Eighteen Months Earlier
Golden daylight crept, quietly through the silver-frosted windows of the old stone manor house.
Amelia Swift slowly sat up in her bed and stretched, blinking the sleep from her eyes. Emerging reluctantly from the warmth of her bed she shivered as the first bit of morning chill bit at her skin. Her breath made white plumes in the air of her bedroom. The first frost of the Fall had come that night. Winter would not be far behind.
She grabbed her blanket and wrapped it around her shoulders as she walked across the room to the fireplace. It was now filled with naught but ash and embers from the night before. There had once been servants to stoke these fires. They would have woken up long before her to warm her bedroom before she rose. Such things seemed a wistful and distant memory now.
She poked the embers, stacking wood and kindling around them, blowing on them until they reignited. A small flicker emerged and slowly began to lick at the wood, growing in strength and warmth.
Once the fire was growing steadily, she swung the iron bar that held the old iron tea kettle out over the fireplace. She pulled a dress, petticoats and apron from the wardrobe and hung them nearby to warm.
Still dragging her blanket, she then retreated into her chair until the fire’s warmth could make a dent in the chill of the room.
Her dog, Sentry, awakened by her master’s movements, stretched stiffly from the spot on the rug where she slept. She came, tail wagging slowly to curl up at Amelia’s feet where she now sat at the chair. Even lying down, the large fluffy white dog reached her knees. This was how mornings began, and had begun for a number of years now.
The old dog’s fluffy warmth across her feet was welcome on such a morning. It was less so in the summers.
Amelia pulled books and a couple of journals from the bedside table. There wasn’t much to write these days, few experiments, no new people or really anything at all that had not happened the year before. She cracked open an old and tattered journal that had once belonged to her uncle. So much of her reading these days was simply reliving his adventures. Though he wasn’t much of a writer, her imagination and recalling the stories as he had once told them made up for much of the dull and matter-of-fact style of his scribbles.
She could hear the animals outside starting to wake up, but they only barely stirred the frosty stillness. The absence of a rooster did much for quiet and peaceful mornings.
The tea kettle began to whistle. She brewed herself a cup of tea, and spent a few more minutes with her uncle’s journal as she drank it. She then washed and dressed; wrangled her unruly amber curls into a braid; and headed down to the kitchens.
She had started the fires and placed a basket of bread into the oven to warm when a door opened behind her. There was a stomping and clattering of small boots and the squabbling sounds of two siblings.
“G’mornin’, Miss!” a bright-eyed boy of nine greeted her with a grin.
His sister, a practical girl of thirteen cuffed his ears. “How many times do I have to tell ya to call her ‘M’ Lady’? She’s not just a miss ya know!”
He rubbed his ear and gave his sister a wary look but shrugged dismissively. “She is also a miss though!”
He ducked as she swatted at him a second time.
“I’m sorry, M’lady!” She said coming over to stand near Amelia at the stove. “I do my best, but he’s got no manners!”
Amelia chuckled. “It’s alright, Mary it’s not as if anyone is around to hear him but us anyway.” She handed the little boy a freshly warmed roll and tousled his blond hair. “Good morning to you too, Robert.” He bit into the roll and grinned up at her, mumbling his thanks through a mouthful of bread.
Mary sighed wearily, “‘S true, but he ought to treat ya more respectful! You’re the lady of the house and a Marquis’s daughter too…”
The three of them began their morning routine.
As finances at the manor had gotten tighter and tighter, Amelia had slowly dismissed the household servants over the years. These two children were the only hired help she kept now.
Their mother was a widowed mother of seven. She was delighted to have them work at the manor and bring home even a salary as tiny as theirs was. The fact that they ate there and she did not have to feed them for a few meals each day was an added bonus.
Mary took over in the kitchen, while Amelia and Robert set off to the barn.
“Will we be pickin’ the persimmons today, Miss? The frost was good and thick! They should be real tasty now!”
Amelia smiled. “That is indeed our plan for today. We’ll head that way as soon as we are finished with chores and breakfast.”
The boy skipped off to grab feed, obviously delighted. “It’s persimmon day!”
Amila chuckled quietly to herself as she watched the boy skipping off to the feed shed. His exuberance did much to brighten her life these days. So, in spite of his lack of finer manners, she did little to curtail his enthusiasm and way of speaking.
