i need help with a title :I

six lives.

Prologue

There was a soft knock on the door. Juliet hushed the three giggling girls with a quick flourish of her hand. She rose from her sprawled out position on the couch and padded over to the door. "Who is it?" 

"Jeremy, my darling girl, open up. I have gifts." 

Juliet grinned and flung the door open as the other girls began chattering again. Jeremy stepped inside and kissed Juliet lightly on the cheek. In his hand was a tightly wrapped parcel. "Did you finish them?!" she squealed.

"Hello to you too," he laughed in reply. Juliet waved her hand and snatched the parcel away, skipping back to the chaise. "Hello girls," Jeremy smiled at the three other ladies who lay in a mangled and relaxed circle. 

"Hello Jeremy," youngest Santela answered. She rose and hugged him shyly. "What have you brought us today?"

"More sweets I hope!" Elizabeth piped up from her perch on the arm of the couch where Juliet sat struggling with the string around the package. 

Jeremy shook his head, smiling. 

"I got it! Girls, gather here!" Juliet ripped away the brown paper to reveal a medium sized black box. Santela smiled at Jeremy again and went to sit by Juliet with the others. 

"Sorry they couldn't be all metal, Julie. I took what I could," Jeremy said as Juliet opened the box.

"No, no, their great!" she grinned. "Hold out your wrists." One by one she wrapped threaded, sparkling bracelets around the thin wrists of the girls. "Place this on for me, will you?" she asked Santela, who quickly clasped the bracelet onto Juliet's arm. 

"They're lovely!" said Lilian.

"What're they for?" Elizabeth examined the jewelry.

"They're symbolic." Juliet scooted off the couch and onto the floor with the others. "Now we're official. We'll be friends forever." She smiled, eyes shining. "Now we'll always remember each other, no matter how far away we go or how dignified we become. No matter what."

"No matter what," Santela repeated.

Juliet grinned at her and she smiled back. Juliet turned to Jeremy. "Did you make your own?"

"Madam, I am a gentleman. I do not wear bracelets." He lifted up his jacket. "However, I needed a better chain for my watch." A thick strand of copper thread had a red rose melded into it, attached to the cheap and old, but working, pocket watch.

"It looks like mine," Santela examined. "The rose."

He smiled at her. "Really?"

"Well!" Juliet stood. "I guess that's that then. You best be on your way." The girls stood, wrapped their coats around themselves, kissed Juliet's cheeks, and scurried out of the dark room. 

No more than three days later, Elizabeth, Lilian, and Santela sat at a large table covered in a starch white table cloth and delicate foods from France. Clinking glasses, soft chatter, and occasional laughter danced in the air around them. 

"Hello, ladies. I do hope you're enjoying yourselves?" A middle aged man with a short gray beard said, passing slowly by their chairs. 

"Yes, thank you, Mr. Noreswell." They all replied. 

He gave a satisfied smile. "I'm glad you could attend. I wonder if you've seen Miss Way about?"

"No, I do not believe she could come today." Elizabeth replied. He grunted and nodded his head.

"Good day to you then." 

"Good day."

"Where is Juliet, do you think?" Lillian wondered aloud. 

Elizabeth opened her mouth to reply, but a squawk interrupted her.

"You mean Miss Juliet Way, do you?" A squint-eyed woman, maybe in her early thirties, was wrinkling her nose. Madam Goswald was a hideously tempered woman who knew all your secrets and would never hesitate to pass them on to every stranger who crossed her path if you were to displease her. She was the biggest gossiper in London. The girls nodded politely. "I passed by her house just today. Seeing the police, naturally I called the carriage to stop. I mean, being good natured as I am, I thought I should make sure dear Juliet and widowed mother were alright. Coming upon the place I saw that the door was practically off it's hinges!" She paused for effect and the girls exchanged troubled looks. "Of course I walked right up to an officer and demanded to know what had happened. He wouldn't tell me at first but I was persistent and he eventually explained that the whole place had been ransacked! They suspected thieves, but they couldn't be sure as most of the belongings were intact and in place." Goswold took a sip of tea and coughed delicately into her handkerchief. Elizabeth quickly whispered, "This is all poppycock, don't you think?"

