Defiant Heart

Chapter One

Damn, damn, and bloody damn!

Victoria threw the sudsy rag back into the murky water of the bucket. Damn, Sister Augustus, Mother Superior! she cursed her colorful opinions aloud, uncaring that she was committing another mortal sin. So what if she was overheard. Another ten Hail Mary’s and Our Father’s and her soul would be spotless once more, until the next time she cursed. Besides, whether she swore or not, Sister Augustus didn’t need an excuse to make her scrub the floors. The only reason the stone floors of this convent were clean was because of her.

Oh, damn this place!

Bloody damn the nuns!

Double damn ’er own soul!

She looked down at her small, red, dried fingers. Nails ripped to the quick, calluses, and blisters. She cursed again. As long as she could recall, she had lived in this cold, damp dungeon of a building. The cracked, grey walls held many secrets, but it held no love, just like the cold hearted nuns.

The wet rag slapped the floor, and her little hands swished it around and around. Her back was aching but when did it not? It was the year eighteen hundred and eleven, and she’d been left here thirteen years ago by a woman who did not want her. Never had a day passed that she didn’t notice the cruel world around her. People came and went, but no one wanted her, only the babies and toddlers were adopted. So, she retaliated by playing pranks. Yesterday she put a tadpole in one of the nun’s soup and nearly gave Sister Mary a heart attack. And last week she cut little Lisa’s long, blonde braid off while the child slept. So what, it was only hair, it would grow back, she’d explained as if it was nothing. And when Rodney stuck out his tongue, she grabbed his pee-wee making him squeal like a pig in a poke. 

Victoria! Ye must ’urry up an’ finish, we’re havin’ a visitor, a very special lady, announced Sister Augustus.

Blimey! Wot da ‘ell d’ Oi care, was on the tip of her tongue. Instead, she looked up at Sister August. Aye, sister, she voiced through gritted teeth, but inside, she thought, Bloody ’ell, so another lady waz comin’ ta adopt another little brat! Whoopee d‘! 

When left alone, there was no denying that her vexation was evident and Tory displayed this by kicking the bucket of water across the stone floor. And ‘tis Tory, she groused inwardly. It’s the name she preferred, and had insisted on, but no one paid her any mind.

The bell echoed through the hallway signifying that all were to be in the chapel in five minutes. Bah, Tory grumbled following the children, who were all younger than her. She knew that the toddlers and babies were already there, and she suspected that the lady was already ahhhing and cooing them. What was the point of she and the few others show their faces?

Tory was the tallest by far even though Thomas was but a year older than her. Then Rodney and his sister, Mia stood to attention next to Lisa, the youngest of the older bunch and she was six. Everyone, but her, was praying that they would be selected. Ah, what fools they were.

Sister Augustus walked in slamming that dreadful ruler against her palm, and one would think by now that her hand would be raw. If only it would fall off, she thought. Oi su’pose Oi should say a few Hail Mary’s egged her intrusive conscience, but she merely shrugged at the notion because if she prayed for forgiveness every time she wished ill of the nuns, she be praying constantly.

Listen up children. Slap! Countess Isobel Annicott is ‘ere taday ta chose one of ye. Slap! ’Tis important that ye all give ’er a big smile an’ be on yer best behavior, threaten the nun. Slap.

Aw crumb bun, why waz she givin’ me d’ eye wiv’ dat look when she spoke?

She gave the nun an innocent smile making Sister Augustus roll her eyes heavenward for strength. When she walked away Tory giggled, and she saw mother superior stiffen. She quickly wiped the smile off her face and stood to attention. Within moments, a beautiful lady stood at the doorway. She heard Thomas gulp and his Adam’s apple bob. She really had to keep from laughing at the dreamy look on the boy’s face. Tory was certain he was not fantasying her being a mother figure.

Children, this is Countess Isobel Annicott, Sister gave them all a, you-better-behave-look, which Tory knew damn well it was mostly meant for her.

Good morning Countess, she chanted along with the young voices united in a sing-song fashion.

