ℭ𝔥𝔞𝔯𝔩𝔬𝔱𝔱𝔢 𝔖𝔲𝔩𝔩𝔦𝔳𝔞𝔫 ¤ 𝔇𝔬𝔠𝔱𝔬𝔯 𝔚𝔥𝔬

Chapter 1

17th October, 1901.

In a small house on a small farm in a small town near the city of London, wails filled the house.

A young woman held her newborn baby in her fragile arms. She knew her husband wouldn't be home for hours, maybe even days if he spends some time with his friends from the pub.

She slowly rocked her new daughter as the small baby closed her eyes and fell asleep. She was such a small thing, so small yet so precious.

The door swung open and slammed shut with such force, it was strange how the baby didn't wake up and start crying again.

"Ah, I see my strapping son has been born" a man said as he walked in.

"Actually, Steve... it's a girl" the woman said.

She heard Steve grunt in anger behind her. She remembered he did a much worse reaction when she told him that she was pregnant about five months. Chucking all those things at the walls of the house and then left. He didn't return home for weeks.

"Well, I'm off to bed" Steve said, gulping down the remainder of the disgusting, brown, foul smelling liquid in the bottle. "I'll be back at work in the pub tomorrow before sunrise, Mary"

Mary nodded, hoping he'd head straight to bed. She didn't know what to expect of Steve now that they had a young child in the household.

She heard the bedroom door close, and about five minutes later, faint snores could be heard. Mary breathed a sigh of relief. She got lucky tonight. Steve wasn't always like the person he was tonight.

Memories of him throwing the glass bottle on the walls a few months ago came flashing back. She tried to get rid of the thought and turned her attention back to her baby girl, who was still sound asleep in her arms. She still needed a name. She needed a lovely name, something that was quite unique nowadays.

There were hundreds of people named Margaret out there, so definitely not.

Dorothy? No, that's quite popular too.

Ruby? Maybe not.

Pauline?

Jessie?

Katherine?

Cora?

Jade?

Charlotte?

Charlotte.

That was perfect.

Sure, she knew a few people named Charlotte. But not as many as she knew called Margaret or Cora or Jade or Jessie. Charlotte was just the type of name that was perfect for her daughter.

Charlotte.

Charlotte Sullivan.

The surname Mary had been blessed with when she married Steve. Or so she thought at the time.

Back then, Steve had worked in a factory. He earned a fair amount everyday to keep them fed and in a house. But then he got sacked and he found a job at the pub a few blocks away.

Ever since then, Mary couldn't seem to remember what he used to be like. The only thing she remembered was how incredible his drawings were.

She turned to her drawer and carefully pulled out a small piece of paper. A small drawing of Mary was on there. It had been drawn a few months before Steve lost his job.

Mary smiled as she looked back down at Charlotte, still sleeping. Maybe Charlotte will be an artist too, like her father used to be?

She could already picture walking through an incredible art gallery and seeing an amazing drawing in a golden frame, hanging on the wall as if floating in midair. Looking at the corner of the drawing, she would see the signature of the artist.

Charlotte Sullivan.