Alice stepped sideways through the dining room door. Her stomach brushed against the frame. She loved this room. Its grandeur never ceased to overwhelm her. It was a room that received you and took you into its realm. The heavy ivory damask curtains cascaded from their crest to lay their hems gracefully in pools on the floor.

A piano stood against one wall. The rest of the room was filled with a beautiful polished timber table and chairs with matching sideboard. At either end of this sideboard stood two tall slender vases. The setting sun kissed their amber curves and danced among the fairies congregated at their base. Every day Alice selected a bunch of the latest blooms from the gardens to fill them.

The room was lit by a crystal, candle chandelier, which hung over the centre of the table. Its light spread a warm welcoming glow around the walls. Paintings of lakes and river scenes, each in spectacular gold embossed frames, gave insight to other places.

A grandfather clock stood on guard in the corner, counting the seconds, measuring them; then ruthlessly pushing each one aside. Alice loved the way it marked the rhythm of time.

Time, she thought. It has no guilt, no regrets. It takes the second, relishes in that moment then continues on its journey. This is what she wanted to do, have no regrets, relish in the time which was hers, and continue on her journey through life. She sighed...memories held on to her. Alice knew a time would come when she would have to finally mark each one and move on.

Louis and Pead were seated at the table. The room had given them the pretense of being good friends. They each leaned casually back in their chairs, with a glass of brandy. Their conversation was relaxed. It didn't matter that Alice was there to hear what was being said. She was invisible to them.

"Well, Louis about the women. Which one will it be?" Pead lifted his tumbler.

Alice listened with great interest but made sure her face showed ignorance to what they were saying. The master was acquiring a new convict? She reflected back to when she had been chosen by Louis, what now seemed a lifetime ago.

The female factory was overcrowded and noisy. A stench hung heavy in the air. Women scrambled from their flea infested bedding when the guard called for a lineup of those younger than twenty-two, with some housemaid experience. She stood with dignity and held her head high with pride.

"I haven't decided between the brunette and blonde." Louis paused. "Have you got any details about them, Pead?"

Dignity. The word brought more memories to the forefront of Alice's mind. Memories of her mother and words she had spoken.

"Of course I have. What exactly do you want to know, Louis?"

Mother, soon she herself would be a mother. Like her mother had done for her, she would sacrifice all she had. All her dreams for her child.

"Everything you have."

Yes, thought Alice, I did have dreams.

"Mm...let me see." Pead searched his bag for his paperwork. "Here they are. The brunette's name is Maria Summers, aged twenty-seven. She has two children. They're still in England. Religion, Catholic."

Alice no longer heard what the men were saying.

"She's serving seven years for theft and prostitution. No education. Her conduct had been good until she was found drunk and with one of the male convicts in her bed."

There was a time, back in her childhood years, when Alice had wanted to be an actress. She watched the pantomimes on the streets of Dublin. The women and men, their faces, heavily made up, the wonderful clothes with beads and sparkling cloth. Clothes, which only kings and queens might wear. Had she been older and looked more closely, she would have noticed the lost buttons and torn thread. Her childish eyes saw only what she wanted to see, the wonder of it all, people throwing money into a red velvet bag which lay opened on the ground. It seemed like an awful lot of money and a wonderful way to make it.

Her mother, Sarah Conner, worked very hard cleaning rooms and polishing silver at Lord Carnavey's manor. He owned most of the farmland to the north of Dublin. Sarah travelled home one day a week, her day off, to visit the family, which was made up of Alice, her grandmother, and her father, Robert Conner.

Sometimes Alice went back to the manor with her mother. She helped polish the silver and clean ash out of the fireplaces. It seemed an ominous place, with its labyrinth of hallways and large dark rooms, each furnished with massive ornately carved pieces.

To Alice it was eerie and cold. She couldn't understand why a family of four needed or wanted to live in a house so large. She didn't enjoy her visits to the manor. The cook was a grumpy old woman who hushed her too many times. It wasn't a place for a lively happy child, who was eager to learn about the world she lived in.

