I have briefly returned to bring you (read: ![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
igenlode) my own sporking of the first chapter of Tapestry of Deceit. Is it funny? Probably not. Is it innuendo-free? Yes.
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Reluctant Engagement In which Carlotta hatches a terrible plan
igenlode) my own sporking of the first chapter of Tapestry of Deceit. Is it funny? Probably not. Is it innuendo-free? Yes.--------
"BUT I DON'T WANT TO MARRY HIM!"
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That concludes the sporking. I hope you enjoyed it, and please let me know if you want me to continue. Until then, farewell.
And right off the bat, we have evidence of Lady Rosesong’s charming tendency to abuse capslock. Remember how annoying that was in the fifth Harry Potter book? It’s worse here.
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With a heavy sigh, Christine marched over to the bed and picked up the gown Carlotta had thrust into her arms earlier. "When will Sir Erik be arriving?"Pierre de Coleville (First name is fine. Last name is an English surname with “de” and “ville” around it to make it look more French, because looking up actual French surnames is apparently too much work.) groaned as his daughter's high pitched shrills echoed off the walls of his great hall and throughout the rest of his castle. (That castle has some impressive acoustics!) He looked to his wife for some support, but she simply glared right back at him, her anger and disappointment even louder than Carlotta's screams…if that was possible.
"I won't marry him!" Carlotta spat, stomping her feet like an overgrown child.
Yes, you’re reading this right. Carlotta, prima donna in every sense of the term, has been reduced to behaving like one of Cinderella’s stepsisters. No, I don’t know why Lady Rosesong hates her so much, either.
"Yes, you will…" Pierre grumbled, massaging his temples from the headache his daughter's shrieks had caused.
"NO, I WON'T!" Carlotta shouted, stomping her foot even harder. "HE'S OLD! HE'S UGLY! HE'S CRUEL!"
Pierre groaned again, wishing, not for the first time, that the king hadn't ordered him to marry all those years ago. (Why would the king give a shit about a random nobleman’s marital status? Wouldn’t he have more important things to worry about?) "He's six and thirty, that's hardly old!" Pierre attempted to reason. The man in question was only twelve years younger than he.
Carlotta glared at her father with contempt. "And his ugliness? His cruelty? DEFEND THEM!" she charged, folding her arms across her chest and stomping her foot with indignation.
You’ve mentioned Carlotta stomping her foot three times now, Lady Rosesong. I think we get it.
Pierre glanced once more to his wife for some sign of support, but she simply ignored him, her concentration entirely focused on the small tapestry of deceit she was weaving.
"Sir Erik is not a cruel man…" Pierre protested, although anyone could tell he himself did not trust his words. (Whose POV is this supposed to be in?) "He…he simply has…an ill reputation…spread by his enemies…" he mumbled. "But he's a good loyal man to others the kind-hearted maiden who looks past his cruelty and brings out the goodness in him with her gentle ways!" (Because let’s face it, this is nothing more than a bad romance novel pretending to be a fanfic.) he willed himself to believe, although it was proving to be most futile.
"And his ugliness?" Carlotta challenged, her hands now going to her hips.
Pierre knew it was a losing battle. "He's a knight, Carlotta, a soldier. He's fought in many wars with blondes in Brooklyn speakeasies, (Semicolon, not comma.) it should not come as a great surprise that he has…battle scars."
Credit where credit is due: scars from injuries sustained in combat are more dignified than being scarred by acid or whatever origin story most of the movie versions like to use.
"BATTLE SCARS?" Carlotta shrieked, and Pierre found himself cringing again. "HE'S HIDEOUS! AND I REFUSE TO MARRY HIM!"
Pierre had only one more hope of trying to reason with his daughter. "I hear he is extremely rich!"
For the first time since this argument had arisen, his wife's eyes finally lifted with interest.
Wasn’t she glaring at him earlier? *is confused*
"Yes, quite rich," Pierre continued, hoping with the aid of his wife (who has been oh-so-helpful thus far), he could convince Carlotta to accept the betrothal and end his misery. "I hear he's made twice the fortune I have ever had, in simply ten years of fighting on the battle field!"
Sir Erik must have raided and pillaged a lot of towns and villages over the years. Unless he’s secretly a video game character.
Maria de Coleville was now smiling with approval at the words her husband had spoken. She grinned happily (as opposed to grinning sadly) and turned to face her daughter, whose expression was currently unreadable; it seemed she too was assessing this new information.
Because we couldn’t have figured that out for ourselves.
"Well, my dear?" Pierre asked, looking most hopeful. He reached over to take his wife's hand in his.
Carlotta's angry face had now changed to one of sweetness. It always amazed Pierre how quickly his daughter could go from looking like an angelic pixie, to a howling banshee. (If she was upset before, but is happy now, wouldn’t it be more appropriate to say she went from looking like a banshee to a pixie?) Her lovely porcelain face seemed to radiate when her pretty pink lips spread into a beautiful smile, revealing a glowing set of fine white teeth…
And then the spell ended.
"NO!" Carlotta screamed, stomping her foot once more, her smile disappearing as quickly as it had come, her beautiful features contorting into an angry sneer of selfishness and indignation.
As opposed to a sneer of contempt, which is what sneers usually indicate…
Pierre's mouth fell open from the shock of her stubbornness, and turned to his wife, hoping she would reprimand their spoiled child, (Since I doubt most parents who spoil their children are aware of what they’re doing, I’m guessing this is the omniscient narrator speaking again.) but instead, she let go of his hand as if she had been holding a dead fish, and went right back to her weaving, casting him an icy glare of disapproval, but remaining silent.
