Chapter 1

“ F or as much as it has pleased Almighty God of his great mercy to take unto himself the soul of our dear brother here departed: we therefore commit his body to the ground; earth to earth, ashes to ashes, dust to dust…” Mr. Aldenham, the curate pronounced the solemn words, as Mabel watched her father’s coffin being lowered into the grave.

The day was dark, and inky clouds hung ominously above. Rain was threatened, and now the first drops began to fall. Mabel was standing next to her mother, her arm around her as Lady Louisa sobbed uncontrollably. Sara and Clare stood silently in front, gazing at the coffin, adorned with a simple brass plaque bearing the earl’s dates and full name: “Lord Arthur Carmichael Louis Kincardine, 8th Earl of Kincardine.”

Dear Papa, Mabel thought to herself, remembering her father’s smile, his kindness, and his gentle humor.

She missed him terribly, and she knew she would always remember him in the fondest terms, even as she wished he had done more to prepare them for his death. Mr. Aldenham now invited the mourners to throw earth into the grave, as Mabel took a step forward, another figure moved in front of her.

“Me first, Mabel – as chief mourner,” Joseph Allington said, stooping down to take a handful of dirt from the pile beside the grave.

If not out of respect for her father, Mabel would have happily pushed him in. He had arrived that morning in a grand carriage from London and made his entrance to Kincardine Hall just as Mabel and the others were readying themselves for the funeral procession.

“I presume you’ve already vacated your rooms?” he had asked them earlier, inspecting the furniture in the drawing room.

Mabel had been impressed at the dignified manner in which her mother had comported herself. She had remained aloof and composed. Ever the gracious lady. Even as inside, Mabel knew her to be in utter devastation. But that composure – gained in the days gone by – had only lasted to the point at which the earl’s coffin had appeared in its cortege. Then she had wept, and still she wept, as Joseph Allington – now styling himself, the 9th Earl of Kincardine – tossed his handful of dirt into the coffin. Mabel gave him a withering look and stooped down to do the same.

“And the children,” Mr. Aldenham said, beckoning Sara and Clare forward.

Mabel’s sisters glanced at her nervously, and Mabel nodded.

“Why do we throw dirt on father?” Sara asked, and Mabel realized she did not know the answer to that question.

It was tradition, and tradition had dictated so much in the previous days she felt bound to continue it without question.

“Out of respect,” she replied, even as it appeared to be the exact opposite.

Lady Louisa followed, and now Mr. Aldenham pronounced the final blessing.

“The grace of our Lord Jesus Christ, and the love of God, and the fellowship of the Holy Ghost, be with us all evermore. Amen,” he said, closing his prayer book and stepping back. His white surplice standing out starkly against the black clouds above, as the rain grew heavier.

Mabel’s mother was standing at the graveside, staring down at the coffin, as now the gravediggers stepped forward to complete their work. Mabel gently touched her arm; anxious her mother would not catch a chill as her father had done prior to his demise.

“Mother?” she said, and Lady Louisa turned to her and shook her head.

“Your poor father. I can’t bear to leave him here all alone,” she replied. Mabel took her by the hand.

“We can visit him every day, Mother. We can sit over there on the seat beneath the yew tree,” she said, pointing to a bench that had recently been placed in the churchyard.

Her mother nodded, and Mabel led her away from the graveside, fighting back her own tears as she did so. It was awful to think of her father lying cold in the grave, and the matter was made far worse by what they were now returning to – Joseph Allington had put them out of the house, thus it was not to the familiar comfort of Kincardine Hall they would return, but to a cottage on the edge of the village, rented in haste from one of the local farmers.

“God bless you, my Lady,” one of the villagers called out.

The mourners had formed two lines at the side of the path leading from the churchyard. The rain was falling heavily now, bouncing on the flagstones, and Mabel and her mother walked with their heads bowed, followed by Sara and Clare.

“Terrible…wicked…” some of the villagers murmured, as Joseph Allington strutted behind.

Word had soon gone around Kincardine that a change of legacy had occurred, and everyone had been shocked at the news of Lady Louisa and her daughter’s reduced circumstances. An outpouring of kindness had been the result, and Mabel knew they were at least going to a warm hearth and a fireside tea. She had seen the cottage earlier that day – the hearth laid; the table set. It was a simple dwelling, consisting of little more than a parlor and two small bedrooms. It had once been a pleasant dwelling, but years of neglect had seen it fall into disrepair, and it would take a great deal of work to make it properly habitable. But it would now be their home. As they left the churchyard, they turned right, rather than left, as Joseph Allington climbed into a waiting carriage.