The chores and feeding of the animals didn’t take long. The poultry, two old cows, a single sheep, and two mares were all that were left of the Manor’s animals now.
They walked back to the kitchen with a basket of eggs and a small pail of milk in hand. Sentry followed along, ever-present beside them.
Mary had made a simple vegetable soup and boiled eggs. They ate it with more of the wheat rolls and made plans for the day.
Picking persimmons was a messy business. The fruits were only edible after the frost had frozen them. Once thawed, though, they were a deliciously sweet, sticky jelly beneath their thin skin. They needed to be picked and used or preserved immediately, so the timing was crucial. Though firewood and nearly all other produce needed to be harvested and taken care of before the first frost arrived, they were one of the only things that were to be picked right after. It was a special day for the children, as they loved the intense sweetness of the fruits that were only available to them once a year.
They wound their way down a winding footpath to the back orchards, arms full of baskets. Robert, running ahead, found the closest possible persimmon and immediately shoved the whole thing into his mouth.
Mary shook her head.
Amelia chuckled.
The harvest was decent this year. After filling and returning a few loads of baskets to the house, they sat in the orchard for a simple lunch, though their appetites were decidedly lessened for the persimmons they had eaten. The leftovers would make dinner simple.
Sentry sat on guard a short distance away. Her calm features watchfully scanned the countryside around them as she always did. Her namesake had always seemed particularly well chosen. Today was no exception.
Amelia leaned back on the ground and watched a few clouds float across the azure sky. It wasn’t a bad life. She loved the manor house. She loved these children and the animals here she had known for so many years. Still, the thought of winter weighed heavily on her mind.
Winters were harsh here in the North country. The harvests this year had been fairly good. Still, she knew there was nothing left by way of funds to take care of emergencies, should anything at all go wrong. Years of running the manor house herself, without an outside income and trying to keep servants on as long as possible had eaten through most of what her uncle and parents had left her. A couple years of poor harvest and damage from a few bad storms had eaten through the rest.
She sighed and brushed a few wayward curls out of her face. How long could she really keep living like this? She knew her cousins had expected her to give up years ago. She hung on this well for this long in part to spite them for trying to force her out. When her father had died, her eldest cousin had inherited the Swift Estate where she had lived and all the business and land that came with it. She had then come to live with her uncle here at the Northway Manor. When her uncle’s ship had gone down in a storm a number of years later, since he had no children or title, her cousins had tried to take his home as well.
Her uncle had anticipated their greed, however, and he had let the entire family know he had deeded his purchased home and everything in it to her.
She closed her eyes and remembered the flames that had suddenly appeared in his study the night before the judge was to oversee the settling of his estate. She had smelled smoke from her bedroom and by the time she had found the source of it, the fire was raging through her uncle’s office, licking its way into it’s book-lined walls.
She still remembered the way the smoke burned her lungs.
She had rushed into the room and managed to grab the will and a few of her uncle’s books, but the room was quickly lost to the flames and the will had bits burned out of it from the fire and falling ash.
It was only through the efforts of the manor’s servants and the mercy of a passing storm that the whole manor had not been burned.
The cousins, though, had more than arson in their plotting. They had paid off the judge and convinced him to give her as little as was lawfully possible. She had managed to retrieve the will, but with parts missing it now read,
“I, John Andrew Swift, do sign to legally leave upon my death, my _______, The Northway Manor House, its gardens and its orchards; The N ____ and South forest, and all _______ to my niece Amelia Swift. I bequeath to her the household and farm supplies; the _____ and female animals; as well as_________.
She is to keep her own dowry; all of her mother’s clothes and jewels. Her fath_____ My lab, books, and all my tools, notes and weaponry shall belong to her as well.
Taken from Royal Road, this narrative should be reported if found on Amazon.
Signed, John Andrew Swift
The year of our Lord 17xx
Witness signature Steven _______”
Since there was no longer any surname for the witness, no witness was called. 54597The judge ensured that she was given only exactly what was clearly stated, and her cousins were quick to rob the manor of everything else. They had taken away every male animal; anything that had belonged to her father; and had logged the North Forest for everything it was worth.
They returned occasionally, along with the Swift Family Guard, to ensure no male animals had found their way to the estate. They were quick to take them away if any had. The cruel irony of using military force against the sole, defenseless child of the former head of the family was not lost on members of the guard or on the locals. The new head of house was in authority now however, and there was simply nothing that could be done by anyone of lesser status.