Why is Pierre relying on his wife to do everything? Wasn’t it usually the other way around in pre-feminist times?
"Now see here, Carlotta," Pierre growled, rising to his feet and looking at his daughter with as much sternness as he could muster, although Carlotta did not look the least bit intimidated. "You will accept Sir Erik's betrothal! He is on his way here this very day to see you and make the final arrangements!"
Carlotta gasped, but she didn't back down from her glaring.
"If all goes well, as it SHOULD," he emphasized in all caps, because italics were out of fashion, "the two of you will be married in our own chapel…tomorrow!"
Maria lifted her head and gasped along with her daughter at her husband's stern words. She had not realized Pierre was capable of being so forward with his actions; (Neither had I, since he’s been a wuss for this entire scene.) he normally backed down after one of Carlotta's tantrums and was a disgrace to medieval fathers everywhere.
"AND," Pierre added, feeling his spirits lift as he continued to lay down the law. (Comma, not period.) "You will be a most CIVIL hostess to Sir Erik when he arrives!"
Carlotta's eyes narrowed into two dark slits, and she lifted her chin, glaring back at her father with rage. (As opposed to glaring at him with calm.) "We shall see about that…" she hissed, before grabbing her skirts and turning on her heel, her shrieks of anger and disgust filling every corner of the castle.
Pierre flopped back down into his chair and realized that the heavy sound of breathing was coming from him. He turned to look at his wife, half expecting her to be glaring at him, half expecting her to be ignoring him, but instead…she was grinning, a most wicked and devious grin. "Tell me, dear husband," she purred, rising from her chair to run her fingers over Pierre's trembling shoulders. "Just how rich, is Sir Erik?" (Comma rules are for losers!)
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Christine Daae sighed and ran her arm over her sweaty brow, as she leaned over the boiling pot of laundry that she had been stirring for nearly an hour. (Cue the angst!) Her back ached from being hunched over, her skin was hot from the steam that rose from the pot itself, and her stomach was growling for the lack of breakfast she had had that morning. There had been no time for breakfast, not when her mistress demanded so much of her attention.
"CHRISTINE!"
Christine gasped and nearly dropped the heavy wooden spoon that she had been stirring with.
"CHRISTINE!"
Christine groaned and slowly turned her face towards the sounds of her young mistress, which were coming from the hall just beyond the castle's laundry room. She could only imagine what demands Carlotta would make now. With a heavy sigh, Christine ceased her stirring, and quickly went to the door to see what it was that her young mistress required.
"THERE YOU ARE!" Carlotta practically shrieked, her dark eyes filled with venom at the sight of servant girl. (I think you’re missing a “the” there, Lady Rosesong.) "WHERE WERE YOU WHEN I NEEDED YOU?"
Christine kept her comments to herself, although she longed to grab the spoiled girl by her blonde ringlets (Since when was Carlotta a blonde?) and plunge her head first into the boiling vat of laundry. Instead, she swallowed the little pride that she contained, and gave a small curtsy. "Forgive me, I did not hear your call."
Carlotta rolled her eyes and pushed her way past the servant girl. "I want a bath!" she shouted over her shoulder as she made her way towards her chambers. "Start boiling some rose water (She’s going to take a bath in boiling water? Ouch!) and have tho se overgrown oafs bring me my tub!"
Christine curtsied, even though Carlotta wasn't paying attention, which also meant that she could glare at her spoiled mistress as she flounced away. She knew it was no use attempting to explain to Carlotta that she had other chores to tend to first, such as finishing the laundry, mending Lady Maria's stockings, dusting the tapestries of deceit in the great hall, and scrubbing the hall's massive stone steps…all of which had to be finished before the afternoon. (Is Christine the only servant in this castle?) She was a servant…not a slave, but Carlotta saw no difference, so long as her needs were met first.
Despite Pierre de Coleville's massive castle, there were only a handful of servants to run it. All of them knew why, even though their master and his family were in denial; Pierre de Coleville was on the verge of becoming a pauper. His debts were extreme, and it didn't help that his wife and daughter spent what little money he had left on all kinds of frivolities, because he was a complete pushover. In order to hold on to the scraps of wealth that he had, he dismissed many of the castle's servants, making life even more miserable than it had already been. Christine was a scullery maid, she had been trained as such, but she found herself working other odd jobs, including that of being Carlotta's personal maid…a chore she would gladly give up.
Christine quickly ran to the kitchens, hoping one of the younger girls there could take over her duties in the laundry room, while she went to boil Carlotta's bath water. "George? Robert?" (Robert Englund?) Two tall and broad shouldered men looked up from their chores in the kitchens to Christine's voice. (They looked at her voice?) "Mistress Carlotta would like her tub brought up to her chambers," Christine explained, which earned a small groan from the men. "Be careful," Christine advised. "She's in quite a mood."
"She's always in a mood," a young woman muttered from a table at the center of the kitchen. She was hard at task of peeling potatoes.
I don’t know what’s more annoying: Lady Rosesong being blatantly anachronistic, or Lady Rosesong trying to sound historically accurate and just sounding ridiculous.
"Right you are, my sweet Meg," the man named Robert grinned, bending his head to brush his lips against the woman's cheek, to which she smiled and turned her face to kiss his own lips, before going back to her task, while he and George went to retrieve Carlotta's tub.
Christine smiled at the couple, before turning to go about her task of boiling some hot rose water for her young mistress. "She better start appreciating these baths," she sighed as she added the special rose herbs to the water she was boiling. "With the way our master's finances are going, she may soon find that a bath is a luxury she will no longer be able to afford."
