The prologue for 'A Game of Murder'.
In the midnight hour in the middle of the year, someone was scheming. It was not the kind of scheming associated with those of the nineteen-thirties, but it was necessary scheming that had to be done, for there was an important event to be led into the dance. Everything began to be arranged, as certain people slotted themselves, or others, into place; like a Charleston on the rise, the dancers took to the floor and stood waiting, poised for it all to start. Some even had partners to aid their little performance.
The scheming had levels, as dancers have abilities. And this scheming was not only done by one individual, but had many characters plotting, plotting their own little thing and their own little way to achieve their goals. A lady of the house bubbled with her childish glee as she thought of her plans, having spread the news around for many weeks before her chosen time of unveiling, whilst those others, who had equal secrets to hide, kept their footwork tight, and their practices hidden in rooms of blackened glass; their plans were their own, and only chance could see what was going to happen now.
However, what none of them had ever bargained for was that little twist of fate that placed someone unexpected into the flow of the rhythm. Little did they know that each of their neatly-hand-crafted plans would have to count for the one sort of person that they never would have included themselves. The plan was changed, whether by higher powers, or some coincidence of time, to become one that would involve a servant, even if the future had not yet been designed for her to take that position. Then again, nobody saw much more of that girl; it did not help that she was disregarded, even in that nicest of households that she had worked and spent a fair amount of her life.
Continued, here: http://www.protagonize.com/story/a-game-of-murder