“Oh, what a tangled web we weave...when first we practice to deceive.” Walter Scott, Marmion.

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Chapter One

Derbyshire, England, 1849

“Marisol, might we find something to eat?” begged Elena whose stomach felt as though it had begun to eat itself.

“English, Elena!” Marisol chided. “You must disassociate yourself with Spain.”

Elena’s accented English had mellowed much with Marisol’s tutelage, but she still preferred to speak her mother tongue. Spanish came naturally to her. She still had to think about her English words to make sure she had selected the correct ones.

After eight years of secret English lessons, Elena and Marisol had fled Spain in the uniforms of palace maids. Marisol had bought passage on a ship months earlier using the money she had received from her father’s estate upon his death and together they had escaped in the dead of the night.

They dared not take a horse for fear of alerting the stable hands and the dared not take any jewellery to sell along the way for fear of leaving a trail of Spanish gold behind them. Instead, they packed as much food as they could carry before leaving for England.

But they had eaten the last of their food. Elena and Marisol had gone hungry for three days now.

Their escape had been methodically planned. Over several months, Elena and Marisol made notes of how many guards manned each palace entrance and exit. They memorised the times when they snuck outside to relieve themselves and they also memorised which guards were easily distracted by a passing maid.

On the night of their escape, the eve of Elena’s eighteenth birthday, Marisol had paid a young maid to walk past a guard with a wandering eye at exactly midnight. The plan had worked beautifully. The guard had followed the maid like a lost puppy and had left his post leaving a small window of opportunity for Elena and Marisol to steal away.

Just like that, the youngest Spanish princess had disappeared.

Elena was at great risk of detection as her face was well known among the Spanish people. Her first portrait had been painted a year earlier and although Elena believed the artist had been kind to her, all who viewed it thought it a great likeness.

Elena kept her head down and allowed Marisol to speak for her. They were to pose as sisters Elena and Marisol Marquez. Their plan was to go to England and find maid work in a great house in England. Marisol believed they would be safe concealed behind closed doors.

To practice, Elena had helped Marisol with her chores within Elena’s bedchamber. Elena made her own bed to the proper standard, laundered her own clothing, polished her own jewellery and scrubbed her own floors. At first Elena had detested the labour, but she knew it was either labour or an arranged marriage.

“Do you believe my English?” asked Elena worriedly in English.

“How so?” Marisol asked.

“I was thinking that we might pretend we were born here and that our parents are Spanish. What do you think?” she asked. “You did want to disassociate ourselves with Spain.”

“I think that is a fine idea.” Marisol smiled. “Shall we say we were born in Cornwall?” she suggested. “It is apparently lovely, right next to the seaside. That is what the shop boy told me in London. He was from Cornwall.”

Elena rolled her eyes. They had run out of food in London so Marisol had flirted with a poor shop boy in order to receive their next meal without charge. “Cornwall it is,” she agreed.

A kind farmer had allowed them a seat in his cart for free as he travelled from London to Derbyshire.

That was how they had wound up wandering around the incredibly green countryside hungrier than anything. If she were not so hungry, Elena would have stopped to appreciate the greenery.

“It has to be near,” Marisol mumbled to herself. “We cannot be far.”

The kind farmer had asked Elena and Marisol where they were travelling to and Marisol had replied that they were looking for maid work in a big house.

He had told them that there were a few large estates in Derbyshire, but the largest was a place called ‘Ascot’. The house was so large and grand that they were sure to take on two young women as housemaids.

“Marisol, please,” begged Elena, returning to Spanish. She was too hungry to concentrate on English. “We have passed several farm houses. Could we not stop and ask for a crust?”

“Elena,” snapped Marisol, “I am as hungry as you but the more we keep walking, the closer we get to Ascot. You are not a princess anymore. You cannot simply do what you like now. We have to find Ascot because we have to secure work to survive.”

Elena knew that Marisol had to be harsh with her. Her hunger was making her complain and forget the bigger picture. She knew she was not a princess anymore. She had had eight years to change her mind.

They trudged through the dewy grass for another house before a great house came into view. The house was incredibly grand, standing four storeys in height and stretching what seemed like a mile in width. A house like that demanded several dozen housemaids to keep clean. The princess inside of her could already taste the ten course dinner that was to be served but the new housemaid in her was simply looking forward to a bowl of hot broth and a warm bed.

“That must be Ascot,” Marisol remarked. “Come on, Elena, let us go and find the servants’ entrance.”

Together, they walked down towards the house before coming to an iron fence. Marisol helped Elena over, dropping her on a soft shrub. Elena fed her arms through the gate, knitted her fingers together, and allowed Marisol to use her hands as a step.

