The Summer of 1916

Chapter One: The Martin's Mansion

June, 1916

The motor cab hobbled over blemishes on the newly allotted gravel road. The journey to the Martin's mansion was a long, tedious journey: one I had originally detested. For my Mother, pursuing a domestic career—albeit one as help for the rich—was an attractive position to be in: an explanation to why I, at nineteen, was still not married.

Preposterous, Mother had called it, for a woman of my age to still be single. I was laughable! She soon concluded that the only way I could redeem our family name was to at least be in working-class order. I knew, however, that her hidden agenda was quite the contrary. My success as a help would be a testament for how good a housewife I would be. Easier for Mother to sell me off then, I guessed.

I gripped at the hem of my skirt. The sun sent relentless heat waves over the closed cab. I wiped the forthcoming beads of sweat on my neck and forehead with the back of my wrists, and settled back into the sticky leather chairs.

"Stop fidgeting," Mother hissed. "It's not ladylike."

I looked down at my twiddling thumbs and pressed them together.

Every inch of my body shook with a nervous uncertainty. My mind occupied itself by shooting questions back and forth; questions that would soon be satisfied. Mother entertained herself by reading an outdated edition of the Chelmsford Chronicle, rambling on about Jack the Ripper.

"The scenery is gorgeous," she raved, folding the newspaper in half, and then half again.

"And, I will enjoy it on the way home," I nonchalantly replied.

"Catherine Jane Tyler," Mother said with a frown, but she had not thought of another word to utter.

I craned my neck, watching the slurring backdrop through cloudy glass. As I focussed, I caught glimpses of lanky oaks, mauve pansies and toadstools. We followed the gravel road, cutting further and further into the forest. The area was vacant and desolate: the epitome of privacy.

Suddenly, the cab skidded to a halt, sending Mother into a hysterical frenzy.

"Will you watch where you're going?" she said, fanning her face with her wide-brimmed hat. She played with the lace frills stitched at the end, dramatically catching her breath.

"Sorry for the abrupt stop," the driver apologized through the thin wall, "but we're here." Mother remained seated until the driver hopped off his seat and scurried down to accommodate us. I took his hand and settled down onto the rickety road. My knees wobbled, but they soon clicked into place and I regained my posture.

"Good luck out there," the driver quietly commented, tipping his hat.

"Thank you," I managed to splutter, before Mother pulled me away by the elbow.

It was as she dug her talons into my skin that I was able to assess where I was. And, it was only then I was able to see the full majesty of the mansion. Polished tiles were moulded into the floor and skipped to the wide stairs, where a large red door shattered the house's white body.

Matte marble columns supported second and third story balconies, which were all fully furnished with sun-bleached table tops. It was hard to determine just how large the mansion was, but I physically had to turn my head to get a full panoramic view of the mansion.

"C'mon now, Catherine," Mother said, nicking my arms with her razor-sharp fingernails. Her pupils dilated, but she tried her best to maintain her unfazed demeanour. She pulled my arm with restricted force, following the tiled path to the door.

There, we were met with two middle-aged women both of whom looked slightly younger than Ma. They were dressed in identical navy dresses that gathered at their ankles. Adoring their collars were copper pins and sewn badges, each yielding a different symbol.