It’s a bath. All you need is some water, a pot to put it in, and a fire to heat it over. None of those things are very expensive.
Meg released a snort of laughter at Christine's comment. (If anyone ever asks me what overwriting looks like, I’ll show them this fic as a prime example.) "Mark my words, that girl will never know how to appreciate anything, even after it's taken from her."
Christine smiled at the woman who sat at the nearby table, grateful that her friend still remained even after Pierre had dismissed so many other servants. Meg had been one of the few people who had welcomed Christine when she had come to the castle nearly twelve years ago. Christine was a penniless child who had little experience of working as a servant, and many of the other servants saw this as an opportunity to manipulate her and make her the butt of their cruel jokes. (Because of course they did. Badfic writers rarely pass up opportunities to give their main characters angst.) Thankfully, Meg had come to her defense, even though she was only a child as well. Meg's mother was head cook in the castle's kitchen, a stern stone-faced woman (she was one of the gargoyles from Disney’s The Hunchback of Notre Dame, you see) who could make even the strongest man quake with fear (She better watch out--Chaney!Erik won’t be happy about her stealing his shtick.) with one icy look. Once Meg had taken Christine under her wing, the taunts came to an end. Sadly, however, when Pierre began dismissing servants, one of the many he removed was Meg's mother, Antoinette. (Question: is it canon that Madame Giry’s first name is Antoinette? Leroux doesn’t mention her first name, and I can’t recall it being mentioned in the musical or movie.) She had been a mother to Christine in many ways as well.
"How is your mother?" Christine asked, hoping that Meg had some good news to share. The last Christine had heard, Antoinette was cooking and serving food for a small inn in a nearby village. It was slave labor, truly, but the world was cruel to homeless beggars, and servants had little choice: work or starve.
Isn’t that true of most people? *is confused*
"She is well," Meg murmured, sadness filling her eyes. "She sends her love, and asked…again…if you have married."
Christine gave a small groan. Antoinette always asked if she were married yet. The truth was, all the men that would make suitable husbands were either married or betrothed, and the ones that were unattached were too old, too young, or too lecherous. (Angst, angst, angst!) Yet Christine knew exactly why Antoinette hoped to see her marry soon…and the reason behind the woman's inquiry filled Christine with a chilling dread.
"How are you feeling today?" Christine inquired, choosing to change the subject.
Meg smiled and placed a hand on her large swollen belly. "My daughter continues to kick quite strongly," she giggled, her face glowing with love and happiness as she caressed her stomach.
Christine grinned back. "Perhaps it is a boy as Robert predicts? Surely a boy would kick harder than a girl?"
I know this is set in the days before feminism was invented, Lady Rosesong, but you don’t have to emphasize that. I doubt it makes much difference to the one being kicked, anyway.
Meg frowned. "Don't go taking his side!" she fumed, picking up another potato and peeling it viciously.
Christine bit back her laugh, knowing of the constant battle that Meg and her husband Robert kept having on the sex of their unborn child. Christine often found herself envying Meg, which immediately caused guilt to rise in her heart, for truly, she was extremely happy for the blessings God had given to her friend.
Meg was very lovely, with long wavy strawberry-blonde hair, and soft kind blue eyes. She was large now, due to being eight months pregnant, but she was small and elegantly slender, and often talked about her dream of dancing to the epic stories that bards wove before a roaring fire.
…That makes no sense. I know it’s an attempt to reference canon, but it still makes no sense.
Meg's husband, Robert, was a sweet natured man, who made his love for his wife quite obvious with the way he kissed her, touched her, and looked at her from across the room. He was a large man, with broad shoulders and strong arms, and whenever Meg stood next to him, she looked like a dwarf standing next to a giant. He had unruly sandy-brown hair which matched his equally unruly beard. Some would say he reminded them of a Saxon barbarian, but in truth, his nature was kind and his voice gentle. Christine could never imagine Robert doing anyone any harm…unless they attempted to do harm to his wife or child. Such a person would soon regret their actions on that day.
Ouch! *rubs head and glares* Foreshadowing ceases to be foreshadowing when you beat the readers over the head with it, Lady Rosesong.
That was probably what Christine envied the most about her friend. Not the fact that Meg was married to Robert; Robert was like an older brother to her, just as Meg was like a sister. It was the fact that the two of them had found such happiness and love with one another. It was rare that people married for love, but Meg and Robert had been most fortunate in that sense. Christine only prayed that one day, she too would find a man that would cherish her the way Robert cherished Meg…
Don’t worry, Christine. You’ll find him in the next chapter.
"I'd best get this to Carlotta before she screams her head off," Christine groaned as she carefully lifted the boiling kettle off the fire.
…With the way all that exposition stopped the story dead, I almost forgot Christine was supposed to be preparing Carlotta’s bath water.
"Let me help you," Meg insisted, rising from the table where she sat.
"No!" Christine scolded. "Meg, you're in no condition. I will get by fine on my own."
Meg made a face and then turned her head towards one of the young kitchen boys, who was sitting in a corner, lazily petting a dog at his feet while catching a mid-morning snooze. (He was petting the dog in his sleep?) "Boy!" Meg barked, waking the child from his nap with a start. "Make yourself useful and carry this pot to Mistress Carlotta's chambers," she ordered, to which the boy immediately scrambled to where Christine stood and began to heft the pot in the direction he had been told. (I imagine him just standing there holding the pot out, not moving or anything.) Christine looked at her friend with puzzlement, but Meg reached out for her and immediately looped her arm through Christine's. "Walk with me."
