# Introducing Lady Beatrice



## HLGStrider (Jul 16, 2008)

This is the first chapter from my currently unnamed project. Take a gander. 


The Tutor always looked ragged after the morning lessons: his already wild brown hair tousled from consistent head-scratching, his tiny spectacles nearly to the end of his long, straight bridged nosed. Though only a few years older than his oldest student, he seemed a beaten old man, trodden upon by three hours of harassment and frustration . . . And with such poor results. Beatrice wasn't even sure the youngest Muncy child could read and hear the young Tutor was trying to teach the child Latin. Poor, poor Tutor.
There were three Muncy's: the sixteen-year-old twins, Emris and Emrilla, and ten-year-old Ebric, all doted upon by Lord and Lady Muncy and all frighteningly spoiled. Emrilla was the worst. While Ebric was rowdy and Emris scornful, their sister was conniving. She wielded an almost supernatural power over any male who dared to cross her path and even Tutor was hopelessly in her sway. Beatrice supposed such things went without saying. After all, the girl was lovely. Her hair curled in strawberry blonde ringlets, her eyes flashed green, and she probably could slip her entire body through one of the castle arrow slits. Just looking at her made Bea feel fat and frumpy . . . and unlike her brothers, Emrilla was smart. What she wanted, she received, and no one would stand in her way.
Bea shrank back into the corner behind the great armchair, clutching her precious charcoal pencil and squinting at the parchment Tutor had tacked upon the wall across the room. She had been unable to scavenge any paper for this lesson and so was quietly copying the list of words onto a wooden shingle she had found the day before. Tutor apparently had given up already on teaching anything more that session. He straightened papers into piles as his students discussed the party that would be thrown that weekend in honor of their father's birthday. 
"There will be plenty of boys for your games, Emris," Emrilla snorted. "You can spare me a few for the dance. I promise I won't wear them all out." 
"It's better for me if you do," Emris chuckled. "After all, if they are all broken hearted from your flirting they will be little competition for me in the saddle. Father plans to let me race the Arabian he purchased this spring."
Beatrice carefully retraced the last word onto her plank and then leaned back against the wall. She wasn't officially forbidden from attending lessons, but her guardian had long ago made it clear that such luxuries were intended for his children alone and if she attempted to join in those children had his complete approval in all forms of torment inflicted. If discovered she would be forced in one way or another to leave, and she so wanted to learn.
"You might as well be done for the day," Tutor finally said. "I will see you tomorrow, same time." The children glanced at him but exited the room without a word of farewell. Tutor sighed and untacked the parchement; laying it upon the table he gathered up his books and followed after the Muncy's. Bea sighed. They hadn't even gotten to the history lesson today and she had been in the mood for a good story. She crawled out of her hiding place, stashing her pencil and makeshift slate under the chair's cushion. Tomorrow would be the same. She would slip in before Tutor arrived and stay quiet through the lesson. Before she left the room she stopped at the table. There, lying in plain sight, was a thick stack of unused, white paper. She swallowed. Her hand strayed to the stack. How many sheets could she take without Tutor noticing? Deciding on five she slowly counted them out.
The sound of the door opening behind her caused her to jump and started her heart beating painfully. She turned and met the stare of Tutor. The young man gazed at the paper in her hands then glanced around the room. 
"Were you here the whole time?" he asked. "I never saw you come in." She swallowed, concentrating on shrinking down as much as possible. Already short and plain, Bea had found it easy to avoid notice before simply by staying in corners and shutting her mouth. Now, however, she could think of no way to disappear. She nodded, her black hair falling across the right half of her Face. "Why?" Tutor frowned. 
"I . . . I wanted to hear the lesson," she whispered. 
"Well, at least someone did," he grumbled. "If you want some paper go ahead and take it. None of my students take notes." Timidly Beatrice pocketed a few more sheets. "You are Lord Egbert's ward, aren't you? I've 
heard you mentioned but I think this is the first I've ever seen you."
"Mentioned as in hearing how much of their finances I drain already?" Beatrice frowned. She could not remember a time when Lord Egbert hadn't complained about how much she ate or how expensive her clothes were. Tutor smiled.
"Lord Egbert is a little tight-fisted, so yes, his mentions were mostly financial in nature . . . you are nearly Emrilla's age and I am not paid by the student. There is no reason you can't sit in. You shouldn't hide."
"THEY don't want me," she said.
"Ahh." He nodded slowly. "So . . . are you often here during the lesson?" She nodded. "Learned anything so far?"
"A good deal, thank you," she answered. He sat down. 
"Well, that's encouraging. Perhaps it isn't me after all. I'm afraid my other students have maintained little of my instruction . . . Please , sit. I haven't had an educated person to speak to in weeks." He laughed, a 
merry laugh but it still stung somehow. Perhaps he intended to laugh with her, but life had long ago taught Bea that people only laughed at her. She eased into a high backed chair across the table, her chest even with the table top. He gazed at her thoughtfully. "If you don't mind me asking, do you possibly have some fay-blood? Your features speak of the fair folk and . . . well, your height or lack thereof suggest the same."
She winced inwardly. She knew her slate blue eyes and peaked ears were distinct but she still preferred to think people did notice them, or her, at all.
"People say my mother was part fairy. I never met her. Father was Lord Muncy's cousin. He was an adventurer who returned home after five years absence carrying me in a basket."
"Ah, now that you mention it, I recall hearing that story. I tend to dismiss servants' gossip, however; so much of it is salacious rather than substantive." He smiled cheerfully.


