Victorian Romance: The Ragged Maid (#1, The Winds of Misery Family Sagas)

Chapter 01

Wickham – Hampshire County, England

1855

Charlotte Sutterfield shook to the very core on the front doorstep of the stately Linwood Manor. Her trembling bones were courtesy of the pouring rain falling upon her bonnet but also from her anxious nature. She was about to meet the very family that could change her life for the better. For the Dawson family had taken it upon themselves to find a position for her as a governess but only if she passed their tests.

The massive wooden door creaked open. In place of the servant Charlotte had expected to find was a wide-eyed girl of approximately fifteen years of age with dark locks and a silk blue dress. She looked quite the frightful little creature.

'Be quick!' the girl whispered. With one swift yank of Charlotte's arm, she pulled her into the foyer and closed the door. Puzzled by this strange behaviour, Charlotte said nothing, for what could she say to such an informal greeting?

'You are Miss Sutterfield, yes?' the girl whispered.

'Yes, indeed, I am. What is the—?'

'No. Not here, for he comes this way. Hurry, follow me, and be quiet about it.' The girl tugged on Charlotte's soaked brown travelling coat.

'Who comes, child?' Charlotte kept her voice a whisper. The panic in the girl's eyes told her that it was of the utmost importance to do so, and she followed her through the grand country estate.

'Why, Mr. Ashmore, of course.' The girl gave her a look as though in disbelief of Charlotte's confusion.

Charlotte was indeed confused as she followed in her wet lace-up boots. First, through a grand hall decorated in rich tapestries, then into another hall, and another, each one growing barer than the last, until they found themselves in the kitchen. A plump cook with blond curly hair and rosy cheeks stopped kneading dough and glared at Charlotte as they quickly moved through and down a narrow winding staircase.

Mr. Ashmore was not a familiar name to Charlotte, which only added to her confusion. She was supposed to come to the home of Mr. Dawson and his two sisters, who had placed her friend Elizabeth in a governess position only a year earlier. But this Mr. Ashmore had not been mentioned, and why did this girl fear him so?

'Here you are. This is your room, I believe.' The girl pushed Charlotte into a small room, which was comfortable enough with a small fireplace, narrow bed with an iron railing, and a worn wardrobe. Although servants' quarters, Charlotte was quite pleased to have a room all to herself, something she had never had the pleasure of.

'Thank you, miss. But what is the meaning of all of this? Who are you?' Charlotte finally felt safe enough to ask this burning question.

'Apologies, Miss Sutterfield. My name is Miss Jane Huntley.' The girl smiled and gave Charlotte a proper curtsy. This girl was obviously from a fine family, but she was a Huntley, not a Dawson.

'It is a pleasure. Miss Charlotte Sutterfield.' Charlotte returned the formal greeting she had practiced over and over at the convent with Sister Mary.

Taking off the wet travelling coat and bonnet, Charlotte began to feel somewhat like herself again, though still chilled to the bone. Her travels had not been smooth, as she found herself travelling by post that did not take her all the way to the Linwood Estate and was forced to walk a mile in the rain with her brown leather bag.

She had hoped to make a much better appearance to her hosts than the frightful mess she now presented. The cold rain and wind had soaked right through to her stockings. Though in the presence of this fine young lady, whose dress obviously cost more than Charlotte had ever seen, she did not feel it was appropriate to take off her wet boots and light a fire as she wished that she could. This was very much a lesson the nuns had taught her about knowing her place, and her place was decidedly below this young girl.

'You must think I'm a fright, but I just had to get you away from him so that you would not leave.' Miss Huntley grabbed Charlotte's hands as though they had been the best of friends for years.

'Mr. Ashmore?'

'Yes. You see, the last that came through, such as yourself, did not last but a fortnight. Mr. Ashmore harassed that poor girl until she could no longer withstand being in this house. I did not want that to happen to you. That is why I waited for you to arrive and whisked you away to your room. I hope that we can be friends.' Miss Huntley had a bright-eyed hope that Charlotte had seldom seen where she was from, but she understood that she was in want of companionship. Miss Huntley had obviously made friends with the last girl who had come through and was now lonely because of it.

'Yes. We shall be great friends.' Charlotte gave the girl a rich smile that hid the fear welling up inside of her. This Mr. Ashmore seemed to be a dangerous man, and she had no doubt he would be coming for her just as he had the last girl.