Viságe

by Thomas Bailey

The world knew her as Lady Elvira. There was no record of her true name – or, if there was, it had long been destroyed. ‘Elvira’ was all that remained. 

She was born to the wealthy Viságe family, who lived somewhere on the border between France and Italy. Whether they were more French or Italian, as with most things about them, it was impossible to say. Certainly, they displayed no preference – except in those none-too-rare instances where doing so could be turned to their advantage. And none did so with quite such a high degree of talent as her mother.

–

The Countess Romera de Viságe was a ruthless matriarch. Unlike most women of the court,
she had not been schooled to adopt an icy outer shell. Indeed, what some perceived as her
cruelty was nothing more than the result of a lesson hard-learned. For she had been beautiful
in her youth; beautiful and naïve. A few words whispered from the mouth of a visiting French
nobleman, a late-night rendezvous, and within a few months the results of this entanglement
had begun to show themselves.

Her family were proud – much too proud for their own good. Her father wanted her dead.
Her mother wanted her disowned. It was only through the intervention of her grandmother
that she was spared. In a matter of weeks, Romera had been married off to a count several
years her senior. Nine months later, Romera gave birth to a healthy baby girl – the spit of
herself in every regard, except for the eyes; where Romera’s were a rich, earth green, the
baby’s were a cold steel-grey. She named this child Francesca – named, some might suspect,
for the French father who had abandoned her.

Francesca proved herself an ideal lady. She excelled at everything she turned her hand to,
won the affection of the Count, and mastered the art of performing the version of herself
others most wanted to see. One thing only remained unattainable to her: her mother’s love.

For this daughter reminded Romera of everything she might have been, and done, and had
– stolen away in a moment of ill-timed passion. And she detested her for it.

Thus, when she gave birth to a second baby girl, she was elated. This child was not the
result of her mistakes. This child’s eyes were a vibrant green and not a lifeless grey. This
child was everything she had wanted from motherhood and more. This child, she decided,
was to be her legacy – one that would erase the shame of her past follies, and secure her in
the esteem of a court that had once ridiculed her.

Her name was Elvira.

–

It was towards the close of Elvira’s sixteenth year that the announcement came: His Royal Highness, the Duke, was to visit their estate. He would be bringing his wife and son, and together they would be staying at the Viságe residence throughout the autumn. She, like many ladies of the court, had heard stories of the Crown Prince’s sophistication and charm, as well as his exquisite beauty. She hoped, desperately, that they would have the opportunity to become well-acquainted in the course of his visit. 

Unbeknownst to Elvira, her mother and father – but mostly her mother – had been pulling strings at the royal court. Her father, the Count, had come into possession of some of the largest granaries in Europe, making them one of its wealthiest and foremost families. In exchange for the wealth from their holdings, the Duke was willing to marry his son to the eldest daughter of the Viságe family.

Romera, when she learned of this, flew into a rage. The Duke’s specification that his son marry their eldest daughter had completely flown in the face of her schemes. Yet, she soon realised a loophole: so long as they could be convinced that Elvira was the eldest, it would be her and not Francesca who would one day be Duchess. 

She summoned her daughters together and told them that, for the duration of the Duke’s stay, they were to go by one another’s names. She refused to divulge anything more, only that they should respect her wishes and obey. And so they did. 

The Duke and his wife arrived, as planned, at the start of the autumn. Yet they brought with them the news that their son would not be joining them until shortly before mid-winter, due to unavoidable duties abroad. Despite her disappointment and frustration at this turn of events, Romera re-doubled her efforts to charm and ingratiate herself with the Duke. Wherever he was pleased, she was delighted; wherever he was subdued, she was depressed; wherever he felt annoyance, she rose to ire. 

So fixated upon her royal guests was the Countess that she paid little attention to her ailing husband. A few weeks before the mid-winter, Count de Viságe slipped into a deep sleep and never woke again. The occasion was all but unmarked – save with the barest of civilities from the Duke and his wife, but nothing from Romera or her favourite daughter. 

Francesca, continuing to masquerade under the name of Elvira, was heartbroken. Of all her family, she had felt closest to her father; his kindness and his patience had made her feel as though she might truly belong to the family. In the days following his passing, she took to wandering the estate, visiting all the places where they had shared happy memories. She wept, with no-one to comfort her in the solitude of her grief. 

Then, one day, while she sat weeping in a forgotten corner of the grounds, she was met by a handsome young man. His sympathy was deep and sincere, and he sat with her long while she spoke of her loss. As the weather changed for the worst, and they made to move inside, he pressed her hand and smiled. That small gesture, after weeks of isolation, brought warmth to Francesca’s cheeks. 

