1852
Angel and her father, Edmund, had recently moved to Kent. Edmund had been born there but moved away soon after turning eighteen. He had been disowned, so was thrown onto a train with his various cases, on route to London. It was a one way ticket. Edmund had been sent to live with his Aunt Isabella; she felt sorry for him and was the only breakaway in her family. Except him, of course.
Angel’s mother was dead and had been killed mysteriously but a reason was not found in her autopsy. She had been found in a rotten treehouse, deep in Ashburner’s woods, her body twisted and mutilated, organs lay in piles around her, a cruel chelsea smile scratched into her white face. Her child, Angel, had been found picking flowers a few metres away.
The blessed girl had no recollection of this or her dear mother, and knew nothing of her existence – there was no proof of her life – except Angel.
Edmund never spoke of his past or Angel’s mother, and liked it that way. It was to be kept erased for as long as humanly possible before Angel’s questions flowed. Cutting a deeper incision into the past. All questions were answered as vaguely as could be. Dear Angel could not find out the answers about her mother – at least, not yet… Her last moments would give her all the answers.
Edmund had a found a large, reasonably priced mansion in Kent, positioned in a sea of trees, it was sheltered from all outside elements. And people. Angel was to sleep on the left side of the house, Edmund on the right. They would occasionally cross paths but only officially met at breakfast, luncheon, afternoon tea and dinner. The relationship between Angel and her father was not a close one, as she had been mostly raised by maids in school holidays and was sent to a boarding school in Switzerland for term times.
The journey to Kent was long and exhausting, Angel would often start to twiddle her thumbs and subsequently receive a look of irritation from her father, ‘Father… How long is this journey?! It seems like a lifetime!’ Angel moaned.
‘Be quiet. Children are to be seen – not heard. Understand this, will you child?!’ Edmund answered gruffly, ‘I do not care whether we are here for hours or days. We are going to Kent, far from London, far from the people we know, and far from all city life - far from all city people.’
‘But why? There is no reason, other than you want to ruin my life – don’t you?! So, let’s go to Kent, let’s screw up our lives, and let’s be isolated twats!’ Angel screamed.
The carriage horses quickened their pace at hearing Angel’s cry and immediately the ride became a rough one, worthy of puking.
‘This is the last straw Angel! Mind your language – yet again! I cannot believe you! I wish you were like your mother – she was a kind, sweet soul! Unlike you! How dare you!’
Angel’s jaw dropped, but she sat in silence the rest of the journey, milling over what had happened, and tried her hardest not to lose her temper even more.
When the companions finally arrived, the shock of what the house looked like was immense. The servants had all been lined up along the driveway to greet them and take the cases inside, Angel’s maids stood in neat rows, adjusting their crisp, white caps to perfection as the carriage approached. All was in order and the suitcases were taken off the carriage in neat precision with any confusion avoided, possessions would be brought from London in a few weeks. Angel stepped out the carriage, greeted by the butler, Peter Cook, who quickly turned his attention to Edmund afterward.
‘My Lord, I hope your journey was smooth, your’ bags arrived from London a few days ago, they have been unpacked and put away, Miss Angel’s cases have not arrived yet.’
