𝑰𝑵𝑲 • 𝑻𝒆𝒘𝒌𝒆𝒔𝒃𝒖𝒓𝒚 / 𝑳𝒐𝒖𝒊𝒔 𝑷𝒂𝒓𝒕𝒓𝒊𝒅𝒈𝒆

Acquaintance

8 years earlier

The warm weather arrived just in time for the Clarke's journey across the vast and empty country to their new permanent placement. Not including her father, Mr. William Clarke, who after giving it plenty of thought, decided to sign up to join the army a couple months prior, in the first days of 1824. In hopes of being able to provide a more comfortable life for his rather poor family, he set of to wherever he may be needed, while his 8 year old daughter and wife, made their way to Basilwether, where she had been able to find lodging and work for herself and the child.

Florence's imagination flurried and flowed with predictions of her new life. Would the work be hard? Would she earn enough? But most importantly, would there be other children her age?

Florence had never had the privilege of attending school, learning what she could from her mother and father growing up, but finding that is wasn't enough to satisfy her thirst on its own. The very thirst that had gotten them fired from their previous placement.

She had been caught borrowing books from the sitting room library of the old manor her mother used to clean. A damp and dark place it was, especially during the winters when the thin layers of condensation which always seemed to lay upon the glossy wooden furniture would appear to freeze over ever so slightly and make the large rooms of the place seem impossibly cold.

Having snuck out of the housekeeping quarters late at night, with nothing but a dim oil lamp, and a tattered old robe, she carefully tiptoed her way from one wing of the manor to the other. Smiling deviously as she entered the sitting room, she climbed up onto one of the wooden desks, which had laid upon it, maps, letters, and other things she did not care for, to reach books that her small 8 year old stature would not allow her to reach from the ground. What she really wanted, were the story books. Tales so polished and decorated that the world seemed to glow a brighter shade the next day. Tales that would allow her to escape her own life and live the life of the books true owner, if only for a moment.

She spent that night reading to her hearts content. Story after story. Dream after dream. So lost in the books that she managed to forget about the unforgiving cold, and accidentally drift off into a tired sleep.

A sleep which was rather rudely interrupted the next morning by the master of the house who had, to his surprise and annoyance, found Florence surrounded by a pile of his belongings. He angrily summoned the butler, and that was that. The Clarkes were out of a job that day.

Florence was forgiven after plentiful "sorry"s and "it won't happen again I swear", to which her mother would always answer, "you shouldn't swear Florence, you know that." Which would just push Florence back into a sour mood. This new financial instability is what tipped her father to join the army, and her mother, to find new work at Basilwether.

But sitting cross legged in the unstable cart taking her to her new home, she realized that she in fact didn't regret a thing. The books she read that night filled her thoughts to the brim with fantastical stories sufficient of keeping her entertained for what she thought would be the rest of her life.

Nearing the end of the bumpy ride, as well as the story Florence had spent the last hour trying to cement into her memory, the two arrived at Basilwether and were ushered immediately to the back quarters where all the staff were lodged.

"And finally, your room." Lackadaisically spoke one of the maids whose name Florence never managed to catch.

At first glance, and to the bare eye, the room may have seemed dull and lifeless, as well as bare and lacking of any sort of personality at all. And that's because it was. Her mood fell significantly as she was forced to accept that this was where she would be living for, if all went well, the rest of her life up until marriage.