Chapter Text
Westlie frantically rushed down the hallway, papers and flower petals forming a trail of chaos behind her as she ran. She didn’t have time to stop and pick them up, she was late already, and she could never ever be late.
The seconds seemed to drag on forever as she ran, until at last she skidded to a stop in front of a large mahogany double door. Panting and trying not to cough loudly, she stood up straight and took a moment to fix the strands of hair that had fallen out of place during her mad dash through the manor. She may be running late but that was no excuse to look unkempt, she’d learned that the hard way. With one last deep breath to steady herself she pushed open the heavy door and stepped into the office.
The room that greeted her was familiar but not friendly. The wood panels lining the wall were dark and made the room feel claustrophobic and cavernous all at once. The fire crackled softly in its hearth, emphasizing the silence, and casting deep shadow on every nook and cranny despite the afternoon sun shining through the windows. Worst of all though, was the massive desk behind which sat an equally massive man, imposing both in stature and demeanor, her father, Arthur Faire.
He glanced up when Westlie walked in, only raising his eyes, and not his head. She approached her father smoothly but quietly, head down barely daring to make eye contact. As she came to a stop on the other side of his desk, Arthur pulled a pocket watch from out of his waistcoat and looked down, head remaining stationary as he peered back up at her,
“You’re late.” He spat out.
Westlie took a deep breath and readied an explanation, but she was cut off by a cough that wretched its way out of her lungs.
Arthur sat back in his chair and pinched the bridge of his nose with disdain.
“This,” he said pausing, “this is why I relegate you to the paperwork. I’d love nothing more than for you to take over the company someday, you know that don’t you Westlie? Heaven knows your wretch of a sister wouldn’t be cut out for it, insolent little brat that she is. But you, “he paused, looking Westlie up and down, nose scrunched up in disgust before sighing in disappointment,” How am I meant to introduce you to Fairweather’s connections, looking like…that?” He spat the last word.
Westlie shrunk back a bit. She knew Morgan was the prettier of the two, she had been ever since Westlie had taken ill as a child and never really recovered. Her current condition was an embarrassment, and despite her earlier attempts to fix her appearance from her rush, she could never remove the various flowers that marred her visage. She could never be seen in polite society without bringing shame to the Faire name, thus she had been relegated to balancing the books for Fairweather, never setting foot outside the manor. Westlie shook the thoughts from her head and set the remaining papers down on the desk in front of Arthur.
“Here are the reports you’d asked for, I’ll take my leave now”, she said, turning on her heel to go.
Just before she reached the door her father’s voice rang out through the silence, causing her to flinch at the sudden noise, “I’ll have Mary bring you the rest of the tables to balance before she leaves for the day. I’ll want them finished and on my desk at 7 am sharp.” She could feel his piercing glare on her back, “Do not be late again.” Westlie nodded without turning around and slipped out the door.
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Back in her room, Westlie took off her corset and went straight to the mirror, against her better judgment. The glass was foggy and cracked in a few places, but she could still see herself clearly enough. She stared and stared. Unable to pull herself away, feeling a roller coaster of emotions within her, none of which showed on her face.
How DARE he talk to her like that? It wasn’t her fault that she’d been ill. Arthur with his perfect complexion and holier than thou attitude, had NO RIGHT to talk down on her like that!! One day she was going to give him a piece of her mind!
But then again, she’d never heard of anyone else with her condition. When she was younger, and the Faires had first called the doctor, she’d heard whispers from the next room as her parents talked with the doctor. She hadn’t been able to catch much, but she had caught the name of the disease, Pétaletoux, Petal Cough
So it wasn’t unheard of. But it seemed there was no cure and she’d just kept getting worse as the years went on.
Westlie stared at her reflection and gently brought her hand up to her face. She couldn’t see out of her left eye anymore, the flowers had overtaken it snaking up from under her collar until, slowly, her vison had been lost. While a few flowers wound their ways down her arms, sprouted from her hair, or wound round her ankles, most of the flowers had clustered around her chest and torso, which made wearing structural garments incredibly uncomfortable and even painful some days, no matter how loosely she laced them. But Arthur would never let her go without one, even if she wasn’t seen by the public it just wasn’t proper.
