The Governess of White Stag Hall

Snakes and Ladders

(image: lina kivaka on pexels)

If nothing else could be said for traveling by rail, it was certainly expedient. It took only a few hours to arrive in Brighton and when Edith and Grace stepped out onto the platform, a sort of wistfulness washed over Edith. It felt so strange to return to Brighton. So much and so very little had changed. It made her feel younger, in a way–not free or joyful, but vulnerable. Naive.

Their aunts were already waiting for them.

Mallory and Dorrine made quite a comical pair, really. Dorrine was a tall, spindly creature with paper white skin and cheekbones sharp as razors, while Mallory was short and rotund, cinched so tightly into her clothes the seams looked fit to burst. Despite wearing the dreary black of full mourning, they also wore layers of balm and powder to hide their age and violet perfume so strong it was enough to suffocate.

It was with great trepidation that Edith drew their attention and immediately Dorrine and Mallory descended upon Grace. They fussed over her with the kind of questionable affection Edith expected of them: "Your hair is such an interesting color! But you wear it well, dear."

"So flushed! But I suppose that's the fashion these days."

"We must attend to your wardrobe, but in the meantime you must not worry. People are very kind here."

Then, with reluctance, they both looked at Edith.

She met their stares coolly. "Aunt Dorrine. Aunt Mallory."

Mallory fluttered her painted fan and forced a congenial smile. "Hello, dear," she squeaked. "What beautiful weather we are having."

Edith nodded and then looked at Dorrine.

Dorrine's lips were pinched in a thin, bloodless line. Her gaze was dark and steely and she made no effort to mask her displeasure. "Edith," she said in a cool, clipped tone. "You look... well-fed."

Edith responded with a saccharine smile. "As do you."

Dorrine's expression thinned even further, but she said nothing. Instead, the older woman turned and led them towards the carriage. They were greeted by a pair of footmen, who helped them all aboard and once they were seated Aunt Mallory began to talk endlessly to fill the silence. She went into great detail about the renovations to their townhouse, the many accomplishments of her grandchildren, and her newest and most beloved dog.

All the while, Dorrine said nothing, but her eyes never left Edith's person, who in turn was careful to never look at Dorrine.

The aunt's townhouse was on the other side of Brighton from the station and it was a long, uncomfortable ride. With anyone else it might have been an interesting tour of the many seaside prospects and spectacles, but the tension in the carriage was thick like soured milk. Mallory's attempts at levity grew increasingly shrill until she was attempting to make cheerful conversation about the gardeners mulching the flowerbeds.

It came as a great relief to all of them when they finally arrived outside the pair's stately townhouse. Nothing much about it had changed from what Edith remembered. Even the flowerbeds were the same. She felt sixteen again and new to the world, being pushed into society and pressured from all sides to make a smart match.

"Edith?" Grace spoke softly, so as not to be overheard.

Edith turned toward her sister and smiled softly. "It's nothing, Grace."

Dorrine led them all inside and they were met at the door by a small contingent of maids who took their shawls and hats.

"I imagine that you would like to clean up for dinner," Dorrine said as she peeled the gloves from her spindly fingers. Her eyes were fixated on Edith, who she made a show of looking over from head to toe. She made a vague gesture. "One of the girls will take you to your rooms."