Once they were both safely over, they ran together along the fence before they came to the back of the house. Tucked away behind some large shrubs was a private patio. The area was not nearly as grand as the front entrance so they both presumed it was the servants’ entrance.

Elena could smell something delicious so they had to be near the kitchens.

“Pray, Marisol,” whispered Elena. “Pray that we shall have good fortune.”

Marisol took hold of Elena’s hand and squeezed tightly as she went to knock on the door. “I am praying, Infanta.”

Elena’s head snapped around. “Why did you say that?”

Marisol smiled devilishly. “One last time for good measure,” she whispered, “to leave your past behind.”  

The door was opened moments later by a plump woman wearing an apron. She had a dishcloth draped over her shoulder and several coins in her hand. “Oh?” she remarked, sounding surprised. “I thought you were the butcher coming with the pork I ordered.” She furrowed her eyebrows. “Who are you?”

It was now or never. “I am Marisol Marquez, and this is my sister Elena. We are maids and are looking for work.”  

Please believe us, Elena prayed.

The woman put the coins back in her pocket and invited them in. “Come in then, girls,” she said kindly, smiling. “You look positively dreadful. I cannot guarantee you work, that is for Mrs Johnson to decide, but it is my job to feed this house and the least I can do is give you a cup of tea and a biscuit.”

They were in the door, further than Elena had thought they would get with their ruse. Inside was warm and toasty. The smell of dinner was wafting through was making her mouth water.

Elena was greeted by a dining room. There was a long timber dining table with two long bench seats either side. Several maids and footmen sat at the table reading the newspaper, chatting quietly or sipping from teacups. Several eyes looked up but they did not stay on the guests for long.

Through an arched doorway Elena could see a kitchen. Several pots were simmering away on the stove which were attended by half a dozen kitchen maids who were busily chopping away at vegetables.

“Sit down there, now,” instructed the woman, gesturing to the bench seats. “If anyone asks who you are or why you are here just say Mrs Weston said you could before telling them to shut their mouths if they want their supper.” She chuckled to herself before returning to the kitchen.

Elena and Marisol timidly sat down at the dining table. “She is nice,” murmured Marisol, a slight smile teasing her lips.

Opposite them sat a man reading a newspaper. He lowered the paper and spied Elena and Marisol curiously. He was a young man who wore smart livery. His black hair was slicked back and his eyes were the colour of steel.

“Who are you?” he asked curiously.

“Guests of Mrs Weston,” retorted Elena quickly.

“Oh,” was all he said before he lifted the newspaper up again. He did not question them further.

It seemed that Mrs Weston commanded a lot of power among the servants.

“What are you lot sitting down at this hour for?” a loud, domineering voice demanded to know. A man soon after appeared in the dining room with a stern expression on his face. The servants around the table quickly abandoned their cups of tea and their newspapers before leaping to their feet. “Dinner is served in precisely one hour!” he exclaimed. “Richard, the table needs to be set,” he barked at the man who had been sitting opposite Elena and Marisol. “I shall check your work afterwards.” Richard quickly disappeared from the dining room.

A bell rang and all eyes turned to a large board of small bells. Each ball was labelled with a particular name of room.

“That is the Duchess, Rosemary,” murmured the man, whom Elena presumed to be in charge.

A young woman dressed in a black dress quickly departed from the dining room. Her attendant, Elena guessed.

After giving every servant in the room instructions, the man’s attention turned to Elena and Marisol. He frowned. “What are you two doing down here? Who told you that you could be here?”

“I did, Mr Clarke,” Mrs Weston interjected as she placed a tray of tea and biscuits before them. Elena did her best not to immediately shovel the biscuits into her mouth as she was so hungry. “The poor things are maids and are looking for work. I told them it was up to Mrs Johnson but I offered them tea first. They look like they have not eaten in days.”

“Mrs Weston, we do not invite street urchins into Ascot House,” Mr Clarke said bitterly. He turned his attention to Marisol and Elena. “Do you have a reference?” he demanded to know.

Elena bit her lip. They did not have references. Did this mean that they would not be hired?

“We have travelled a long way, sir,” said Marisol desperately. “We are hard workers and we will not take a position here for granted. Please,” she begged, “my sister and I will not disappoint you.”

“You are sisters?” Mr Clarke’s eyebrows rose. “From whence do you hail?”

“Cornwall,” replied Elena, her lie surprisingly smoothed, “but our parents were from Spain.”

“Oh, I love Cornwall,” Mrs Weston remarked cheerfully. “Come now, Mr Clarke, we have taken on servants without a reference before. Why, the previous butler took me on without a reference.”