The lady was dressed in the latest fashion, a pale blue silk which enhanced her blue eyes and swished as she walked. Her hair was honey-blonde, done in an upsweep fashion. A darker shade of blue hat sat askew on her head and when she walked in, the purple plumbs fluttered in the air. Diamond earrings adorned her ear lobes, and a matching choker around her neck caught the sunrays that filtered through the stained glass of the chapel. Tory thought that the lady simply reeked of nobility. She was the epitome of all that was gracious and demure.

Countess Annicott stopped at Thomas. What is your name child?

Tory was in awe of the lady, and her voice sounded like wind chimes, clear and beautiful. Wot da ’ell waz she doin’ ’ere?

He gulped, and Tory was surprised that he did not wet his pants. Err...Thomas, my lady.

She smiled. Well, Thomas, you’re a handsome little man.

He gulped again and turned a nice shade of red.

Blimey, any minute now, thought Tory, and she gazed at his crotch.

Thomas, please open your mouth, the countess ordered.

Thomas blinked; his lips trembled.

Tory rolled her eyes. Wot a dimwit.

Thomas did after mother superior slapped the ruler.

Hmmm? was the only reply uttered by the countess and Tory watched as she did the same to the rest of the children before stopping at her. Open please.

Tory folded her arm in defiance. Naow ’ere lady, ye’re nae buyin’ a ’orse, are yew? She clenched her mouth tighter. Of course, she did not miss the fact that Sister Augustus gasped and turned white under her habit and shook that damn ruler in the air.

Victoria! I warned... Countess Annicott raised her hand. The child has a point, sister. And she’s entitled to an explanation. She turned back and addressed Tory again. Victoria, is it?"

Tory pouted, Bugger! Nay, ’tis Tory.

The countess smiled. Ah, very well Tory. I am looking for a child about your age to come and work for me; someone young, like yourself to be a companion also. Can your read, my dear?

Tory took a moment to answer. Blister it, she was looking a gift horse in the mouth, so she better watch what she said, or she might spoil a chance of getting out of here. Sorry, mum, Oi mean, malady. Aye, Oi’m able ta read. Oi’m very smart, Oi am, mum. She opened her mouth. See, all me teeth are clean too. The countess laughed richly, and it was a warm laugh that Tory liked.

Let me see your hands. Tory quickly obliged. Hmmm, you’re a hard worker; I see. You will do fine.

Tory nearly peed in her bloomers.

Chapter Two

Wal jus’ bloody fabulous! Gawd, yew can knock me over wiv’ a feather.

For the first time in her life, Tory was speechless. And she wasn’t the only flabbergasted one in the room. Mother Superior turned even paler, if that were possible and the other children stared wide-eyed as if the countess had gone mad.

Oh, nay, M-Malady! sputtered Sister Augustus. Are ye sure? She’s a bit of a problem, an’...

Tory had to bite her tongue seeing how the countess looked perturbed by the nun’s outburst, as if her decision should be questioned. But she gave the countess credit, and she remained calm, like the lady she was and simply stated, I have made my choice. Please have her ready for my carriage to pick her up by five.

Nay, mother! a male voice shouted by the door frame. All eyes looked to see who had entered unseen until now, including Tory and she gazed at a young boy about three or four years her senior. He looked like the countess with exceptional blue eyes, but his hair was brown instead. It only made his eyes bluer, too beautiful for a male, she thought. He was tall, lanky, and his long nose a bit too high in the air to suit her. No doubt in her mind that he was a spoiled, milksop lad, a bit of a milquetoast. Probably a mama’s boy by the way he dressed. His silk shirt was laced around the cuffs and collar, and his pants were a bit too tight, suggesting that the lad was not all boys, and to her chagrin, her eyes remained a bit too long on his crotch. The boy strutted forward, his face screwed in anger. Mum, she’s too skinny and plain. And her red hair is matted and stringy. He pinched his nose. Oh, mother! his voice held a note of sarcasm. Just look at her, I don’t believe she bathed in...

Tory had enough and stared him down. Bloody ’ell. Oi ’ave ’nough of yer insults, yew autocratic bully! ‘Ow would yew smell if’n yew was scrubbin’ floors all day? She marched right up to the lad and pointed a finger into his chest. Aagh! Yew are a bloody lackey, milksop, dandy, spoiled lout! Yew Nobs figger yew are better. Oi ought to ta give yew wot fer, yew...

