The Butterfly by Bronwen Winter Phoenix

1

She watched the spider make its way across the window sill. Higher still and decorating the window’s edge, its web hung half-finished like a fragile white lace, shiny in the late-afternoon sun.

The spider moved slowly, but with the confidence and self-assurance that came only naturally to the eight-legged creature. Soon, it would climb back up to its starting point, and complete the web it had first set out to do.

Hetty wished she could recover so quickly after a fall – but confidence was something she did not have a plentiful supply of, and this reflected in her days at the Palace.

Resigned to this fact, Hetty sat in the failing light from the window of the cramped maid’s quarters as she dreamily stitched a picture of a life she wished she owned.

That is, if a life can ever be owned – she’d heard it had to be earned, although fortune sometimes seemed to smile on the most undeserving of people.

With each thread she sewed, it seemed, the further she got from the life in the picture – almost as if she were sealing her fate stronger; bonding it with the realities of sore fingers, cracked nails and the red belt marks that bruised her skin like angry reminders of her reality.

For a thirteen-year-old girl, of course she still had her dreams, but each day they faded into the silence she’d been brought up to believe in. But she also knew that she should consider herself a lucky child, as there were many like her in situations a lot worse than herself.

A royal maid, she performed her work dutifully with very little time for reflection or play, only accompanied by Marie, her friend since she’d been moved to the Palace at seven years of age.

Marie was a quiet and responsible girl, but held a shy and dutiful grace about her that made Hetty feel at ease. A full three years older than Hetty, she was like a big sister and had been there at the Palace from the start.

So she did not feel alone, even at times when the small world around her seemed to close in, to envelope her in its darkness. Marie was light, and shone brightly like a candle flame, flickering but never leaving her side. No, she did not feel alone at all.

Recently, a new girl had entered their quarters, Liana. She had long, black hair and a small, pert nose that seemed to turn up at the sight of both girls, with cold, intelligent brown eyes.

She had little to say to the girls, and what she did say was obnoxious and rude in her snide comments and general attitude to her new roommates. Often, she would ignore them or give Hetty dirty looks before turning back to her work.

This did not bother Hetty, who was used to meanness and who knew that Liana had been transferred from a workhouse far across the city.

She would forgive Liana the meanness, because the workhouse was a mean place, and Hetty understood it was probably a mere product of her upbringing in the harsh dark building that had been her home before now. Its windows were blackened, steel grated and unforgiving; its cold damp walls and cramped spaces housed many children who longed with captive’s eyes, to be free.

It was dangerous in the workhouse, and many a child lost their life or suffered injuries from the work as they crawled under the steel legs that never stopped moving, producing, ringing.

After all, Hetty had come from the same workhouse many years earlier. She had met girls like Liana before – however, never with such an exotic name and dark Mediterranean looks.

For now, Hetty sat alone. Alongside her, the spider weaved its web and together they created a little piece of something to call their own.

As she sewed, Hetty marvelled at how bright the threads looked by the light of the window, even though deep down she knew those threads would slowly fade the way the dream itself somehow would slip away in the darkness.

The room surrounding her was dull and bare, with wooden floorboards stained and rough on her bare feet. She sometimes got splinters, but she only had one pair of shoes and they were for wearing when cleaning the main House and surrounding corridors.

The main House represented the living quarters of the Royals, who remained much of a mystery to Hetty. She imagined them to dress in beautiful clothes of velvet and taffeta, brocade dressed wonders with shoes of gold buckle and lace petticoats – a far cry from her own rags and dusty hat.

She kept quietly to her rotas, and with Marie, they were silent as mice as instructed by Miss Gretcher, the manageress.

With white, wispy hair and bright blue eyes not dulled by time and the thickness of her spectacles, Miss Gretcher was kindly and sympathetic to the girls, who depended on her for the small comfort and warmth that the elderly lady could offer.

To an extent, little orphan Hetty felt quite at home at the Palace, and hoped to stay there to become trusted in the Family.

No, the belt marks did not come from Miss Gretcher, but from the stern housekeeper, Miss Blavae.

Too often Hetty wandered further than she was meant to – not on purpose, but because she was deep in thought, dreaming of an action-packed adventure or pretending she was in another house that belonged to her, and her family; a family she could call her own, and a dream many an orphan has had.

She’d have a mother, who baked fresh bread and cup cakes, and a father who sat in front of his morning paper with a fat cigar and warm slippers, brought to him by the family dog, Pepper (because dogs always made Hetty sneeze, but that did nothing to stop her wanting one).

Her childish fantasies were always brought to a halt and Hetty dragged from the spot by her ear, as Miss Blavae liked to run a ‘tight ship’. Hetty wasn’t entirely sure why Miss Blavae liked to call it a ‘tight ship’, as Miss Blavae did not seem like the seafaring type at all, with long brown greying hair tied back tight in a bun, a very slight frame and beige clothes that looked nothing like that of the sailor persuasion.

Miss Blavae had never liked Hetty, as she considered Hetty to be far too much of a dreamer for her liking – no work can be done in dreamland, as she always said.

In fact, it was from that dreamland that Hetty was about to be awoken from now:

“Hetty! It’s two minutes past serving time, you’re late again!” The shout came from down the hall.

Eyes widening, Hetty quickly put down her sewing, found her shoes and ran from the room with barely a second’s thought, before quickly slowly down when she saw the figure of Miss Blavae standing straight ahead of her.

