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

Chapter 03

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Charlotte found that Jane was indeed ill. Her skin was flushed, and Charlotte sat with her, tending to her into the late night. How lovely Jane was. She was nothing like the rest in the house. They were full of pride and vanities, and Jane seemed to possess none of those attributes. Charlotte would be pleased to be governess to this child if need be, though she would not want to stay under the same roof as Mr. Ashmore. A chill ran over her as she recalled his dark face. He was menacing indeed, and she was glad that Jane had spared her from an encounter with the man earlier in the day.

Charlotte poured cold water in the basin on the vanity. Her reflection caught her attention. Now that her brown hair was brushed into a bun, she looked better than the soaked girl who had shown up on the doorstep, but she could not help but compare herself to the fine polished Dawson sisters. She looked like a patch of straw next to diamonds.

She sighed and continued her work, sponging Jane's forehead and giving her sips of water.

'You are very pretty, Miss Sutterfield. Your brown eyes are a beautiful light colour, like amber.'

'Thank you, Jane. Not as pretty as you, my dear, but thank you, nonetheless.'

'I hope that you will stay a while.'

'I will sit with you until you fall asleep.'

'No, I mean here at Linwood Manor. I have no-one to talk with. Miss Dawson and Mrs. Ashmore do not have time for me.'

'Mrs. Ashmore?'

'Yes. Mrs. Ashmore and Miss Dawson are sisters, but Louisa is only lately married to Mr. Ashmore, so now she is Mrs. Ashmore.'

'I see.'

'Well, I look forward to us spending time together and you can show me around this grand estate, but we must get you better before then. Is that all right?'

Jane eagerly nodded.

'Good. Now close your eyes and try to sleep.' Charlotte dabbed Jane's head with a cold wet cloth and watched over the young girl.

Only when Jane had finally fallen into a slumber did Charlotte return to her room across the hall. This room was much finer. She had never seen a room like it before. A four-poster mahogany bed with lace covers sat in front of a marble fireplace. The wardrobe was fine and so polished she could almost see her reflection in it. The grand tall window looked out over the garden and, even in the night, Charlotte could see that it was grand indeed. But lying in such comfort did not bring rest. Charlotte was worried about her patient and in the late night peeked out of the cracked door of her room. No-one was about, so in her thin nightshift and robe, she tiptoed across the hall and into Jane's room.

'Charlotte, is that you?'

'Shh, yes, it is, dear. Go back to sleep. I am here.' Charlotte laid her hand on Jane's forehead, feeling the warmth. 'You are not as hot as before. That is a good sign indeed.'

'I am very tired.'

'Then sleep, child.' Charlotte poured cold water into the basin and plunged a cloth into it. Wringing off the extra water, she then dabbed Jane's forehead with it delicately. Jane smiled a sweet smile and drifted off to sleep.

This reminded Charlotte of the young girls she took care of at the convent in their time of sickness. A sudden rush of homesickness came over her, which was silly. For how could one feel homesick when one had never had a proper home before?