Aunt Cressida's mansion was splendiferous. It was made of granite and sat perched on the top of a big hill that overlooked a lake and lots of trees. The driveway, hewn with cobblestones, snaked up the hill like a stony snake. The carriage rattled and bumped along the cobbles as the driver drove the horses forward. Victoria sat in the back with her aunt and gazed mournfully at the house. Even though it was big and fancy, she missed her old home with the dust, cobwebs and creaky floorboards. More than anything else, she missed her parents.

The carriage came to a halt and Aunt Cressida climbed down. Even though her skirts were big and voluminous, as was the fashion in those days, she didn't have any difficulty at all in moving. Victoria, on the other hand, was still wearing her funeral clothes and she nearly tripped up when she was getting out of the carriage because the skirts tangled around her feet. She thought the driver was laughing at her.

"Come on," Aunt Cressida sighed impatiently, "we will be late for dinner."

The entrance hall to the residence was nothing especially grand. The four walls were panelled with oak and decorated with scowling paintings of Aunt Cressida's ancestors. There was an elephant's-hoof umbrella stand in one corner, and a Persian rug spread across the parquet flooring.

A maidservant departed from the kitchen. She curtseyed at Aunt Cressida and scowled at Victoria.

"Is milday ready to eat?" she asked questionably.

"Yes," Aunt Cressida replied. Just then Victoria's stomach gave an almighty rumble. She really was very hungry!

The maid's scowl deepened. Victoria wondered if the frown lines would ever come out of her face.

The dining table was quite ordinary. It was about twelve feet in length but Victoria and her aunt Cressida sat on one end. The maid served the roast dinner and Victoria found herself smiling for the first time since her arrival in this dour place. Back when she'd been living with her parents, they'd only been able to afford roast dinner on a Sunday.

When they had eaten Aunt Cressida, sent Victoria to bed. Victoria lay under the eider down and sighed. Rain splashed against the window and the wind howled across the bleak, desolate hills and rattled the chimney pot. She thought of her parents, and dainty tears leaked into her pillow.

But that was nothing compared to the troubles she would soon have...