The Forgotten Lady

Chapter Two

A New Beginning

Amelia's hazy consciousness drifted in and out, the gentle sway of the carriage lulling her into a tenuous calm. Time lost meaning until the carriage finally halted. Her surroundings felt foreign and distant, the veracity of the situation evading her.

As the carriage door swung open, the fresh scent of earth and pine replaced the stifling, musty interior. Strong hands helped her descend, but she felt no kindness in their grip. She stumbled slightly, the bright daylight causing her to squint.

Ahead lay a picturesque village, almost forgotten to time. Cobblestone streets meandered through neat rows of cottages with thatched roofs. The signpost read "Havenmoor," an unfamiliar name. This was not a place Amelia had ever heard of, and certainly not one found on any of the maps in her aunt's study.

Villagers paused their tasks to scrutinise the stranger in their midst. Their stares, filled with a mix of suspicion and curiosity, made Amelia's cheeks burn.

"Who's she?" a stout woman by the well whispered.

"No idea. Never seen her before," replied a farmer, wiping sweat from his brow with a dirt-streaked handkerchief.

The man who had led her from the carriage, a burly figure with a scar across his cheek, gave her a nudge. "Come. The innkeeper will decide what to do with you."

She followed reluctantly, her mind racing with thoughts and fears. The innkeeper, a stern-looking man with salt-and-pepper hair, glanced her over with a critical eye but said nothing. He gestured for her to sit by the hearth.

Amelia hesitated before taking the offered seat. The warmth of the fire did little to thaw the icy anxiety in her chest. She wanted to ask questions, to get answers, but her throat felt constricted, her voice lost.

The innkeeper finally spoke, his voice gruff yet carrying an undertone of pity. "What's your name, miss?"

She cleared her throat. "Amelia... Amelia Everly."

"You've had a rough journey," he noted, his gaze softening slightly. "Rest here for now. We'll see what's to be done."

Amelia nodded, grateful for his sparse hospitality. The inn's common room filled slowly as the villagers trickled in, casting sidelong glances at the newcomer. Conversations buzzed in hushed tones around her, but no one approached.

Days passed, turning into weeks. Amelia adjusted to her new routine at the inn, performing menial tasks to earn her keep. The village remained skeptical of her, yet she could feel their watchful eyes gradually dull in intensity. They were wary, but she was determined to prove her worth.

One evening, while fetching water from the well, Amelia encountered Eliza, the village healer. Eliza was a woman of indeterminate age, her deep-set eyes holding wisdom and a measure of sadness. She watched Amelia toil before speaking.

"You're not from here, obviously," Eliza began, her tone matter-of-fact.

Amelia nodded. "I don't know how I ended up here. I—"

Eliza raised a hand to silence her. "No need to explain to me, child. The past is for you to keep or share as you see fit. What matters here is the present. Can you work?"

"Yes, I can," Amelia replied earnestly. "I'll do anything."

Eliza's lips twitched in what might have been a smile. "Come by my cottage tomorrow. I could use an extra pair of hands, and it seems you need some stability."

Amelia thanked her profusely, feeling a glimmer of hope. Perhaps Havenmoor could become a place of new beginnings after all.