To Prologue or not to Prologue? And the one I left out...

Like most authors, I'm often asked which of my stories is my personal favourite.  I can answer without hesitation, because it's the one that took me the longest to write, that I edited radically and endlessly and spent many months in agonies of indecision about whether or not to include a prologue.

I asked other authors what they thought about prologues, and whilst no two of them could agree on exactly what makes for the best prologue, there was an even split between the prologue-lovers and prologue-haters.

These may not be golden rules, but are what I deduced from fellow authors to be the essential goals of a prologue:  A prologue should:

• be quite brief (~1000-2000 words) 
• contain information not provided in the rest of the story
• provide a hook/foreshadowing to capture the reader's interest
• be separated in space and time from the rest of the story
• set a context or provide a theme for the story
• be interesting!

Although I tried to fulfil all these goals in my prologue, in the end, I decided against using it in Unworkers.  I'm not sure I will ever know if that was the correct decision or not.  Here's the one I left out, for readers to decide for themselves.

Prologue

(May 1838)

 Alice all but ran up the staircase, something not allowed, but her heart always felt lighter when the master and mistress were away from home.  The master frightened her nearly to distraction and the mistress was too severe for words. However, the master turned out to be quite friendly and kind when he came below stairs for the annual holiday, the only time some of the servants ever saw him.  Last year Mr Edward joined him and the atmosphere felt different.  No one liked Mr Edward Chichester, least of all Alice.

The mistress kept very much to her own rooms and Alice almost died of fright the first time Lady Eleanor summoned her upstairs, expressing a curiosity to see the new girl.  Alice was more used to her now, but she still found her cold and frightening.  On that first occasion, Lady Eleanor had peered closely at Alice through her pale, small eyes and asked if her mother was still alive.  Alice shook her head, too frightened to speak in front of such a fine lady.  The fever had carried her Ma off and two of the little ones as well.  Ma was talented, everyone said; the finest silk weaver in Bethnal Green.  But she made very little money and they were always hungry.  After the cholera took Ma, Alice was sent to the orphanage with the two little ones.  They soon disappeared, taken in by some kind, foreign lady and Alice never saw them again.  She didn’t tell all that to Lady Eleanor, of course; just curtsied as Mrs Patterson had told her to do in the presence of the Chichester family and mumbled something inaudible, but the mistress seemed satisfied and released her.

The mistress didn’t smile like her husband.  Ellen said that was on account of her not being able to bear him any children, which was very sad.  Ellen said she had married beneath her, whatever that meant.  When Alice questioned her, Ellen just shrugged and said she’d heard it said, but couldn’t say if it was true or not.  Nobody knew anything much because the big house was careful not to employ servants who had grown up nearby in order to discourage gossip.  That was normal, Ellen said.  Rich people were always very private, but the servants gossiped anyway.

Alice thought it was a shame Ma had died as she'd never had any difficulty making babies.  One seemed to come along every year without any difficulty.  She was sure Ma would have shared her secret with Lady Eleanor.

She turned off the second floor landing and headed for the uncarpeted stairs leading to the top of the house, where the female servants slept.  The corridor was darker and the rooms much smaller on this floor.  There was another, smaller corridor where the male servants slept but the adjoining door was always kept locked.  Going upstairs during the daytime was unusual and this gave her a delicious little thrill of naughty pleasure.  The house was so quiet.  It felt different somehow.  Mrs Patterson, the housekeeper, had gone out for the afternoon while Mr Gregory locked himself away in his pantry doing whatever butlers do in their private hideaways. 

She didn’t have the afternoon off, not like some, but she was hopeful she would manage to find ten minutes or so to go and see Frank, the under-gardener, who she knew was sweet on her.  Last week, walking back from the fair, he kept brushing up against her so that their hands touched and yesterday he hid a little bunch of flowers under the vegetables.  They were no ordinary flowers, but a pretty posy of forget-me-nots and pansies, woven around a small sprig of apple blossom.  Alice had stuffed the posy in her pocket lest Cook should see it.

As soon as she could, she retrieved the little floral offering and tried to revive it in a saucer of water.  It was sadly crushed and bruised and she knew the little blooms could not last.  Ellen suggested pressing it in the bible to preserve it and it was she who told her the meaning of the flowers.  The pansies meant loving thoughts, while the forget-me-nots said those thoughts were sincere.  The apple blossom was a bit bold; it meant Frank wanted to get to know her in a special way.  Alice laughed at first, but Ellen said she could do a lot worse than Frank.  He was a great strapping boy of sixteen or seventeen, very well-respected by the master from all accounts, so he had prospects.

The narrow upstairs corridor was dark and stuffy, but enough light came from the single gas jet at the staircase end for her to pick out her way without a candle.  When she went into her room, Ellen jumped up nervously from her bed.  She looked pale and ill.

“Oh it’s you, our Alice!  You gave me a fright.  What are you doing here?”

“Why, I was looking for you.  Have you been crying again?”  Alice moved closer to the other housemaid, stretching out her hands towards her in concern.  She had caught Ellen crying quietly on several occasions now but she always refused to tell why. She also had a peculiar smell about her.  ‘Have you been taking that medicine again?'

“No!  You’ve no right to be up here in the daytime.  You’ve got duties below stairs.  If you get caught there’ll be the devil to pay.  You’ll be in such trouble.”

“So will you!”  Alice sniffed Ellen's breath.  “But there’s no one to catch us, Stupid.  I thought we could take a little walk together.  It'll do you more good than that horrible medicine you keep drinking.  That just makes you worse.”

“A walk?’  The other echoed in dismay.  ‘No, I can’t.  I’ve got something I must do and no one must know.”