"I can't be sure. I don't think any of her ramblings have ever been proven untrue." Santela replied.

"You three must be so devastated, having been such friends with her and all." 

"Oh, well, yes it is a pity. I'm sure she's quite shaken ." Lillian replied.

"Well, I'm sure she is!" The woman exclaimed. "Not like anyone knows," she added wistfully, smoothing her napkin.

"What do you mean?" 

"Well no one has seen Madam Way or Juliet since yesterday. From what I've heard, they've just disappeared. No clothes in their wardrobes, no note in the house. They're gone." 

The note came on Saturday, November 29^th, 1878 at precisely twelve-twenty-one during a chilly night damp with rain. The messenger who had delivered it wrapped his plain brown sweater tighter to his chest after the door maid thanked him and paid him a penny for his journey. The note was the last delivery of the night, and the boy was anxious to get home and share his earnings, a whole 10 cents, with his mother and sister. He was unaware of the contents of the note, and what its writings would ensue. In fact, by the time he had ran down the quiet streets of London and settled next to the small make-shift fire in his home, he’d already forgotten most everything about the note, except for the scrawling handwriting that had drawn his eyes in a bewitching fashion. But even that was fading in his memory when he kissed his mothers cheek goodnight and blew out the stubble of a candle.

But back at the house where the letter had been delivered, a pretty girl paced her room back and forth, her soft pink nightgown swishing across the ground with every other step. Her straight auburn hair was pulled over her shoulder, veiling one side of her delicate face. Straight, thin eyebrows were set in an anxious manner over her big brown eyes, and in one hand the note was crumpled, already wrinkled and bent from being many times folded and unfolded again.

Santela Jones huffed and stopped pacing. Downstairs, the cleaning maid sighed in relief. Her mistress walked heavily when she was in a state of anxiety, and the maid needed her sleep. She was the one who had to rise at just past dawn.

Santela crossed over to her bed and sat down, opening the letter for the thirteenth time. Her thin fingers brushed the edges of the parchment as her eyes flitted over the words she’d already read over and over.

Dearest Santela-

I am sending this letter hoping with the greatest blessings that it reaches you swiftly and soundly. Four long years it's been, my friend, but now I call upon you. It is time to meet again, but for a greater purpose than the talks of literature and philosophy. Should this letter be intercepted, I dare not say more, but implore you to meet me in the usual place on Sunday, at 9 in the early morning. Once again, I shant say, but trust you know where to go precisely. Best of luck.

Juliet Way

Santela, having gained control of her breathing, smoothed out the paper carefully and sighed. Four years. Santela remembered; she had kept the memories on the edge of her mind ever since the accident till they were just faint black and white images of colorful and vibrant days. Of course, those days were just as black and white as what she remembered, but Santela liked to pretend she was doing something exciting by meeting in shut off places without protection, even though they did little more than she could do in any overdone tea party.

She stood and walked over to her vanity. Hidden behind the mirror, a small silver box sat, untouched for many months. Its contents were few, but the box seemed to weigh in Santela’s hand as she pulled it out from its hiding place. She ran her fingers over the top, feeling the star engravings carved into the silver. She blew on it, and the dust flew away, hovering in the air for the moment that Santela opened the lid. Inside its velvet-lined hold, a starch white handkerchief lay, M.C.C. sewn on the seam, the initials of her mother. Santela lifted the handkerchief to reveal the threaded bracelet that seemed to be woven from soft silver hidden underneath, sparkling delicately in the flickering light.  Santela’s breath caught at just the sight of it, and a smile played her pink lips as she realized it was time again to wind the band around her small wrist. She picked up the bracelet carefully and tied it on, admiring not for the first time the red rose woven into it, made from metal that had been changed and shaped under careful hands that she remembered so well. Her heart still raced at the thought of those fingers and the face they belonged to.