“But your cooking speaks for itself, Mrs Weston,” muttered Mr Clarke. “Well, if Mrs Johnson decides they can stay then that is that. Housemaids are always helpful.”

Elena and Marisol exchanged a relieved glance.

“What with Master David’s return tomorrow, it shall be nice to have extra help. You know you like every surface dusted twice.” Mrs Weston laughed.

Clearly this man was pedantic, but if it kept both Elena and Marisol concealed then Elena did not mind.

An older woman, perhaps around fifty years old, entered the dining room and paused at the scene before her.

“Mrs Johnson, perfect timing.” Mrs Weston smiled. “Meet Elena and Marisol Marquez. They are very pretty names girls, I might add. Mrs Johnson is the housekeeper here at Ascot.”

Mrs Johnson joined them and looked over both Elena and Marisol. “Good evening,” she greeted reservedly.  

“Elena and Marisol desire a position at Ascot as a maid, Mrs Johnson. The do not have a reference but in the three minutes that Mrs Weston has known them they have managed to secure her full confidence.” Mr Clarke arched an eyebrow at the cook.

“They have travelled all the way from Cornwall,” Mrs Weston added.

Perhaps if they knew that Elena and Marisol had travelled from Madrid then they would be more sympathetic.

“It would be helpful to have two more maids what with Master David’s return, would it not, Mrs Johnson?” hinted Mrs Weston.

“I suppose it would,” agreed Mrs Johnson. “Alright, Elena and Marisol, I shall find you uniforms. You will begin tomorrow morning at six o’clock. You shall shadow Sarah, the head housemaid. She will be happy to help you.”

They were hired! Elena beamed, she could not help it. “Thank you, Mrs Johnson,” she said gratefully.

“Yes, thank you! We will not let you down,” promised Marisol.

Elena and Marisol were shown to a bedroom on the fourth floor. While it could not compare to the lavish bedchamber she had resided in while living at the palace in Madrid, she could not complain. The bed did look utterly inviting. The room consisted of two small beds, a wash basin and a writing desk with stationery.

Mrs Johnson had fetched them both black maids’ uniforms with clean, crisp aprons. There were strict rules that the female staff had to abide by. Maids were not to be on the main floors during daylight hours. Only footmen were allowed to be seen by the sitting family and any guests that may stay. Elena was not sure why. Elena learned that all serving staff had to use the internal staircases. Using the main staircases was forbidden. Their chores had to be completed before the family rose for the day and once they had completed those, Mr Clarke would give them further instructions for what needed to be done below stairs. The servants ate their meals at half past six in the morning, eleven o’clock and six o’clock. They were allowed free time on a Sunday morning to attend church if they wished. They were also allowed a half day off on a Sunday if they asked Mr Clarke’s permission in advance.

Elena had great experience at following rules. She had strictly abided by her father’s rules after her lashing as a ten year old. She did as she was told and she never talked back. Her betrothed did not venture in to Spain to see her after that incident, though she knew he and her father were both ropable at that moment, scouring every corner of Spain for her not knowing that she had fled to England.

The only person she would miss would be Joaquín. Perhaps one day, years from now when her father was long dead, she would return to Spain to see him. Even that plan was a great risk. Elena was sure if she ever returned to Court she would be barred. Perhaps she would write him one day and invite him to England.

Elena hoped that Joaquín was not angry with her. She hoped, one day, he would understand.

Mrs Weston served Elena and Marisol a meal of pork and vegetables seeing that the servants had already eaten their dinner. After days of not eating, the meal tasted like heaven. Elena and Marisol were introduced to the passing servants who were all nice enough. They seemed curious about the mysterious maids but they did not inquire.

When wearing the black uniform with the apron tied around her waist, Elena finally felt safe. She felt thoroughly disguised. No one would ever learn about her past. How could they? Spain was a world away from the servants' hall of a grand house in Derbyshire.

Elena smiled at Marisol as they ate. They both knew what the other was thinking. They were free. They would never be found.

“Gracias, mi amiga,” Elena whispered.

Marisol grinned as she speared a sprout with her fork. “De nada,” she replied.  

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Hope you liked it!!

If you're like me and you read everything phonetically - Joaquín is pronounced WAH-KEEN. I used to read it as JO-AH-KWIN lol. When I first read Twilight I read "Esme" as Eemes and Carlisle as Car-leesle :P It wasn't until I saw the movie that I realised I'd been reading them wrong lol. 

Next chapter will be up soon. I'm in the middle of editing Taming Jane- up to page 80 now yay! But TRP will be a priority :) 

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