Madame Le Turad snapped shut her ledger with a sigh of annoyance. She couldn't deny the state of the manor's financial situation any longer. She'd slowly been dwindling down the money left to her by her husband ever since he'd passed, with no real means to rebuild them. He'd been in the trading business, and very good at what he did, but the nature of his business meant there was no shop or other facility for her to take over and continue making money, and Madame Le Turad had neither the head nor the patience for trading.
"Stazia! Drianne!" She called, summoning her daughters. She tapped her foot impatiently as she waited. Her silly daughters, the byproduct of her first marriage, were her only real hope of pulling out of this financial slump. If at least one of them could marry well, standards of decent society would require that the husband keep his mother and sister-in law off the street.
Stazia ambled in, in her usual lethargic manner. Madame Le Turad indicated she sit on the couch with a silent wave of her hand, and Stazia complied without a remark. She'd always been the most compliant of her two daughters, largely due to her laziness. She just couldn't be bothered to fight against anything that didn't require actual work on her part. Blonde and buxom, she resembled Madame more closely than Drianne, but only in looks.
Drianne made her way into Madame's sitting room, her face quizzical. She took after her father physically, her bright red hair a constant reminder, but Madame flattered herself that Drianne's quick wit was entirely from her own genes.
"Sit," she commanded Drianne. With one arched brow, Drianne adjusted her cumbersome skirts and sat next to Stazia. "Girls, you must be brave. The day we've been fearing is swiftly approaching. Your stepfather left with me hardly anything, as you well know, and though it has lasted through your adolescence, the money is nearly gone. In short girls, we will soon be destitute. You know of course, that the easiest way to remedy the situation is for one of you to marry." She eyed her daughters. They were both attractive in their own way; if she was lucky she'd have both of them married off before the coffers ran dry. She'd put only minimal effort into before, but now she was left with no choice, and they were both of age.
Drianne and Stazia were both nodding. They'd heard this before. Stazia was too lazy to have put efforts in on her own, and though Drianne had looked into the matter a bit on her own, she hadn't found a candidate suitably rich and handsome enough to suit her needs. If a handsome husband couldn't be found, she was willing to settle for rich and old, that he might soon pass and leave her a very comfortable widow, but so far none had presented himself.
"In the meantime, girls, I'm going to need your older jewels that you no longer wear, and perhaps your older gowns as well. We'll need something to sell for now to keep up us living as we are now. We can't have suitors thinking we're paupers."
"Mother!" objected Stazia. "How will we catch a husband in rags with no jewels?" She pouted, very put out at the thought of losing her things.
"Surely there must be something else we can sell, Mother," put in Drianne.
"Well there isn't!" snapped Madame. "I've already sold off a number of small things around the manor, though you're both so self-absorbed it's no wonder you haven't noticed. There is nothing left short of -" Madame paused, as a delicious solution presented itself to her. "On second thought, Drianne, you're right... There IS something else we can sell." A cold smile spread across her face, and even her daughters felt chilled.
** **
Gabriella rose early, as she always did, the faint rays of dawn only just beginning to lick her pillow as she dressed herself in the crisp morning air. It was always chilly in the morning here in her tower, even in the summer. She dressed quickly, the cold air seeping in from between cracks in the planks of her wall and the floor.
She eyed her skimpy blankets with longing, wishing she could curl up in them and sleep longer, but that wasn't an option. Her stepmother, Madame Le Turad, would have her horsewhipped if Gabriella wasn't up and about, preparing breakfast and lighting fires. The manor used to have many servants when her father was alive, but as their fortunes had dwindled, so had her position in the household.
Now there was just Gabriella to serve as maid and scullery girl to the woman who came from the village to cook luncheon, tea, and supper. Breakfast always fell on Gabriella's shoulders, but as she'd shown no aptitude for cooking, her stepmother and stepsisters had learned to subsist on boiled eggs and toast or porridge. Not without complaint, but after they'd sampled too many of her disastrous failures that no amount of scoldings or threats seemed to prevent, Madame Le Turad had thrown up her hands and resigned herself to meager breakfasts.
Madame ran a very tight ship as far as servants were concerned, and though Gabriella's father had been master of this manor, he'd left everything to Madame, who'd bullied Gabriella into servitude, leaving her no other option but to leave. She couldn't bring herself to leave her childhood home, even if she did now have a reduced position and quarters. On the whole, she knew what Madame expected and so long as Gabriella followed it to the letter, things went smoothly. It was hard work, but she saw no alternative.
Drianne enjoyed lording over her, and had taken to it immediately. When Madame had first insisted that Gabriella begin helping out with the chores, Drianne had gone out of her way to make messes and create more work for Gabriella. She still sometimes did, but more out of habit now. As the years had gone on and Gabriella had grown more and more disheveled in appearance, Drianne seemed to grow bored with her little game.
Stazia wasn't too bad, she was too lazy to bother creating extra work. Sometimes her laziness created extra work in and of itself as she would call Gabriella to fetch her things so she didn't have to stir from her bed or couch. Always Gabriella obeyed without complaint. Madame had her whipped for insolence years ago when she had dared object, and the tight scars criss-crossing her back served as a constant reminder to her to hold her tongue.
Sometimes she dreamed of running away, but she had no idea where she would go or what she would do. She had no real skills, other than cleaning, but real, paying maid positions were hard to come by, at least any in reputable houses. Her most cherished fantasy involved Madame and her daughters leaving the manor, whether due to marriage or perhaps perishing in a terrible accident, and leaving Gabriella behind to straighten things out. She felt guilty wishing death upon them though, so her dreaming usually consisted of one of them getting married. Or re-married; though older, Madame was still a handsome woman, and she knew far more in the ways of flirtation and seduction than either of her daughters.
With a sigh, Gabriella shook her head to clear it, and went downstairs to start the fires. The sun was creeping up over the horizon, and she admired the beauty of it as she put flame to tinder. Once the kitchen fire was lit, she put a kettle over it to boil, then quietly made her way into the bedrooms to light the fires.
