3. Chapter 3

Chapter 3

T he carriage jostled along the rutted road, each bump and sway a stark reminder to Evelyn of how far she was travelling from the familiar streets of London. She gazed out the window, watching as the sprawling city gave way to rolling hills and patchwork fields. The further they went, the tighter her chest felt, a growing knot of anxiety twisting in her stomach.

Evelyn clutched her reticule, her fingers tracing the outline of Amelia's letter within. The offer had seemed a godsend at first—a chance to start anew, to bury the whispers and sidelong glances that had dogged her steps in town. But now, as London faded into the distance, doubt crept in like a chill.

"I say, are you quite all right, miss?"

Evelyn startled, realising she'd been staring unseeing at her fellow passenger. The elderly gentleman peered at her with concern. It was a little unnerving, having a strange man speak to her without an introduction. His eyes, though, crinkled in a friendly manner that put her at ease.

"Perfectly fine, thank you," she managed, forcing a smile. "Just... taking in the scenery."

He nodded, settling back into his seat. "First time to the West Country, is it?"

"Is it that obvious?" Evelyn asked, self-consciously reaching up to adjust her bonnet.

"Oh, most visitors have that same look about them," he chuckled. "Like a fish suddenly finding itself on dry land."

Evelyn's smile faltered. That was precisely how she felt—out of her depth and gasping for air. The thought of being so isolated, so far from the bustle and life of the city, made her heart race. What if she couldn't adapt? What if the quiet drove her mad?

The carriage lurched, and Evelyn gripped the seat. She'd grown up navigating cobblestone streets and crowded markets. How would she manage muddy lanes and open fields? The air already smelled different—earthy and green, lacking the familiar tang of coal smoke and river muck.

As they passed through a small village, Evelyn caught sight of women gossiping by a well. Their curious glances followed the coach. She shrank back, suddenly aware of how her London fashions would stand out. Every eye would be upon her, the newcomer, in a place where everyone knew everyone else's business.

She'd spent a few days with Amelia in London, packing away her finest dresses. However, it was immediately obvious that even the more sedate ones she'd packed would draw attention.

Evelyn took a deep breath, trying to quell her rising panic. She'd made her choice. There was no turning back now. But as the coach rolled on, carrying her deeper into the unknown, she couldn't help but wonder if she'd made a terrible mistake.

Evelyn shook herself from her reverie, chiding herself for her doubts. It was too late for all that now. She'd made her decision, and there was no use in fretting over it. The countryside rolled by, a patchwork of greens and browns that blurred together as the coach rumbled on.

At each stop, more passengers disembarked, until Evelyn was left alone in the carriage. The silence pressed in around her, broken only by the creak of wheels and the steady clip-clop of hooves. She shifted uncomfortably on the hard seat, her body protesting after days of travel.

As the journey stretched on, Evelyn's discomfort grew. Her muscles ached, and her head pounded from the constant jostling. She longed to stretch out, to walk more than the few paces afforded during their brief stops. But she endured, reminding herself that each mile brought her closer to her new life.

Finally, after what felt like an eternity, the coach lurched to a halt. Evelyn peered out the window, her heart quickening as she realised this must be her stop—the last stop on the route. She gathered her belongings with trembling hands, suddenly unsure of what awaited her beyond the carriage door.

As Evelyn stepped down, her legs wobbled beneath her, stiff from the long journey. She steadied herself against the side of the coach, blinking in the bright sunlight. Before she could get her bearings, a loud thud made her jump.

The coach driver had unceremoniously hauled her trunk from the roof, dropping it with a splash into the muddy road. Evelyn let out an involuntary squeak of alarm, her eyes widening at the sight of her precious belongings now sitting in a puddle. The coach driver merely grunted at her distress, shrugged, and disappeared into a small tavern that faced the muddy road.

Evelyn stood rooted to the spot, her gaze darting from one unfamiliar sight to another. The village, if one could call it that, consisted of a mere handful of buildings scattered haphazardly along the muddy road. A weathered sign creaked in the breeze, its faded letters barely legible. The tavern where the coach driver had disappeared seemed to be the only sign of life.

Her heart raced as the reality of her situation sank in. She was utterly alone, with no idea where to go or whom to turn to. The weight of her decision pressed down upon her, threatening to crush what little resolve she had left. Evelyn fought back the urge to cry, knowing it would do her no good.