“Now, what have we said about running, Hetty?”

“Erm, never to run in the Palace?” Hetty replied, unsurely. Miss Blavae looked down her nose at Hetty, a scowl on her face which made her forehead wrinkle in an unattractive manner. Her hazel eyes looked harsh in the dull light of the upper hall, and her lips were dry and cracked.

“That’s right. Children run, Hetty. You are not a child – you don’t get that privilege. You are a Royal Maid and you must keep to an acceptable and consistent standard of behaviour at all times. Do you quite understand?”

“Yes, Miss Blavae, I’m so sorry Miss,” Hetty whispered, her eyes widening as Miss Blavae held the belt in her hand.

“Oh, off you go you’re already late and the other staff will want their dinner. Shouldn’t let them go hungry on your account, now go on, shoo!” Miss Blavae gestured towards the stairs and Hetty swiftly but cautiously moved down them, looking over her shoulder once, unsurely, as if she was afraid Miss Blavae might get her with the belt from behind. It had only happened once, and never down the stairs, but she could never quite be sure.

As the small figure of the girl scuttled down the staircase, a ghost of a smile appeared of Miss Blavae’s lips.

2

Later, after all the dishes had been done and the kitchen made to look shiny and new once more, the girls returned to their room where the spider had now completed its web and sat proudly in the middle.

During washing-up time, Hetty had noticed the unusual smile on Marie’s lips and the sparkle in her eye… had it always been there?

Marie was her family, and although Hetty knew that her ‘big sister’ was growing up, it never occurred to her that one day things would change.

Earlier she’d said she had something to tell Hetty, but it would have to wait and now, alone in the room, Marie looked around cautiously.

“Have you seen Liana?”

“No, not since wash-up – why? Don’t you want her to hear?”

Finally assured, the smile lit up Marie’s face, framed by the golden honey girls that she would often wrap round her finger when she thought no-one was looking.

“I… I met someone, today. A boy.”

“A boy?! No! There aren’t any boys here – apart from David the errand boy that is – who is he?! Is he from the outside, one of the butcher’s sons?” Hetty asked, incredulously. Boys had always been a bit of a mystery to her, apart from David the errand boy, that is. Even then all they did was make fun of each other.

Marie shook her head, quietly before continuing. “I was going about my maid’s duties, preparing one of the rooms towards the West Wing. I don’t get to go there much, and I thought it was empty but… suddenly there he was.”

Hetty had never been to the West Wing; her eyes widened, as Marie continued her story.

“Well, you can imagine, I didn’t know what to do. I felt so awkward – I was dusting, you see, and I let the vase fall to the floor. I thought he’d shout at me, or tell me to get out but he didn’t, he just helped me pick up the pieces of this… disgusting but ruined vase and then he smiled at me. And I smiled back.”

“But who is he?” Hetty asked.

“I’ll get to that bit,” Marie replied, almost glowing in what might have been called delight.

“So he started talking to me, and he was ever so nice about it, as if I was a real person – I mean, not just a maid or merely a girl, but a person, Hetty. And his eyes, they were so blue… He just sat and talked to me while I cleaned – well, he offered to help but I wouldn’t let him.”

“But Marie, it all sounds so magical. Surely such a boy couldn’t exist?”

“Oh, believe me, he does. And after I’d finished with the room he said he didn’t want me to leave, but I said I’d be in trouble with Miss Blavae if she caught me talking to him, so he took my hand and invited me to tea! And Hetty, you won’t believe this! He took me to the attic, just like it was any normal thing to do of an afternoon, and it was amazing up there!

“There was beautiful mirrors and paintings covered in sheets, and furniture and boxes – loads of boxes! And we sat in the big chairs with our sheets and our tea and just talked some more and he told me he’d known about this place since childhood, when he used to come up with his uncle to search for his old toys.”

“His uncle?” Hetty interrupted.

“Yes, his uncle. It turns out that the boy is Prince James, heir to the throne, back from Smithy Boarding School for the summer!”

“The Prince! But Marie, you went to the attic with Prince James?!”

“Yes, I had the same thoughts exactly. I shall probably be thrown out if anyone were to know… you won’t tell, will you?”

“Not me, no!”

“Good, because he wants to see me again… well, I’m not sure how we’re going to work it out but we’ll see.”

“But Marie, you could get in serious trouble! You like him, don’t you?”

“I do… I like him a lot,” Marie admitted, her cheeks glowing slightly red at the thought.

“We’ll have to think of how you can see him again – oh! I bet he’ll be at the Masquerade next week!”

The Masquerade was a decadent masked party thrown each year by the Royal family. Hetty had never been to a Masquerade as before she had always been too young – this would be her first as a serving maid.

“You think? Oh, if only I didn’t have to wear my maid’s uniform… perhaps, if I could just get to talk to him for one minute…”

“But is it really wise to do this, just imagine the trouble you’d be in if you were found out?”

“Exciting, isn’t it?”

“Marie, I’ve never seen this side of you before,” Hetty laughed and Marie just smiled; she looked radiant by the candlelight.

“What side of her?” Liana said as she entered the room, carrying some extra blankets. “The only side of her I’ve seen is boring.”

“Oh, nothing, we’re just talking,” Marie said quickly.