The two women followed the boy as he carefully hefted the pot towards Carlotta's chambers. "I must say," Meg sighed. "It does feel good to finally be able to stretch one's legs." Meg glanced up ahead, noticing that the boy was too preoccupied with making sure he didn't spill the water to be interested in listening to their conversation. "Remember how you said earlier that Carlotta needs to start appreciating these baths because they may become unaffordable luxuries?"
What part of a bath is unaffordable? The rose petals?
Christine nodded her head, unsure what her friend was trying to say.
"Well," Meg continued. "What if I told you that her father has found a way to keep such luxuries affordable?"
Christine gasped, her mouth falling open at the meaning of Meg's words. Only one such thing could do that. "Carlotta is going to be married?"
Meg put a finger to her lips, glancing at the boy up ahead, but quickly nodded, sharing the same grin that Christine possessed. "Can you imagine it? She may be out of this place in a fortnight!"
Christine could not imagine happier news. "A fortnight is not soon enough!" she pulled on Meg's arm to stop the two of them walking. (Instead of, you know, just stopping.) "Do you know who the man is?"
Meg shook her head. "A knight who has spent more of his life on the battlefield than in his own castle, from what I understand. But now, he wishes to take a bride…and it appears that Carlotta is his choice, until he lays eyes on you and changes his mind, of course."
Christine's brow crinkled somewhat. She couldn't help but feel sorry for this mysterious knight. He had no idea what he was getting himself into.
"CHRISTINE? IT'S ABOUT TIME!" Carlotta shouted angrily as the boy carefully knocked on her chamber door.
Christine groaned, and gave a small smile to her friend, while she took the pot of water from the frightened youth, and entered the luxurious bedchamber that belonged to Carlotta.
George and Robert stood in a corner, and quickly took the large pot and poured it into the tub they had dragged up on Carlotta's commands. (In my experience, pouring out a pot of water is easier than carrying it. If Christine can carry the full pot by herself, why can’t she pour it out? *is confused*) As soon as they had finished, they gave Christine a pitying look, before leaving as Carlotta dismissed them with a wave of her hand.
Christine knew her duties; they were a trained routine. She quickly went over to where Carlotta stood and immediately began undressing the spoiled girl, (We get it! Carlotta is spoiled! Now knock it off!) who was too busy admiring her fair reflection in the large looking glass that leaned against one wall.
While Christine despised her young mistress, she could not help but admit that Carlotta was indeed beautiful. She was only sixteen, (Serious question, Lady Rosesong: if you wanted a spoiled blonde bitch to boss Christine around and make her life miserable, why didn’t you just create an OC? Then you wouldn’t have had to de-age and make over Carlotta, and I wouldn’t have to get mad at you for rendering her OOC.) and yet she had the body of a goddess; round ample hips, a slim waist, and large milky white breasts that she proudly put on display with her low cut bodices. Her hair was blonde, but unlike Meg's which was gold with tints of copper here and there, Carlotta's was flaxen, almost a silvery white when caught in the sun's rays. Christine's evenings always ended with combing Carlotta's hair, at least three hundred strokes at a time. Her skin was fair, thanks to the many baths she took, and her lips were soft, pink, and luscious. Christine recalled how a visiting bard had once dedicated a poem in honor of Carlotta's lips; for practically a month, it was all the spoiled girl could talk about.
…Uh, is there something you want to tell us, Christine?
The only feature that Christine did not find beautiful about her young mistress was her eyes. Carlotta had dark brown eyes, and it was not the color that Christine disliked…after all, her mother had dark brown eyes, as did Antoinette and Robert. However, their eyes were kind, filled with warmth and laughter. Carlotta's reminded Christine of a chilly winter, of a black abyss, and when Carlotta's lips spread in a wicked smile, they looked practically demonic.
WE GET IT! CARLOTTA IS EVIL! …Crap, now she’s got me doing it.
"Hurry up!" Carlotta muttered. "The water will be cold soon!"
Christine quickly finished her task of undressing her young mistress, and turned her eyes away as Carlotta admired her naked beauty in front of the mirror, before dipping into the steaming hot tub of rose scented water. "Ah, much better…" the flaxen beauty purred as the warm water lapped at her curves.
Christine sighed and went to the side of the tub, holding a tray with the various items that Carlotta would request; scented oils, jars filled spices and herbs, and a large bar of soap made from sandalwood. (The soap was made of wood?!) Carlotta went about her task of rubbing the various sweet smelling items into skin, ordering Christine now and then to put her tray down, and scrub the young woman's back, as well as wash her hair. Many a time Christine had imagined dunking the girl's head under the water and perhaps holding it down, but the second such thoughts crept into her mind, she knew that the first thing she would do after Carlotta dismissed her was seek out a priest to confess her sinful thoughts. (After that paragraph up there rhapsodizing about Carlotta’s beauty, I’m inclined to think said sinful thoughts have less to do with murder and more to do with lesbianism.) However, such ideas did not come to Christine this time, as much to her surprise, her young mistress was actually speaking to her in a voice that held no hints of orders.
"I hate Papa," she spat. "I can not (One word!) believe what he did!"
Christine remembered the news Meg had shared, and could only assume that Carlotta was speaking about her future husband. Much to Christine's surprise, the girl seemed to be very much against the idea of marriage to a wealthy knight.
"I want nothing to do with Sir Erik!" Carlotta continued. "He's old and ugly! I don't care how rich he is!"