She took a shuddering breath and placed the folded parchment into the box, unaware of the many others that would soon be joining it. She closed the box, running her fingers once again over the engravings, and hid it behind the mirror again.

Then, with the awful feeling of anticipation threatening to clear her stomach of its contents, Santela Jones slipped between her sheets and closed her eyes. Her head was spinning, unbelieving that in less than eight hours she’d be reunited with one of the girls she had almost thought she’d never see again, but her eyelids soon got to be heavy, and she drifted off into a sleep that was adorned with wishes of mysteries and secrets and laughter that would help her escape the boring life of tea and petticoats, if only for a short while.

 

 

 

Santela woke with a start as the maid entered her room, humming a small tune under her breath. She was in a good mood, for her cheeks were rosy from the milk-boys kisses and she didn’t even realize her apron was on backwards.

“C’mon, miss, shouldn’t be late to church.”

Santela sighed and stifled an unladylike groan. She sat up in bed, and placed her cold feet on the even colder floor. She gasped and pulled back. “Mary, get my slippers will you?”

“Of course, miss.” The maid opened the wardrobe and pulled out the silken slippers. She placed them at her mistress’s feet and watched as she slid them on, daydreaming of blue eyes and a white smile.

Santela looked up. “Clothes, Mary, please.”

Mary jumped and blushed. “Right away, miss.”

Santela stood still as her maid helped her dress. Mary pulled the strings on the corset tight, and Santela had to take short, gasping breaths just to be able to get a bit of oxygen into her crushed lungs. “Looser, looser!” she squeaked, and the maid quickly undid the strings, easing the pressure on her mistress’s ribs. Once she was dressed, Santela bid her leave. Once the maid curtsied and left the room, Santela sat at her vanity and powdered her face, making it a few shades paler than it really was. She sneezed at the stuffy makeup, and then rouged her cheeks. She didn’t see much of the point, she looked like a mime, but it was what was expected from her as a governor’s daughter, and Santela Jones never broke the rules of society. At least not obviously.

From downstairs she heard a knock on the door and her interest perked. Was it another messenger? She crossed quickly over to her window and pulled back the translucent curtains. The roof went down at a slanted angle past her window, so her view was blocked, and she could see little more than a pair of clean breeches and a black top hat. Not a messenger then, but who? Santela slid on her day slippers and swiftly left her room.

She padded down the circling staircase, looking over the railing to try to get a better look at whoever was at the door. She straightened her flower printed gown and made sure her hair wasn’t out of place before coming into obvious view.

The door man stood with the door half open, looking at the man standing outside with a blank expression, as usual.

“Let me in, I told you already I’m Miss Jones uncle! I’m not some mad robber who happens to be dressed in fine clothing, now open up.”

“Is there something wrong?” Santela stepped forward. A man who appeared to be in his late thirties stood at the door. There were gray strands in his brown hair, and he had a slack jaw which would have been an unattractive feature had it not been for his straight edged nose. He was handsome in an unusual way, and Santela couldn’t imagine ever having met him before, for his did not seem like it was an easy face to forget. Actually, the only thing that seemed at all familiar about him was his big brown eyes, much like Santela’s, which she knew she had inherited from her mother, who had passed away when Santela was just a small child of three. This mans eyes were precisely identical to hers.

“Santy! Well look at you, pretty girl you are, just like your mother.” The man smiled widely then looked back at the door man who stood, uncertain.

Santela nodded at him, and the solemn man opened the door to let the gentleman inside. He stepped over the threshold quickly and rubbed his arms. “Nippy it is out there. Told ya she’d let me in when she saw me.” He laughed at the doorman, who nodded once and took his hat and coat. “Thanks.” The man with her mothers eyes walked over to Santela with long strides and swept her into an embrace. When he pulled back from the hug, holding her at arms length, he was smiling from ear to ear. “God, it’s great to finally meet you.”

