My Mother's Daughter

Chapter 1

A mansion. Set within 390 square miles of the Evergreen National Park. The mansion offers a private and tranquil haven that is about 100 miles south west of London. No expense has been spared with the quality of craftsmanship, which has created a magnificent country home with grand oak panelled drawing rooms, large open fireplaces, and an impressive Great Hall.

The girl. Sitting quietly on her window seat, looking out over the fields. Her sandy-blonde hair was sleek and shining, and held in a classical twist. The exposed delicate ears were adorned with small gold earrings. She looked the perfect picture, sitting in a pretty knee length peach dress, which was the height of fashion. A single diamond hung on a chain around her neck. Her eyes were the colours of liquid steel. Her name... Rebecca Charles.

"Rebecca? Rebecca!" The voice was falsely musical with the first call. The second call was high, shrill, and impatient.

Taking a deep breath cleared her face of the blank expression she wore. Releasing that breath, gave her features an expression of respect and obedience.

"Why are you sitting there looking so sombre? Did you not hear me calling you? And why are you sitting by that window? Do you want the wind to untidy your hair and make your cheeks look flush? Well answer me girl. Where are your manners?!" The perfect woman. Or so she tells herself, Rebecca thought. Perfect walk, perfect talk, perfect clothes, perfect life, perfect husband, perfect house, but not the perfect stepdaughter.

Her hair was midnight black and always perfectly groomed. To call her pretty was an over statement. You could say she was nice, but that was it. Make-up was a great helper to her looks and she always wore it, even to bed. Her mouth was a thin line, her eyes dark and vindictive. Her name, Elizabeth Solomon-Charles. Rebecca's father's second wife.

"Why are you staring at me like that?" Elizabeth asked. Rebecca blinked.

"Please forgive my insolent behaviour madam and accept my most sincere apology."

"I have no time to do such things. Come!" She said hustling Rebecca to the door. "Mrs. Sommers and Mrs. Bells are waiting in the parlour. Now I want you to comment on Mrs. Sommers new hairstyle, and look concerned for Mrs. Bells. She had the flu last week. And please, PLEASE act like a young lady. Also, show for once in your life some genuine compassion!"

They came upon the parlour doors and entered cheerily.

"Oh Rebecca, how young and vital you look! How old are you now, eighteen? " Asked Mrs. Sommers, as her selfish greedy eyes sparkled with humour. Her pale pink hat, which sat next to her, matched her buttoned down bright pink dress, and pale pink shoes. Both hands were neatly folded on her lap.

"How lovely to see you Mrs. Sommers, and no, I'm sixteen. I'll be seventeen in September." It was June.

"My, don't you young people grow fast! You already look like a grown woman." She chuckled slightly.

"I must commend you on your new hairdo Mrs. Sommers. You really do look charming." Rebecca complimented affectionately. In truth Rebecca thought she looked like a stuck-up peacock. She usually does not take off her hat when she comes to the house, but now she had a reason. She acted slightly desperate for a comment.

Well thank you child, how sweet of you." Rebecca smiled politely, and turned to the other woman.

"Why Mrs. Bells, how unfortunate that you caught the flu. You really do look wonderful as always though." In truth, she looked frail and pale. Her skin was sickly white, and not a sight for sore eyes.

"Well aren't you a darling. Thank you for your concern dear. It's greatly appreciated." Mrs. Bells' smiled slowly, lips curling upwards. It looked like she was sneering. Maybe she was, Rebecca thought. She kept silent, after she had played her part. Her stepmother cunningly steered the conversation onto social events. The regular women chitchat. Tea parties, dinners, social groupings.

Rebecca surveyed the women and suppressed a sigh. The three witches. At least that was how she referred to them. All in their forties and very, very old fashioned in their thinking. She could not be more annoyed. Where other teenagers in England and around the world were accustomed to sipping coke, listening to pop, wearing jeans and sneakers, she was forced (though she never said it) to wear dresses and casual, yet formidable skirts, listen to opera, sip tea, and wear heels.

She did not have a car of her own, or a cellular phone. Instead she was chauffeured everywhere, which was seldom. She did not even own a bicycle! Sometimes she felt like exploding, but always kept her temper in check, instead showcasing a front of cool sophistication. However, behind her eyes she hid her wit.

"Well ladies I must assure you that your visit has not gone unnoticed. Unfortunately, the hour is growing late and I shouldn't keep you further." Rebecca untucked her crossed legs and stood as the women stood. She had learnt a long time ago to look like she was paying absolute attention, while allowing her thoughts to wander, but she always kept her mind sharp in case she was asked a question.

The four females walked to the door. The women pecked each other properly on the cheek, so as not to transfer their lipsticks. Rebecca's cheek was patted and her hands squeezed. They said farewell, then left. Elizabeth turned to her stepdaughter and watched her intently. Oh how she hated the child. A replica of her mother, just more beautiful.

"Why are you still here?" She asked sharply. "Supper will be on the table shortly, go and wash up."

"Yes, ma'am." Rebecca said meekly, and was relieved to turn her back on the hate that shone from her stepmother's eyes.