Beatrice

Chapter One

(NOT EDITED)

Eleven Years Later

Eleven years passed, and Beatrice grew into a beautiful young woman, even if her true beauty was hidden. She did take the job Mr Freeman offered her when she was five, and grew up in his manor as a maid, getting more jobs to do as she grew. Her sixteenth birthday was swiftly approaching, and she would soon lose the free hour she had if she didn't leave.

Beatrice pulled back the few strands of hair that were not already pinned in her strawberry blonde bun and wiped her hands on her skirt. She sighed and turned to look towards the window for a moment, before turning away when she heard the door open.

A round woman rushed in. Ms Caldwell was a kind woman who took care of Beatrice after the incident, taking her in like the daughter she never had. Beatrice, of course, took it in with a smile. Since then, they have been close. "Beatrice, the master's nephew is joining us soon," she began. "The rooms must be spotless."

"Of course, Ms Caldwell," Beatrice smiled and began to scrub harder at the floor. Ms Caldwell frowned at her, before kneeling down beside her.

"Let me," she grinned. "Just check up on Sir Freeman's father. He is quite ill."

"Consider it done." Beatrice then turned to the door. Beatrice frowned and hugged her arms for a moment, before walking down the hall towards Sir Freeman's father's room.

****

When Beatrice arrived at the door, she knocked lightly on the door. "Excuse me, sir, but it's Beatrice," she called, but there was no response. "Sir?" she asked, knocking on the door harder. "Are you alright?" After a moment, Beatrice opened the door.

Most would have called it rude, and so would Beatrice, but she wasn't sure what was going on. She was glad she did when she saw him. There lay Sir Freeman senior, in his signature white vest, except he was much paler than he usually was. It didn't take long for Beatrice to realize to was the problem.

She raced towards him and checked for a pulse, except there wasn't one. He was dead.

****

Beatrice screamed in horror as she fell backwards into his dresser, almost knocking over the large mirror besides it. A maid rushed in. "Is everything alright?" she asked.

"He's dead," is the only thing Beatrice could say. With that, the maid alerted the doctor and Mr Freeman. It didn't take long for Mr Freeman to see his father dead in his bed. He rushed towards him, crying.

Mr Freeman seemed to grow older these last few years. Even though he was only thirty-five, his dark hair seemed to lighten into a pale white in some spots. It began when his wife gave birth to their ninth child only five years before. It didn't make sense, but that's what happened.

The man stopped after a long moment and turned to Beatrice, anger boiling in his wild mind. "It's your fault!" he screamed in her face. Beatrice stumbled back. "You killed him!"

"I'm sorry," Beatrice whispered. "I only found him like that."

"I don't care! Get out of my sight!" Terrified, Beatrice ran out of the room, sobbing all the way. She didn't know where to go, so she ran to the first place she could think of: To Ms Caldwell.

When she saw her, Beatrice wrapped her arms around Ms Caldwell, crying into her dirty dress. Ms Caldwell just held her close. "Do you want to talk about it?" Beatrice shook her head.

"It's alright," Ms Caldwell murmured. Even if she didn't tell her, she knew who caused her tears. Mr Freeman. "He's just a confused man. When he realizes what he done, he will be sorry, no doubt about it."

"I'm not sure this time," Beatrice answered. "His father is dead." Ms Caldwell didn't show a look of surprise.

"He will; just wait and see."