Lucifer's Daughter, Chapter 1

Bete Noire Willisford.  Such an aristocratic and powerful name.  It rolled off the tongue and just reeked of wealth.  It was this type of name that made heads turn when it was announced at galas and balls, to see if the person attached to the name was just as unique.  I hated it…such beautiful irony.1

Mother was a beautiful lady, and many men were practically drooling for the chance to have her hand in marriage.  Her golden hair fell in waves down her back perfectly, and her eyes were the exact shade of cerulean.  Men lusted after her…women seethed in jealousy.  Adrianna Delacour was a sight to behold.  Her eventual marriage to my father caused a bit of an uproar amongst all of society.  The males bemoaned their loss and envied my father, Robert, horribly.  The women, especially the single ones, were just relieved that she was finally off of the market.2

One particular man took my mother’s marriage especially hard.  His name was Duke Alexander Potter, and he had been completely obsessed with her for more than a year.  Rumor had it that his proposal of marriage to her had been planned for the day following my father’s.  Upon hearing the news that she was to be married to someone else Potter snapped, and even killed a maid in his madness.3

Months later he was on his death bed, victim to an unknown but vicious disease that appeared as if from no where.  In his last few hours of life he requested my parents be brought to him, and on his dying breath he cursed them saying, “May your seed curdle, Robert Willisford.  May your seed rot and produce naught but the daughter of Lucifer himself.  Furthermore, may your line end forever with her barren womb.  Curse ye to hell and back Robert Willisford!”4

Normally such a death bed curse would have been dismissed as rubbish, but Duke Potter had impeccable timing.  Just a few weeks before a woman in the next town over had been burned as a witch.  The old fear of witchcraft, magic, and the occult had been reawakened with a vengeance.  So great was the fear now, that the mere suspecting of a person being connected to the dark arts was enough to have them arrested and likely burned.  The church was not taking any chances with alleged heretics and witches and so fully endorsed such extreme measures as approving burnings and torture without trial.5

If the duke had spoken his curse a mere few weeks earlier my life would have been much different, but such is fate.  My father, already high strung from the current allegations running rampant in our village, was terrified that if word got out about this curse then he could be burned and his precious reputation would be ruined.  He did his best to keep it all hushed, but of course as things that are meant to be secret tend to do, word got out.  To protect himself from the blood thirsty church and villagers, he sealed up the manor and refused to let anyone leave it or let anyone but family inside.  This did nothing to help the rumors of our connection to magic and witchcraft, and merely fanned the flames of rumor.  My family became known as the “Mad Willisfords” and so anyone with a reputation to upkeep steered clear of us.6

My mother was a very firm believer of the occult and an obsessively religious woman.  When she heard the Duke’s curse she thought that surely the man was evil and therefore must be involved with some sort of dark magic.  To her, the curse was not just the angry words of a spurned suitor, but true and undeniable fact.  She refused to so much as touch my father after Potter’s death.  When she found out that she was pregnant with me despite her efforts, she snapped.  Rumor has it that she even struck my father and swore to never speak to him again.  She demanded he let her leave to live with her relatives, but he stubbornly refused to open the gates.  His extreme paranoia very much controlled his actions.  Not to mention what the neighbors would think if they knew his wife had left him.  No, his wife must stay here.7

In a fit of rage she had all of her things removed from the master bedchamber and moved to a remote corner of the manor where she barricaded herself in to live out the remainder of her days.  Only one servant was allowed entrance to her room, and she acted as a maid and a tiring woman.  When the time of my birth came, I was born in that chamber with that same servant now playing the part of midwife.  Father was furious with Mother, and his anger with her only seemed to grow the longer she stayed in her chambers.  He has thought she would be there for only a short time and that she was merely throwing a tantrum because he wouldn’t let her out of the manor.  Every day it was his tradition to come to her chambers at noon and ask her to come out, which usually ended with him being enraged with her silence and pounding on her door.  She never once came out or answered him, and many wondered if she had even heard him.8