What was even the point… it wasn’t like she could change her appearance, and besides Arthur was right, it wasn’t proper for someone in her condition to be in the public.
She heard a knock on the door, and slowly dragged herself away from her reflection. Grabbing a robe she kept near to hand, Westlie walked to the entrance, hesitated, sighed, and pushed it open with a creak.
There was no one there. And looking both ways down the hallway Westlie could see no one. However, when she glanced down, there was a stack of papers six inches thick on the floor in the hallway.
Mary hadn’t even bothered to wait for her to answer the door, not that Westlie expected her to, Mary had always been her father’s favorite assistant, always getting let out early, and dropping her work on Westlie without so much as a word from Arthur about it.
She leaned back into the room and glanced at the clock, 8 o’clock, Mary had stayed later than usual then, certainly she wanted to be done with work as fast as possible, and Westlie was last on her list. Of course, she’d drop the tables and run, why stick around any longer than she needed to?
Westlie looked back at the stack of papers in the hallway, she’d be lucky to sleep at all tonight with this much to do. Nonetheless, she sighed and bent down to pick them up, careful not to ruffle them or bump any out of place, with a grimace she noticed that the bottom page had a slight smudge from being placed on the dingey carpet. She’d hear about that from Arthur tomorrow for certain.
She set the work down on her old, but serviceable, desk, and took a seat. Nothing to be done about it now, she’d just have to make sure all her tables were balanced and that it would be enough to sate Arthur’s rage.
Westlie picked up her pen and began to do the figures.
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It was hours later when Westlie woke with a start. The room was dark, and her candle had gone out. She must’ve dozed off. She relaxed and opened the desk drawer for a new candle. It wasn’t likely she would be able to finish balancing the numbers now, but she had to at least try.
A loud thunk behind her made Westlie whip around and peer into the darkness. What was that? No one came up to this part of the manor. Even the maids avoided it when they could, and Arthur let them. Even worse the sound had come from inside her room.
Westlie squinted as hard as she could into the darkness, looking for a sign of something anything. Finally, she caught a glimpse of movement, and her heart sank. She had hoped it was just a rat or some flying night insect, but no, there was an unmistakable flutter to her curtains. Her window was open, and something had come inside.
Westlie frantically fumbled with the candle and managed to light it despite the shaky fingers. The light cast deep shadows and she swung the light around the room, searching for a sign of the intruder. “Who’s there?”
No response. She’d have to investigate. Westlie’s room wasn’t lavish. She had her dressing, a desk, some bookshelves, her bed, and a few chests scattered about, there couldn’t be that many places to hide. Cautiously she stepped forward and shone her light behind some chests. Nothing. She checked the other side of the bed. Still nothing. Nothing behind the curtains, nothing lurking near a bookshelf.
Westlie inhaled in relief, and went to close the window, making sure to lock it this time. “Must’ve been the wind, maybe a hinge is loose? If so I’ll have to see about fixing that.” she mused to herself as she went back to work.
A few hours later, she stretched, she still had a lot of work to finish in the next… She looked at the clock and sighed, the next 4 hours, but she’d made a lot of progress, surely Arthur couldn’t be too mad at her, right? Her train of thought was brought to an abrupt halt when she heard an sound echo through the sparse room.
The snore had been quiet but unmistakable, where was it coming from? She’d checked the room over already, so it couldn’t – there it was again, coming from the direction of the bed. Westlie got up and tiptoed towards the source of the sound. The area around the bed was clear, no sign of anyone, but Westlie remembered that she had neglected to check under the bed. Slowly, so as not to startle her unwanted guest, she got on her knees and leaned down to peer under the mattress.
Westlie was surprised and relieved, she wasn’t sure what she had expected but it wasn’t this. The young girl, she couldn’t have been older than 8, was curled up and snoring peacefully amidst the dust bunnies. Westlie decided to leave the girl alone, she was confused about how and why the child had come into her room, but she obviously posed no threat, Westlie could question her in the morning. With a quiet grunt Westlie straightened up, in the meantime she had work to do.