Dawn at Emberwilde (3 page)

Her stomach knotted. “Do you mean I must leave Fellsworth?”

Mr. Langsby's eyes were unwavering. “There are several young
ladies here who are not as fortunate as you. I hate to put this in terms of an ultimatum, but if you should decide to turn down this offer from Mrs. Ellison, I am afraid there will no longer be a position for you here. It is our job to prepare our students to help them enter the world. You no longer need our assistance, for you have a family that is willing to provide for you.”

“And what of Lizzie?” Isabel shot back, scooting to the edge of her chair, emotions coursing through her in waves. “The letter makes no mention of her.”

Mr. Langsby's apparent calmness chafed Isabel's heightening nerves. “The letter did say that they will welcome you to their family, whatever your situation may be. And, as it happens, you are a guardian to the child. I know that you and Lizzie share a father only, and the Ellisons have no blood relation. So I leave it up to you whether to take her with you or allow her to remain in our halls. We turn no student away, Miss Creston, as you are well aware.”

“Lizzie stays with me.” Isabel blurted the words, finding it impossible to suppress the defensive lilt to her voice. “I will not leave without her.”

“As you wish.” Mr. Langsby stood slowly, the sunlight highlighting every movement. He removed his spectacles and leaned against the desk. “I sense this is not what you expected, Miss Creston. And I understand. You must believe that I do. But I hope you would see this for what it is—an opportunity. You will be provided for. What else could you ask? You may not know much of the estates beyond Fellsworth, but allow me to assure you that Emberwilde Hall is well known for its wealth and grandeur. You should feel grateful for such an advantageous offer.”

Grateful
hardly seemed the proper word to describe her emotion. Not in this instance, anyway. She did not relish the idea that her future had essentially been decided for her based on the mere contents of a letter, and being told that the opportunity was
advantageous heaped insult on an already sore wound. For if she did have a family, why had it taken them so long to learn of her existence? It made little sense.

But she would show no emotion. The superintendent's stiff lip indicated that his decision would prove steadfast, and she would not lower her pride to argue.

She jutted out her chin. “I am grateful, Mr. Langsby.”

“Anticipating your agreement to the idea, Mr. Bradford and I discussed the details while awaiting your arrival. As Mrs. Ellison's letter indicates, she has sent a coach, hoping you would accept the offer. Since that is the case, Mr. Bradford will escort you today.”

“Today?” Her determination to show little emotion began to dissolve. “That is hardly enough time!”

“I have learned through experience that it is better to not let matters such as this linger.”

Panic's heat rushed up from her bodice. This day had been coming. She could not stay at Fellsworth forever in this tidy little cocoon that enveloped her in security. Being forced to make such a decision in a short time seemed unreasonable, especially when the decision affected not only her, but Lizzie as well.

She searched Mr. Langsby's face for any sort of sympathy, but his expression was stony and steadfast. His decision had been made. He believed this the best move for her and for Lizzie. No amount of reasoning would change his mind.

Mr. Langsby remained silent, and as Isabel contemplated her options, she fixed her eyes on the south wall. A broad chimneypiece showcased a healthy fire, its snaps and pops a cheerful song in the otherwise austere silence. Shelves overflowing with books lined the north wall, the breadth of which utilized every inch of space from the planked floor to the plaster ceiling. It looked exactly as it had when she arrived those many years ago. It would likely remain the same long after she was gone.

She let her mind's eye return to Mr. Bradford. In her short interaction with him, he had seemed so kind. So affable. He was the sort of gentleman who would turn many a young woman's eye and bring a flutter to a lady's heart. But Isabel had learned the hard way that appearances were often deceiving.

Yes, she had known this day was coming. It could not be avoided. But she had always thought she would leave to accept the position of a governess.

Not to join a family.

Chapter Two

B
y the time Isabel and Lizzie left Fellsworth School, bright, cheery skies had given way to a turbulent storm. The rain fell in thick sheets but did little to slash the oppressiveness of the early spring heat.