A loud gasped interrupted her and she turned to see Sister Augustus, who was about to swoon clung to her bosom and grabbed hold of a pew to steady herself. Bloody ‘ell! Just then Sister Mary entered and screamed, rushing to mother superior’s side. Are ye all right? she asked as the children rushed to their side. Without waiting for an answer, the sister ordered, Mia, get Sister Augustus a glass of water.

Tory was rude, said Rodney, looking a bit too smug, but it quickly vanished when she gave him a threatening glare.

The lout hissed, Mother you’re not going to really—-.

Oi will nae live wiv’ yew! hissed Tory, giving the countess’ son the evil eye. And then everybody was yelling at once.

Silence! snapped Countess Annicott. Please, will everyone calm down? She grabbed her son by the ear, ignoring his yelp and muttering and forced him to sit in a pew behind Sister Augustus. Straightening her hat that had shifted, she stared at her audience. Not a sound could be heard, not even a church mouse, if there were any about. Good, now that I have every one’s undivided attention, I will have my say and I do not want to hear a word from any one. Is that clear? She gave her sulking son a warning stare.

All heads nodded and Sister Augustus was fanning herself with a prayer missal and Tory thought that this day was turning out to be very eventful and wickedly humorous. 

First I must apologize for my son, Lyndon’s unspeakable behavior. I’m afraid I coddled him too much since his father, Count Manfred Annicott died last year. She turned her attention to Tory.

Oh, oh, bloody marvelous, Oi’ve done it naow. Me an’ me big mouth.

She swallowed hard waiting for the woman to tell her she was no longer hired.

Tory, I will expect more respect from you. I forgive you this time only because my Lyndon was rude and had misspoken, but from here on, you will treat him with respect a young count deserves.

For the second time that day, Tory’s mouth dropped making her tongue stick to the roof of her mouth, which was a good thing in her case because she so wanted to laugh and say, Respect dat bugger, me bloody arse. But thankfully the retort lay dormant in her throat.

And Lyndon, I will not have you speak to this child like you did. She will be a part of our family and though she’s not going to be your step-sister, you’ll treat her like one. Hear me?! The countess’ son turned beat red and gave Tory an evil leer, but he reluctantly said he would be kind to her, more to the point mumbled it.

Tory knew if she believed that, she might as well accept that there are fairies and a pot of gold. Well, it mattered not; she could abide him as long as she was out of this awful place. Anywhere would be better than here.

Chapter Three

Gawd, da place is a bloody castle.

Tory’s eyes were as wide as saucers when she first had a glimpse of her new home. The house had three stories, surrounded with stained glass windowed doors and each door on the two upper floors had a small balcony fenced in with a black iron railing. She was agog at the beautiful landscape and manicured lawns. Fragrant flowers perfumed the air and Tory thought she might have died and gone to heaven. But then any place would be utopia after the hell she had been living in.

As the fancy Phaeton traveled up the long, winding pebbled driveway, she sighed recalling how the coach had pulled up at stroke of five, just like the countess promised. She’d been waiting by the convent gate with a satchel of her belongings, her life’s possessions, consisting of a hair bush, two pairs of bloomers, one baggy old uniform, not counting the one she was wearing, and her worn out shoes crushing her toes. Fastened around her neck was a gold locket with the inscription, Heart of my heart. The trinket had been pinned to her blanket when she was abandoned. It was the only thing she had of her mother’s and vowed to never take it off.

Sister Mary and Sister Margret wished her happiness; mother superior merely grunted and told her to wait by the gate. The children simply stared at her as if they were in shock and she was positive that one of them, if not all, were wondering who would be the unlucky soul to do most of the chores now, especially scrubbing the stone floors.

She’d heard the vehicle before she saw it and her eyes bugged out of her head. It was a story book, two seat carriage, black, trimmed in gold and a large gold crescent on the door with the letter A. Blister it, Oi’ll be damned. The driver snapped the whip and the two black, matched horses stopped. The footman jumped down and pulled out a step. He smiled and took her portmanteau, helping her into the coach as if she were a princess. Bloody ’ell. Her heart fluttered. Someone pinch me.