“So it’s like that, is it? Still not to be trusted, am I?” Liana said bitterly, although with no hint of hurt in her voice.

“Marie… maybe we could tell her,” Hetty said quietly.

“No, she’d only grass,” Marie replied loudly, eyes on Liana who looked back with an unreadable expression on her face. “She wants me out, you know.”

“If I want you out it’s because you’re such a mousy stupid loser who thinks everyone is interested in her boring little secrets!” Liana burst out, before climbing under her bed blankets and facing the wall.

Hetty and Marie exchanged glances, and Hetty had to stop herself from laughing at Liana’s childishness. At the same time she felt slightly sorry for the girl, although she was really making herself the outcast.

3

Hetty would not stir as later, when the moonlight slowly crept in through the window; Marie cautiously stepped out of her bed and onto the cold wood of the floorboards without a sound. The room was still as the other two girls slept soundly.

As the door closed softly behind Marie, Liana opened one eye.

Marie’s slight frame and long loose curls, untied now for bed, caught the light through the overhead beams as she carefully walked along the upper floor, towards the attic.

Softly, her steps were almost like a ballerina’s, a wanton dream of hers that would never come true. Tip-toed her bare feet made barely a creak in the wooden flooring.

Paintings of a grand scale decorated the walls of every hall in the Palace, and now they looked dark and foreboding. They often gave Marie the chills when she was on her late duties; she worked hard as a maid.

But now she was sick of working hard.

The other Palace workers held their quarters in these halls on the top floor of the Palace. Marie knew she had to be careful not to disturb them, as she made her way towards the small wooden door that would be waiting for her.

It was crazy, of course it was. But she couldn’t help it – like a spell had been cast over her, lighting her up inside. Was it something that happened to all girls when they reached their 16^th birthday? She didn’t think Miss Blavae had ever had this light, and didn’t dare ask her.

Suddenly, as if it were an answer to her question, there was a light glowing up ahead. Could it be him?Marie froze, unsure of what to do.

It became clear the figure was female, with long hair reaching almost to her waist, and a face devoid of colour… could it be?

Marie did not recognise Miss Blavae at first. The tight bun that served to harden her features had gone, and instead she looked almost natural, wearing a long white nightdress that looked almost elegant.

Hidden from view, Marie could barely remember to breathe as she watched the feminine Miss Blavae walk across the corridor, just a few feet away now. Her face looked weak, tired and were those tears? Miss Blavae had been crying… which meant Miss Blavae had feelings.

Marie also had feelings, and was overwhelmed by the sudden guilt of being in that place, at that time, and seeing what she was not supposed to see. What on earth was she doing in the hall anyway?

The coldness now seeped through her bare feet, and as Miss Blavae finally shut the door to her bedroom, Marie pondered turning back.

But he would be waiting now… or maybe he had forgotten. There was only one way to find out, and that single thought propelled her forwards towards the hall opening, where things got wider and another window let in the moonlight.

In the middle of this hall, and as promised, the door was open.

Taking a deep breath, Marie stepped onto the first wooden stair.

4

Light had only just begun to shine through the maid’s window, when Hetty was awoken by storming footsteps approaching from the hall.

With one eye open, she saw that she was alone now in the room, yet surely it was too early for duties?

The door smashed open.

“Where is she?!” Miss Blavae stormed in, Liana walking proudly behind her.

Sitting up now, heart racing Hetty looked around. Where was Marie?

“I beg your pardon, Miss?” Hetty asked, dumbfounded.

“Don’t give me that, girl! Liana said you were talking earlier, now if you know where she has gone you tell me, NOW!”

Miss Blavae looked furious. Her hair had only just been clutched up in a bun that was not quite her usual standard, and she still wore her nightdress, grey blanket around her shoulders.

“Marie? I don’t know…she was here when I went to sleep.”

“I told you, Miss,” Liana spoke up, “I saw her earlier with the Prince. I saw them together in the West Wing; in a bedroom, no less.”

“Hetty, is this true?!” Miss Blavae glared, almost shaking with rage now.

“I-I think so, Miss, but Marie was merely making the bed when he…the Prince…showed up.”

“She’s lying, Miss, she knows,” Liana said, smugly, “I heard the two of them whispering just before lights out, and they wouldn’t tell me what it was about!”

Miss Blavae turned to Liana.

“Get out, you hear me? You’ve said quite enough for now. Well, don’t just stand there girl, go and help Miss Gretcher search the Palace!”

Liana, trying to hide the look of disappointment on her face, nodded and swiftly left the room.

Hetty was alone with an angry Miss Blavae, and she knew what that usually meant. Although, this untidy version of the stern housekeeper seemed a little different than usual; Miss Blavae did not like to show any signs of weakness, yet now she looked completely dishevelled and almost haggard in her appearance.

Wearing slippers, she paced along the room before picking up Marie’s bed linen and tossing it to the floor. The bed was empty, anyone could see that.

Marie’s few possessions lay on a small shelf above the bed, including an old doll she’d loved as a child, a hair clasp and a single ceramic tile with a painting of a dove.

“Are you telling me you really don’t know where she is?” Miss Blavae asked, her stare icy cold yet her eyes burning.

Hetty opened her mouth to speak, but then closed it again. She had been gazing at the spider on the windowsill in an attempt to avoid getting Marie into any more trouble than she was already in, and now she quickly turned to catch the gaze of the angry housekeeper.