Isabel wanted to blame the tightening of her throat and the watering of her eyes on the weather. It was much easier to accept that the stifling mugginess made breathing difficult, or that the morning buds had caused her eyes to itch. But as she watched the school grow smaller and smaller through the carriage window, a tear slipped down her cheek.

She immediately wiped it away. It would not do to let young Lizzie see her show such emotion. It could frighten the child. But like her, Lizzie had spent years calling the old stone structure “home,” and in a matter of one day's time, all had changed for both of them.

Mr. Langsby's parting words echoed in her mind.

“The important thing now is that you and Miss Lizzie will be with your family. I sense you are hesitant about this particular arrangement, but this is for the best. You will always have friends at Fellsworth School, but Emberwilde Hall is where you need to be.”

And that was it.

Isabel bit her lip as the realization that she might never see the school again resonated. With each new breath a fearful restlessness churned within her.

From this moment on, all would be different.

The tranquil school grounds gave way to the village of Fellsworth, and the familiar buildings and cottages blurred in her vision as a messy mix of browns and grays. It seemed the quaint town that had welcomed her all those years ago was sad—or perhaps indifferent—at her departure.

“I don't want to go.” Lizzie's emphatic words rose above the clattering of the carriage wheels and sliced the reflective silence.

Isabel pulled her gaze from the soggy countryside and looked at her eight-year-old sister.

The child had repeated the words a dozen—nay, perhaps a hundred—times over.

With red-rimmed eyes and a tearstained face, Lizzie sat huddled in the corner of the carriage on the opposite side. Her charcoal-gray shawl was tugged tightly around her, clutched in her white-knuckled grip, and a scowl creased her young brow. Her knees were pulled to her chest, and she was ignorant of the manner in which her dirty half boots marred the fine seat.

Once Lizzie realized that Isabel was looking at her, the child hurled words. “Why do we have to go?”

The pain twisting her young sister's expression ripped at Isabel's heart. “We've been through this.”

Lizzie mumbled, “We won't have any friends there.”

Isabel swallowed her own lump of frustration. If the truth be told, she did not like the idea any more than Lizzie, but what could be done? Mr. Langsby had made his declaration. The plan had been set into motion. With no funds of their own, they had few choices.

Isabel leaned forward, and when her sister refused to make eye contact with her, she rested her gloved hand on her sister's knee. “Listen to me, Lizzie. Father is dead, both our mothers are dead, and we have no other family. It is important that we nurture the relationships we have. The world is a lonely place for women like
us who have no real means of support. This will be good for us, you'll see.”

“But why now?” Lizzie blurted, the volume of her voice increasing with each syllable. “We've been at Fellsworth a long time. If the Ellisons truly wanted us to live with them, they would have invited us a long time ago.”

Isabel hesitated. Had she not wondered that exact thing? She tried to soften the news. “But Mr. Langsby said they only just learned where we were. And he says that Emberwilde Hall is a fine estate, with servants and horses and fields and forests.”

“How does Mr. Langsby know? He's probably never been there.”

“Be that as it may, Mr. Langsby thinks it is best for us to go.”

“Why do we have to do what he says?” Lizzie demanded with all the energy her small body possessed.

“Because he is in charge at Fellsworth. He makes the decisions. As much as we wish it weren't so, we can't always control what is happening to us.”

“I hate him.”

Isabel drew a sharp breath at the vehemence in her sister's voice. She reached out and clutched her sister's hand to capture the child's attention. “Lizzie, we hate no one. I never want to hear you say such a thing again. Is that clear?”

“But why not? Don't you hate him?” A tear trickled down her cheek. “He must hate us too, otherwise he would not make us leave.”

“He does not hate us, but even if he did, we do not hate. We must be kind, even when the world is not. The earlier you learn that lesson, the happier and more pleasant your life will be.”

Lizzie turned as far as she could away from Isabel so her shoulders were square with the carriage window and her narrowed eyes were fixed on a distant point outside.

