A plume of dust rose from the back of the carriage. It was pulled by four pure black stallions, snorting and stomping their feet. You tell it was owned by a wealthy family. It had gold leaf spiralling all over it in complex swirling patterns around the body of the carriage. A giant of a man was steering the carriage, glowering in a foul mood.

 Sophie quickly looked around Wallington hall for the last time. She would never see it again. It had old spiralling stair cases and hidden passages. The hallways were lined with portraits of the previous lords that owned the hall. The entrance way had marble floor, which was cold and unforgiving if you slipped on it. Not at all like the people who had raised her.

 Sophie’s mother had abandoned her; she had left her out on a cold snowy winter night to die. Her family could not afford another child, let alone a girl. At least a boy would turn into a man and be able to work and gain money for the family, not Sophie. A girl was demanding, took up space and couldn’t even work. No, it was better if she didn’t exist. It was only by chance that Joan, the lady of the hall had found me. She had been meeting some of her friends down the lane. Joan was a kind lady with calloused hands that had seen many years of hard work. She had a kind old face that lit up when she smiled, but also could scare away even the strongest of men when she was angry!

If it wasn’t for this woman, Sophie would be dead. She owed her very existence to Joan. Joan took her in and cared for her until she was old enough to contribute to the house hold. Sophie stood at the front steps of the house, smiling at the memory. She could still remember where she stayed at the start of her life. The room was small, with a cot in the middle. It had woollen sheets that were warm, even on the coldest of nights. There was the old rocking chair where Joan would sit, waiting for Sophie to go to sleep and on the nights that she didn’t, Joan would sit there in that very same chair, Sophie’s small figure wrapped in her arms wailing, until she was exhausted and dropped off to sleep, still huddled in her arms. Then Joan would put Sophie back in the cot, wrap her in the sheep skin blankets, kiss her forehead good night and leave, without making a sound to wake her.