“And what is that? You know I detest ‘creepy crawlies’,” Miss Blavae said, as she approached the window. In one fluid motion and before Hetty could protest Miss Blavae had slammed the belt towards the spider, its broken body falling to the windowsill where it had walked along so confidently earlier. Its web was destroyed.

“You will keep this room to the standard it was when you got here, understand?!”

Hetty was fixated on the spider; the suddenness of its death would otherwise have been a very poignant moment. She was brought out of it by the impact of the belt.

“You will listen to me!” Miss Blavae cried with such force and frustration before she even realised it herself.

Hetty faced her stare, and the housekeeper was still, almost seeming to catch herself. What she saw in Hetty’s eyes had quelled the anger.

“Now what on earth is wrong with you, Hetty… you must learn, you must…” Miss Blavae eventually spoke, with dulled words and a faraway look in her eyes, she gathered her blanket from the floor before she left, muttering that breakfast would be served at the usual time.

Hetty sat on the bed in silence for some time, before she eventually got herself ready for another day. She ignored the pain in her side as best she could.

She was just straightening up her hair in the speckled mirror, when the door opened behind her. It was Marie. She looked tired and very, very pale.

“Marie? Where have you been, are you all right?” Hetty asked.

Marie nodded, and sat down on her bed. She looked like she was about to fall. Hetty approached her, suddenly angry.

“You’ve been gone all night; everyone’s been looking for you! Where were you?!”

Marie’s eyes met Hetty’s and it was clear she had been crying.

“It doesn’t matter… we were just talking and we fell asleep, together. I didn’t realise… Miss Gretcher has sent me to collect my things,” her voice was broken, whispered.

“You fell asleep? In the attic? Oh, Marie,” Hetty said, unable to think of what to do, she reached out and put her arms gently around the shaken Marie. She flinched. It hurt. Hetty knew she’d received a battering.

“Just… go, Hetty. I’ll probably be gone by the time you start your duties.”

“But… are you all right? Where will you go?” Hetty demanded.

Marie didn’t reply. Shaken, Hetty slowly walked to the door, hesitating before she heard Marie call her name.

And then she put her arms around her, like the sister she’d always been since Hetty’s very first day at the Palace. Hetty cried.

5.

Later, the Palace was a silent place. Hetty knew better than to say a word, and the old walls seemed to take on a sombre tone. Banished to the attic, she set about her task as she remembered the angry do-not-argue-with-me tone that Miss Blavae had instructed her with. I think it’s about time that attic was cleaned out.

Dark crumpled sheets covered lumps and bumps that looked as if they could all of a sudden come to life, revealing ancient creatures and dust fairies that worked their spell on the small windows.

Barely any light shined through, and despite the darkness, each corner held a mystery that was almost magical; as if the attic had a life of its own and would engulf her into its world at the first chance it got. No wonder Marie had liked it.

The butterfly was in fact a strange creature that had fluttered its way between many worlds, had seen many things, never to be captured before this day.

In fact, the butterfly had taken many forms and had once been known as Analia, which meant ‘blessed one’ in a world far away and far darker than this one.

The reason it had let itself be captured was not at first apparent even to the butterfly, but instead the attraction propelled it towards the beautiful young girl somewhat like a magnet.

It had finally found its soul-mate, in the form of petite, rag-doll Hetty, who stared at it as if she had never seen such a creature in all her life.

Her clothes looked dirty and old, as dusty as the dark attic into which the butterfly had flown; Hetty looked to the butterfly as if she had never left the confines of this large but cluttered castle. A small yet pretty captive in such a big place.

The captive looked somewhat like a fish out of water in her surroundings, as she moved first from one filthy object to the next, the duster barely having an effect. Her small, quick feet showed her willingness, yet at the same time she was full of trepidation. The attic seemed to almost dwarf her.

And then she stopped, frozen to the spot as her beautiful blue eyes caught the fluttering creature in their gaze.

Analia descended through the thick, stale air and flapped its long, black wings, delicate as silk. But the silk was dark, almost black but seemed to take on an ethereal quality as they were caught in the small amount of light from the dusty window. No, not black at all, but purple, blue, green… white.

So many colours, Hetty held her breath so as not to disturb the beautiful thing that fluttered before her. It brushed her nose. It tickled, and Hetty laughed, though it was clear to Analia that she had been crying. Her eyes were moist with tears and the laughter had a hollow tone.

It was then Analia decided Hetty’s fate.

Allowing itself to be captured in a large glass jar, Analia felt safe in the girl’s delicate hands. Now covered in a cloth, Hetty whispered to the butterfly, “I’m sorry, they can’t see you,” as she cautiously stepped down the ladder.

The next time the cloth was lifted, Analia was in a much brighter surrounding. The maid’s quarters were bare and open, with plenty of light from the windows.

Again, Hetty stared at the ethereal quality of the butterfly’s silken wings, the colours almost seeming to dance in the light. She ignored the empty bed, devoid of Marie’s possessions.

“Where did you come from?” Hetty whispered. She got no reply, as the butterfly could not talk. It was stupid of her to think it could, if it wanted to.

The butterfly merely fluttered its wings, but stayed still, looking almost content in a way.

“I’ve never seen so many colours all at once. You know, you’re the first butterfly I’ve seen in the Palace… are you happy in there?”