Since my birth I can count upon one hand how many times I have seen my mother, in these 13 years of life.  She refuses to so much as look at me, as my appearance and coloring is testament to that curse which frightens her so.  My eyes are a clear and vivid violet (witch’s eyes I’ve been told) and my hair is a deep fiery red wave down my back…such unnatural looks must surely mean I was the daughter of Lucifer, or so it was generally believed.  So wracked with guilt was my mother that she had spawned such an evil looking child, and so in fear of her mortal soul, that she locked herself up in her quarters.  She left the rooms for, and saw, no one…save the servant who served her and brought her meals.  It was said that she had taken one look into my violet eyes, shrieked, and fainted.  I was later placed in my own quarters of the manor with a wet nurse to raise me.  Even that nurse was afraid of me.9

I was named by my father- Bete Noire.  French, and rolling from the tongue pleasantly.  He told no one what it truly meant, and I myself never learned the meaning until I stumbled upon it during a French lesson some years later.  Such a beautiful pair of words to contain all of the irony of my existence.  A bete noire was the person that one feared or hated the most, a thought I’m sure my father believed I represented.  He was never near enough to me to be much reminded of that fact however, a small relief.10

It wasn’t until I was five years old that he could stand to be near me.  Before that I had seen no one but my nurse.  It seemed he had decided to pretend there was no curse, and start treating me like the wealthy lady child I was.  He immediately hired tutors, and started seeing to it that I became well educated.  A good healthy dose of Theology was included, likely to ensure that I grew up to be good and god-fearing, instead of the satanic imp I was supposed to be.  I suppose this was Father’s way of thumbing his nose at Duke Potter and his curse.11

Despite Father’s gradual acceptance, I still remained a virtual hermit.  The entire staff was afraid of me, and my mother remained secure in her rooms.  No one dared to come to visit and I wasn’t allowed off of the grounds.  I felt like I lived in a prison- and I wanted out.  The only way to do so, I knew, was to gain the trust of our staff and guards first.  My seclusion from the rest of the manor prevented me from making any attempts of peace with the staff or guards, which only added to my bitterness.  It seemed like I would never even get an opportunity to try…until today.12

I had been strolling through the halls in my side of the manor reading a novel when I was jarred from behind by a maid carrying a massive stack of dishes.  A person!  I quickly turned to apologize and offer to help carry her load, but she had already taken off at a jog down the hallway.  Bloody hell!  Why was everyone so irritatingly gullible when it came to curses and things of the occult?  Anyone with good common sense could see that a curse was naught more then angry words.  Apparently this part of the country hadn’t been blessed with such sound reasoning.  The King must be proud to rule over such sheep-like subjects.13

The maid had ducked into a room at the end of the hall and I followed her.  I followed the woman all the way down to the kitchen, and when she went into the large room I closed the door behind us with a resounding BANG.  She whirled around with gasp of fright and starting backing up towards the other side of the room.  “You,” I said pointing at her.  “I have a question and you WILL answer me…is that understood?”14

“Ye…yes m’am,” she stuttered.15

“Why is everyone so bloody afraid of me?  Do I have horns?  Fangs?  Green skin? I want the truth…WHY?!” I was seething at this point, years of frustration coming to surface.16

The maid was shivering like a leaf.  “We’re not afraid m’am…”17

“Lies!” I interrupted angrily.  “Any fool could see you all fear me, and I want to know why…now!”18

“The…the curse m’am.  Tis the curse that be fright’ning us.  And your eyes…witch’s eyes they are…”19

I raised my eyebrow.  Oh yes.  It always came down to that stupid curse and my eyes.  I rather liked my eyes…it wasn’t my fault they were beautifully unique.  I mentally growled.  That bastard Potter…it is his fault my life has been so painfully lonely.  If it weren’t for his spiteful last words, I’d have a normal life.  If it weren’t for his wounded male pride, I would have a mother.  Damn you Alexander Potter!  And damn all of the superstitious ninnies that believed him!20

I took a breath and calmed myself down.  The scowl on my face and the long silence was not doing much for my “I’m not evil, please like me” image that I was supposed to be showing the maid.  Now was the time to play “Reasonable but In-the-Dark” Betsy.21

