by Abby Ayles
He then proceeded to boldly go through the house, solicitor in tow, informing her of what things he planned to sell.
Isabella hadn’t informed the servants yet of the impending liquidation of her father’s estates. Mr. Smith even went boldly into Isabella’s own room and rifled through her belongings. Mr. Smith announced he would be procuring all her belongings including dresses and jewelry.
The solicitor, embarrassed, hastily suggested that such tactics were not necessary to the closing of the amount owed.
Mr. Smith reluctantly allowed Isabella to keep her clothing but still required all jewelry be turned over to him for selling. She didn’t have much in the way of fancy jewelry.
Therefore, she didn’t care much for giving it up if it meant not allowing Mr. Smith the satisfaction of seeing her beg him for marriage.
Her hardest items to part with were the silver comb her father had stated her mother wore on their wedding day, the small gold band that was her mother's wedding ring, and a silver chain with a locket of her mother's hair which she wore around her neck always. It had been a gift from her father on her sixteenth birthday.
Having never met her mother, for she had passed in childbirth, any stories or items her father shared with her were cherished.
After taking all belongings worth selling on the spot, including the ring and comb, and informing Isabella that they would be back in a month, for the third time, to take possession of the house, Mr. Smith set his evil eyes on the locket around her neck.
Isabella defiantly clasped her hand around it. This was one thing Isabella would not allow to be taken from her.
Would Mr. Smith really stoop to such a level of evil?
Luckily the solicitor interjected, “I believe we should allow Miss Watts to collect herself. I am sure it has been a very tiring day for her. We can always come back to collect any other items upon the sale of the establishment.”
Mr. Smith had reluctantly agreed and left. Not a minute after the front door shut on the two men, Isabella crumpled to the hall floor in a heap of sorrowful tears.
Her kind maid, who must have also been beside herself to learn that she would be without a situation in a month’s time, helped Isabella up to her room to lay down.
It was clear that she would not have time to find a better end to her situation. The next day, Isabella inquired of Mrs. Mason for a letter of character reference and delivered it to Mr. Jenkins that same day.
She wrung her hands for the next week, waiting for word from Mr. Jenkins. She had no idea if anyone would ever accept a governess at her age without any prior employment references.
Mr. Jenkins had assured her that he would do everything in his power to see her well settled. She had felt so blessed to have such a willing friend to help her in her time of need.
The time had come when a letter arrived stating that Mr. Jenkins had found her a station of employment. She made it to his office the following day in haste.
Isabella was dreading and desperate to know what establishment she would be employed at for the remainder of her days.
Would she find herself teaching in a girls’ establishment just as she, herself, had attended? Or would some member of her peerage take pity on her and take her on for the benefit of his children's private education.
She sat nervously across from Mr. Jenkins.
“I must confess I had a harder time finding a situation for you than expected. You see, most of the lady schools in London were well staffed. Mrs. Mason did express in her letter, had she the room, she would have happily taken you on.”
It was something that Isabella had expected. There were often more ladies seeking employment than available opportunities for suitable work.
A part of her wanted to feel slightly shocked or betrayed that not one of those in her acquaintance here in London had tried to take her on for employment. She was no longer a member of that society, however, and would not be seen as someone to have around.
“I am sorry to say that the situation I found for you is far outside of London. I know you had expected to stay in the area, and I did my very best to do so but…” he trailed off.
“It is quite alright. I know you did your very best, Mr. Jenkins, and I am very appreciative of all your efforts. I am sure that no matter the location, I will find my situation quite adequate.”
“I am glad to hear your brave words. The position is for the Duke of Wintercrest. He has taken on a small ward over the last year, a young woman I believe, and is seeking a governess for her. He specifically asked for a lady of London breeding to prepare her for society, as well as provide her with a strong understanding of the French language.”
Isabella, of course, knew of the Duke and Duchess of Wintercrest, though she had never had the honor of making their acquaintance. She was aware that they were relatively older in age with children of their own, and therefore questioned who this young ward might be. Perhaps a relation they willingly took on.
“It seems that it might be an ideal position for me.”
“Just as I thought when I was told of it. The Duke is also willing to give a much more significant pay than often given for a governess, forty pounds a year. I had assumed that you would be willing to take the position since they were in need fairly soon. I took the liberty to tell them that you would accept the position. I hope that is fine?”
“It is quite alright. I suspect it is more than I could otherwise hope for and I thank you for all your hard work on my behalf.”
“I am glad to hear it,” Mr. Jenkins said relaxing into his normally happy face. “As I said, they are in need of a governess right away and have made transportation for you. You will travel by public coach in two days’ time. I must warn you to pack relatively lightly as there is not much room in such situations, and dress comfortably, for that matter. You will be spending two nights on the road during your travels.”
“A three-day travel? Forgive me, but where exactly do the Duke and Duchess of Wintercrest live.”
