This story, the plot, its characters, and the content of all chapters, is owned by ME, Fair Winds, aka Emily Mills. It's my legal property and I will not tolerate the plagiarism of its contents in any form.

“How very ugly.”

A ten-year-old Willa wondered if they thought her deaf. Or blind as well, perhaps. But she did not respond, nor did she acknowledge the presence of the young bodies gathered on the steps behind her.

“Look how very dark her hair is. It looks like muck from the moors.”

“She can probably hear you, Abigail.”

“No one asked you, Emma. What do you think, Edward?”

“I think she can hear you.”

Willa fingered one long, dusky brown wave hanging over her shoulder and stared down at her feet, her piercing blue eyes boring holes into the slippers she wore that had been handed down to her from her mother. She stood tiny in comparison to the foyer that surrounded her. Its great, white walls stretched up until she was certain it outsized the house her whole family lived in back in Ashcroft. Behind her, a massive staircase loomed like a great monster, with banisters and spindles of white and stairs of ebony. She could see the bleary reflections of the three faces staring down at her in the polished surface of the wood floor, but could not make out any certain features.

“Miss. Ward.”

Willa turned and tipped her head back so that she could meet the dark stare of the man looming over her. He must have been at least her father’s age, with dark hair that was turning gray at his temples and gray sideburns. He wore clothes that put her in mind of the finery she had seen the wealthy wear as they walked the harbor in Ashcroft. “Hello, sir,” she replied, ducking into a curtsy.

“My name is Sir Charles. Your father was once a very dear friend of mine.”

“It’s a pleasure to meet you, sir.”

“Do you understand why you’re here?”

“I think it’s because there is no room for me in mine and my sisters’ bed anymore.”

He smiled in amusement at this. “You will have your own bed here, Miss. Ward, and your own room.”

Willa’s eyes widened. “Really? That’d be wonderful, sir. Thank you.”

“No need, Miss. Ward. Now, here you will have a governess. I trust that you can read.”

“Yes, sir.”

“And write too?”

“Yes.”

“That’s good. That’s very good. Now, if you would go with Mrs. Blake…” he trailed off as he motioned to the severe looking woman standing behind him. Her face was too young for her gray hair, high widow’s peak, and the harsh black of her dress, which only served to emphasize the pallor of her face and the depth of the creased around her mouth.

Willa curtsied to her. “Hello, Mrs. Blake.”

Blake said nothing and simply turned towards the stairs and whisked off. Willa looked to Sir Charles but he had already vanished back from whence he came. With no other choice she rushed to catch up with Blake, who had paused to curtsy to the three children on the steps, who had risen to meet them.

The boy was obviously older by at least a few years and handsome, with rusty brown hair tucked neatly under a tweed cap that matched his tweed britches and vest. His eyes were a deep, somber brown, giving him the look of a much older man.

On either side of him there were two girls. The girl on the right was taller and beautiful, like a doll made of porcelain that had been brought to life with vivid blue eyes and hair so fair and blond it appeared white arranged in an array of curls around her face. The girl on the left was plain in comparison, with mousy blond hair, muddy brown eyes, and fair skin afflicted with freckles.

“Miss. Ward, this is Master Edward, Miss. Abigail, and Miss. Emma.”

Willa ducked into a curtsy to the three, earning nothing in return, before rushing up the steps after Blake. She glanced back and met Edward’s eye momentarily before quickly looking forward again. It took her three steps for every one of Blake’s to keep up.

“This is Master Edward’s room and then Miss. Abigail’s and Emma’s room. The room at the end of the hall is the library. Sir Charles had an array of rare books and you are to never enter there, do you understand?”

“Yes, Mrs. Blake.”

“Sir Charles’ and Lady Jane’s room as well as Sir Charles’ study are in the East wing of the house. You will never go there either.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

They appeared at another staircase and Willa had to lift the hem of her dress high to keep up with Blake as the woman took the steps two at a time. The stairwell came out in a long, empty hallway that lacked the friendly warmth of the lower levels.

“That,” Blake began, pointing to the double doors at the very end of the hallway, “Is Master Errol’s room. He is Sir Charles’ eldest son. You will not go in there.”

“Yes.”

Blake nodded and then turned and strode down the hallway, passing several doorways before arriving at yet another staircase, this one being much smaller and a compact spiral tucked into the wall. “And this, leads up to your chambers. Your things will be brought up before evening and by then we should have a bed prepared for you.”

With that, Blake was gone.

Willa stood there for a long moment, simply trying to take in everything that surrounded her. She looked up the stairs and, after wrapping her arms securely around herself, she ascended them. The idea of such a lonely space did not frighten her. In fact, a thrill raced through her at the thought. Her own room. Her own bed.

There was no door to separate the room from the stairwell, but she hardly noticed as she stepped into the large, opened space. There was extra furniture scattered about, covered by white sheets and the floors and windows were covered with a heavy layer of dust, but as she wiped one pane clean with her free hand, she saw that it afford her a view of the entire estate and all of its surrounding forest.