Christine bit back the groan in her throat. Carlotta was indeed greedy, but in the end, her vanity won out over anything. Indeed, this Sir Erik could be richer than the king himself, but nothing else mattered if Carlotta's vanity could not be appeased.
Vanity = caring too much about how you look. Shallowness = caring too much about how other people look. So that would be shallowness, not vanity.
"Surely he is not that bad…" Christine murmured, daring to speak without Carlotta's permission.
"He's hideous!" Carlotta spat in outrage. "I have never seen him, but I have heard enough stories about him and how ugly he looks!"
Christine's mind also wandered to this mysterious knight. Now and then, stories would reach her ears down in the kitchens, if she did not overhear them from Carlotta and her family while she was doing her chores. Yet she had never heard of this mysterious Sir Erik…or of his horrifying looks.
"Papa says he is coming here, this very day, to look upon me and seal the engagement contract (This fic isn’t even pretending to be historically accurate anymore.) he has made with father," she grumbled, taking the sandalwood bar and scrubbing it over her nails. "And if he so wishes, I could be married to him by tomorrow!"
Christine found herself gasping; of course Carlotta interpreted it as Christine pitying her. If only the girl truly knew.
Carlotta could be gone as soon as tomorrow! She did not know who this Sir Erik was, but she knew that without a doubt, the second he laid eyes on Carlotta's beauty, he would be more than willing to sign that contract with the devil and wed her before sundown.
"How could God be so cruel?" Carlotta wailed. "To curse me with such a hideous man horrible role in this fic!"
Christine bit her lips to keep from grinning. It was a curse to Carlotta, but a blessing for her, since she was the heroine.
"Unless…"
Christine froze as she heard Carlotta's words. While her young mistress was not a creature of great intelligence, she was not an idiot either. What Carlotta lacked in intellect, she made up for with cunning.
To quote Cookies, “And here I thought intellect and cunning went hand in hand. Silly me!”
"Christine…" she murmured in her sweetest tone. Christine knew this could only mean trouble. "How would you like to help your mistress?"
Christine would love to help her…help her leave the castle as soon as possible! But as Carlotta turned in the tub and settled her demon-like eyes upon her, Christine knew that was not the sort of help Carlotta was asking. "How old are you again?" Carlotta inquired, eyeing Christine up and down with great interest.
Christine's brow furrowed with confusion. "Twenty…" she replied, a horrible feeling settling over her.
*hopefully* Leroux? Is that you?
Carlotta nodded her head with approval. "And…you do look as if you're close to being my size…"
"Size?" Christine practically squeaked, her dread growing by the second.
"Yes…well, your bosom is no where near as ample as mine," she stated proudly. "But you are not much taller than me…and the rest of your proportions seem to fit…"
Christine's face was burning red as Carlotta continued to talk about her as if she were nothing more than a prized pet that someone kept. (…It’s not Leroux. *is disappointed*) "Yes," she murmured to herself after her assessment of the servant girl. "Yes, you'll do nicely."
Carlotta rose from the tub then, and much to Christine's surprise, did not order the girl to help her out, but rather grabbed the linen towel Christine had been holding, wrapped it around herself, and flew to the other end of her chamber to where a large cedar cabinet lay. (On its back?) Carlotta threw the cabinet doors open, and began to go through the many beautiful gowns that hung inside.
"No, no, no," she muttered to herself as she rifled through the gowns. "No…no…ah! This one!" she pulled out a silver blue gown, with long flowing sleeves and a neckline that left little to the imagination. Christine swallowed as she gazed at the gown Carlotta had thrown with careless ease upon the bed. (When did she throw it on the bed?) "You will wear that!"
Christine gasped when she realized that Carlotta was talking to her. (Who else would she be talking to? Is there a third person in the room I don’t know about?) "W-w-w-what?"
Carlotta grinned and lifted her chin high into the air. "You will wear this, and pretend to be me."
Had Christine not been holding onto the bedpost, she would have surely stumbled backwards at Carlotta's words, and found herself lying in what was left of the young woman's bath. "W-w-w-what?"
"Oh stop stuttering," the flaxen-haired beauty groaned before shoving the gown into Christine's arms. "Don't you see? It's perfect! I will pretend to be you…and you will pretend to be me for about two seconds before we’re discovered!"
Christine couldn't believe the madness that had taken her mistress. (Neither can I.) What on earth was she going on about! (Question mark, not exclamation point.) "I…I don't understand–"
Neither do I, Christine. Neither do I.
"It's not that difficult to understand!" Carlotta practically barked, her irritation growing by the second. "Look, Sir Erik comes today to see me. However, instead of seeing me, he shall see you! You will sit in the garden, wearing my gown, and I will be wearing one of your…" she paused as she gazed at Christine's drab brown dress and tunic with disgust. "Anyway," she shook her head. "I will pretend to be a servant while you pretend to be me."
Christine still didn't understand what this whole charade was about. "Why?" she finally asked.
Plot contrivance.
Carlotta groaned and her hands flew to her hair, before finally reaching out and dragging Christine over to her large looking glass. "Sir Erik will think YOU are me! Once he sees you, he will not be interested in carrying out the marriage, because he’ll fall in love with you instead!"
Christine felt as if someone had slapped her. She wished someone had; a slap would sting less than Carlotta's cruel words.
*slaps Lady Rosesong for removing Christine’s spine*
"Don't you see? Once Sir Erik sees how plain delicate and submissive you are…he will not wish to take me as his bride, and renounce the contract…and free me! It's perfect guaranteed to fail!"