“Yes, that. It is quite far north. Just a day’s ride south of Edinburgh.”
“Is it in Scotland, then?” Isabella asked, a little shocked. She had not dared to hope that she would stay in her beloved London, but to leave England altogether seemed terrifying to her.
“No, not quite. Just short of it. I do believe the vast lands of Wintercrest come into contact with the country, but the manor itself is still on English soil.”
“I see,” Isabella said trying to accustom herself to her new lot in life. “I thank you again, Mr. Jenkins, for not only your work with my father but for the help you have given to me and your continued friendship. I will hurry home now and begin my preparations for travel.”
Isabella did just that. She did her best to pack a minimal amount of clothing into her chest and prepared anything she might want to keep safely tucked inside.
Luckily, her maid, Sally, was there to help her with the work. All the time she wondered how she was going to make do on her own.
Her last step was that of utter defiance. The night before she was set to leave she took her small sewing kit and sewed her silver locket into the hem of her dress.
She certainly couldn’t be seen leaving the house wearing it, for Mr. Smith might come after her, demanding the property. That would be no way to start her new life.
At the same time, she refused to leave it behind in the house that was once her home, for that wretched man to handle so roughly and sell like nothing more than a worthless trinket. She hoped that by the time Mr. Smith learned of her deceit she would be far away and out of his reach.
If there was one good thing about having to travel so far away from the city she loved, it was that she would also be far away from the man who sought to destroy her life at every turn.
Her three-day journey up north was not entirely uneventful. She was very uncomfortable having been placed inside a carriage with five other people. There was scarcely room to sit let alone adjust one's position.
Sh
e had to count herself lucky, though. After all, the fare was paid by her employer, and he had given her the kindness of a seat inside the carriage. There had been two who could only afford to sit on the roof of the carriage out in the elements.
Many of those in the carriage were friendly enough and made small talk. As the days progressed, each got off in their turn till she was left alone with one other man.
She noticed quite quickly that the scene outside her window changed from the warm sunshine of spring air to dark and gloomy clouds as she progressed northward.
The final morning, just before he took his leave, Isabella asked the portly gentleman across from her if grey weather was the norm in the north.
“My dear Miss Watts,” he said with a gruff, mustache filled voice, “I have lived here my whole life and can only boast of seeing full sunshine a handful of times each year. You are lucky that you have come for spring and summer first. It will help you acclimate before the harsh winter falls. I, myself, choose to stay in town for the dreary months, now that I am able, and only return for these warmer seasons.”
Isabella looked out her window again and contemplated how he could have possibly counted her view outside as a warmer season. She had decided to wear her simple light brown traveling dress. It was relatively without frill, which also meant it wouldn’t show wrinkles as much in her travels.
Though there was beautiful, lush green land as far as she could see, the sky had been nothing but grey. A hard, bitter wind bit back against the carriage and, from time to time, it even drizzled down on them.
* * *
Isabella had also learned from her companions on the ride that she would be staying just east of Northumberland along the coast. From the description of the estate, it sounded astonishing. Isabella supposed she would just have to get used to not only coastal fresh air and beautiful greenery, but also grey skies and damp weather.
Finally, as dusk was beginning to settle on the third day, Isabella saw a long stone wall along the road. The driver had informed her earlier that this was the edge of Wintercrest estates and when they came to it, he knocked on the roof to silently point it out to her.
Her excitement reached its limit as the driver slowed to a stop before the main gates. She got out and took a moment to stretch her limbs. The driver was already down and removing her trunk. Watching him struggle with it, she wondered if she had perhaps packed more then she should have.
He set it down on the ground next to her at the gate and dusted his hands off, looking up at the expanse of the property. Isabella followed his gaze and admired it as well.
Turning back to the driver, she was surprised to see him retaking his place on top of the carriage.
“But wait,” she called out. “Please sir, what shall I do now?”
“Can’t say, Miss Watts. All I am to do is drop ye right here.”
With a flip of his reins, he made his way onward, leaving Miss Isabella Watts utterly alone and confused at the threshold of Wintercrest Manor.
Chapter 3
Isabella looked down the way leading to the manor house. She couldn’t say for sure, however, since she could see nothing in the dimming light but the road before her. She tugged at her trunk, unable to lift it from its grassy resting place.
She supposed that most seeking employment here only brought the clothes on their back and another outfit for Sunday attire. If the six gowns she had foolishly packed weren’t too much, then the books from her father’s small library surely were.
She had convinced herself that she could use these beloved stories as part of her pupil's education. Of course, the Duke of Wintercrest had enough of a library on his own that bringing books of her own was a silly, selfish move on her part.
A cold wind whipped at her and she tightened the simple shawl she had wrapped around herself. Isabella suddenly wished that she had thought to bring a pelisse in her chest. Certainly, they knew she would be arriving today. She waited a few moments considering that the coachman that was to meet her was just a bit late.
