Even if he were the sort of man who could be influenced by feminine wiles, Dawn had virtually no experience in flirting with the opposite sex to obtain what she wanted. Her odds of being able to wheedle the earl to allowing her to take up the position were probably non-existent.
At one point she convinced herself it was a foolish enterprise and she would do better to remain in Whetstone. She’d travel all that way to Cumberland, just to be forced to make the return journey. Her heart would probably give out and she’d be sent home feet first in a casket.
She may as well be interred already. Workers ought to brick up the front door and let the house be her mausoleum. Or she should dig a hole in the empty plot next to her parents and settle into her grave. Then the fledgling part that wanted to spread its wings exerted itself. Better to die trying than to continue with the shadow of a life, it whispered.
On the second to last day before the house changed hands, she bid a tearful farewell to Aggie and Sarah. She promised to write the housekeeper, so she would know Dawn was still alive. No one expected her to thrive on her own, but at least someone would remember her name for a little longer once she passed.
Dawn spent an eerie last night in the house on her own. She walked the empty rooms holding aloft a candle and said goodbye to each corner and door like an old friend. The walls had formed the centre of her life for twelve years, and now her world would expand. She traced a fiery bird in the dining room; her fingertip smoothed a flocked feather before she left the room forever.
That evening, Dawn’s mind drifted away within a few minutes of pulling the blankets up to her chin. Moments of melancholy washed over her as she stirred from her bed with the sunrise for the last morning. She used the water closet for the final time and carefully dressed. The smooth rail of the wooden banister glided under her hand as she descended the stairs, never to walk back up.
What personal belongings didn’t fit in her suitcase or carpetbag were folded and placed in the steamer trunk. Mr Stevens had promised to make sure it was eventually forwarded to her once she was settled. Assuming she didn’t expire, in which case the sad remains of her life would find their way to a pawn shop.
On the doorstep, she waited for the hansom cab Aggie had arranged to convey her to the train station. The man picked up her suitcase and took it to the back of the cab. When he returned for the carpetbag, Dawn handed him a bright cerise orchid in a pot wrapped with cardboard.
“Could you place that on the seat please? I will hold on to it.” She could not bear to be parted from the delicate sprays of flowers. If that orchid could survive, then so would Dawn. Both of them needed gentle handling, but they would find a way to endure.
Dawn took a deep breath and willed her body to comply with her ambitions. Then she picked up her carpetbag, pulled the door closed behind her, and stepped to the pavement. She cast one backward look as the horse trotted down the road. The raven had moved from his perch in the elm and watched from the front railing. The last sight Dawn had was of him taking flight, and he disappeared into the sky.
At the train station, she nearly turned tail and fled back to the hansom cab. People swarmed over the platforms. Some dragged screaming children while others lugged enormous suitcases. The engines screeched as they pulled into the station, and metal brakes rubbed against metal wheels. She felt as though she had walked onto a battlefield amid cannon fire and the acrid odour of smoke and unwashed bodies.
Mother was right; she should avoid the crush of people. The wave of bodies was too much for her constitution. Fear paralysed her, like a mouse that knows the cat has spotted it. But she couldn’t stand there all day, nor was running back to the house an option any longer.
“I can do this,” she whispered and clutched the orchid closer to her body. The surrounding cardboard was rigid under her fingers and acted as a shield to protect the shaking bloom from being knocked. A smiling porter carried her suitcase to a waiting carriage and stowed it at the back for her. Dawn took a seat by the window and concentrated on drawing deep, even breaths until the panic receded.
The orchid in her lap remained secure within its cardboard walls. Her father had bought the plant the day she turned ten, and they had a subdued celebration that she had reached double digits.
He had placed the phalaenopsis with its deep-cerise blooms on the table in front of her, and then he kissed her forehead. “A delicate, exotic beauty to keep my other delicate, exotic beauty company.”
From that day, she imagined her heart on the arching stem. Each time the flowers died, Dawn fell into a depression until the new stem formed and it flowered anew. Now she clutched the plant close as the scenery chugged past outside and memories flowed through her mind.
The journey from Whetstone to Cumberland took the better part of the day. With many changes of train, her despair morphed into excitement, which then wore down over the miles into boredom. Dawn had one final change before Alysblud. This train pulled just two carriages, one directly behind the engine for passengers and then a larger cargo carriage. Inside the passenger compartment, Dawn found she would be travelling with only two fellow passengers – a woman clutching a smiling toddler.
This child almost looked pleasant, and Dawn contemplated that being a governess might not be so horrible if the children were as well behaved as this one. Then a noxious odour permeated the carriage and the other woman shot Dawn an apologetic glance. Visions of fresh-smelling children evaporated as the mother wrangled the child on the seat and changed a soiled nappy. The befouled napkin was shoved into the bottom of the mother’s bag, which did little to diminish the odour.
Afternoon had lengthened into dusk by the time Dawn stepped down onto the tiny Alysblud platform. Mother and child were greeted by a man who took the proffered bag without even blinking at the hideous mess it contained, a gesture of true love if ever she saw one.
Dawn looked up and down the short platform, but there was no one else waiting. The porter went about his duties and placed Dawn’s suitcase on the ground. Then he continued to remove boxes and packages from the other carriage and stacked them in the small office. Fluttering caught her eye as a raven dropped from the sky, settled on the apex of the roof, and turned its head to stare at her with one black eye. Had her companion followed her from Whetstone? She shook away the silly notion.
Dawn placed the carpetbag next to the suitcase, sat on her luggage, and rested the orchid on her knee. A light mist dampened the air, and she considered wrapping her scarf around the delicate plant to further insulate the cardboard. Used to a humid hothouse, the orchid might chill, or worse, die. So intent was Dawn on fussing over the graceful plant that she didn’t see the stranger approach.
“Are you all right, miss?” a pleasant male voice asked.
She glanced up to find a well-built man of average height. Dark blond hair verging on brown peeked out from under his bowler. A pale moustache graced his upper lip, clipped to perfection rather like a tiny hedge. He had an open, cheerful face and hazel eyes beneath raised brows.
Should she talk to a strange man? Politeness insisted that she respond, and he didn’t look like an axe-wielding maniac. Not that she had any idea what a maniac did look like.
“I am waiting for someone. I am sure they are not far away.” Her instructions had told her a member of the Ravenswing Manor staff would collect her from the train. She didn’t think this was the person she waited for. The stranger had an air of country gentry about him, not staff. She smiled and tried to appear friendly but not too approachable. It wouldn’t do to be thought of as fast or forward. Or susceptible to axe attack.