Elegant Enchantments
written by Dora Scamander
Born into respected society, Lucy Tiller finds it hard enough as it is to act like a lady. And having magical powers isn't making things any easier...
Last Updated
05/31/21
Chapters
1
Reads
324
A Piece Of Cake
Chapter 1
Monday, 13th October, 1858
I didn't mean to do it.
Well, I did, because Mr Cuthbert disgusts me - but I didn't think it would actually happen. Did I make it happen? I suppose so. Do I care? I suppose not.
But I'm going too far ahead already. Let me introduce myself. My name is Lucy Isabella Tiller, the daughter of Mr and Mrs Tiller at Greengrove Park, in Brighton, England. I am sixteen years old.
My life is primarily boring, except for - well, a few odd things. I suppose I shouldn't care about this, and count myself lucky, being from a wealthy family, but I don't. Being rich is for old people who don't have anything to do but lounge around and host parties.
My friends, or that's what they're supposed to be, are all giggly, gossipy, and romantic young ladies who always fancy they're in love. I'm not them like them, and glad of it. Maybe I wouldn't mind marrying if it was an adventurous, intelligent young man who sailed the seas, but if most men are like that pasty-faced, lazy, arrogant slobber (I mustn't let mother see this journal) Mr Cuthbert... well, at least I wiped the smirk off his face today. Here's how it happened:
Mr Cuthbert lives in town. His parents, who are dead now, were respectable people, and they left him rather a large sum of money at their deaths. But Mr Cuthbert loves horse racing (well, watching it anyway, I doubt he'd be fit enough to get one foot over the saddle) and he spends much of his money on bets. But despite these ungainly habits my parents are happy to have him over, as he is a sort of family friend. I don't think this is a reasonable excuse for how he frequently comes to visit, but no one cares about my opinion anyway.
Anyway, he invited himself up to the manor this morning. I didn't want to talk to him, but mother said I must come down, as was proper and polite, and I grumpily obliged. Descending the grand staircase and turning into the parlour I saw Mr Cuthbert in his usual place in the centre of the room, on the squishy green armchair, his feet on a footstool, looking very at home indeed.
"Ah, Miss Tiller, good morn, good morn."
I greeted him coldly.
"How are you on this fine, fine day?"
"Very well, thank you."
Mr Cuthbert nodded, smiling broadly and unconvincingly. Mother bustled off to get the tea and we were left alone in the room. For a little while Mr Cuthbert sat silently, twiddling his booted toes with that fake smile still stuck on his face. I sat stiffly on the windowseat, my hands clasped tightly in my lap.
"Do you like flowers, Miss Tiller?" Mr Cuthbert asked suddenly.
This was such a sudden question that I could not answer for a moment. "Er - yes, why not?" I finally said, trying to smile but failing drastically.
"Oh, well, good." Mr Cuthbert said, and he appeared as awkward as I was. "Here, I picked this on my way up. Will you take it?" And he held out a little pink rose.
I stared at it, unbelieving. Then thoughts started swirling through my brain like little tornadoes. Mr Cuthbert wanted to court me - to marry me, even! Mr Cuthbert didn't care one speck for me, I knew that much. So why was he doing this? Mr Cuthbert wanted to marry me because - because - because he'd get my fortune! Mr Cuthbert wanted all my wealth for his greedy self. That was it. That must be it!
I was still sitting there in shock when mother returned, carrying a little tray with tea and cake. She looked from Mr Cuthbert to the flower to me and realised she had intruded at a bad time. "Oh - I -" She stammered.
Suddenly fuming, I jumped to my feet. Mr Cuthbert stared at me, wide-eyed.
"You - you -" I want to squash his pasty, fat, cake-like face -
At the exact moment I thought that a small white cake came hurling through the air and went SPLAT on Mr Cuthbert's face. I looked round. Mother was holding the tray and looking at it in disbelief. It seemed to have soared off its plate and somehow flown to the other side of the room, where it had landed on the unlucky victim.