And then Hetty got the strangest feeling. There was no other reason to explain why she said the thing that she did. It was irrational, talking to a butterfly, regardless of how unusual and magical the butterfly appeared to be. Nevertheless, she said it anyway.

“I wish… I wish Marie was here to see you, too. I wish she would come back and be my sister again.”

As the words came out of Hetty’s mouth, there was an almost unnoticeable shift in the air. It was something she dismissed almost as soon as she’d felt it, but later she would remember the feeling, and even come to recognise it.

“Well, I’d better keep you hidden until I have a chance to let you out,” said Hetty, to the butterfly. She was all too aware of what Miss Blavae would do if she found it.

Hetty almost dropped the jar as she set it down, underneath her bed. Footsteps were coming down the hall.

Quickly, she composed herself before hurrying from the room.

6

The attic looked darker than when she’d been cleaning earlier. Things seemed less…disturbed for some reason; the dark corners more menacing, as if they were calling out to her to join them in an unending dance of solitude. Hetty dismissed those thoughts as her imagination, and took out the wet mop from its bucket.

Creaking ascending the stairs made her freeze. A figure, most definitely male, appeared from the doorway and stood to face her. In the darkness, it was hard to see his face but from his silhouette she knew it wasn’t David the errand boy. No, he was taller and not quite so boyish. This was a man. He was staring silently at Hetty, and carefully she put down the mop.

Someone else followed behind him, more feminine, lighter steps, before she too came into view.

“Hetty? Why are you up here? You’re going to blow our cover!” Marie giggled.

“Marie? What are you doing here?”

“Secret tea party… shhh! James, this is Hetty,” Marie gestured towards the shaken Hetty.

“James?! The Prince! Oh, my, I’m sorry… I didn’t mean to…” Hetty stammered, unable to find the words yet still confused, her mind racing.

“No, that’s quite all right. Have you been cleaning?” James asked. His voice was kind and gentle, and as he stepped into the light from the window she saw him properly for the first time.

He had blonde, almost scruffy hair, and must have been at least 6 foot tall. His eyes, she noticed, were blue and his smile almost awkward, yet friendly. She felt awkward too.

“Yes, Miss Blavae sent me up here, after… you know, this morning,” Hetty said, feeling slightly more relaxed yet equally as confused.

“This morning? I’m sorry I wasn’t around this morning, Hetty, but I had to get an early start on the stairs… Miss Blavae said she wanted them spotless, remember? What happened this morning, Hetty?” Marie asked, a spark of concern in her voice.

“Ermm… I-I thought you were gone,” Hetty said, suddenly unsure.

“And leave this place? Never!” Marie certainly looked okay. In fact, she looked positively glowing. Something in Hetty’s eyes must have sparked her concern, though. “Did you have another bad dream?”

“Yes, maybe that’s it… I feel so stupid now,” Hetty said.

“Well, now that you’re here, put that mop down and let’s have some tea. Look, I brought my flask!” James said. Hetty laughed.

“What about Miss Blavae? Won’t she be looking for us?” Marie asked, again unsure.

“Oh, don’t worry they think I’ve gone to collect some sewing threads from across town,” Marie replied, and together they sat on the covered soft furniture and chatted some more. It was surreal, chatting to a prince. She didn’t know what to say, or how to react when his eyes met hers. But most of his time was spent gazing at Marie; the two of them seemed to have developed a strange sort of bond, although she’d only met him the other day. It fascinated Hetty.

In fact, the way Marie seemed oblivious to the morning’s events was even more unusual. Hetty knew she hadn’t imagined it – Marie had been sent away and to prove it all the things from around her bed had vanished. So how was it possible that she was sitting her chatting now?

And then Hetty remembered her wish to the butterfly. Could it be? Had the butterfly heard her wish? Surely these things only happened in fairy tales, or in dreams. But still, Hetty had a funny feeling that if she were to walk back to the maid’s quarters as they sat there in the attic, Marie’s things would be restored above her bed, the sheets still crumpled to look like they’d been slept in.

Sitting there, surrounded by such an unusual situation with Marie and James with the light slowly seeping in from the dusty windows, it felt like a dream.

In fact, it felt so dreamlike, to just be able to sit and listen and smile, that Hetty was too afraid to say anything that might shatter the illusion. It was a perfect moment.

They stayed in the attic most of the afternoon, and in that time there was no awkwardness, no cleaning to worry about, no housekeepers keeping track, no world outside of their hideaway.

Hetty imagined that it could last forever, but of course she knew it couldn’t. Still, they stayed until all the tea was gone and it was getting close to dinner time. Eventually Marie conceded that Miss Blavae and Miss Gretcher would be wondering where they were.

Leaving together, while James straightened up the dust cloths, Hetty knew that she would always remember that afternoon, that it would stay untouchable in her memories.

7.

When darkness had finally descended for the day in its totality, Hetty finally found the courage to take the glass jar to the orchard.

She had avoided telling Marie, or anyone, what had happened, and about the butterfly. It had been in the back of her mind all through her kitchen duties, and she’d already gotten a telling off and a stern look from Miss Blavae for having her head in the clouds and almost dropping a crystal glass.

It’s a good thing she hadn’t dropped it, as her pittance pay would have been taken away for years until its worth had been repaid.

Now the full moon shone brightly in the sky and the air felt fresh and not at all chilly as she made her way across the courtyard, the glass disguised in a sheet she had taken from her room.