“Willa, an old friend of mine has agreed to take you into his brood. It’s quite a journey and you’d take a carriage. What do you have to say about that?”

“It sounds wonderful, father. When will I return?”

Willa might have been just a child but she knew that something was amiss when he would not answer her.

The idea of not returning to Ashcroft didn’t bother her. She certainly loved her family and all of her siblings, but it was nice to get away from her brothers who constantly teased her and her older sisters who ignored her.

“I suppose there’s an upside to it.”

Willa jumped and turned sharply to face Abigail, who was watching her from the doorway. Emma was just behind her, hiding in the stairwell. “Excuse me?”

“Being a beggar,” Abigail clarified. “I suppose that it’s a good thing when people pity you.”

“I’m not a beggar,” the dark-haired child protested. “Our fathers were good friends.”

“And now he’s begging off of my father,” Abigail replied. “But I suppose that’s the good, Christian thing to do it, isn’t it, Emma? We’re supposed to help the poor and pathetic.”

Emma refused to meet her sister’s gaze and looked up only long enough to spare Willa an apologetic look. “Abigail, we should go downstairs now,” she mumbled.

Abigail rolled her eyes. “Stop being such a baby, Emma.”

Willa cocked her head to the side as she stared at the older girl. “You’re very pretty, Abigail,” she observed with genuine admiration.

The fair girl smiled and tossed her blond curls haughtily as she lifted her chin in a show of superiority. “I know.”

“So I suppose you know about the trolls,” Willa began.

“Don’t be stupid, there’s no such thing.”

“Oh yes there is,” the other girl replied. “They’re not what we always picture them. They’re smaller and prettier with big eyes and squished noses. They like human children… especially really pretty ones. They scoop them up and take them away in the middle of the night and leave a block of wood disguised by magic in their places. The wooden children soon shrivel up and die and the real children are kept forever by the trolls as servants until they grow ugly and old.”

Abigail now looked uneasy and Emma’s eyes were wide with fear. “Then what?” Emma whispered.

Willa glanced from side to side and then leaned forward. “Then the trolls eat them,” she said in a hushed voice.

Abigail’s eyes were now wide to match her sister’s and suddenly both of them let out screams as they were grabbed from behind. Willa shrieked as they were pulled backwards down the steps. They reappeared again not a second later, held against the body of a young man, who was cackling.

His hair was a wild mess of black curls and his eyes a strange, greenish gray that glowed in the light coming in through the dusty windows. He wore a long, black frock coat over and untucked shirt and muddy trousers.

“You must be my new little sister,” he said with a feral smile as he looked up at Willa through his mess of bangs. “You’re quite the storyteller.”

“Put us down, Errol!” Abigail screamed.

He winked at Willa and cocked his head to speak into is sister’s ear. “Maybe I’m not Errol. Maybe I’m a troll!”

The pair screamed in unison and with a chuckle Errol dropped them to their feet. They shot passed him and vanished down the steps, stumbling and tripping over each other as they went, screaming for Lady Jane.

Errol turned back to face Willa, pushing his hair out of his eyes as he ducked into a low bow. “I’m Errol Vincent.”

“I’m Willa Ward.”

He swept the room with a critical stare and then turned his attention back upon the girl. “You’ve been banished here then.”

“I don’t mind.”

“Of course you don’t,” Errol replied dismissively. “This is probably a castle compared to the hovel you were plucked from. You are William’s daughter then?”
“Yes, sir.”

“Named after him?”

Willa nodded.

“Have you no brothers?”

“My oldest brother is named William. They ran out of family names to give me so I was named after my father.”

“I see.”

She watched him as he began to move about the room, pulling the white sheets away from the furniture, revealing a couch and then an ancient bookshelf. “Do you know my father, sir?”

“I did when he was a rich man,” Errol replied. “Stop calling me sir. You are as good as a cousin to me.”

“But we aren’t.”

He shook is head. “Our fathers, while not bound by blood, were raised as brothers.”

“Sir Charles did not say so.”

“Well, since your father has lost all but a little of his wealth, my father would not,” Errol answered and then in a lower voice he added, as if to himself, “He hates feeling obligated to people who have nothing but companionship to offer him.”

Willa frowned at this and opened her mouth to ask what he meant, but was cut off by her own gasp when he uncovered a beautiful, wooden bureau made from ebony.

“My old writing desk,” he said with some pride. “You may have it. I have no use for it now.”

“I couldn’t, sir.”

“You will and I won’t tolerate you arguing with me on the matter.”

Willa looked to her feet and then turned her eyes back upon him. “Why are you being so kind to me?”

Errol was still for several long moments as he stood slightly turned from her. She watched him carefully as he stroked the smooth surface of the desktop with one hand, his eyes boring holes into the wood. Then he turned to face her and suddenly he looked much older than he had the moment before. “I have lived with this family for many years,” he replied, “And I know that they will not.”

He patted her head gently as he passed her and vanished down the stairs.