Christine could not help but stare at her reflection in the mirror, feeling the cold bitterness of Carlotta's uncaring words sink over her. (Cue the “heroine doesn’t think she’s beautiful but is later proven wrong” cliche!) She knew she was not beautiful, not in the same way that Carlotta was, but…truly, she was not that off-putting…was she? Her hair was a dull brown color, it did not have the shimmer that Carlotta or Meg's had, and her skin was not smooth or the color of ivory cream, but slightly tanned from working outdoors in the summer, and rough for the many hours she slaved scrubbing the floors in the great hall. Her blue eyes did not seem to have the same brilliance of those of Lady Maria, whose eyes were often compared to two sparkling sapphires, and Christine did not need to be reminded of the fact that her breasts were nowhere as full or beautiful of those of her mistress.
Perhaps Carlotta was right? After all, standing there, beside her beautiful mistress, could one even begin to draw a comparison?
"It won't work…" Christine murmured (She speaks for all of us.) to herself, although Carlotta heard every word.
"Of course it will!"
"How?" Christine sighed, turning to face her pouting mistress. "Surely your father as (You’re missing an “h.”) described you to Sir Erik?" Christine rolled her eyes as Carlotta smiled smugly at the idea of her beauty being mentioned. "He will look at me and know that I am not you! You are fair, and I am dark–"
Christine, I appreciate your use of logic, but this is a badfic. Any and all attempts to use logic will be disregarded in the name of getting you and Erik in bed together, like it or not.
"I doubt Papa has gone to the trouble of mentioning my hair," she grumbled, running her fingers through its flaxen strands. Her father never commented on her beauty. (So he spoils his daughter rotten, but never tells her how beautiful she is? Something about that doesn’t make sense.) "And besides! You'll be wearing this," she patted the gown that was still in Christine's arms. "Even though you're not a beauty, he will still assume that you are me when he sees you in this gown. Trust me, men rarely notice anything beyond its surface."
For the first time in her life, Christine found herself agreeing with Carlotta.
"It's too risky," Christine shook her head, pushing the gown back into Carlotta's arms. "Your father or mother will see me and have me locked in the stocks, as well as beaten."
See above re: logic.
"They'll never know!" Carlotta insisted, pushing the dress back.
"No! I will not do it!" Christine said with great determination, throwing the dress down upon the bed and turning to leave, not caring if Carlotta screamed and threw a tantrum. Carlotta's wrath could be great, but it was often short; Carlotta would order that Christine be beaten for her "rudeness", which was sadly, something Christine was used to, but a beating from Carlotta paled to the possibility of being ridiculed in public or beaten by Pierre himself…or losing her job. Christine had no family and very little money; forcing her to leave would be a death sentence.
Because apparently there are no other jobs available anywhere.
"CHRISTINE!"
Christine ignored Carlotta's screams, determined to not hear one more insulting word of this crazed plan.
If only I could do the same.
"IF YOU LEAVE, I'LL TELL PHILIPPE!"
Philippe?! What are you doing in this fic? Isn’t there a ballerina you’re supposed to be romancing?
Christine froze at the mention of the man's name.
Philippe de Coleville; Carlotta's older brother and quite possibly, the most notorious rake in the entire kingdom.
Highlights of their careers include Sedley and the Earl of Dorset preaching naked to a crowd from an alehouse balcony in Covent Garden, as they simulated sex with each other, and the lowlight was Buckingham's killing of Francis Talbot, 11th Earl of Shrewsbury in a duel for the latter's wife.
Now tell me those guys don’t sound more interesting than the load of cliches Lady Rosesong is about to dump on us.
Wait a minute, was “rake” even a word meaning “a licentious man” during the Middle Ages? *checks Dictionary.com* No, it wasn’t! Fail, Lady Rosesong!
Philippe was often away from the castle, wasting what little money his father had, on drink, gambling, (Philippe has been possessed by the spirit of his creator?!) and women. Especially women. He only came to the castle when he needed more money, and despite Pierre's protests, Lady Maria indulged her son's wishes.
Christine hated those times when Philippe was there. It was amazing she still had her virginity. Philippe always loved to corner Christine when she was coming out of the kitchens, or the laundry room, or the barn outside. He would corner her with his body, his powerful arms locking her on both sides, making it impossible to escape or knee him in the crotch, apparently. He would whisper in her ear all the grotesque things he wanted to do to her body, and she would quake with revulsion as she felt his hot breath hit her neck. (Uh, not that I wish rape on anybody (for obvious reasons), but if Philippe wants to rape Christine so badly, why hasn’t he done it yet? He’s the lord’s son. She’s a servant. It would be her word against his, and she’d likely get the blame. Logically, there’s nothing stopping him from raping her.
…
Ah, I see. It’s what I like to call the Bad Romance Paradox at work. Every available major male character is romantically or sexually interested in the heroine, but she is not allowed to be interested in, or sometimes even have any (voluntary or involuntary) sexual experience with, anyone but her love interest. That’s why Philippe hasn’t raped Christine yet.) He was the reason Antoinette wanted her to marry soon; she believed that if Christine had a husband, Philippe's interests would either disappear, or at least Christine's husband would be able to keep him away.
Which bears no resemblance to The Marriage of Figaro whatsoever. /sarcasm
Carlotta grinned wickedly as she noticed the effect her brother's name had on the servant girl. She knew her brother wanted Christine, although she did not entirely understand why. (I just outlined why up there, Carlotta. It’s because of the Bad Romance Paradox.) And Carlotta knew that all it took was for one word from her, to have Philippe riding back to the castle to claim his "prize", if she so wished it.