“What’s amiss, Ellen?  Why can’t you tell me?  We’re friends ain't we?”

“Friends yes, but I can’t tell you this.  Now go before you ruin everything.”

The urgency in her voice sent the younger girl scurrying from the room and down the dimly-lit corridor.  After a few steps, she paused and looked back at the closed door of the tiny bedroom she shared with Ellen.  Then horror!  She heard another door open at the end of the corridor just beneath the attic stairs.  In sheer panic, Alice glanced around her. There was a narrow recess in the wall, deep and small, but Alice was slight enough to squeeze her thin body into it.  And that’s what she did, pulling her long, grey cotton skirt in tightly around her legs.

Mr Edward paused for a moment to adjust the gas flame on the wall then came down the corridor towards her bedroom door.  Just being in such proximity to him made her shudder.  She almost stopped breathing, so terrified was she that he would turn and see her.  He held something in front of him, but she couldn’t see what.  It looked like an apothecary’s flask.  Mr Edward was some kind of scientist and always smelled vaguely of medicine and smoke.

He opened the door to her room without knocking and walked straight in.  Alice feared Ellen must have done something terrible for Mr Edward to come to the servants’ quarters.  She waited, hardly daring to breathe, for what seemed an age.  When he still didn’t come out, she left her little hiding place and crept quietly to the door, hoping to listen in on the conversation. 

She first heard Ellen whimpering and what sounded like the master hitting something.  Then she heard grunting and groaning.  She wanted to go in to help Ellen, but fear drove her back to the wall recess where she punched back tears with her fists.  It was obvious Ellen was in trouble, but Alice was at a loss as to how she could help.  

Ellen was a kind and simple country girl of about fifteen or sixteen - she was not sure exactly.  She was an under-housemaid and was helping to train Alice care for the upstairs' rooms.  Ellen hinted that it was her Sunday school learning and presentable appearance that the mistress felt set Alice a cut above the usual scullery or kitchen maid.  So whenever Cook didn’t need her in the kitchen, Alice was to help with the upstairs duties. 

Eventually the door opened and Mr Edward appeared, leading Ellen by the wrist behind him.  He took her to the room at the end of corridor which was always kept locked; the one with the gas light outside.  All the servants were still fearful of this new invention, but it was something which interested Sir Henry and Mr Edward very much, being scientists of sorts. 

 Ellen wasn’t wearing her cap and her long, curly hair tumbled about her shoulders, which would have upset Mrs Patterson.  Alice thought she looked like an angel with her cascading golden curls.  She no longer wore her pinafore.  Her eyes were wide and wild-looking, as if they were seeing things that were not there.  It reminded Alice of the time she had caught her sleepwalking.  She allowed Mr Edward to lead her without complaint.

“Ellen!” Alice whispered, ever so softly, too softly indeed for Ellen to hear.

Alice put her fist to her mouth and chewed her knuckles.  She was too terrified of Mr Edward’s wrath to do anything.  She saw from Ellen’s face that something was very wrong, but what was she to do?  There was no one to whom she could turn for help, for she knew no one would dare confront Mr Edward.  He was Sir Henry’s brother, after all and to confront any of them would mean risking their positions and they all needed their employment.

She left her tiny hiding place and crept towards the closed door.  Before she reached it, a sudden sound made her jump and without thinking she opened the door of the adjacent room and bolted inside.  Fortunately it was a room recently vacated by a former under-housemaid who had left suddenly and without warning.  Rumours suggested she had disgraced herself quite badly, though she wasn't the first to vanish under a dark cloud; but Alice was too worried about Ellen just now to think about the rumours surrounding her predecessors.

Holding her breath, she listened carefully, but heard nothing except Ellen's moans on the other side of the wall.  It was almost too much for her to bear.  What can I do on my own?  I’ll be fired for sure and then what will happen to me?  She would end up in the streets and all her Sunday school learning wouldn't help her one jot if word got out that she'd been sent away in disgrace.  Ellen’s groans brought her back from her self-pitying thoughts, tears gushing down her own face in sympathy.  Ellen was her best friend; her only friend in the world.  She was like a sister to her, showing her nothing but kindness the entire time she had been with the Chichester family and now she needed her.

In front of her stood an ornate dining or boudoir chair in a sorry state of disrepair and Alice tried out several of its pieces, weighing them in her hand.  The spindle and stretcher were too flimsy and the armrest, with its velvet manchette, too bulky and soft.  However the cresting rail, which came away from the back quite easily, was the perfect size and thickness for a weapon.  She felt suddenly braver just holding it. 

At that moment Ellen let out a scream.  It seemed to freeze the blood in Alice’s veins, causing her heart to stop beating for several seconds.  She could bear it no longer.  She threw open the door and rushed at the adjacent door which she flung open, heedless of the consequences.

She saw Ellen stretched out on a day bed with her skirts up around her neck and there was blood, there was such a lot of blood down below.  Ellen’s wrists were bound and she also had something in her mouth, though it wasn’t a gag.  Her eyes were rolling around wildly but unseeing and something between a scream and a groan was coming from deep in her throat.  It sounded hideous, inhuman.  And Mr Edward sat there, watching her and doing nothing, nothing at all to help her in her agony.

“Ellen! Ellen!  What has he done to you?” Alice cried, rushing towards the bed.  She brandished her weapon threateningly.  Mr Edward stood up then and roared at her.  He seized her baton effortlessly and hit her hard with it once, then a second time.  She felt her knees crumpling beneath her, useless as those on a rag doll.  The last thing she saw was Mr Edward pulling off his frock coat and bearing down on her with a manic, crazed gleam in his eyes.

Unworkers is available from Amazon

and is free on Kindle Unlimited