Chapter 2

Chapter 2

The carriage rattled along the country road, jostling Catherine with each bump and rut. She peered out of the window, watching as the familiar landscapes of her life gave way to rolling hills she’d never seen before. The journey to Wessex Manor had already taken more than a day and her body ached from the constant motion. She was used to the city, and quite nervous about starting a new life in the countryside.

“Not much further now, miss,” the driver called over his shoulder, his gruff voice carrying over the clatter of hooves. “We should reach the manor by nightfall.”

Charlotte nodded, grateful for the update and she leaned forward. “Thank you, Mr. Hawkins,” she said, trying her best to make her voice louder. “I am looking forward to stretching my legs properly!”

Mr. Hawkins chuckled. “Aye, long journeys can be a trial. But don’t you worry, miss. The earl’s estate is a sight to behold. It’ll be worth the discomfort, mark my words.”

At this, Catherine finally gave in to her budding curiosity. “What… what can you tell me about the earl himself? I am afraid I know very little about my new employer.”

Mr. Hawkins was quiet for so long that Catherine wondered whether he’d heard her. When at last he spoke, his voice was hesitant. “Well, miss, it’s not my place to gossip about his lordship. But I will say this… he is a fair man, if a bit… reserved. Keeps to himself mostly, these days.”

Catherine frowned slightly at this. The response was far too cryptic. She’d never known servants to refrain from gossiping about their employers. Just as she considered pressing for more information, the carriage hit a particularly large pothole, and she yelped as the motion nearly unseated her.

“Hold on, Miss,” Mr. Hawkins spoke, sounding almost relieved—perhaps, she thought, at the change in topic. “The road gets rough here.”

It was clear, Catherine realized as the day wore on, that Mr. Hawkins was not at all eager to talk about the Earl and she found her thoughts drifting to the life she’d left behind. She wondered how Sophia and Charlotte were faring, and if they’d soon be married. Her chest ached at the thought.

“Mr. Hawkins,” she called out quickly, desperate for a reprieve from her melancholy thoughts. “How long have you been working for the Earl?”

When the old man glanced back at her, a hint of a smile crinkled the corners of his eyes. “Oh, going on twenty years now, miss. I started as a stable boy when his lordship’s father was still alive. Worked my way up, so to speak.”

Catherine leaned forward, intrigued at this. “I suppose you’ve seen a lot of changes over the years.”

Once again, Mr. Hawkins’ shoulders stiffened, but he nodded. “Aye, that I have,” he said quietly. “The old earl… he was a jolly sort. Always had the house full of guests, threw the grandest parties in the county… But with the young Earl, things are… different. Naturally.”

Catherine frowned. “Different how?” she pressed, but Mr. Hawkins shook his head.

“It is not my place to say, miss. You will have to see and make up your own mind about things.”

With this, he turned his head back to the road, and the rest of the journey passed in relative silence, broken only by the occasional warning when they hit a particularly rough patch of road. Despite the whirling questions in the back of her mind, Catherine knew instinctively that Mr. Hawkins had said all he was willing to with regard to the earl and his household.

“Mr. Hawkins,” she tried one last time, her heart racing with nerves. “What is Lady Emily like?”

Mr. Hawkins looked back and for perhaps the first time, his face wore a true smile. “She is a dear,” he said softly, affection evident in his voice. “She is a fair young child with a beautiful heart. You will like her, I am certain of it.”

Catherine sat back, slightly heartened by this. She leaned back in her seat and closed her eyes. “We are approaching the estate now, miss,” Hawkins called out and her eyes flew open again. “You’ll be able to see the manor just around this bend,” the old man explained.

Catherine leaned forward slightly, eager for her first glimpse of her new home. As soon as they rounded the corner she gasped, her eyes widening at the sight before her.

Wessex Manor was more beautiful than any manor she’d ever seen… and yet, as they moved closer, she could not help but notice signs of neglect. Ivy crept unchecked up the walls and several windows appeared to be boarded up.