“You’re always welcome at the hall, cousin-in-law,” he called out, but Mabel’s mother simply drew herself up and walked magnanimously in the opposite direction with Mabel at her side.

***

“ D on’t put it all on at once. That wood needs to last at least into next week,” Mabel said, as Sara placed three logs on the fire.

“But I’m cold!” Sara exclaimed, huddling closer to the fire, wrapped in a blanket.

The wind was howling outside, and darkness had now fallen, rain lashed against the windows. The guttering of three candles flickered on the table, where the remnants of the tea provided by their kindly benefactors remained. Mabel did not know what the morning would bring – they had no bread, or anything to make their breakfast with, and only a few pennies with which to buy anything.

“Listen to your sister, Sara,” their mother said.

Their mother was sitting in a chair in the corner, her head bowed, lost, it seemed, in grief. Mabel did not know what to say to cheer her – how could she cheer her when such pity and sorrow hung over them?

“I want to go home,” Sara persisted, and Mabel went to put her arms around her and comfort her.

She knew how distressing this was for Sara – removed from everything familiar and forced into the uncertainty of what was now her new reality. She feared the strain of their ordeal would cause a reversal in her sister, and that her behavior would deteriorate into what it had once been – disruptive and unruly. It had taken much love and patience – especially on Mabel’s part – to help her sister in her troubles, and their new circumstances could so easily cause that good work to be undone.

“We’ve got to think of it as an adventure. We’ll find a way, I’m sure. It’s just…different, that’s all,” Mabel said, even as she realized her words were probably of little comfort.

Sara sniffed and rested her head on Mabel’s shoulder. Clare was sitting quietly by the fire, but now she looked up and sighed.

“I hate it here.”

Mabel nodded.

“I know you do. I hate it, too, but it’s how things are now. We must be brave,” she replied, for despite her words about adventure and finding a way, she really knew only the same uncertainty as the others.

Just two weeks ago, Mabel’s life had been happy and carefree. She knew nothing of the problems of the world. Everything she needed was hers, and what she did not have, she did not need. Now, even something as simple as acquiring a loaf of bread was a problem to be solved – and Mabel was at a loss as to how to solve it.

“But what happens now? What do we do?” Clare asked, for of Mabel’s two younger sisters, Clare was the more practically minded.

“Well…we’ll need a source of income. The two of you can sew – perhaps we can take in mending, and…I can get a job,” Mabel replied.

She had been thinking the matter over ever since Joseph Allington’s letter had arrived. Clare looked at her in surprise, as though the concept of working for a living had never occurred to her – which presumably it had not.

“A job? What sort of job?” she asked, as their mother looked up in surprise.

“Yes, Mabel, what sort of job?” she asked, and Mabel blushed.

“Well, the natural thing would be a governess, of course,” she replied with a blush. Clare stared at her in amazement.

“Like Miss Davison?” she asked, and Mabel nodded.

There were few jobs a woman such as Mabel might seek. Miss Davison had been forced to work as a governess after the sudden death of her aunt, whose fortune had been considerably less than expected. It was not unusual for women of reduced circumstances to take on such work. It was perfectly respectable, and with her fluent knowledge of French and Latin, her skill at drawing and painting, and her ability at the pianoforte, along with a passable command of history and geography, Mabel knew she was well suited to such a life and had already made up her mind to pursue the matter further.

“I’m sure it won’t be difficult to secure such a position. We’ve got to do something. We can’t live on goodwill and charity,” Mabel pointed out.

“Oh, but Mabel…I don’t know. It’s hardly the sort of thing the daughter of an Earl should undertake,” her mother said, but Mabel went to her side and kneeled by the chair, taking her mother’s hand in hers.

“I want to take care of you, Mother, and of Sara and Clare, too. My wages will be more than enough to send something back each week, and I won’t go far. There’re plenty of grand houses in the county, with children in need of a governess. I’ll soon find work,” she said. Her mother gave a weak smile and squeezed Mabel’s hand.

“You have your father’s spirit, Mabel,” she said approvingly, and Mabel nodded, glad to be compared to such a fine man as her father, and hoping she could live up to the expectation it bore…

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