She pulled out the appointment letter again, smoothing its folds carefully. Having read it so many times, she had nearly memorised its contents.
The position was to instruct a young boy of eight.
The letter had warned: ‘As mentioned in our earlier correspondence, the boy has challenges, and past governesses have found it too difficult to remain long-term.’
Well, Charlotte thought grimly, I shall have to stay—no matter how difficult it proves. I have no choice.
Briefly, she wondered how many governesses had come and gone. It hardly sounded ideal.
But it was too late now to ask questions. She would find out soon enough.
The carriage rattled up a narrow country lane, slowing at last to a stop.
Charlotte leaned out of the small window, the chill of evening creeping through the glass.
Before her stood a sprawling dark-stone house, its narrow windows glinting dully in the fading light. A few lanterns flickered at the entrance, but otherwise the house was shrouded in deep shadow. The sky above had turned a heavy violet.
Her limbs creaked and groaned as she unfolded herself from the carriage. Every bone in her body ached from the sleepless journey.
Waiting by the servants’ entrance stood a young, sunny-faced girl in plain grey clothing and a white apron.
‘You must be Miss Anne Lucas,’ she said cheerfully. ‘I am Lucy, the housemaid.’
Charlotte balked, forgetting her new identity for a moment, but quickly recovered.
‘Good evening,’ she replied.
‘This is Sarah, the nursemaid,’ Charlotte added, as Sarah tumbled out of the carriage rather less gracefully.
‘Pleased to meet you,’ Lucy responded with a warm smile as she ushered them inside and directed the footman to carry their luggage.
They moved briskly through the dimly lit servants’ corridors with their mahogany-panelled walls. The house smelled faintly of lavender and beeswax, reminding her painfully of her father.
Stay focused, Charlotte.
‘This is the most direct path from the kitchens to the attic rooms,’ Lucy explained. ‘Your room is next to Master Tom’s.’
Master Tom. That must be the boy.
After climbing several staircases, they reached the attic level—a narrow corridor lined with doors beneath the sloping roof. The first appeared to be a schoolroom, and Charlotte caught a brief glimpse within: shelves, slates, and a scattering of books. Beside it stood the closed door to Master Tom’s room, while hers and Sarah’s waited at the far end of the passage.
When they reached a worn wooden door with peeling white paint, Lucy opened it without ceremony.
‘Settle in. I shall send refreshments and let you know if Mr and Mrs Wilberforce wish to see you tonight.’
With that, she departed, leaving Charlotte and Sarah alone.
Her new room was sparse and austere.
A narrow bed stood against the wall, with a battered wardrobe beside it. A single writing desk sat beneath a tiny window. A modest fire crackled in the grate, but it did little to warm the space.
The air in the attic was damp and faintly musty.
This was to be her life now.
For a year.
A heaviness settled in her chest.