Just as panic began to set in, the clip-clop of hooves drew her attention. A wagonette rolled to a stop beside her, driven by a sturdy man whose face was hidden beneath the brim of a wide hat. He made no move to look at her directly, seeming content to chew on the piece of straw protruding from his mouth.

Evelyn cleared her throat, hoping to catch the man's attention. "Excuse me, sir. I'm looking for—"

The man cut her off with a grunt, still not meeting her gaze. "You'll be the new governess, then?"

His gruff manner caught Evelyn off guard. She straightened her spine, reminding herself that despite her current circumstances, she was still a lady. "Yes, I am. L—Miss Bane," she said, hurriedly correcting herself, "here to—"

Another grunt interrupted her. The man jerked his thumb towards the back of the wagonette. "Best get in, then."

Evelyn hesitated, eyeing the muddy wheels of the wagonette and her trunk still sitting in a puddle. "My luggage—"

The man turned his face slightly toward her, revealing part of a scarred face. Evelyn took an involuntary step backward. "I'll see to it. You just get yourself settled."

Evelyn eyed the mud-splattered wagonette with growing dismay. The wooden bench, exposed to the elements, bore a patina of grime that made her skin crawl. She hesitated, glancing down at her travelling dress—one of her plainer ones, but still far too fine for such rough accommodations.

With a resigned sigh, she gathered her skirts and gingerly placed her foot on the step. The wagonette creaked ominously as she hauled herself up, and she winced at the thought of what this jarring ride might do to her already aching muscles.

As Evelyn settled onto the hard bench, a horrifying realisation dawned. There was no separate seat for passengers—just this single, narrow perch. She'd have to sit right next to the driver, mere inches from this gruff, scarred stranger.

Her heart began to race. This was improper, indecent even. What would people think, seeing her arrive in such a manner? She'd hoped to make a good first impression, to establish herself as a lady of refinement despite her new position. Instead, she'd be perceived as some common trollop, practically in the lap of the first man she'd encountered.

Evelyn's fingers twisted in her lap as she fought the urge to leap down and flee. But where would she go? She was utterly lost in this strange, muddy village.

The driver finished securing her trunk and climbed back up. Evelyn held her breath as he settled beside her, his bulk causing the bench to shift. She pressed herself against the side of the wagonette, desperate to maintain some semblance of propriety.

The scent of hay and horses filled her nostrils as the driver clicked his tongue, urging the horse forward. Evelyn sat rigidly, her spine straight as a poker, refusing to lean back lest she brush against her silent companion.

As they lurched out of the village, Evelyn's mind raced. What sort of place was she going to, where this was considered an acceptable way to transport a governess? She thought of Amelia's letter, full of warm assurances about the kindness of her new employers. Had her friend been mistaken? Or worse, had she deliberately misled Evelyn about the nature of this position?

Evelyn couldn't help but steal glances at the driver as they rattled along the rutted road. Despite her discomfort, she found herself impressed by his ease with the reins. His hands rested lightly on the leather straps, guiding the horse with the barest of movements. It was clear he knew these roads like the back of his hand.

The man's foot was propped up on the footboard, his posture relaxed despite the constant jostling. Evelyn envied his comfort, acutely aware of her own rigid posture. She shifted slightly, trying to find a position that didn't leave her bouncing like a rag doll with every bump and dip in the road.

As she fidgeted, her skirts rustled against the rough wood of the bench. She winced, imagining the state her dress would be in by journey's end. Another bump sent her lurching sideways, and she barely caught herself before colliding with the driver's solid frame.

"Something wrong, miss?"

The gruff voice startled her. It was the first time he'd spoken since they'd set off. Evelyn straightened, smoothing her skirts with trembling hands.

"No, not at all," she lied, forcing a smile. "I'm simply... adjusting to the ride."

The driver grunted, his eyes never leaving the road ahead. "Not used to country travel, I reckon."

Evelyn felt her cheeks flush. Was her discomfort so obvious? She'd hoped to maintain some semblance of dignity, but it seemed she was failing miserably at every turn.

"I confess, it is rather different from what I'm accustomed to," she admitted, trying to keep her voice steady as they jolted over another rut.

Evelyn bit her lip, trying to regain her composure. The driver's blunt observation stung, but she couldn't deny its truth. She was woefully unprepared for this new world.

"What did you expect, miss?" the driver asked, his tone gruff but not unkind.