Pead continued. "The blonde's name is Jessica Reily, aged twenty-one. She's Irish. Both parents dead." Pead studied the paperwork some more. "She's serving seven years for theft of a brooch. She can read and write, but it doesn't say what her trade is. She has no children, religion, Protestant. Conduct unfavourable."

Alice's childhood was wonderful. Her grandmother was a tall strong woman, quick with a joke and plenty of time for her granddaughter. Alice still remembered, with great affection, resting her head on her grandmother's lap, her ear against the older woman's stomach, listening to the gurgling, rumbling noises it made, whilst Nan, stroked the hair away from tiny Alice's face and down behind her ears.

When Alice told Nan her dream of being an actress, she always replied, "Alice you are a beautiful, clever thing. You can be whatever your heart desires, if you want it badly enough."

Pead rubbed the stubble on his chin. "Sorry, Louis it doesn't say much else, only that she was a special assignment to Captain Grayson. She had been with him for a week when I was sent to get her for refusing to do her duties and causing bodily harm to Grayson. I told you what happened there."

Nan died the year Alice turned ten. Her world fell apart. With her mother never home and too tired to find time for her when she was, Alice found herself with no female influences. Her father worked in the peat bogs. He tried hard to take over Nan's role. Being a man of limited education and few words, their time together was more polite silence than stimulating conversations.

Alice spent more time on the streets, watching the performers. She attached herself to Madam Lara Pre'mon. A stunning French woman with enormous breasts and an odd cockney ring to her accent. Madam Lara danced, sang and acted out small stories. Sometimes with others. Mostly on her own. She said she'd spent years in England performing in all the famous theatres. She could name each one and the renowned people she performed with. Though none of this meant anything to young Alice she was impressed by the names Lara spoke. Alice loved to listen to Lara's stories and Lara loved telling them.

"Would ya like ta be me assistant, young Alice?" Lara asked.

"Oh yes, Lara, I'd like that more than anything," Alice cried with glee.

Initially Alice organized Lara's clothes and jewellery. Eventually she became a performer of sorts herself by making the introductions to Lara's performances.

"Come one, come all!"

"Ladies and Gentlemen, today for one performance only!"

"France's toast to the performing world!"

"England's greatest regret is losing this star to Ireland!"

"The one!"

"The only!"

"The spectacular, Madame Lara Pre'mon!"

For this announcement and going through the crowd collecting money, Lara paid Alice tuppence. Alice thought this was wonderful. She was so proud she could contribute to the household. Sometimes she bought her father a half-pint of whiskey, sometimes a rabbit or a knob of salted beef.

Louis rolled his glass between his hands as he considered what Pead had relayed. "I think I shall have the blonde, Pead."

When Alice told her parents how she was earning her money, they'd laugh, then lecture her on what kind of job she should be doing. Her mother told her, when she turned twelve, she would start work up at the manor, helping cook. Sarah, it seemed, had already spoken to Lord Carnavey.

Alice protested and told her mother no. She wanted to be a famous actress, like Madame Lara. Her mother ignored her and told Alice she'd be doing what she was told or she could get out.

Alice's father was more sympathetic. He'd pat her shoulder and say, "Never mind love." He figured by the time Alice turned twelve she'd have grown out of this fancy. He couldn't see any harm in her doing what she was doing for the moment, besides, what she brought home with her earnings made life a little more pleasant.

Alice cooked and cleaned for her father through the week. On her mother's day off she'd cook that rabbit or knob of beef, just so Sarah could see how wonderful things were in the acting world. After a few shots of whiskey her father would ask her questions about Lara. Was she really French? Had Alice started to do any singing or dancing? Alice answered the questions eagerly. Occasionally, her mother asked a question. Alice answered with enthusiasm, hoping her mother would soften in her opinion.

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