Make yerself comfortable, miss, said the footman.

Tory’s head bobbed up and down, because words were stuck in her throat. She was sitting on red, velvet cushions and never feeling anything so marvelous. All she wanted to do was sink into them forever. Now, she was almost sorry that the trip didn’t take longer than the two hours, but seeing her new home, her heart skipped a beat. Surely, she was dreaming and any moment Sister Augustus would yank her hair forcing her out of bed. But instead, the coach stopped and the door opened. The footman’s gloved hand reached inside.

Come, Miss, ye’re ’ome. Her stomach clenched and she was nervous and anxious. Tory stood rooted to the ground. Come, child, the footman waved her forward, her portmanteau in his other hand. As she walked up the stone steps that led to two large oak doors, her eyes were scanning as much of her surroundings as possible, she was so in awe of the place. Too intent on her survey, she bumped into the servant’s back.

Oaf!

Just then the door opened and a middle aged servant, wearing a clean, black uniform with a white starched apron and a white cap on her head, greeted Tory. She took the bag from the footman and said, Welcome, Miss Victoria, Oi‘m Becky.

Thanks, but ’tis Tory, ma’am, she replied swallowing the lump in her dry throat.

The servant smiled again. Aye, Mistress Tory, please follow me ta yer room.

Once more Tory’s gazes darted all around trying to see everything at once. The foyer was big, bigger than the room she had shared with the other children. The floor was white marble with gold veins running through it. Lawd, ’twill take ’er all day to scrub dem. She shrugged at the notion; it would be a pleasure now.

The winding staircase was carpeted in a red, plush rug, and she was tempted to take off her snug shoes only to feel it against her feet. That would be something to be considered in the future, she mused. The maid led her down a long corridor and stopped before a door. ’Tis yer room, she explained and opened the door making Tory gasp.

Nay, nae possible, she rasped. Tis fer a... She swallowed unable to say anything. The room was definitely a girls room, but for a daughter, not a servant. She looked at the maid in question.

’Twas Matilda’s room, but Oi’m not at liberty ta say anythin’ more, offering a little information. Make yerself at ‘ome, the countess will be ‘ere soon, ta explain yer duties. The servant left her standing in the middle of the beautiful bedroom completely stunned. She was definitely dreaming.

The four poster bed stood in the middle of the room, adorned with a white lace canopy. The bedspread had a matching lace coverlet. A beautiful white dresser, trimmed with gold, was next to a matching armoire. On the other side of the room sat a lady’s dressing table, with a cushioned chair and the room was almost completely done in white and gold, except for the Persian rug, which had many shades of green woven into the design. The stained glass door was ajar to let a southerly warm breeze drift into the room.

This ’ad ta be a mistake, she voiced aloud.

I have to agree, said a deep voice and Tory didn’t have to turn to know who was there; she remembered so well that condescending tone of Lyndon. So the war had begun, she thought. Well, the little lout was in for a surprise because he had met his match. She turned seeing him leaning against the door frame with smugness written all over his face. Too bad he had to be so good looking, but then being handsome doesn’t make a male a loveable character, especially in his case.

Wal, if it ‘tisn’t Lyndon, or should Oi call yew Lyn? she giggled, and then added quite triumphantly, Ye’re too pretty ta be a boy. And it was a direct hit! Ha, that got ’is bloody attention. Goody fer ‘er.

Lyndon clutched his fists, his anger rising. He had argued with his mother all the way back from the orphanage, but it was useless, she would not change her mind. Once home, he sulked. He wanted to strangle that viper tongued wench; and he might just do that. No one had ever spoken so disrespectful to him and not only had he felt indignant, but his pride and vanity was also wounded. Furthermore, he was immensely annoyed at his mother for scolding him as if he were a child, and in front of those wet nose, little bastards, no less. He was certain that little twit was silently laughing at him then... and is still. She should go to the devil, he thought, but then, Satan would probably throw her back.