Next, the sideboard was cleared of all her mother’s prized porcelain. Then the workers started on the kitchen, much to Aggie’s annoyance. Copper pots, crockery, and glasses were slowly packed up and moved to the auction house.
Dawn was to be left nothing, it seemed. When the men packed up her father’s study and their diminutive library, she sneaked in one night and retrieved two botany books. She hid them under her mattress and hoped she wouldn’t be flung onto the rug-less floor if they overturned it searching for the books. She found an old suitcase and a steamer trunk in the attic and began to pack the remnants of her life into them.
The suitcase would accompany her wherever she ended up. Her first choice of what to pack was easy: the canvas apron to protect her gown whether working in a garden, factory, or below stairs. The choice of gowns was a more difficult decision. Dawn stared at her wardrobe and stroked a green silk evening dress. The colour reminded her of deep shade and lush grass, but she would have no need of such a dress in her new life. She didn’t even need it in her current life but her mother had insisted a young woman should have at least one beautiful gown, even if it was only worn around the house.
Dawn pushed the silk gown to one side and selected three plain day dresses. Two were of thick cotton and one of light wool. They would do. It didn’t matter what she wore underneath, and she barely glanced at the chemises and nightgown she grabbed and rolled up to fit the scant remaining space.
Personal possessions were harder to whittle down. Firstly, a duet of photographs of her parents in a plain frame that snapped shut to protect the portraits when travelling. Then the botany books, obviously. She tucked three bottles of tonic obtained from the local dispensary into the folds of her spare dress. Then, on impulse, she included the aquilegia seeds. She would find a patch of dirt somewhere to plant them so she could enjoy their nodding heads and think of the last time she saw her parents.
She retrieved the obsidian paperweight from her desk. Heavy and warm in her hands, the stone egg conjured memories of her mother telling stories at night. Her mother had spun a tale of love and tragedy around it, turning the boring paperweight into a rare and sought after treasure.
“I have vowed to protect it, and in turn it will protect us,” Dawn whispered. Then she tucked the egg safely in among her clothes.
With the dining room table and chairs gone, Dawn took her meals in the kitchen, seated at the worn pine table that served as both workspace and place to eat.
“Where will you go, Aggie?” Dawn dipped a piece of bread into her broth.
The older woman smiled and patted Dawn’s hand. “I have a sister in Bristol. She has found a position for me in a neighbouring house. Nice older couple whose housekeeper has just retired. They also need a maid and I will take Sarah with me, so don’t you worry about us.”
Sarah gave Dawn an apologetic smile. She needn’t feel guilty. They too were homeless and needed new positions to keep a roof over their heads and food in their bellies.
“What of you, miss? Where will you go?” Sarah asked.
A weak smile pulled at Dawn’s lips. “I am applying to positions in the newspaper, and I am sure something will present itself.”
Sarah’s attention fell to her cup of tea and Aggie rose and busied herself clearing the table. The clatter of crockery covered the silence that fell in the kitchen. Nobody wanted to broach the topic of her uncertain future, and Dawn alone knew of the numerous rejections she fed to the fire. She was mistress in this house for a little longer, and yet the staff had more to offer the world than she.
Conversation resumed with easier topics like the unnaturally warm spring and the swallows nesting by the back porch.
The next day, Dawn paced in the near-empty parlour. What would the neighbours think if she pulled back the lace curtains and they could peer into the stripped-bare rooms? They likely twittered in their parlours about the terrible tragedy that befell the Uxbridge family. They probably speculated about the parents taken in a grisly accident and the daughter left destitute for the rest of her short and sickly days.
She made a circuit around the edge of the room when the mail slot rattled. In the entranceway, Dawn found a single letter resting on the tiles. It was addressed to D. Uxbridge.
She stared at the cream envelope at her feet. This was her answer to the gardener’s position. Her heart fluttered weakly in her chest like an exhausted butterfly. It would surely be another rejection. The other jobs she had applied for would have offered bed and board and a little extra to put aside for her later years. This position offered her a chance to dream. If that letter bore the words I regret to inform you, it might be the final blow to her delicate health.
She had only a week before she had to vacate the house. With no prospects and no employment, she would be out on the street unless she found affordable accommodation. Given her scant budget, that would mean a cold, dirty, and probably unsafe boarding house.
Or she could open the final letter and see if a new direction beckoned.
She picked up the letter with a tremble in her hand. Then she carried the slim correspondence to the parlour and sat in the lone chair by the window. A shaft of sunlight squeezed through the parting in the drapes and fell onto the cream paper. The black ink used to write her name and address shimmered under the sun’s caress.
She flipped the envelope over. A dark red seal was stamped with a pair of spread wings. Using a fingernail, she lifted the wax and unfolded the missive. The thick paper crinkled as it stretched. A piece of cardboard fell out, and she dropped it into her lap to concentrate on the letter. Her vision swam for a moment, and she could make no sense of the large, ornate script.
She told her heart to behave and took a deep breath. She focused again. At least the Earl of Seton had a lovely hand, with swoops, curls, and flourishes that belonged to another age. He was probably very old.
Mr Uxbridge…
Oh dear. She swallowed as she was drawn deeper into her deception. It would be better if it were a rejection, then she wouldn’t have to face up to her fraud.
Your plan for the ladies' contemplation grove was considered to be the best of the applicants. You are hereby offered the position as Head Gardener at Ravenswing Manor. Please find enclosed a train ticket from Whetstone to Alysblud for next Friday. Yours Sincerely, Lord Seton.
Impossible. Every day the letter slot had rattled with an echo of despair as it spat out another rejection. This one couldn’t possibly offer her a job. Dawn read the letter three more times before the words sank into her mind. She remembered the slip of card and picked it out of her lap. It was indeed a train ticket.
Death had quite the sense of humour. It wanted Dawn to take a train trip before it would consider claiming her.
4
The remainder of the week flew by as Dawn alternated between high excitement and deep despair. She longed to step beyond the comfortable walls of the house and finally grasp adventure. Then the ache in her chest reminded her of all she lost, and she wept for hours clutching the portraits of her parents. What she would give for just one more hour with them. To see their faces, to seek their advice, and receive one final embrace.
Cold dread percolated inside her. She would soon arrive on the earl’s doorstep, and even if he weren’t particularly bright, he would realise that she was, in fact, a woman. Should she even dare risk the old noble’s wrath? At best she could be ordered to leave, and at worst he might have her arrested for fraud.