The question unleashed a torrent of frustration that Evelyn had been struggling to contain.

"I expected..." she began, her indignity rising. "I expected that a Baron would have at least had the decency to send a proper carriage. Perhaps even a female servant to meet me." The words tumbled out, gaining momentum. "Is this truly how a gentleman of his standing treats his employees? And these roads! They're hardly fit for beasts, let alone people. There's mud everywhere, coating everything. How does anyone manage to keep clean?"

Evelyn knew she was being unladylike, complaining so vociferously to a stranger, but she couldn't seem to stop herself. The discomfort of the journey, the uncertainty of her future, and the shock of her new surroundings all conspired to loosen her tongue.

"I've never seen such a state of affairs," she continued, gesturing at the rutted road before them. "How can anyone live like this? It's barbaric!"

The driver remained silent throughout her tirade, his eyes fixed on the road ahead. His lack of response only fuelled Evelyn's indignation, and she found herself listing every perceived slight and inconvenience she'd encountered since stepping off the coach.

Finally, Evelyn fell silent, her cheeks flushed with emotion and embarrassment. She hadn't meant to lose control like that, but the words had poured out of her like water from a broken dam.

The driver said nothing for a long moment, and Evelyn feared she'd offended him beyond repair. Then, without taking his eyes off the road, he spoke.

"It's the first good rain we've had in weeks, miss," he said, his voice low and steady. "Sorely needed, it was. Might be ruining your hem, but it means the folks around here stand a chance of not starving."

His words hit Evelyn like a physical blow. She felt her face grow hot with shame as the reality of her selfishness sank in. She glanced around, as if seeing the fields dotted with tiny houses for the first time. Here she was, complaining about mud and discomfort, while the people around her were facing the very real threat of starvation.

She'd never been confronted with true privation before. Of course, she knew that people were hungry in London—she wasn't na?ve—and of course the infamous rookeries. However, she'd never had to confront true hunger and want before.

Evelyn fell silent, chastened by the driver's words. She stared at her gloved hands, twisting in her lap, as shame washed over her. After a moment, she gathered her courage and decided to change tack.

"I... I see," she said softly. "Perhaps you could tell me, what sort of master is the Baron? I confess, I know little about him."

The driver turned his head slightly, surprise evident in his scarred profile. He chewed on his piece of straw, considering the question.

"Well now," he began, his voice thoughtful. "The Baron, he's... he tries his best to be a fair man, that's certain." He paused, adjusting his grip on the reins. "Looks after his tenants, does what he can to keep 'em from the poorhouse."

Evelyn listened intently, grateful for any insight into her new employer.

"Course," the driver continued, "some might find him a bit rough around the edges. Not one for fancy words or manners, the Baron. But he's got a good heart, underneath it all."

Evelyn pondered this information. A fair man with a good heart was certainly preferable to some of the alternatives she'd imagined during her journey. Still, the phrase 'rough around the edges' gave her pause. What exactly did that mean?

Before she could ask for clarification, the driver spoke again. "He's had his share of troubles, the Baron has. But he does right by his people, and that's what matters most out here."

Evelyn hesitated for a moment, then decided to press further. "And how is the Baron to work for? I imagine you must have some insight, being in his employ."

The driver tilted his head slightly, shifting the brim of the hat a little so that Evelyn caught a glimpse of a sharp profile. He chewed thoughtfully on his piece of straw before answering. "I suppose you'd have to ask one of his servants."

Evelyn's brow furrowed in confusion. I thought I did just ask one of his servants , she thought. Then it dawned on her: This man was likely just an outdoor staff member, someone dispatched to pick her up like she was a sack of grain for the horses. He wasn't the coachman at all!

The revelation hit Evelyn like a splash of cold water. Her fingers tightened on the fabric of her skirts as a wave of indignation washed over her. The Baron couldn't even be bothered to send his proper coachman to collect her? Instead, he'd dispatched some common labourer to ferry her to her new position?

She pressed her lips together, fighting to maintain her composure. It wouldn't do to unleash another tirade, not when she'd just made a fool of herself moments ago. But the slight stung, adding to her growing list of grievances against her new employer.

Evelyn turned her face away, staring out at the passing countryside without really seeing it. Her mind raced, conjuring images of the Baron as a neglectful, uncaring master who couldn't be bothered with the comfort or propriety of his staff. Was this how he treated all his employees? Or was she being singled out for such disregard?