"Oh my heavens!" Mother gasped, and she placed the tray quickly on the table and rushed over to Mr Cuthbert.
I took my chance, and escaped quickly from the room.
I didn't mean to do it.
Well, I did, because Mr Cuthbert disgusts me - but I didn't think it would actually happen. Did I make it happen? I suppose so. Do I care? I suppose not.
But I'm going too far ahead already. Let me introduce myself. My name is Lucy Isabella Tiller, the daughter of Mr and Mrs Tiller at Greengrove Park, in Brighton, England. I am sixteen years old.
My life is primarily boring, except for - well, a few odd things. I suppose I shouldn't care about this, and count myself lucky, being from a wealthy family, but I don't. Being rich is for old people who don't have anything to do but lounge around and host parties.
My friends, or that's what they're supposed to be, are all giggly, gossipy, and romantic young ladies who always fancy they're in love. I'm not them like them, and glad of it. Maybe I wouldn't mind marrying if it was an adventurous, intelligent young man who sailed the seas, but if most men are like that pasty-faced, lazy, arrogant slobber (I mustn't let mother see this journal) Mr Cuthbert... well, at least I wiped the smirk off his face today. Here's how it happened:
Mr Cuthbert lives in town. His parents, who are dead now, were respectable people, and they left him rather a large sum of money at their deaths. But Mr Cuthbert loves horse racing (well, watching it anyway, I doubt he'd be fit enough to get one foot over the saddle) and he spends much of his money on bets. But despite these ungainly habits my parents are happy to have him over, as he is a sort of family friend. I don't think this is a reasonable excuse for how he frequently comes to visit, but no one cares about my opinion anyway.
Anyway, he invited himself up to the manor this morning. I didn't want to talk to him, but mother said I must come down, as was proper and polite, and I grumpily obliged. Descending the grand staircase and turning into the parlour I saw Mr Cuthbert in his usual place in the centre of the room, on the squishy green armchair, his feet on a footstool, looking very at home indeed.
"Ah, Miss Tiller, good morn, good morn."
I greeted him coldly.
"How are you on this fine, fine day?"
"Very well, thank you."
Mr Cuthbert nodded, smiling broadly and unconvincingly. Mother bustled off to get the tea and we were left alone in the room. For a little while Mr Cuthbert sat silently, twiddling his booted toes with that fake smile still stuck on his face. I sat stiffly on the windowseat, my hands clasped tightly in my lap.
"Do you like flowers, Miss Tiller?" Mr Cuthbert asked suddenly.
This was such a sudden question that I could not answer for a moment. "Er - yes, why not?" I finally said, trying to smile but failing drastically.
"Oh, well, good." Mr Cuthbert said, and he appeared as awkward as I was. "Here, I picked this on my way up. Will you take it?" And he held out a little pink rose.
I stared at it, unbelieving. Then thoughts started swirling through my brain like little tornadoes. Mr Cuthbert wanted to court me - to marry me, even! Mr Cuthbert didn't care one speck for me, I knew that much. So why was he doing this? Mr Cuthbert wanted to marry me because - because - because he'd get my fortune! Mr Cuthbert wanted all my wealth for his greedy self. That was it. That must be it!
I was still sitting there in shock when mother returned, carrying a little tray with tea and cake. She looked from Mr Cuthbert to the flower to me and realised she had intruded at a bad time. "Oh - I -" She stammered.
Suddenly fuming, I jumped to my feet. Mr Cuthbert stared at me, wide-eyed.
"You - you -" I want to squash his pasty, fat, cake-like face -
At the exact moment I thought that a small white cake came hurling through the air and went SPLAT on Mr Cuthbert's face. I looked round. Mother was holding the tray and looking at it in disbelief. It seemed to have soared off its plate and somehow flown to the other side of the room, where it had landed on the unlucky victim.
"Oh my heavens!" Mother gasped, and she placed the tray quickly on the table and rushed over to Mr Cuthbert.
I took my chance, and escaped quickly from the room.