Nobody saw her as she continued down the overgrown path and through the archway, to the orange orchard. It always smelled sweet there, although Hetty was barely ever allowed to venture to such a place. Now she took it in, great greedy lungful of sweet air.

Hopefully No-one would think to look for her there, although she knew she must hurry.

Lifting the sheet from the jar, she was relieved to see the creature flutter its wings almost in a greeting. Its wings were even more breathtaking under the moonlight, and the colours shimmered beautifully. Hetty spoke softly to the butterfly.

“Was it you? Did you change things… change them for me?” Hetty asked. Her voice sounded odd in the silence of the orchard, as everything around them seemed to be at peace.

The butterfly did not reply. Of course it can’t reply, Hetty thought. But what if it could? There was definitely something at least slightly magical about this butterfly… had to be, otherwise she was obviously losing her mind.

She knew she had to let the creature go, and fast, before she could return back to the Palace (hopefully) unnoticed, but there was something stopping her. It made no sense – Miss Blavae would punish her if she only knew… that decided it. Hetty had to test her theory.

“I wish… I wish Miss Blavae was happy, and didn’t belt us at all,” Hetty whispered.

The buttery was still in the jar, although she had lifted the top off now. It seemed to be looking at her and for a moment time seemed to stand still. Of course, it was impossible to tell, but something seemed to bring her back with a jolt and the air seemed normal again. Then the butterfly took flight, with traces of what looked like gold dust falling from its wings.

Hetty felt so full of joy her heart might burst, as the butterfly – free again – flew above her in circles. It was beautiful, and she lost all thought of urgency. Instead she sat down under the orange tree, on the cool green grass, and she talked.

She talked softly to Analia, who fluttered almost clumsily before coming to rest on the thin trunk of the orange tree. In fact, Hetty felt the sudden need to tell the butterfly everything about her and her life. And as she talked, it felt like a great weight was being lifted from her very essence.

She talked about the Palace, Marie, Miss Blavae, her imagined family, and the Masquerade. Every concern, worry and disappointment seemed to fade into the night air.

Eventually, when all was still in the orchard and Hetty began to feel sleepy, she woke from the spell. Enchanted, she watched as Analia fluttered in ascending circles, before eventually the beautiful creature was out of sight. Hetty hoped it would return.

There was no breeze as she slowly walked back to the Palace, and no-one intercepted her on the way to the maid’s quarters. All was still, and the other girls were fast asleep as she silently slipped into bed. And then darkness.

8.

It was not long until the Masquerade, and the young maids had been given extra duties to help the princesses prepare for the party. Princesses Holly and Nathalie had come to stay from France, and would require only the best dresses and masks for the ball. It would be a grand event, and Hetty’s first Masquerade.

But Hetty was more excited for Marie, who would get to see the Prince although only as a serving maid. Still, it was an opportunity to see him without sneaking away and getting into trouble.

Hetty had not seen the butterfly since they night she’d set it free, but her mind still felt as carefree as when she had sat underneath the orange tree.

Miss Blavae had been in unusually high spirits all week, and had even chosen a beautiful dress for the ball that she’d made the girls pin for her. Hetty had thought she looked like a different woman – elegant and happy.

Marie had been slightly distant in her work, and seemed less chatty. It was easy to see that the Prince was on her mind. Hetty had never seen Marie get this way over any boy, but she decided to keep quiet.

The day of the ball, Hetty and Marie were called to the Princesses’ room.

“We don’t want these tacky dresses! Look at them, I said I wanted gold!”

“And I wanted silver!”

“But, with all respect girls, these dresses were made especially for you from the finest dressmaker in the city!” Miss Blavae pointed to the many dresses on the rack. “Won’t any of these do?”

“No, none of these are right! We want silver and gold!”

“Yes, ladies,” Miss Blavae sounded exhausted.

“Miss Blavae? You called us?” Marie asked.

“Yes, girls… there’s been a change of plan. Marie, please could you make a dash across the city and try to find dresses in gold and silver for the Princesses. Only the finest fabrics… it might be a bit of a challenge at such late notice. You shall have to help me fit them as soon as you return. And Hetty?”

“Yes, Miss Blavae?”

“We are behind on the decorations, please go and assist or else the ballroom will never be ready in time for the Masquerade.”

“Yes, Miss, I’ll go at once!”

The day passed quickly, and Hetty was tired when she finally finished her chores. She felt a pang of sadness as she looked around the beautiful ballroom, decorated in gold leaf and cherry blossom.

Soon the halls would be filled with ladies in beautiful gowns and handsome men to dance with. She wished someone would dance with her.

But still, she was only a maid, and it would be interesting watching from the sidelines. All the masks on show would make it an interesting evening.

Ever so slightly drained, Hetty made her way up to the room to get dressed in the special uniforms Miss Gretcher had commissioned for the event.

Many of the serving staff were being hired for the event, and they would all be wearing the same uniforms. Liana would not be attending, and would instead stay in the kitchen for the night as she was too young and inexperienced to serve on such an occasion. Hetty felt almost glad that she would not be there.

As she began to slip into her uniform, Marie came bounding into the room with two beautiful dresses under her arms.

“Wait, you don’t want to wear that thing when we’ve got these!” she cried.

“Are those the Princesses’ dresses? Marie, we can’t!”