With no males, the flocks slowly dwindled. She was able to barter produce to keep the two cows bred and giving milk, but if the calf was a bull it was soon taken away before it could be butchered or sold. They had even taken away purchased animals, but with the Judge in their pocket, any legal attempts to retrieve the animals had been unsuccessful.
They had, in this manner, successfully hamstrung her from having a truly successful estate of her own. She had survived here through much determination, but if things continued like this, she didn’t know how many more winters she might last.
She stretched her arms above her head and sat up again. It was grave, but it was no use thinking about it, especially when there was work to be done. If she couldn’t survive here, where even was there to go? Her remaining relatives certainly bore her no goodwill, let alone enough kindness to allow her to live with them.
Her eyes roamed around the orchards, ablaze with colorful foliage. They were so beautiful this time of year. Sentry slid her big head over Amelia’s shoulder to nuzzle her face, looking for attention. She patted the big dog’s head. The siblings a few feet away were now bickering over the correct way to spread persimmons on toast.
A slightly sad but determined smile flickered across her lips. She might sometimes dream of adventure, and so much was uncertain about the future here, but this place, and the people in it held so much of her heart.
“Come now, let’s finish this and see if we can’t get these back and hauled to town before the market closes.”
She stood up and dusted her hands on her apron, muttering to herself a quote she often repeated to herself over the last few years. “Worry not about tomorrow, for tomorrow shall worrieth over its own troubles.”
….
The market in the tiny nearby town was itself as small as might be expected. Amelia and the children had loaded a number of the baskets into a small cart that was now pulled by the younger of the two mares.
“Aye, M’lady! Aye there, youngun’s!” The owner of the market greeted her and the children, helping them down from the cart. “When I saw the frost this mornin’, I was wondering if we’d be seein’ ye today!” He plucked one of the persimmons from a basket and took a bite. “Mmm. They be as good as I remember! Yer place there always has the best persimmons!’
“Come on in! We’ll get ‘em weighed and settle on a price for ye.”
The harvest had been good, and the merchant always paid her a fair price. The coins she’d been paid now hung in a bag around her waist. It jingled with a soft but satisfying clink as she walked.
Days like this made Amelia feel hopeful.
Robert tugged on her sleeve. “To the bakery then, Miss?”
She smiled. “Yes, to the bakery.”
The boy yelled out into the air and skipped ahead down the road with a whoop. Though Mary was much more reserved, she followed quickly behind him, obviously excited.
In the past year, Amelia had made it a point that when they had a good return for a harvest she would give each child an extra half penny each. This was apart from their salary that was sent to their mother. It was a reward for the extra work and was something she gave to them alone to enjoy. It had now become customary for them to spend it at the bakery.
Robert bounded through the door with an exuberance that may rightly make one fear for its hinges.
“Good evening, Mrs Gainly!”
A heavyset woman with a rosy face stood up from a table in the back and came forward to the counter.
“Well, ‘Elloh there, Robert! Are ye here for yer scones?”
The boy nodded. “Yes ‘m! Two cranb’ry ones please!” He paused thoughtfully. “Er, make that one cranb’ry please, Mam.”
The friendly Mrs Gainly chuckled as she handed him a single scone. “Learnin’ from yer sister, eh?”
The boy nodded solemnly and slowly took his single scone into the table in the corner. The look on his face was a curious mixture of determination and sadness—which seemed rather out of place for a boy carrying a delicious treat he had obviously been excited about.
A person could buy a scone for a farthing here. So two farthings, or a half penny, you could get two scones. He had always gotten two scones before and eaten them both down to the crumbs, with much relish. His sister’s birthday had recently passed however, and he had learned a hard lesson.
Mary had always gotten one scone, and had asked Amelia to hold onto the extra farthing for her. She had diligently saved her extra farthings for a whole year, and on her birthday, she had bought herself a whole ginger cake.
A Whole. Ginger. Cake!
Ginger cakes were special, as ginger, sugar and spices were expensive. The cake had been the size of her face, covered in nuts and dusted decoratively in powdered sugar… and she had not given Robert even a single bite!
She had saved all year for this. It was hers and hers alone. He could only sit and watch her eat it.