“So you’re trying to tell me that the world is afraid of me because I have odd eyes and am rumored to be cursed?” I snorted out loud in a very unladylike fashion.  “Wouldn’t it make better sense to PITY me for being cursed instead of fearing me?  And as for me having witch’s eyes…well that is just ridiculous.  It is not the eyes that make one a witch, but rather the usage of magic for evil and worshipping the devil…and last time I noticed, I did neither.”22

The maid looked rather sheepish for a moment, but then quickly looked afraid again.  “But the curse m’am….the daughter of Lucifer himself you’re supposed to be.  Evil at the core, and barren in the womb…” Her eyes were shiny with tears of fear.23

“Barren I’m quite sure I wouldn’t know about just yet, as I am not yet married.  But as far as this “Lucifer’s daughter” business is concerned, I’d say its total rubbish.  Father isn’t any more evil than the next man, and so is certainly not Lucifer.  Hence if my father is not Lucifer, how can I possibly be Lucifer’s daughter?” I said quite reasonably.24

The maid, though afraid, looked thoughtful for a moment.  “That makes sense m’am…but…”25

“Oh honestly…” I muttered, starting to get rather annoyed with humanity at that moment.  “Do I LOOK evil to you?”  I raised my eyebrow again.26

“Well…not really…no…” she stammered.27

“Have I ever been cruel to you or any other person in this manor?”28

“No m’am.”29

“Do you think I am a witch because I have violet eyes?”30

“Well…when you put it like that m’am…no, I suppose not.”31

“Fantastic.  And it has taken only a few minutes to realize this, when I’ve been alive for 13 years now,” I couldn’t help but snipe a bit.32

The maid had the good grace to look ashamed.  “I am sorry m’am…I have been quite foolish, I can see now.”33

“That doesn’t quite fix the past 13 years of my life, now does it?  But I suppose it is a start.  Very well then…apology accepted.  Now, I must insist that you cease calling me “m’am”…It makes me feel old.  I much rather prefer Betsy.  Bete Noir is just far too depressing I think.  But, I suppose Miss Willisford will suffice if you are too uncomfortable being so familiar with me.  Do we have an accord?”34

“Accord, Miss?”  The maid looked confused.35

“Agreement.  Do we have an agreement?”36

“Oh…yes m’am…I mean Miss Betsy.”37

“Ah yes, how rude of me…what is your name?  I obviously cannot keep referring to you without a name- it is such bad taste.”38

“My name is Molly.  Molly McDonovan, Miss.”  39

“Pleased to meet you, Molly.  And now if you could do me one small favor, I shall let you return to your work.”40

“Certainly, Miss.  What can I do for you?”41

I had to admit, I quite liked this new change in attitude.  “Perhaps I should throw tantrums more often…”  I chuckled to myself.  “Approximately how many servants are in our employ?” I asked.  I truly had no idea, for none of them had ever been brave enough to come near me willingly.42

“There are 25 of us in total, Miss Betsy.  Would you like me to fetch someone for you?”43

“Why yes, actually I would.  Well…better that I call a meeting with all of you together, actually.  I should like to clear this curse and witch business up as quickly as possible.  I am tired of being alienated in my own home.  When is a good time do you think, Molly?”44

“Oh anytime, Miss.  Just let me know, and I will gather everyone for you.”45

“Thank you, Molly.  I appreciate it very much.  How does this afternoon at 2 o’clock sound?”46

“That’d be just fine, Miss.  Where did you want us all to gather?”47

“The parlor would be good.  Oh, and please do not mention who called the meeting- I want it to be a surprise.”  I smiled as she nodded and hurried off.  Things were certainly looking up now, a pleasant surprise.  Convincing the staff that I was not evil was the first step to my freedom.   “One down, 24 to go…”  I thought, smirking to myself. Manipulating these simpletons would be easier than I had thought if that Molly was anything to go by.  48