“Oh yes we can! They rejected dozens of dresses, Hetty, no-one will notice them missing!”

“What if Miss Blavae notices we’re not serving with the other girls?”

“The halls will be full of guests and hired staff, and Miss Blavae will have other concerns on her mind! Trust me, try it on!”

The dress was a beautiful, dark green taffeta that cinched in at the waist and poured out from the hips like flowing dark water. The material rippled against her skin and gave her goosebumps… but was this really a good idea?

“No, Marie, I can’t. We’ll get in so much trouble, what if someone recognises us, or the dresses?”

“They won’t! These dresses could have come from any number of stores, and besides, we have these!” Marie took out two masks, one of dark blue shimmer and one an elegant white and gold. It was far too tempting. And of course, the Prince would be there.

“What do you think he’ll do, Marie? You’re still a maid,” Hetty said.

“I don’t know… if he could only see me in this, instead of rags then maybe he’ll love me?”

Hetty sighed. “He should already love you.”

“Yes, but… look at me! What prince would love me? Hetty, if I could only let him see.”

“Okay, let’s just try them on!” Hetty said, excited. After all, it couldn’t hurt.

Marie’s dress was a midnight blue floor length vision, with velvet and silk panels and a full heavy skirt. She looked like a princess, apart from the hair cloth that held up her angelic curls. Then she put on the mask.

“Wow… I can’t even tell it’s you!”

“I know! Now, let’s help you get yours on,” Marie said as Hetty struggled with the corset back of her dress.

“Now, breathe in.”

9

The music began to play as the girls stood in front of the speckled attic mirror, in full costume now. Their hair had been the hardest part – Hetty’s was always so messy and unruly, but Marie had managed to tie it up beautifully as if she had been doing it her whole life. She borrow a beautiful clasp from the princesses’ bedroom.

Hetty admired Marie more than herself. Somehow it had come together perfectly. Her curls hung loosely framing her face, and tied low at the back so flowed down her back. She looked like an angel.

Wearing the masks, Hetty would not have recognised either of them, especially not herself. She knew it would probably be the only time she’d look like this in her life.

Still, going downstairs in full view of everyone made her nervous. She couldn’t back out now, because this meant everything to Marie, who secretly longed for his love. The Prince would be there, and Marie would make him love her.

Maybe, she reasoned, it would be okay. After everything she’d told the butterfly, maybe they could go to the Masquerade after all.

The dust was still thick in the attic, but the butterfly was nowhere to be seen. She hadn’t expected it to be there, although there was a strange feeling in her heart. Had it been there all along?

She turned one last time but the attic was empty. She gathered her skirts and followed Marie down the stairs.

10

The ball was beautiful and Hetty was astounded by the vast amount of people who filled each hallway. The dresses were vast and glorious, and each person wore a different mask to disguise their identity. It was perfect. A sea of disguises.

No eyes fell on them and stuck there, and many smiled and nodded to the girls as they mingled in between the many royals and rich; the socialites and judges and lawyers and Dukes and Duchesses and Viscounts… and Hetty, feeling small.

She had never seen anything like it, and the ballroom looked even more beautiful now as the music played out around them. A lady sat and played the harp, her long slender fingers caressing each note, extravagant dress disguising the fact that her legs were crippled and she was in a wheelchair. Tonight, she was beautiful too. She would play until her fingers were sore, because tonight was a special night.

The man in the corner, oblivious but there as he watched the women swish by with their oversized skirts; what was he thinking as he smoked his cigar? How incredibly uncouth at a ball.

And in amongst the crowd was Miss Blavae. Hetty gripped Marie’s hand tightly as they continued to mingle with the guests; would she notice? The housekeeper looked immaculate in her beautiful pale satin dress, slightly less extravagant than the others but she looked stunningly different. And she was laughing, and slowly moving in the girls’ direction.

Hetty knew she should turn around, go a different way, but she couldn’t move herself from the spot. She felt Marie’s hand squeeze back to hers, and then suddenly Marie had let go and was walking confidently forward. Miss Blavae had noticed her.

Hetty held her breath as time seemed to move extra slowly, but then Miss Blavae smiled warmly and nodded first to Marie, and then at Hetty before her hand came to rest on Hetty’s shoulder as she walked by. She smelled of lilac and lavender.

Marie turned to face Hetty and the joy on her face gave it away.

“Maybe we shouldn’t stay too long,” Hetty said.

“Where is he? Have you seen him?” Marie asked. Hetty shook her head, and together they scanned the ballroom. It seemed to go on forever.

Just then, her face lit up and she moved forwards, towards where Prince James stood with a circle of friends. It was just the moment she had been waiting for.

Hetty watched her go, and at that moment, she knew she’s lost her best friend, maybe for good. Lost her to him and his blue eyes. Hetty felt a twinge in her stomach, almost like butterflies. Now that she was alone, what would she do?

Suddenly she felt a tap on her shoulder, and turning she saw a young man with dark, curly hair and a confident smile. His green eyes looked warm, and he spoke over the crowd. He was asking her to dance.

“I’m sorry, I don’t know how,” Hetty began to explain, but the young man simply laughed.

“A beautiful girl like you, how could you not know how to dance! Now, no excuses, this one’s my favourite!”  He took her hand and she found herself being led towards the dance that was waiting for them to start. This was all getting a bit surreal for Hetty.