Santela stepped away from him. “And you. Would you like some tea?” She walked into the foyer and rang a small bell. The door man appeared.

“Oh, tea, I’d fancy some, yes. But I’m much more eager to talk to you.”

Santela looked at the doorman. “Tea, Nigel?” He nodded once and left the foyer. Santela turned back to the strange man. “Sit, please.”

He sat down on one of the comfortable chairs by the fire, and Santela took the one across from him. Nigel came back with tea on a tray and set it on a table near her. She thanked him and he nodded, exiting in a phantom-like fashion again.

“Sugar or milk?”

“Plenty of both, please,” he responded and waited in silence as she stirred in the sweeteners. He examined her, noticing the smallest little things that he recognized from his sister: the small, button nose and big brown eyes, the frail wrists and soft, pink lips. She looked so much like her mother; it was almost like seeing Mira as a girl again. Even the way she crossed her ankles seemed to have a resemblance. A small amount of his happiness at meeting his niece ebbed at the thought of his beloved sister. He still felt sad that he hadn’t been able to say goodbye to her, and often wished he hadn’t gotten so caught up in his travels and remembered to write to her. But though she was gone, her daughter was still here, and he had promised himself he wouldn’t take advantage of her existence as he had Mira’s.

He took the small teacup out of her hand and sipped it gratefully. “Good cup of tea.” He sighed.

Santela hesitated for only a moment. “I don’t seem to have caught your name.”

“Oh! Of course! How impolite of me. I’m Daniel Clement, your uncle. I’ve been traveling abroad for a good several years, been everywhere I have, but my sister and I were close. I was in Australia when I got word of your mothers death, bless her sweet, sweet soul, and it took quite some time to earn enough money to get back here. Tried to come by ship, but it was attacked by pirates.” Santela gasped. “No no, they were nice fellows if you ask me. Quite polite during the whole thing. ‘Cept this one lad, he seemed a bit more bloodthirsty, enjoying the whole thing just a little too much. Probably a new raider. Oh, but off that, back to the travel. Took pity on us, they did, stole all our goods then dumped us on an island in the middle of nowhere, ocean far as the eye could see. They left plenty of supplies though, enough to last us a good month. There were few of us, ya see, just enough to control the ship. Importing pickles, I think. Lived off those salty things for weeks, till another ship caught sight of us. I still wretch at the stench of them, I do.”

Santela giggled and sipped her tea, intrigued by his story and strange way of talking. Clement liked the sound of her laugh, though it didn’t much sound like Mira’s. She seemed like a fun girl, one who might’ve wanted more out of her life besides what she had. She didn’t seem to think he was vulgar like many others did, so he continued his story.

“So, then I ended up in Japan, somehow, didn’t understand a word they were saying at first, but I learned fast. First thing I figured out was how to say was ‘no, sir, I do not smell any pickles.’” Santela laughed and he chuckled. “God, that smell never comes off my girl. Well, anyway, went to many lengths and hardships to get back here, couldn’t wait to meet my niece, though I admit I didn’t mind stalling in New York a bit. Fun place, that is.” He yawns and Santela smiles.

“You must be tired. I’ll arrange for one of the spare rooms to be made up for you.”

“Thank you, Santy, that sounds nice, if it’s not too much trouble.”

“None at all, I’m excited to hear more of your stories.” She rang the small bell again and the doorman appeared almost instantaneously. “Nigel, please get one of our rooms ready. My uncle will be staying with us for the time being.”

Nigel nodded and Santela turned, satisfied. “Well, through all your troubles I’m glad you’re finally here, uncle.”

“As am I, Santela.” He stood and kissed her forehead. His words were true. He would miss his sister forever, but he was glad to be near Santela, for she was almost like an extension of Mira, and he loved her already.

“My apologies, but I must leave you now, for I have a prior engagement I fear I’m already late for..”

“Of course my dear, I’m sure Nigel and I will get along quite fine.” He grins and wraps one arm around the shoulders of the butler, who stiffens under his grip. Santela giggles again, just like a little girl of nine or ten, and curtsies.