Christine was trembling with both anger and fear as she gazed into the dark eyes of her mistress, knowing that it was a losing battle. There was risk from both angles: either she pretend to be Carlotta and risk being caught by Pierre or his wife, or she face Philippe and risk far worse.
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That concludes the sporking. I hope you enjoyed it, and please let me know if you want me to continue. Until then, farewell.
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"de Coleville" sounds unexceptional to me as a French surname (and a bit more original than the usual crop of 'Lady duBois' and 'Monsieur Blanc') -- apparently there actually was a historical Norman French family of that name: https://www.geni.com/people/Roger-de-Coleville-Lord-Colville-of-Bytham/6000000003243404915
They spell it all sorts of different ways, of course, so there are Collevilles and Colvilles and Colvils...
What doesn't make any sort of sense to me is shoving Carlotta and Philippe into a family relationship just because, well, the author hates them both (that makes them siblings?)
his daughter's high pitched shrills
'shrill' is now a noun ;-p
This chapter appears to have a severe attack of 'said-book-itis': Pierre protested, Carlotta challenged, Pierre grumbled, Carlotta shouted, Pierre continued, Carlotta spat, Pierre growled, Carlotta hissed... I don't believe either of them ever 'say' anything in this entire first scene :-D
Maria de Coleville was now smiling with approval at the words her husband had spoken
I was a bit puzzled for a moment as to where the previously unmentioned Maria de Coleville had come from, but I suppose it's made reasonably clear that she is the aforementioned wife: I think it's the way that Lady Rosesong says she is now smiling when up until this point we have never knowingly heard of her before...
I think you'll find a fair helping of domineering matriarchs in 'pre-feminist times'; just look at the popular trope of the mother-in-law, for one thing! No legal system has ever prevented a strong woman from telling a weak man what to do :-p
"AND," Pierre added, feeling his spirits lift as he continued to lay down the law. (Comma, not period.) "You will be a most CIVIL hostess to Sir Erik when he arrives!"
The comma's correct (the dialogue tag interrupts him in mid-sentence); it's the capital "You" at the start of the resumed sentence that is wrong.
You do boil water in order to take a bath (or wash yourself) in a world with no hot taps, since when the volume of hot water is strictly limited you need to start off with it as hot as possible in order to get enough warm water (since you are adding it to a larger quantity of cold) to make the result usable. If it takes twenty minutes to heat enough water over the fire to have a wash (been there, done that) then you want that one kettleful reallyhot to start with; it's all you're getting, and rinsing off with cold isn't much fun :-p
However, you wouldn't boil rose water, since that would drive off all the scent before it got anywhere near the bath. (If you were going to bathe expensively in rose water, you'd add the boiling water to the rose water to warm it up!)
Peeling potatoes... in the middle ages. Right.
That would be on a par with Merry and Pippin frolicking in the maize-fields, then.
I suspect the luxury of a bath consists of the amount of time and labour required in preparing it; heating/carrying all that water is hard work!
Antoinette Giry comes from "The Phantom of Manhattan", I believe -- not sure why fandom has adopted it, just as for some reason they have plucked Erik Destler out of a very obscure variant and elevated him to fanon :-p
Why is cooking in an inn 'slave labour'? If the cook left, the inn would be in chaos (no food!) -- temperamental French cooks were notorious for causing disruption to aristocratic households in the 18th/19th century. You don't mess with the cook if you have any sense (or want to eat :-p)
It's an interesting idea to have a Meg who is settled into a happy family relationship before the start of the story; we don't usually see Meg with a husband and children (unless married off to Raoul/Erik after long angst!)
We don't usually see Carlotta depicted as younger than Christine, either, although I made them the same age for 'Blue Remembered Hills'.
With the way all that exposition stopped the story dead
Yes, Carlotta's bath gets totally forgotten ;-p
There do seem to be quite a lot of servants in evidence for a castle that has supposedly dismissed them all: we've got Robert, Meg, George, and now multiple kitchen boys. Although that really isn't very many, I suppose...
Why is a young boy carrying the (heavy) water instead of adult Christine? How is he even able to carry a boiling-hot pot of water that has just come straight off the fire -- is he supposed to be cradling the scalding metal to his chest?
If Carlotta is going to be out of the castle in a fortnight, then her father scarcely needs to worry about keeping her luxuries affordable -- it will be her husband paying for them in future and elsewhere, surely?
Hang on, are George and Robert supposed to have carried a full bath of water up the stairs?
(No, I think Lady Rosesong doesn't realise that you pour in the cold and hot separately; I was picturing them pouring hot water into a tub of cold, but apparently Christine has just heated an entire bathful of water in one 'pot' :-p)
Carlotta has silvery pale hair but dark eyes? What sort of genetics are we talking about here?
And wouldn't a chilly winter be white and snow-covered, not 'black'?
Carlotta went about her task of rubbing the various sweet smelling items into skin
Wouldn't that be the servant's "task"?
"murmured", "continued", "grumbled", "spat", "wailed"... it's the return of the said-bookisms :-(
'low cunning' and intelligence are not usually held to be the same thing; one is an instinctive skill and the other is a higher intellectual faculty. You wouldn't describe a professor as cunning, or a fox as a genius.
Had Christine not been holding onto the bedpost
When did Christine have anything to do with the bedpost? When last mentioned, she was holding a towel beside the bath.
What makes Carlotta think that Sir Erik is marrying her for her beauty, anyway? He has apparently decided to marry her without ever having set eyes on her; it's more likely that he has just been 'ordered' to make the alliance in the same way that her father apparently was :-p
How can Christine be both tanned from working outside and coarsened by having spent so many hours indoors scrubbing floors?