“Is… is it always like this?” she asked hesitantly, and Mr. Hawkins grunted. “It’s seen better days, I suppose. But don’t you worry, miss. It’s still a fine house—just needs a bit of care, is all.”

Catherine nodded, though as they pulled up to the front entrance, her apprehension grew. The grounds were overgrown and wild with weeds poking through the gravel drive. Mr. Hawkins remained quiet, and the carriage came to a stop. Catherine took a deep breath, her heart racing with anticipation as Mr. Hawkins climbed down from his perch and opened the door for her—offering a hand to help her off.

“Thank you,” she whispered, and she smoothed her skirts. “For the journey and… well, everything.”

Mr. Hawkins nodded and tipped his hat to her, a hint of concern in his weathered face. “Good luck to you, miss,” he said gently. “I hope you’ll be happy here. I just wish…”

He stopped short of finishing his thought and headed back to the carriage. Before Catherine could do as much as move, the heavy oak doors of the manor swung open, and a man emerged. He was tall and lean with short brown hair and a thin mustache. Caroline swallowed nervously when she noticed the deep frown between his brows.

“Miss Winslow, I presume?” he spoke, his voice deep, and Caroline nodded, wiping her hands against her skirt.

“Yes, that’s me,” she said softly. “And… you are?”

“Samuel Harper,” he replied and gave a curt bow. “I manage the household for his lordship. Welcome to Wessex Manor.”

“Pleased to meet you, Mister Harper,” she said, uncomfortable under his scrutiny and resisting the urge to fidget.

“You may follow me inside,” he said in an almost stern fashion. “I will see to your belongings.”

He did not wait for a response—instead, he just turned and walked inside. Catherine followed hesitantly, though she could not suppress a shiver as she crossed the threshold. The entrance hall was dimly lit, with only a few sputtering candles to hold back the encroaching darkness.

“I will show you to your quarters,” Mr. Harper said, his footsteps eerily echoing in the empty space. “I believe you are tired after your journey.”

“Thank you,” Catherine murmured, as she followed him up a grand staircase, her hand trailing along the banister. A thick layer of dust came away on her fingers and she frowned, wiping them surreptitiously on her skirt. It made little sense, she thought. Did Mr. Harper not say he managed the household?

As they walked, Catherine frowned at the silence that permeated the house. She’d grown used to the sounds of servants bustling about, but there was none of that—no clatter of pots and pans from the kitchen, no murmur of voices or laughter. It felt as though the life had been sucked out of the place.

“Mr. Harper,” she asked at last, unable to contain her curiosity. “I don’t mean to pry, but… where is everyone? I would have expected a home of this size to have quite a large staff.”

Mr. Harper’s stride faltered for just a moment before he resumed his brisk pace. “There is no everyone , Miss Winslow,” he said at last. “The staff has been… reduced. Save for Mr. Hawkins who mostly does the driving for his lordship’s businesses, it is just myself… and now you.”

Catherine gasped, nearly tripping over her own feet in shock. “Just us? But surely that can’t be right. Who tends to the grounds? Who cooks the meals? Who…”

“I assure you, Miss Winslow,” Mr. Harper interrupted, his tone leaving no room for argument, “that I am quite capable of managing the essential tasks. And now that you are here to see to Miss Emily’s education, we will manage just fine.”

Catherine kept her doubts silent as they came to a stop outside a heavy wooden door. Mr. Harper searched his pockets for a key and unlocked the door, swinging it open to reveal a bedchamber decorated in dark green.

“These will be your quarters,” he said and stepped aside. “I trust that you will find everything to your satisfaction.”

Catherine stepped inside with a nod. “Thank you, Mr. Harper. It is more than sufficient.” She turned back to face him, her brow furrowed in confusion. “But… I don’t understand. Where is his lordship? And Lady Emily? I suppose I should be meeting them.”

