The event was in full swing and she was already growing somewhat tired of being asked what her divine reflection was, or attempting to figure out who it was that she was speaking to. She had found herself down a particular hallway, she knew it didn't lead back to the ballroom or it didn't lead towards the gardens, but there was something about this hall that called to her. She noticed that there was a door that was slightly ajar, and she found herself in what looked like a drawing room, a piano forte sitting in the corner of the room. She hadn't played properly in quite some time, as she hadn't bothered to get one for the drawing room in her own home. She found herself settled on the piano bench, the blue of her gown contrasting nicely against the color of the cushion as she began to tentatively play, her fingers moving more easily than she had anticipated, muscle memory taking over.
Frances had gotten turned around. She was usually able to easily navigate an unfamiliar home, as it was a skill she'd needed in her line of work, but everything looked different through the lace of her blindfold. She'd thought at first it was a clever way to avoid having to purchase a mask, but now she was regretting it. She was relieved when she heard music, thinking perhaps it was the ball, though she was unsure if the music was coming from the same direction as the din of party voices, and so she followed the sound down the hall. Frances realized quickly that she was wrong. It wasn't the music of the ball, but a single pianoforte. She should look for the ball, but the music was lovely and calming, and Fran couldn't help but to follow it.
She approached the door of a lavish drawing room, where a young lady sat at the keys. Fran stood in the doorway, listening as quietly as she could, so as to not disturb. When the song concluded, she said, softly, "You play so beautifully."
With everyone so busy in the main hall enjoying the masquerade, Tobias and someone whose name he couldn’t remember had taken to the dark walk to enjoy a more private activity. It had been a good time but he knew that he had to go back to the party and was making his way back, thinking that he could get back in without being spotted. He was too confident and that meant he was careless so he froze when he saw someone outside the doors see him. The pelt he was wearing was being carried and the lights from the candles made the bone pattern on his black outfit stand out more. “I’d say pretend you didn’t see me but you have and I don’t think I have any favours to encourage your silence,” he says putting on his best charming smile.
Having had no luck finding any man willing to talk politics, nor possessing any ability to discern the identity of the men she did talk to, Fran decided her best course of action would be to slip away from the crowds and head home early. The Lytton estate was not so far that she could not walk, and she had long since learned to handle herself in the street at night. She reached up to tug off her mask when she noticed a figure coming out of the gardens, and stopped.
"Mister Thorne," she greeted him with a small curtsy. "Are you enjoying the evening air?" She would pretend to not know what he had been doing. It was safer to not risk becoming a threat to him. She'd known servants who had been beaten for less, and though she appeared a lady this evening, she did not know how he might react.
IN THE FORTY AND FIVE YEARS THAT PIET HAD WALKED THE EARTH AND EXPERIENCED WONDERS, horrors and all of the in between, nothing was quite like the scenes that were unfolding before his very eyes as the people of English society and further afield adorned themselves in a mix of colours and shapes to hide who they were for the chance of freedom that they could not do as themselves. The gold ram shaped mask was designed to fit his face perfectly in what he had dubbed the mask he was presenting to society with everyone knowing him as Peter Drake. It was as expensive as it looked, intricate details to give it extra details to match the workings over the rest of his outfit and covering most of his face by design. Not one to drink, the beverage held is sipped slowly and carefully. Fun was to be had but in moderation to be careful that no mistakes were made. “I hear there is someone going around with a pencil and paper making guesses at everyone's costumes,” he says to the woman near him. “I am not sure to what end but since this event is about divine reflections, I wonder how correct they would be. Care to take a guess at mine?”
Frances gave a girlish, unrefined squeak when a man spoke near her - to her. She hadn't been expecting it, had been too busy trying to figure out if a particular mask hid Lord Thorne, so she might ask after his thoughts regarding the upcoming parliamentary session. She wasn't certain who the man was, or whom his costume resembled, but the whole point of her being here was to talk to the men, so she took a guess. "Are you a sheep of some kind?" she asked him, noting his ram's horns. "Perhaps Aries, the constellation?" His mask was ornate and his entire outfit looked expensive. She had used all the money she had left for her own outfit, and yet it looked woefully pale in comparison with those around her. She was glad for the props in her hands that kept her from fidgeting in insecurity.
closed starter for @haywardamiss // // Lytton House, The Masked Ball
As the great doors of the Lytton Ballroom opened before her, Sophia paused at the entrance just long enough for the crowds of people to appreciate her costume. As Sophia moved, her skirt floated with the gold catching the candlelight. Her mask is silver, sharped with winged contours with a feather-like texture design, she is the embodiment of the goddess Eris and she wanted everyone to see the splendour.
The Lytton’s had spared no expense and from the outdoor scenery to the different activities they had, Sophia could not hide how impressed she was at it all, even from herself but one thing had caught her eye. In a world of anonymous scandal sheets, the very idea of having an anonymous letter was intriguing beyond her comprehension and as the attendant spoke, stating it could be a letter of love, friendship or a scathing admission, Sophia could not resist the scheming potential that could come from this.
“What of you, will you be writing a letter of love or something else entirely? I think many people will fancy themselves as Lady Whistledown or a poor imitation but this certainly adds more mystery to the evening, do you think?”
