Ursula hated Trenwith.
She could not remember the last time she had been here. Her father had closed the house over ten years ago, in the years following her mother's death. They had never been back. The closest she had ever been was their house in Truro. But even visits there had been brief and uncommon. Father preferred to reside in London. And so did Ursula.
She looked around her new bedroom. It was much smaller than the one she had in their London house. And not nearly as fashionable or comfortable.
Her white muslin nightgown was easily the most fashionable thing in sight. How depressing.
It was also cold. The early spring air outside was pleasant, but the halls and rooms of Trenwith seemed permanently chilled. She pulled her wooden scarf more tightly around her shivering body.
Ursula looked around the newly inhabited room. The white sheets that had covered every piece of furniture and painting had only been removed last night. When they had walked into the cold, dark house the night before, all the white drapings had looked like ghosts.
Ursula found a bell on the dresser and rang it several times, taking the opportunity to further inspect her dissatisfactory surroundings.
Her maid, a timid and exceedingly plain girl, crept cautiously into the room.
"Are you ready to dress, Miss Ursula?"
"Jane, why is there no fire in my hearth?" In London, there was always a fire when she awoke.
Jane turned her dull brown eyes to the cold fireplace, her head sinking lower.
"There were no wood chopped for fires, miss. The menservants meant to chop some today-"
"Chop it now, and build me a fire directly." Ursula's blue eyes were cold. Colder than the empty hearth and colder than any room in Trenwith.
Jane flinched, nodded, curtsied, and scurried out of the room.
Ursula heaved a great sigh as she got back into her bed, sitting up against the headboard and pulling the covers up to her chest. She hated this place. Why had Father sent them here? She knew no one here, and he wasn't even there to introduce her to anyone. She didn't even have a governess. Her old governess had refused to be sent to Cornwall, instead turning in her notice and staying in London. It wasn't as though Ursula had particularly liked the stern governess, but at least she was intelligent company. Now she would have no one for company other than dull, plain, boring Jane.
How was it even fair that her life should be so exceedingly difficult?
* * *
Valentine approached Trenwith House from the back. He had walked through most of the woods surrounding the house, and had even doubled back and found the path he guessed the mysterious girl in the red dress had taken to come in and then leave again. He had considered following her after their initial meeting, but decided it ungentlemanly to stalk an unaccompanied girl through the countryside. Thus the reason he had doubled back later to investigate the way she had come. He wanted to give her plenty of time to leave.
He already found himself wondering who she was and if he might see her again. He even found himself wondering how he might orchestrate such a meeting.
He nearly jumped out of his skin when a shower of wood chips spewed him in the face, accompanied by the sharp thud of an ax.
His sister's maid (he felt her name might be Jane) was struggling to chop a fallen tree limb with a heavy, dull and rusted ax.
As Valentine spit out splinters of wood from his mouth and dusted them from his face her own mouth fell open in an almost comical expression of horror. At least, it would have been comical if the girl had not also looked so terrified.
"Begging your pardon, sir! I-I did not see— I was only—," she swallowed hard, then squeaked, "—are you.. quite alright?"
"Yes, yes, I'm fine," Valentine hadn't the heart to be upset with her, not with the way tears of hopelessness were accumulating in her eyes. "Don't trouble yourself over it."
She curtsied and looked down at the ground.
"What are you about, anyway?" He motioned to the old ax.
Eyes still glued to the ground she answered, "I'm afraid there were no wood this morn to make fires, as the house has been empty. Miss Ursula directed me to chop wood so she might have a fire."
Classic Ursula. Valentine knew his sister was a creature of habit, and liked everything to be just so. Not having a fire in her hearth when she woke up, well, that must have been quite the trial for her. He sighed.
"But why you? Where are the man servants?"
"Afraid they're being occupied, sir, as there was some trouble in the kitchen as cook was readying yours and Miss Ursula's breakfast..."
"Oh? What was the trouble?"
She looked afraid again, as if Valentine would think a malfunctioning stove was somehow her fault.
"Tis naught to worry yourself over, sir. There'll be breakfast very soon."
"Of course," Valentine agreed, then added, "Thank you."
She looked up at him quickly, then down again.
"And I think you've done quite enough out here," he reached for the ax handle, "I'll take that."
But as he tried to pull it out of her grip, she pulled back. Realizing what she had just done, of course, caused her face to reassume it's terrified expression. She reluctantly dropped her hand from the ax, as if wondering if it was worse to allow Valentine to take the ax or to not allow him to take it.
* * *
A knock on Ursula's door jolted her from a fitful doze, before she could answer, however, it swung open.
"I did not-" she started indignantly, then stopped when she saw who it was. "Valentine? What are you doing?" She pulled the covers up higher and tugged the ends of her nightcap over her ears.
"I came to inform you that, if you want wood chopped before the servants have even unpacked their own bags, you'd best chop it yourself." He dropped the rusty ax he'd taken from the maid on the end of Ursula's bed, making her jump and begin to shriek after him as he turned and walked out again.
"Get that thing off my bed! What on earth is the matter with you? Have your senses completely abandoned you? Servants are meant to chop wood!"
* * *
Valentine chewed his breakfast contemplatively. Apparently the issue in the kitchen had been a blockage in the stove pipe, leading to the entire kitchen filling up with smoke. He was not sure if he imagined it, but all his food did seem to hold a hint of smoke.
Ursula flounced into the dining room. She was wearing one of her overly ostentatious dresses- there were too many frills and bows to count- and Valentine remarked "Not what I would personally choose to chop wood in."
She entirely ignored him and addressed the room at large. "I would like to apologise for my unseemly behaviour earlier. Although I was provoked, I should not have lost my composure."
The room, however, was completely empty except for Valentine and a footman standing by the food. Valentine knew his younger sister would suffer a traitor's death before apologising to a servant, so he could safely assume it was meant for him.
"It is already forgotten," he replied.
Ursula stood there for another moment, expecting an apology in return. He continued to steadily eat his breakfast.
With a small huff she went and got herself a bowl of porridge. The footman hurried to pull her chair out for her as she sat.
Upon taking the first spoonful she gagged, "What is wrong with this food?"
"Absolutely nothing," Valentine replied, standing and tossing his napkin on the table.
"It tastes like... like a fire."
"How fortunate," Valentine replied as he exited the dining room, "You did seem to want one so badly earlier."
That's it for the first post! I'll update at least once a week, but it may be a bit more, as I'm just so excited to write this story! Please comment with any and all complaints (really, I love to hear the complaints/constructive criticism-- let's make this better together!), comments, questions, concerns, ideas, suggestions, etc. Do you like it?? Give it a vote and share with friends if you do! If you don't, tell me why!
(Wow, okay, that was a lot of exclamation marks, haha, I'm just overflowing with excitement over here.)