Isabel let her shoulders sag in a rare lack of discipline. Could she
fault Lizzie? A small part of her wanted to behave the same—to cry and pout and proclaim the injustice. The other students had been her siblings; the teachers had been her guardians. But sticking out her lower lip and digging in her heels would not help.

Sorrow's sigh rushed from Isabel, and she sat back against the seat. Now, in the heat of her sister's anger, was not the time to discuss such a thing. She had learned the hard lesson of acceptance long ago, but Lizzie was just beginning.

She forced her gaze out the window, where she glimpsed Mr. Bradford riding on his horse not far from the carriage. She leaned forward once again with interest. A brown, wide-brimmed hat was pulled low over his face, revealing only small glimpses of his finely cut jaw and chin. The greatcoat covering his shoulders was slick and shiny with the rain and fluttered in the wind. He did not glance toward her, but instead, his attentions were fixed on the muddy road.

Despite the rain, he had insisted upon riding alongside the carriage. It was a kind gesture, but what struck Isabel the most about this was the way he made her feel. His words had been gentle, his countenance patient. He seemed to understand how difficult it was for them to leave Fellsworth and did not rush them as they said their farewells. Yes, she was heartbroken to leave, but in the carriage's silence she allowed her mind to indulge in new possibilities. For years her path had been firmly focused on becoming a governess or teacher. But her aunt's kind invitation could open new worlds for her—even marriage.

A family of her own.

Security.

Happiness.

Mr. Bradford gave his horse a kick with his black boot, and then the pair ran ahead of the carriage and out of her sight. With a sigh, Isabel leaned back against the seat and adjusted her bonnet's
bow beneath her chin. It would never do to think that someone like Mr. Bradford would show her any attention other than kindness, but the change in her circumstances gave her heart a reason to dream.

Chapter Three

E
MBERWILDE
F
OREST

C
olin Galloway shifted the horse's reins to one gloved hand and looked up to the canopy of leaves and branches above him. Fragile buds danced in the spring wind, delighted to finally lift their faces to a warmer sky after a winter riddled with snow and ice.

But he was not here to admire their emerging beauty or bask in the sun's amiable glimmer.

For he faced a much more sinister task at the forest's cool, misty floor.

Charles Ellison, master of Emberwilde Hall, dismounted his chestnut gelding and planted his boots beside another set of footprints in the soft earth. He pointed a thick finger at the ground below. “I want these trespassers off my property.”

Colin followed suit and dismounted, his own movements much quicker than the portly gentleman's. He tied Sampson's reins to an obliging tree trunk and surveyed the small clearing.

All around him the forest was alive. Musty scents of mossy foliage and damp earth abounded. Woodpeckers and collared doves swooped between the thick branches overhead, and gray squirrels jumped and played amid the brush. Colin stepped forward, and as he did, his riding boot sank into the soft carpet of leaves and mud.

Colin knelt down to obtain a better view of the prints, but the day's fading light and the long gray shadows made it difficult to identify anything distinctive.

“Someone has been here, that is certain,” Colin mused,
straightening to his full height. “Are you sure your gamekeeper did not make these himself?”

“I'm certain.” Ellison's gruff tone hinted at frustration. “Harding knows his own shoes. There is something else you must see. It's over this way.”

Despite the sentinel trees creating a fortress around the clearing, a breeze, cool and cutting, threatened to unsettle Colin's wide-brimmed hat. He watched with curiosity as Ellison stepped gingerly over the muddy undergrowth. As the magistrate for the village of Northrop, Colin had grown accustomed to the locals and residents of nearby villages seeking him out with every manner of complaint. But typically, the reports he received were of little consequence: a missing goat or an unpaid minor debt.

But something about this particular report was different.

“It's over here,” Ellison called, his voice muffled by a sharp uptake in the wind.

Colin followed as bid, unsure of what he was looking for.

“This is what Harding found yesterday whilst clearing the hare traps.” Ellison pulled back several low-hanging branches and motioned for Colin to draw near. “Grab the lantern. You'll need it to see.”