The young miss was not someone Sophia was familiar with but as they were all hidden behind their masks and other personas, Sophia did not blame herself for not knowing who was hiding behind the mask.
Frances started when she was approached by the princess. They hadn't had cause to interact at any of the other social events Frances - or Emilia, rather - had attended this season. She quickly dropped into a curtsy, and tried her best not to fumble her words or the carefully practiced upper class accent.
"I do not believe I shall, Your Grace," she said. "For I have no love to confess." None that she would be able to say out loud even anonymously, that was. "I should be intrigued to see who gets letters themselves, however. That will be the most fun of the mystery." Fran wondered if Mandi would get a letter. She would share it with Fran, surely, if she did. "If I may ask," she added after a thought, "will you be writing a letter?"
Miss Emilia Mullens wears Lady Justice's iconic blindfold and laurel leaves, carrying with her a scale (that she may or may not have stolen from the Winchester kitchen) and, in lieu of an actual sword, a decorative letter opener. She wears a simple pink gown (that she might have worn earlier this season, as some accessories were expensive to acquire).
NAME: Frances "Fran" Hayward
FAMILY: The Hereford Winchesters
ROLE IN SOCIETY: Lady's Maid to Miss Winchester
Sexual Orientation: Bisexual
Date of Birth: September 3rd, 1792
Languages: English
Appearance-
Eye Color: Brown
Hair Color: Brown
Tattoos/Scars: A burn scar on her left arm where she fumbled an iron as a child
Positive Trait: Compassionate, Righteous, Driven
Negative Trait: Enigmatic, Reckless, Skittish
About-
In another life, Frances Hayward might have aspired to rise above her station and become a modiste. She was always handy with a needle, and she had a lifelong reverence for fabrics and other beautiful things. That reverence didn't hold, however, when it came to work in the factory. She was eight when when was sent to join her mother and sister at work in a cotton mill. Frances despised the fabric the machines wove. The cotton she worked with, before it was spun, was coarse and her hands itched within hours of beginning work each day.
But the Haywards lived a comfortable life, back then. The work was long and hard but they made enough money to eat, and there was love enough to fill their small, cramped home in their little town.
Everything changed the day that little Nathaniel Jennings was sent to climb the spindle machine to replace a part that was too finicky for adult hands. The part gave one last surge of life, as if it knew it were going to be replaced, and for one, terrible moment, the machine began to whir just as Nathaniel reached for the piece.
Though the factory continued on following Nathaniel's death, the foreman let go every worker who had witnessed the incident, citing a worry for their nerves. Too scared to do the work efficiently, he said. With the sudden lack of income, the Haywards had no choice but to move to a smaller abode in a place more rife with opportunity.
Life in London was hard. Hours in factories were even longer, and home more cramped. Muck filled the streets and there were nights the Hayward children couldn't sleep but for the smell. Good food was harder to come by, but alcohol was cheap. Frances watched as her father turned to drink and her mother turned cold. Fran and her sister both took up a cough that never seemed to go away. And then the worst happened. The textile factory where they worked caught fire. Frances made it out. Her mother and sister did not.
A neighboring woman took pity on the motherless Hayward girl. She found Frances a job in service to a good family, where she was given her own bed and food every day. Her cough improved until she barely had fits anymore. Fran worked hard, so used to worse conditions as she was, and she rose quickly through the ranks, eventually finding a place in the household of the Viscount of Hereford, as the lady's maid for their youngest daughter. The Viscount and Viscountess were kind to their staff, and Fran liked working for them very much.
Fran's brother was sent to fight in the wars, but her father had been deemed unfit. He was an angry man, often fired from the factories where he worked. Fran tried to send him what money he could, but one day, the money was sent back to her, along with a note that her father no longer resided at their address. Fran was unable to locate her father. Her brother was slow to write, given his duties as a soldier, but he too had no idea what had happened.
On a rare day off, Fran went to find her father herself, but there was no trace of him. She went to the factory where he had said to have been working, but it was closed indefinitely. There had been an "incident," she was told, though no one could tell her the names of the men who were hurt, or if they even survived.
Fran needed to do something, but what could be done? She was a woman, and a servant at that. There was no place for her in politics, and no way she could influence a society she was not a part of. But as the cloud of grief settled, a clarity found its way to Fran, and a plan sharpened into view.
An alias was acquired, along with some fake papers one of the stable boys helped her obtain, to legitimize herself as Emilia Mullens, from Northamptonshire. Light thievery with the help of the valet provided her money for fabric to sew into gowns, and whatever accessories she might need. She'd sneak into balls and mingle with the aristocrats, and campaign, as it were, for the rights of workers in factories. It was a risky move, but those who do not own land do not make laws, and Fran could come up with no other plan to bend the ears of those who do. Things needed to change. Fran might have had no one left save her brother, but others had whole families at risk. And with her brother off in the war, Fran felt she had nothing to lose.
Few know her secret. Some servants are aware, and Miss Winchester caught on quickly, though Fran is unsure if the Lord and Lady Winchester have as well. Miss Winchester surprised her by not turning her in, but rather assisting in her escapes and excuses. Eventually, Fran will be found out. She knows this, and has accepted it. She supposes that, after having been forced to leave in disgrace, she might go to the woods, and become a witch. Her reputation will already be in tatters, so she may as well lean into it.