Smelling the ginger and the sticky sweetness made his mouth water. He had then and there vowed to himself that he too would have a ginger cake for his birthday. Still, only one scone at a time seemed a harsh price to pay.
They finished their food at the bakery and headed back to the manor as the twilight of evening began to fall.
The children had quickly said their goodbyes for the evening, and headed home. Sentry walked with them.
When the children first started working there, Amelia had walked them home every evening and Sentry had always come along. One evening in the spring however, the cow had been having a hard labor, and the children had decided to walk home on their own so Amelia could stay with the calving mother.
Sentry had gone with the children, and returned on her own after seeing them to their door. Since then she had accompanied them every evening on her own, and returned every night to the manor unaccompanied.
The day had been long, and the golden glow of the evening had faded into darkness. Amelia finished a few evening chores and now stood in the front garden awaiting Sentry’s return before turning in for the night.
In spite of the morning’s frost, an unusual warm, moist air had crept in from the South East and filled the area with fog. Amalia felt the dampness on her cheeks. There remained a whisper of wind, but the dampness felt almost oppressively heavy.
“East Winds bring change.” She remembered the words of her superstitious old Nanny with a faint smile.
“There have been a few East winds since I’ve taken over here, Nanny May,” She mumbled to herself. “So far nothing has changed…”
The darkness became increasingly black with night and the incoming fog. The sun was well and truly gone now. Because of their trip to town, the children had left a little later than usual, but it was now well past the dog’s usual dinner time.
She peered out into the blackness. What was taking Sentry so long?
Amelia’s brow furrowed a little as the minutes dragged on She peered out into the darkness and fog, but there was nothing to be seen. The delay was slowly making her uneasy. What if something had happened to Sentry or the children? She contemplated going out searching, but with the fog growing increasingly thicker knew she would risk getting lost herself. The dog could see better in the dark than she could, and could find her way home by smell if necessary. Sentry knew her way home. Amelia resigned herself to wait.
Faintly, off in the distance, in the woods to the North East of the estate, she heard what sounded like men shouting. Her body grew tense as she strained her ears to listen.
A tiny breeze stirred and seemed to blow the sounds faintly in all directions only for them to be again muffled by the dense fog.
Her mind began to race. Was it lost travelers? The town was in the other direction. Was it bandits?
“Sentry!” She called out into the darkness, attempting to make her voice sound lower and more like a man’s. She suddenly felt the weight of the fact that she was here as a woman living totally and completely alone. Where was Sentry at a time like this? Was she hurt?
The voices and shouts, though still faint in the distance, were growing louder and a bit more discernible.
The next sound she heard caused her heart to stop. Through the fog came the clear and unmistakable crack of a gunshot.
Her heart pounded in her chest as she turned and ran inside to grab her uncle’s old rifle with trembling fingers. She loaded it, pocketed a few extra shells of ammunition and rushed back to the garden gate.
She knew being outside was terribly unwise, should the men prove to be bandits or robbers. Even still, she didn’t want to go inside and lock the doors without Sentry!
She heard a yell, followed shortly by distant barking. Her heart felt as if it jumped into her throat.
“Sentry!” She called desperately into the darkness. She wanted to run out and find her, but the potential graveness of the situation kept her rooted in place by the garden gate.
She heard more yelling followed by a blood-curdling scream. The sound still sent chills up her spine.
The shouting was much closer now and became increasingly chaotic. She could begin to make out sentences. Were they chasing someone?
“After him! Don’t let him get any further!” Yells of directions followed by screams and cursing and more gunshots filled the air in volleys.
She heard barking again. It was closer this time.
“Sentry!” She yelled. She knew shouldn’t yell again. She didn’t want to draw these men to her, but she prayed silently that the dog would come faster.
“Come on, girl!” She whispered urgently into the darkness.
Moments ticked on, and her knuckles grew white on the rifle. She tried to steady her hands and her breath in the event she would need to use it.
Her eyes strained peering into the fog that had now grown so thick as to obscure everything more than a few feet away.
She heard the faint sound of panting, and Sentry suddenly and laboriously appeared through the swirling wall of fog just a few feet away from her.
Amelia rushed forward and reached out to grab the dog and hurry her into the house. The moment her hand reached into the big dog’s thick fur however, she froze.
“Girl, what have you done?”
In the darkness, lying on the earth behind her, Sentry was dragging a bloodied, wounded man.