Though the encounter had meant much to her, she thought little of it. After all, there seemed no doubt that the young man was merely a member of the Duke’s household, a minor noble or senior servant of some kind. It was not until the families had convened for dinner that she realised her knight-in-shining-armour was not a knight at all – but a prince, a future sovereign.

He did not say anything to her, nor acted as though he had any recollection of their earlier
conversation. In truth, the only time they interacted during the whole of the meal was his
offering her an arm as they went in. Many would have overlooked such a gesture as mere
politeness, but the Countess Romera was not so easily deceived. What’s more, all of the
servants on the estate were in her pay, and there can be little doubt that Francesca and the
Prince’s interaction in the grounds had been observed.

So it was that the Countess came to her daughter’s chambers that night. She demanded to
know what they had talked about and, when Francesca refused to tell, threatened to banish
her from the estate. Though not one to be easily cowed by threats, Francesca was painfully
aware of the precariousness of her situation without the Count to defend her.

For the remainder of the Prince’s stay, Francesca avoided him as best she could – a task
that proved more difficult than it might at first appear. No matter where she went or what she
did, no matter the time of day, it seemed he always managed to find her. Had she been less
convinced of her own utter inferiority in other people’s eyes when compared to her sister, she
might have suspected that the Prince had taken somewhat of a shining to her.

As it was, she made good on her word not to see him. He, however, had made no such
promise. And on the final night of the royal visit to the Viságe estate, he crept to her room under cover of darkness. Despite her promise, Francesca felt she could not leave a prince standing outside her door in only his nightshirt, and so she reluctantly admitted him. 

He inquired as to why she had withdrawn from him. His greatest fear was that he had insulted or displeased her in some way, and it felt both pleasant and distressing for her to correct this misunderstanding. She had intended only to assure him this was not the case, and instead found herself confessing her mother’s ill-treatment – as well as the fact that her name was not, in fact, Elvira. 

The Prince, initially outraged, had every intention of revealing the Countess’ falsity to his father. Francesca implored him to be calm. She, more than anyone else, felt the degree to which her mother had gone beyond the bounds of her authority – but she was still her mother. Her words softened the Prince, though his anger did not give way entirely. 

Before departing, he told Francesca of a masquerade ball his parents were holding the night of their return to the capital – he would ensure his parents extended the family an invitation, on the condition that she be there. Though unsure of how her mother would react, Francesca agreed. 

The next day, the Duke did indeed offer an invitation to the entire Viságe family. The Countess, though evidently reluctant to have her first-born daughter there, accepted with enthusiasm, and they accompanied the royals back to the palace that same night.

In their chambers, before the start of the ball, the Countess tried to force Francesca to stay there under the excuse of being ill. However, the Prince’s steward arrived to escort all three of them, and would accept no excuses. 

That night, Francesca danced with the Prince, much to her mother’s chagrin and her sister’s envy. She had not experienced happiness such as that since before the death of her father. The only thing to mar it was her mother’s insistence that she retire early – or face not returning home with them. 

Francesca grudgingly agreed, and left the masque early. While walking back to her chambers, however, she was beset by a group of thugs who kidnapped her. She awoke to find herself in a cell, surrounded by these thugs – who revealed that they were hired to make sure she stayed away from the Prince. 

At that moment, the Prince arrived with palace guards and freed her. Held at knife-point, the thugs admitted to being hired by Lady Viságe. Francesca decided she’d had enough, and would take matters into her own hands. 

Returning to the Viságe’s chambers, she disguised herself as Elvira and spoke with her mother. Seeing that she felt no remorse for how she had treated her, Francesca gave her a glass of wine laced with poison. Romera drank it and Francesca, still pretending to be Elvira, revealed what she had done. She allowed her mother to die, believing her favourite to be responsible. 

Later, the Prince told her that some of the thugs admitted under torture to being hired by Lady Francesca de Viságe – the assumed name of Elvira. Francesca ordered her sister imprisoned. In a final cruel twist, Elvira’s cell was filled with mirrors so she would have no choice but to watch the beauty she had prized be lost, as her body fell into decay. Francesca told her sister that, since everyone was expecting the Prince to marry Elvira de Viságe, that is precisely what would happen. 

And so the last member of the House of Viságe lived, masquerading under the name of another. Francesca was dead, Elvira was all that remained… 

Thomas Bailey is an honours graduate from Lancaster University, where he currently studies for an MA in Literary Studies with Creative Writing. His work has been published in numerous journals, including SCAN, LUX, and Ardent Lies, as well as being featured in the 2025 LU Creative Writing MA Anthology. He is thrilled to announce a forthcoming essay in Regarding Arts and Letters, a publication based at Stephen F. Austin University, Texas.

This piece was selected as a runner up of our ‘Lies’ writing competition.