This makes no sense. If Sir Erik is really supposed to be marrying Carlotta only because people have described her to him as overwhelmingly beautiful, what makes her suppose that not one of these people has ever mentioned the slightest detail of what she actually looks like? :-P
And what makes her think that Sir Erik is going to be permitted to see her alone, let alone only ever see her when neither of her parents is in the room?
Surely if Carlotta orders "that Christine be beaten", this implies that someone other than Carlotta (probably George or Robert) is to do the beating?
So why in the next phrase are we talking about being beaten by Carlotta not being so bad as being beaten by her father?
Marrying off one of the servants certainly wouldn't pose any kind of obstacle to the lord's son raping her if he actually wanted to; the only way it would make sense would be if she married someone outside the castle in order to move out of Philippe's orbit altogether.
And why on earth is Philippe only going to 'claim his "prize"' when he gets told to by his sister? What sort of licentious rake waits for his little sister to tell him to hurry up and take a woman he wants?
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You must lead an interesting life. :P
Peeling potatoes... in the middle ages. Right.
That would be on a par with Merry and Pippin frolicking in the maize-fields, then.
Lady Rosesong also thinks boys learned to be knights at knight school and that illegitimate sons could become knights.
I sincerely doubt the woman has ever read a history book in her life.
Carlotta has silvery pale hair but dark eyes? What sort of genetics are we talking about here?
I suppose she could have gotten the light hair from one parent and the dark eyes from the other parent, but then again, I don't know much about genetics. *shrugs*
What makes Carlotta think that Sir Erik is marrying her for her beauty, anyway? He has apparently decided to marry her without ever having set eyes on her; it's more likely that he has just been 'ordered' to make the alliance in the same way that her father apparently was :-p
We find out later that all Sir Erik wants is a mother for his children, but none of the other characters know that, so I don't know what the de Colevilles think Sir Erik's reason for marrying Carlotta is.
How can Christine be both tanned from working outside and coarsened by having spent so many hours indoors scrubbing floors?
Angst.
This makes no sense. If Sir Erik is really supposed to be marrying Carlotta only because people have described her to him as overwhelmingly beautiful, what makes her suppose that not one of these people has ever mentioned the slightest detail of what she actually looks like? :-P
And what makes her think that Sir Erik is going to be permitted to see her alone, let alone only ever see her when neither of her parents is in the room?
It would make more sense if Christine were the nobleman's daughter about to marry the mysterious and intimidating Sir Erik, but no! We must have the angst that comes with being a mistreated servant! And the Carlotta-bashing! And the Raoul-bashing-by-proxy!
(That actually sounds like an interesting fic. If I didn't start screaming and flailing like Philbin!Christine at the mere thought of E/C, I'd probably write it someday.)
What sort of licentious rake waits for his little sister to tell him to hurry up and take a woman he wants?
A very bad one. *seethes on behalf of certain individuals whose lives were all much more fascinating than this fic*
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I lived in the back cabin of a narrowboat (helping to work the boats) for a while. No electricity, no bottled gas, no refrigeration, no flush toilet, just paraffin lamps (including the boat's big tunnel lamp up at the front that you had to light before entering tunnels so that you could see where you were going -- and be seen by anyone coming the other way!), a bucket in the engine-room which was emptied out every few days, vegetables stored under the back counter where it was cool, and a little coal-fired range for cooking and heating, which would just about stay alight all night if you knew how to manage it (I didn't, so it had to be relit periodically).
I know a lot about polishing brass, shutting up all the hatches to strip off and wash all over with a flannel and a single kettle of boiling water to dilute a dipper of cold canal water, and using the soapy remains to scrub the coal-dust from the floor in an effort to keep the inside of the cabin spotlessly clean. (If you don't, you end up with black soles to your feet pretty quickly; when you live in a very small area - about eight foot by seven -- you have to be meticulous.)
It looked almost exactly like this, down to the rug on the floor, the control rods at head-height and the ticket-drawer on the cabin roof over the stove: http://www.canaljunction.com/narrowboat/boatmans_cabin.htm
It's very educational (though I didn't do it for that purpose) for any historical fiction writer to live without modern conveniences for a while... and to learn that things which might seem like a massive deprivation are actually quite easy to cope with. I've done a manual pump-out on a modern canal boat, for example, and I can assure you that a nice clean easy-to-empty bucket dosed with formaldehyde 'blue' that lives among the welcoming oil- and machine-smells of the engine room is infinitely preferable to using a foot-pump to eject the macerated contents of a flushing toilet tank that has hung around long enough to start fermenting :-P
Quite a lot of illegitimate kings' sons became high nobles, so I wouldn't rule out illegitimate nobles' sons becoming knights, if their father acknowledged them and/or they distinguished themselves in service. It's not a period I know in great detail, and it may vary according to which bit of 'the Middle Ages' you're talking about, but I don't think the whole illegitimacy thing was that important compared to facts on the ground -- note that Henry VII took care to dispose of the illegitimate son of his predecessor along with all the other Yorkist heirs... his own claim to the throne being derived from being descended from the illegitimate son of a younger son through the female line :-p
What, the Christine-as-noble's-daughter about to marry the mysterious Sir Erik? I'm sure one could find a more appropriate fandom to insert that particular scenario in -- I really don't see much relationship between that and any area of POTO canon :-D
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Neither do I, though I'm sure a few dozen romance novels have been written to that effect. :P