Young Writers Society

Again, newly edited. I hope you appreciate all this work I'm doing ;P

I have finally finished!

This review took a while. I put in 95 comments! But it was amazing. I'm pointing out the tinest things to make it even better.

This is just insanely good, something I very rarely say.

Too bad I get so few points for adding an attachment.

Good luck, and happy editing!

~JFW1415

This is developing very well, your characterization is wonderful, the emotions are portrayed beautifully and the plot is structured well, it fits in very snugly with your narration. However, you do still need to work on historic setting just a little. At times, it's hard to imagine where the characters are and I find myself placing it in modern settings. Little details like clothing and furniture can really help a reader to imagine everything. Good work. Main file sent through pm as usual,

Heather xx

Well, I just read the above and it struck me that kitty is right. At some points I did indeed not feel that it was the 1800's. How that can be cured kitty already said, so I'll not repeat her, but it really is important.

Anyway, here is my review.


Cheers,
Esme

*EDITED*

Mostly just some grammar suggestions and typos in this one, but I did want to briefly comment on the plot. In the scene when Rachel tells her story and they think someone has listened in, I think Rachel is too easily distracted from her fear. I know you want the note she receives later to be a bit of a surprise but Rachel can't go from being very worried to not thinking of it at all so easily. Other than that, good editing. Here's some minor points:

Sarah clucks ########## [Ummm, typo?][color] in displeasure. “Sometimes I wonder about you, Rachel Martin.” She leaves me in the foyer.

I am already awake when the other girls begin to stir, having been able to sleep only a little and opening my eyes as soon as the sun[color=red][s] same[/s] came up and through my window in a faint trickle. I can hear the others getting up sleepily through the slight wall to my left. I can’t find the will to get up, as they do. Fear keeps me rooted to my scratchy mattress.

Reassured, I run all the way to the Nathanials, [Apostrophe after the s.] keeping Danielle in my vision. I’ll only be a minute behind her. Anxiety about losing my [s]postion[/s] position causes me to add more speed to my steps.

Both of us [s]recieve[/s] receive scoldings from Grace when [s]when arriving[/s] we arrive at the town-house, but neither Danielle nor I are dismissed. For once Jillian doesn’t show up to bring me to my duties right away, and I take advantage of it.

“How was the ball, Miss Nathanial?” I ask, hoping to spare Beatrice another lecture later. Miss [s]Nathaniel’s[/s] Nathanial frowns, probably debating on whether or not to let the subject be changed. But then her self-absorption prevails, and her face changes into a happy, smug expression.

Before she goes out the door, Jillian gives each of us a glare of warning. Beatrice smiles [s]##########[/s], and I stare blankly in response.

“What about the murders, now that [s]that[/s] the annoying woman is gone?” demands Miss Nathanial.

“Yes, he was very charming when I spoke to him. I danced with him twice.” She grins at herself in the mirror with satisfaction. As I gaze at her [s]exression[/s] expression, I am reminded strongly of Amy. She has the same catty smile, the same self-ambition.

“All the Nathanials are gone, besides Miss Nathnial. And she’s [s]bbusy[/s] busy stuffing her face. Just try me.” She stands like a soldier, looking so expectant I sigh again. The desire to tell her everything is strong. I want a friend—I need a friend. Is it worth the risk? No matter who the person or how loyal, there is always a possibility of betrayal. I remind myself of Rand.

We walk to opposite sides of thebed, [Space between the and bed.] and straighten the pillows. Together we smooth out the tousled sheets. And as we do so, I begin my story.

We had a nurse when we were small. Then as we became older, Father sent both of us to separate finishing schools for the refining of young ladies. Father had thought it wise—he knew the strain in our relationship. He did nothing about it himself, but he thought his noninvolvement [Should be non involvement.] was best. I don’t think he ever realized that he was the one who created it.

Amy and I had[s] had[/s] no idea what was happening at home while we were away. Mother was barely ever at the house and didn’t bother telling Father where she went. I have always suspected that she spent much of her time with one of her closest friends [Should be singular.]—a Mr. Doyle Ganes.

My father was no fool. He realized what was happening. So Father, trying to get retribution for [s]in[/s] his hurt, turned to the company of another woman.

His business, in his absence, declined. Realizing this, I tried my best to bring it back up again. But Father had never let me learn anything about it and I knew almost nothing of what was to be done. Our supposedly-loyal friends had pulled away when the newspapers [s]revelaed[/s] revealed our scandal. Father had [s]had[/s] no partner, family, or his own close friend, so there was no one to turn to. Mother’s family had renounced all of us when they learned of Father’s indiscretion.

Father didn’t get better. His nightmares increased, and his need for the drink became more urgent. The father I respected and admired so much was weakening before my very eyes, going against everything he had ever advised or taught me. He allowed his inner pain to consume him. One day I went into his room with his supper. He’d strangled himself with the bed sheet. It wouldn’t have worked if he hadn’t [s]of[/s] been so weak from lack of food and rest. But as it was, he managed to escape this wearisome world.

Other than our absent mother, we had no [s]other[/s] relatives that we knew of to turn to. The money was gone. The house was emptied, and we watched all our fine belongings sold in a public auction. As a final act of pity, our one-time lawyer secured us tickets to London and found me work with Madame Bouclé. Amy was younger, so she stayed at the place we were managing to scrape by living at. About one year later, Amy sewed something for her own entertainment, and Madame Bouclé happened to see it—she was captivated from the moment she laid eyes on it.

A creak sounds in the hall and we both freeze. [s]Beatrcie[/s] Beatrice and I hold our breaths and wait. But now there is silence from behind the closed door.

I hope that helps,
Heather xx
p.s. The next chapter might take me a little longer due to its length and eight will certainly take a while as I haven't read that before but I'm getting there =)