“Thank you, Nigel, and please make sure all my uncles needs are met. Farewell!” She glides out of the house, pulling on her coat and gloves, as Nigel opens the door for her.

Clement watched her go from the window. She walked with anxiety in her step, mixed with excitement. He wondered where she was going. Probably to meet with a lover. She really was a pretty thing. He was so glad to have finally met her. He turned to Nigel.

“Well, chap, I’m going to look around a bit. Anything I should know about, you know, piranhas in the bath, booby traps on the doors?” Nigel didn’t respond. Clement clapped his hands in the silence and nodded. “Right then. I’ll just fend on my own. Off you go.”

Nigel bowed and left. ‘Strange fellow he is,' Clement thought, and then wandered into the library.

 

Down the road, Santela hailed a carriage.

“I need to go to Paddington, as quick as possible, please.”

“Well al’ight then. Five shillin'."

“Thank you.” She handed him the money and climbed into the hold. The carriage ride seemed to take the longest time as Santela wrung her hands together in an anxious excitement that was almost unbearable. Her stomach refused to lay still.

'Is this happening?' she thought to herself. 'Is this a dream?" She pulled the creased note out of her small bosom and went over it again. 'Yes. This is real.'

The carriage driver pulled back on the reigns. Santela peered out the window and inhaled a shuddering breath as her gloved hand pulled the handle of the carriage door.

Elizabeth Swift stood in the chilly air, staring at the entry way to a place she never thought she'd enter again. She'd stood in this exact spot numerous times in the past four years, never daring to go up to the door, afraid someone else might answer it, though knowing it was uninhabited. She trotted up the steps quickly, slipped one of her slightly chubby hands from her muffler and placed it on the cold wood of the door. No one was around at this time on a Sunday morning, so all seemed to be completely still. Elizabeth stood motionless, frightened, her fingertips beginning to numb. Her long, dark, curly hair was tied back in a bun, but tendrils of it teased around her face. Her slight pink lips were chapped in the cold, her dark gypsy skin blushed with a faint pink. In her muffler, her other hand clenched a wrinkled parchment that had been delivered to her door at exactly twelve-nineteen the previous night. As she shook slightly, a small blue spiral sparkled, clutched to her throat by a thin silver chain. 

Thoughts raced through her mind. What would be behind the door? The same as before, so long ago? No, they had cleaned it out long ago, after two months and no word had come. Would it be musty, have a faint smell of incense? Had termites tainted the blue diamond wallpaper? Was the large collection of fascinating books still lining the walls?

This was happening. And it was no time for hesitation.

Elizabeth gripped the door handle and shoved it open. She clenched her eyes shut and ducked inside as she heard the cry of horses coming to a stop not too far from where she was.

Santela had to keep herself from lifting up her skirts and running as she stepped out of the carriage. She walked steadily to the sidewalk and kept a swift pace until the carriage pulled away. She looked back once more then shrieked and pranced forward, running down the sidewalk to the steps of the house. Trying to keep her footsteps quiet, she crept forward. Her breath kept catching in the cold, making her struggle not to cough. She wasn't sure why but she was afraid of that door, what lay behind it, like it would be the end of her if she got too close. She liked that feeling. She took a deep breath and stepped forward again as a hand grabbed her upper arm. A startled yelp escaped her lips, followed by a shocked noise from Lilian Smith.

"Lily!" gasped Santela.

Lily took a deep breath to calm her nerves. "It's good to see you, Santela." 

"And you!" Santela replied with a smile. "Aren't you nervous?"

"Well I suppose, being called to this old wreck of a house again. It's all a bit suspicious and sudden. I had to call in sick to just come here, I was due to tea with the banker's wife."

"I'm sure this will be far more interesting than that old shrew." Santela giggled.

Lillian stiffened. "Yes, well it would be a good idea to be on good terms with my mother-in-law." She shrugged. "Shall we?"