As they started to dance, she almost lost her footing, but the young man – she didn’t even know his name – steadied her. Yet his eyes were kind and he wasn’t laughing at her.

The music started to get faster and she was going in circles around the room, faces and people spinning by. She was beginning to get dizzy. She focused on his face. It was all she could see now.

At first he looked normal, but as the room seemed to blur around them, she noticed the sharpness of his teeth, almost in two little points. And then she did trip.

“My, my, are you okay? Let me help you up, little girl,” the boy said. But his hand felt cold, and she let go immediately. She left him on the dance floor, his shocked expression echoing in her mind. She had to find Marie.

But Marie was dancing with the Prince, entranced. There was no way she could pull them apart now. It was a done deal. Love. Locked. Forever.

Something wet slid down her cheek, and touching it delicately with her fingertip, she realised it was a tear.

The princesses were arguing in the middle of the room. Holly was the one in the gold, as far as Hetty could remember. She looked beautiful, but her voice was sharp and shrill. Gold and silver, just like they’d asked for. Spoilt brats.

The air felt thick around her as she wandered, and she had to gasp for breath. It was probably the corset, tight around her skinny waist, slowly suffocating her. She wanted to rip it off there and then, in front of all these people.

People everywhere, watching her, talking about her, wondering who she was. Their faces blurred and they all began to look the same. White masks, black masks, half masks, shiny masks. She imagined them to have the same face underneath, and sharp teeth with which to bite her with.

They were moving in on her, vampires, all of them. Whispering, plotting to take her behind the parlour and feast on her insides. She knew she was being silly.

How long had gone by? An hour? Two hours? It was impossible to tell. Hetty sipped from her champagne flute, trying to keep steady on heels she was unused to.

Miss Blavae was talking to one of the maids. She was scanning the room. No Hetty? No Marie? Where could those girls have got to? Hetty imagined her saying these things, and knew from the housekeeper’s expression that they were true.

She turned back to Marie. It was getting late now, and the guests would slowly start to trickle out for the night.

It was then Hetty turned to Marie. Her hands were moving up to her cheeks, and slowly she pulled the mask off to reveal her face. The Prince looked astounded. It’s me, she said. Hetty said her mouth the words, but she was too far away to hear.

The Prince looked at her, and smiled, and held her delicate hands as if he thought she might break. The look in his eyes was love. It was all going to plan then.

Before she knew it, she had also lifted the mask from her face, and Marie turned to smile at Hetty. Then Marie’s smile changed, and Hetty felt her heart drop in her chest.

It was Miss Blavae; she was coming towards the girls and her shriek filled the room, her anger audible in her voice.

Her hand came down hard on Hetty’s shoulder and she was pushed harshly to the side, as Miss Blavae yanked her roughly towards Marie’s direction. The party, the decadence, had been forgotten in her rage.

“What did you think you were doing?! How could you do this to me!” She screamed. People had stopped to watch now. What happened next came very quickly.

Miss Blavae’s hand came out and slapped Marie across the face, leaving a harsh red mark. The Prince, concerned, reached out to steady her, and Miss Blavae turned around as if suddenly remembering her surroundings.

“You will never, ever work as a maid again!” She shrieked. She grabbed Marie, who kicked and protested, before she was thrown across the room. Her foot smashed against the champagne glasses as the guests looked on in horror.

In her anger, Miss Blavae then reached out to Hetty and Hetty ran, first pushing her way through the crowd and the elegant dresses, faceless, nameless, what did it matter now. Then up the stairs.

She could hear them behind her, their footsteps harsh on the hard wood flooring that she’d spent so long polishing that day. Of course, she was a maid, that’s what she was there for. Her dress caught on the banister, and ripped. But that was all right; she was just a maid.

They were gaining on her now. If only she could reach the attic, somehow she could turn it all back. The corridor stretched out before her, and she put an extra effort into her run. It wasn’t easy in the dress, and her lungs felt like they were being crushed even more by the harsh corset. Not long now.

But they were still coming, shouting now; Miss Blavae’s words were mixing, melding together. It was impossible to make them out, as if she were screaming underwater.

Hetty reached the door, and almost fell up the stairs. Not long now. The thin space threatened to close in on her as she reached the top, pulling herself up with her fingertips and then she was there.

Analia was waiting for her. Beautiful butterfly.

Everything happened so very slowly, as if time were coming to a complete standstill. She reached for the butterfly, and she wished for it all to go away, to be undone. It was a silent wish. The dust was falling all around her.

She opened her mouth in a strained kind of joy, and the particles, almost like gold dust, kissed her lips. Analia, just out of reach.

And then she was being dragged down, down, down by the housekeeper. There were others too, dragging her down and away from the butterfly. Suddenly it was getting cold, but she didn’t care anymore. She didn’t care about any of it, because things were already changing. Time began to move backwards.

She was ascending again, towards the dust, and everything felt warm and happy and safe. And suddenly she was watching herself from Analia’s point of view, scratching towards the top of the stairs, then lower, the angry faces just in view and then vanishing.

The couple downstairs; beautiful, angelic Marie slowly kicking the air in reverse. Crying for her love lost. The impact from the slap. Miss Blavae’s hand going backwards. Marie back in her love’s arms. Then time froze, the two of them standing still, eyes still full of joy and excitement.

It was a perfect moment.

Then Hetty became the butterfly.

THE END