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## HLGStrider (Jul 16, 2008)

"Not in this case . .. he left me here claiming he had to rescue my mother from a vague fate worse than death of some sort and never returned. He isn't here now. That's proof enough that the story is true." He swallowed his smile.
"I am sorry. I didn't mean to make light of it," he said. She blinked. No one had ever bothered to apologize to her before.
"No, that is all right. It is a better story than imagining he simply didn't want me, after all." She smiled hoping to bring back his cheer. "When I was little I used to imagine going after him, finding both him and my mother in the hands of horrific evil, and rescuing them to worldwide acclaim . . . though I realized a long time ago that if either of them was still alive they would've come back for me by now. As it is I am destined to be an expense for Lord Muncy forever."
"You couldn't possibly eat that much," Tutor laughed. "For what it is worth, I'm glad you were placed here, if only so that someone would appreciate my lessons. After all, what is a teacher who doesn't teach?"
"Oh, you teach," she assured him. "They just don't learn." 
Tutor laughed loudly and for a moment he looked every bit as young as when he had first come to work for the Muncy's a year before. She smiled. It felt good causing that sort of laugh. There was a purpose to a life that brought such laughter.
They sat in silence, the Tutor and the Ward, and not for the first time Beatrice envied Emrilla her ease with men. Emrilla would be able to look Tutor in the eye and smile. Tutor was unable to confidently return 
Emrilla's glances, however, so perhaps there was some advantage to being plain. Often during her stolen learning she had longed to ask questions of Tutor, desiring elaboration or clarification on some point or other, but now 
that she finally had him to herself she found nothing to ask, nothing to say, and she blushed at her own lack of wit. After a few moments of silence she bridged the gap with the only comment she could think of.
"I told you about me, but I know nothing of you. Do YOU have fay-blood?"
He smiled but shook his head.
"I have not your intriguing heritage, milady," he replied. "My father was a scribe in the service of Lord Muncy and upon his death I took his position as I had been trained to do. There is little more to it . . . nothing more, actually." Her eyes widened.
"You are the Scribe's son?" she gasped. He smiled, sadly she thought, but nodded.
"Yes, I believe they called him that though I knew him as Father or Rillard, whichever you prefer. I am not surprised you didn't connect us. The nobility generally knows little of their servants' non-professional lives. My father took his work seriously even if his students did not."
Bea nodded. She was unwilling to mention it but the Scribe had once dragged her from his class by the ear. His reaction to finding her that one time had been so violent that she had not dared to return until Tutor had replaced him. 
"So, milady, perhaps I can find a way to teach you in my spare time . . . It would save you the trouble of crouching behind furniture. . ."
"Why, little Imp, what are you doing out of the shadows? Did Tutor catch you skulking among the books again?"
Bea nearly slipped under the table in shame as Emrilla glided into the room. Tutor sprang to his feet and turned to face her. The older girl gazed at the younger, a cruel smile playing over her lips, before turning her 
eyes fully upon Tutor. Charm radiated from every feature. Tutor characteristically dropped his eyes. Emrilla had won again and in less than two minutes. 
Emrilla didn't so much as look at her again as Bea slipped from the room . . . and neither did Tutor. As she started down the hall she could hear Emrilla laughing and chatting, moving through his soul like a conquering 
army with his heart the conquest. Something in her shuddered. She had seen enough of Emrilla's admirers to know her preferences. She liked fighters, stunningly handsome, muscular men with wealth at their disposal and presents to gift. Tutor was lanky, of only ordinary appearance, and poor . . . dreadfully poor. She would bring him only hurt and would do so purely for her own amusement. Emrilla was pure evil.
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