A shadow passed over Mr. Harper’s face and he pursed his lips. “His lordship and Miss Emily keep to themselves,” he said at last, his voice neutral. “You will meet them when the time is right. For now… my suggestion is that you get some rest. Your duties will begin in the morning.”

Before Catherine could verbalize how strange this was, or request more information, Mr. Harper backed out of the room.

“Goodnight, Miss Winslow,” he said firmly, his hand already on the doorknob. “I will bring your belongings up shortly. Should you need anything, my quarters are at the end of the hall.”

With that, he was gone, leaving Catherine alone with her racing thoughts. She sank onto the edge of the bed slowly.

“What on earth have you gotten into, Catherine?” she whispered to herself and shook her head. Never before had she seen—much less experienced—a household quite like this. Why was the manor in such a state of disrepair? And why on earth did her new employer and his sister ‘keep to themselves’ as both Mr. Hawkins and Mr. Harper had explained?

She had a feeling that this job was going to be far more complicated than her previous position, and she jumped when a quick knock at her door interrupted her thoughts.

Samuel Harper stood on the other side of the door when she swung it open, her belongings in his arms.

“You are welcome to unpack now,” he said simply before turning away again.

Catherine’s words of thanks remained unspoken, and a chill ran down her spine as a gust of wind rattled the windowpane. She crossed the room quickly to draw the curtains, but paused—her hand remaining on the heavy fabric. In the fading light, she was certain she saw a figure moving among the overgrown hedges of the garden below.

Catherine blinked and leaned forward, but when she looked again, there was nothing but swaying branches and eerie shadows.

“My imagination must be running away with me,” she muttered as she quickly unpacked her few belongings before slipping in beneath the covers of the bed.

Exhausted as she was, sleep eluded her. Every creak of the old house, and every whisper of wind through the leaves set her already frayed nerves on edge.

It was almost time for the sun to rise when she finally drifted off into a fitful sleep, the same old question echoing through her mind.

What on earth had she gotten herself into?

Catherine awoke early in the morning, having slept a meager couple of hours, and she sat up slowly, the unfamiliar surroundings causing her heart to race with a flutter of panic.

The Earl of Wessex, she realized. She was now working for him—her life had changed in the span of a couple of days. She glanced at the small clock on the mantelpiece. It was just past seven. Mr. Harper did not mention anything about breakfast or times. He’d only said that her duties would start in the morning.

She moved quickly to wash her face in the basin before dressing in a pale-yellow gown and pinning her hair into a neat bun. She’d barely finished when a sharp knock sounded at the door, and she looked up nervously.

“Come in,” she called, mentally chastising herself for the tremble in her voice.

It was Mr. Harper who entered, his face just as impassive as it had been the night before. “Good morning, Miss Winslow,” he greeted. “I trust you slept well.”

“I did, thank you,” Catherine lied, and he nodded. “Breakfast will be served in the small dining room in half an hour,” he said simply, and she nodded, despite having no idea where the small dining room was.

“I… will I meet Lady Emily then?” she asked, and Mr. Harper sighed.

“Lady Emily takes her meals in her room,” he said, pointedly avoiding her true question.

Catherine frowned at this. “I see,” she said. “And the earl? Will he be joining us for breakfast?”

Mr. Harper sighed and pursed his lips. “His lordship takes his breakfast in his study,” he said, his tone clipped. “He is not to be disturbed.”

“Oh,” Catherine let out, her confusion evident. “Mr. Harper, I wonder if I might ask…”

Mr. Harper, however, was already backing out of the room, his hand on the doorknob. “Half an hour, Miss Winslow,” he said firmly. “I will meet you here and show you to the dining room.”

As the door closed behind him, Catherine let out a frustrated sigh. It would seem, she thought frustratedly, that direct questions would get her nowhere in this house. She could not help but wonder if she’d ever meet the Earl at this rate. Everyone seemed almost fearful of discussing the man.

“What on earth,” she whispered, “did I get myself into?”