl.  Perhaps.