After a period of ten minutes, she was convinced that at least a footman would eventually come to fetch her. Finally, as her ability to see in the cloudy, dim light was almost impossible she determined that no one was coming and began to drag her trunk down the road.
Had she been in the right frame of mind, she might have left her chest at the gate and walked on only to have it fetched at another time by someone more capable. She, however, was not in a good state of mind. She was shivering with cold and had no idea what she was to expect or have expected of her in her new lot in life.
Luckily, the moon was full, and as clouds parted, she was able to get brief views of the way forward. When clouds obscured her only illumination, though, she did her best not to panic as she could only see a few feet in front of her. Hopefully, the lights from the house would begin to show in a parting of the hedge trees that ran along the road.
Finally, in a glimpse of momentary light from above, she saw a gentlemanly figure walking toward her up the road. He stopped upon also spotting her form.
“Oh, thank heavens,” she called out, assuming it to be a servant sent to receive her. “I feared I was all forgotten about. Please, would you kindly help me with my portmanteau.”
She straightened from her crouched, pulling position. The figure across from her, no more than ten feet ahead, didn’t seem to move. She couldn’t make out his features in such dark lighting but assumed that no one but a footman would be out at such a late hour.
“Certainly,” a sure, deep voice called back to her. The hurried figured met her and bent down to pick up her chest.
“Pray, do tell me though, why exactly are you dragging a chest down this road so late at night,” the man asked as he began to walk forward easily with chest in hand.
“Oh, forgive me. I thought you were the footman sent to retrieve me. I am Miss Isabella Watts. I have been employed as governess for His Grace. I do not mean to impose on you if your intention was not to come fetch me,” she added quickly.
“Well, I don’t think I could leave you here to continue dragging such a large item,” he said, smoothly shifting the weight in his hand.
“I just assumed. You looked from a distance to be a footman by your stature, sir,” she hesitated on her last word, pointing out that he had yet to give his own name.
"Beg your pardon, Miss Watts. I am Captain Grant. I had just stepped outside for a walk in the fresh air. Sometimes things can get quite stifling inside.”
“Captain. Well, no wonder you have the stature of a footman,” Isabella said, realizing it might be quite forward of her.
“I just mean, my father was a sailor as well. I suppose I found kinship with your nautical air.”
“Was he also in the Royal Navy?” Captain Grant asked as they continued on their way. He seemed to know the direction by heart and walked at a steady pace through the now almost complete darkness.
“No, he was on a merchant ship as a boy, and had his own set of vessels later in life. He had quite a taste for the adventurous sea life,” she added with a bit of nostalgia.
“Pray, what was his name? Perhaps I met him on my journeys.”
Isabella was quite unsure of what name to give- his Christian name or his title. Certainly, to have a titled gentleman’s daughter in the house might raise some animosity when it came to fitting in with other servants.
Since Captain Grant was unquestionably a guest and not a member of the staff, Isabella risked the chance of giving her father’s proper title, as he would have liked.
“My father was Baron Leinister. He unfortunately passed a few months back.”
“I am so sorry to hear that,” the gentleman looked down at her in the little light and held a tone of sincere sorrow. “My deepest condolences.”
Isabella gave her thanks for his kindness, and they walked on a few more minutes in silence. She was about to ask him about his service in the Royal Navy, hoping to make a good transition in the conversation, whe
n she saw the lights of the manor up ahead.
She gave a grateful sigh of relief. She had done her best to hide it, but her thin traveling dress and shawl had not been much to protect her from the wind that sliced between the hedge trees. She noticed immediately that her companion made his way to the head of the house.
“Oh, if you please, Captain Grant, I would find it more appropriate for me to find my way to the servant's entrance. If you could just point me in the right direction, I would happily part company with you with my full thanks for your service.”
Captain Grant seemed to hesitate a minute.
“I couldn’t possibly leave you to take the portemanteau yourself,” he finally said. “I am certain the household will find you a welcome guest.”
As much as Isabella would have liked to enter the vast manor in front as a guest, she knew that was no longer her station in life. It was time for her to divide the line from who she had been to who she was now.
“I appreciate your kindness, but I am quite sure the housekeeper will expect me.”
“Alright then,” Captain Grant seemed to resolve to her reasoning, “I shall escort you there. You are lucky you came upon me, for I know the servant's entrance well.”
“You do?” Isabella asked, surprised.
“Yes,” he replied with a soft chuckle. “I lived here in my youth, and as a young boy I was quite gangly and always in want of something to eat. Usually sweets,” he continued with that same flow of storytelling that Isabella had so enjoyed from her father.
She smiled and wondered to herself if all seamen were expert folk-tellers. “I would often make my way through into the kitchen by way of the service entrance to sneak a sweet cake from under the cook's nose. She, of course, knew exactly what I was doing and kindly turned a blind eye to it.”
“She sounds like a very considerate chef.”
“She is that, not to mention the best in all of the county.”