I was in my room a small time later when there came a knock on my door.  To my surprise, it was my father.  Apparently he was very pleased with my efforts to “take my proper place as mistress of the manor.”  The rightful place was obviously my mother’s, but she had long abandoned that post, and so the task had fallen onto my shoulders.  One meeting with one maid and he already thinks me to be mistress of the manor.  ‘Twas no wonder males fought wars instead of managing houses- they honestly had no clue what all was entailed.  To rule a manor such as our one needed many more than just one simple servant’s support…the entire manor, the guard, and the townspeople all must be loyal to their mistress.  Without them, a mistress is powerless.49

As soon as the chamber door was closed I let out a long held sigh.  I was getting far too ahead of myself.  I had made decent with one lowly servant girl, and now my father had my mind racing to my being mistress of the entire manor.  Somewhere in that long speech he gave I heard mention of the manor “being a fine dowry.  Rich heiresses of good English stock are in high demand, Bete.  High demand!”  Bah.  He makes me sound like a breeding mare up for auction.  Breeding mare indeed.  And who would be willing to marry me?  I who had been cursed from my birth.  I who had been alienated by the world.  I who had never seen another male outside of my father (my tutors were all ladies of great standing).  The thought was ridiculous.50

I rubbed my temples slowly, trying to rid myself of the headache I had given myself.  It was not much longer until I met the staff, and already my nerves were kicking in.  My meeting with Molly had gone exceedingly well, but would I have such luck with the rest?  Servants were notoriously fickle in their affection towards their master.  I had to win them over decisively if I were to have any future at all as mistress of Shadybrook Manor…and my freedom.  Taking a deep breath I smoothed my skirts and steeled my nerves.  I was to be like an actress performing the fragile dance of power, saying what the servants wanted me to, whilst still asserting my own power.  It would be my first real challenge as a woman.51

At last the time had come and I found myself outside of the room where an event would happen that could change my life from then on.  This was it.  The moment of truth.  I mentally braced myself and reached for the door handle (our manor was very up-to-date and had a hidden door to most rooms so that the host could make grand entrances when entertaining guests) and walked in with my chin held high.  To my great surprise the staff was waiting for me with smiles, and a few even said “Good day m’am!”  Obviously I had underestimated the power of servantile gossip, and Molly had already spread the word that I was indeed human.  I was slightly irritated that she hadn’t kept quiet as I had requested, but I had to smile at the fact that she had taken it upon herself to convince the staff to like me.  Shaking myself out of my reverie, I forced a bright smile onto my face, nodding in turn to each cheerful greeting.52

“Good afternoon everyone!  Thank you so much for taking the time to meet with me.  I know you all must be quite busy, and so I will try not to take up too much of your time.”53

“It be no problem, Miss!  No problem at all” a short, older woman replied.  She even managed a brief curtsey, her grey haired bun bobbing along with her.54

I immediately took a liking to this woman, and asked her name.55

“Martha, Miss.  My name be Martha Mapleton.”56

“Well Martha, how would you like to be my tiring woman?  I am in great need of one, I’m afraid.”57

“You have no tiring woman, Miss?  Oh dear!  How have you been gettin’ along by yourself?”  The poor woman looked genuinely shocked.58

“I have not had anyone to help me since dear Nursie died from the spotted fever when I was but six.  It’s not been too much of a sacrifice to do without…until Father started buying me beautiful gowns…and corsets.  You can learn to do much by yourself when you have noone else to do it for you.”59

The staff looked a mixture of pitying and ashamed, and many looked down and shuffled their feet nervously.  Martha looked so sad, and there were tears in her eyes, which I did not understand.60

“You poor child…bein’ alone all these years, havin’ to take care of yourself.  What fools we be thinkin’ you a witch all these years.  Can you ever forgive such blatherin’ fools as us, Miss?  You never be alone again as long as Martha Mapleton is alive n’ kickin’!  I promise, Miss!”  the woman said earnestly.  Most of the staff were nodding their agreement, and I found myself tearing up.61

I had intended to win the staff over, but I had never expected something like this…such immediate acceptance, and dare I say…perhaps love?  I slowly smiled, letting a tear fall down my cheek.  It was at that moment, looking around into those faces, that I got the feeling that everything was going to work out.  I couldn’t explain how or why, but I felt that no matter what, these people would never doubt me again.  I wept silent tears, feeling exactly what it was that I had been missing my entire life- acceptance.62