Emberlight

Chapter One

I

We are all made of stories. 

Eleanor Godfrey listened to these words from the elegant voice of her French mother when she was ten years old. Now, seven years later, it drifted back into her mind as she sat up all night long, listening to the wind howling through the windows, wondering if her life would ever be the same again.

Her father's groans and cries rose up through her floorboards. They'd grown weaker and duller over the past week, so much so that the poor housemaid, Faith, couldn't enter his room to place a fresh damp cloth upon his brow without welling up with tears.

They'd all tried to pretend everything was okay, that life ticked by the same way it always had at Ashdown Manor. But it got harder and harder to believe the lie, and in her sadness she'd begun to neglect herself. Faith combed her hair out each night like she was a child. Mariam, the housekeeper, poured out her tea and spread jam on her toast and told her to eat. Joseph, her father's steward, proposed that she take a walk in the garden for some fresh air. Eleanor went through the days as numbly as possible, looking in books without reading the words, glancing in the mirror but seeing no one there. 

Eventually, Mariam had placed a Bible onto Eleanor's lap and told her to pray night and day. She had also called for the doctor, who sat with her father through the night, watching for any sign of improvement in his sickly state. But it was clear, though no one dared say it aloud, that Laurence Godfrey was dying.

Eleanor leaned against her headboard and watched the moonlight flicker through the swaying tree branches outside. The maids had been tiptoeing around her all day, scared to provoke the sorrow of their mistress, though she, Eleanor, had braced herself more than any of them, for what was about to happen. Her father would soon be reunited with her mother, and she would be left in the world to fend for herself.

And yet, there was an inkling of happiness that stopped her from spiralling into the arms of misery. In her hand she clutched the letter that was to be her saviour, her escape from the confines of her home. The house had once been dear to her, and held the sweet memories of her childhood in its walls, but these had been replaced by a deep, lingering sadness, a painful knowledge in every creak and scuffle that its master wasn't long to live.

This windy night, with her father's breaths ever fading, Eleanor knew her life was on the verge of something entirely unknown to her. She unfolded the letter and read it again under the light of her candle. 

To Mister Laurence Godfrey and his daughter Eleanor,

Laurence, my dear brother, it so pains me to hear that your state has worsened so considerably that I am obliged to write this letter so soon. I will arrive at Ashdown to see you within the week, but here I set out my role in your passing, may the worst happen before then. I made you a promise, many years ago, that should anything happen to you, or your darling Ninette, I would take in your sweet daughter, my niece, Eleanor, and raise her as my own alongside my children. Death looks you in the eyes now, brother, and I intend to keep my promise. I will take full guardianship of Eleanor until she turns eighteen, and I will oversee the locking up of Ashdown Manor until she marries. As her guardian, I will also ensure that her inherited fortune remains safe and protected until she is of an acceptable age, or marries. I will also ensure that any matters relating to your tobacco business be postponed until she turns eighteen or marries.

Oh Laurence, I hope you remember as well as I do how inseparable we were as children. Life may have guided us down different paths, but I know we will be together again someday. 

Your loving sister,

Louise

Eleanor refolded the letter and placed it on her bedside table. She had only met her Aunt Louise twice and remembered little of her, other than that she was tall and owned a wonderful array of gloves and parasols. As for her cousins, she had never met them, though she knew their names by the fancy greeting cards they sent every year at Christmas; Michael, Marianne, Georgiana, and little Neil. She imagined them ambling around London in the most fashionable wear, making heads turn at every social event.

Her thoughts were interrupted by Faith knocking on her door, holding a handkerchief to her pink nose, telling her it was time to say goodbye.

All she could see of her father as she entered his bedroom was his head, propped up against a mound of pillows. He'd stopped smoking long ago, when the doctor had related the illness in his lungs to his life-long cigar habit - even so, the room was swathed in the thick tobacco musk Eleanor knew so well. She sat on the stool by his side. His breaths were ragged and irregular, yet his eyes were full of pure joy as he looked at his daughter. 

Eleanor dabbed his forehead and recited his favourite poem, struggling to keep her voice calm and clear. Once she had finished, she sat with him in silence, a long, loving moment between father and daughter. 

All of a sudden, he indicated towards his bedside table with a tilt of his head. Eleanor leaned over and picked up the locket that lay upon it. She knew what was inside, though she had only glimpsed it once. With a nod of his head, she opened it and saw a portrait of herself, only older, with bright eyes and a knowing smile. Ninette Moreau. Her mother.

She instantly knew his meaning: Take it, keep it safe for me, remember her always.

Eleanor clasped it around her neck and vowed, out loud to her ailing father, that she would never take it off.

II

Her time at Ashdown Manor passed quickly after that.

Aunt Louise arrived in time for the funeral service that Sunday, smiling sadly at her niece and squeezing her hand through her expensive silk gloves.

'I'm sorry that I hadn't arrived earlier my dear, it must have been awfully quiet in that big house...'

It was a quiet service. Eleanor and Aunt Louise stood by the graveside, whilst a couple of her father's friends from the nearby town stood dutifully in the background. Her father had many friends, but the funeral was so soon that she hadn't the time to write them all letters. She knew he would have wanted a quiet service anyway. They watched silently as his coffin was buried beneath the mud and the rain.

To Eleanor's relief, Aunt Louise was eager to leave again as soon as possible. She too, seemed to detect the miserable aura that now surrounded Ashdown Manor.

Within a day Faith and Mariam had packed up Eleanor's best dresses, hats and gloves to take to her new home. It was a sad day for everyone; with their master gone, the entire household would have to find work elsewhere. Aunt Louise waited in the carriage as Eleanor said her goodbyes. For all, it was the end of a happy, idyllic life.

III

Eleanor looked out the rainy carriage window and watched the countryside she knew so well speed past, as if it were disappearing behind her into a past she would never revisit. She felt queasy with dread and anticipation.

Aunt Louisa was absorbed in a novel, mindlessly fumbling with the priceless pearls around her neck. It was only now that Eleanor noticed how alike they looked, with their dark blonde tresses,   almond-shaped eyes and straight, delicate noses. She wondered how much she'd resemble her cousins as well - would she settle in with them straight away? Would she become a fashionable London lady whose lonely country upbringing was swept under the rug? She became restless in her worry.

 'Aunt Louise, how long is it to London?'

Her aunt looked up and laughed in surprise. 'Eleanor darling, it is the middle of the Season! We're heading straight to Bath!'