The Governess of White Stag Hall

Tide and Time

(image by Rene Bieder on unsplash)

It was surprisingly easy to stay busy throughout the end of May and into the beginning of June, which Edith was grateful for. As they began preparing for their journey to Brighton, there was an endless string of errands to get done and a thousand little bits of busy work to occupy herself with, so there was no time to spend dwelling on the anniversary of her father's passing.

Or the letter.

Lady Atwood decided early on in her somehow simultaneously meticulous and slap-dash planning that they would not take the train to Brighton. In her opinion, the entire point of travel was the journey and trains made that impossible to enjoy with their noise and smoke and the forced proximity to total strangers. There was no time to truly savor anything. Instead, they would leave a few days early by coach and simply take their time. "I'm old. I can be as late as I like."

Edith didn't mind. The long carriage rides between Newcastle and White Stag were probably enough to ruin almost anyone's appetite for travel, but she had always enjoyed the scenery and the solitude which came with such adventures. Or perhaps she was simply grateful for any chance to travel at all after such a stationary lifetime in London.

The morning of departure was pure chaos, as was wont. The servants were rushing about, torn between their daily duties and the additional burden of preparing the baggage and the attached women for travel. Lady Atwood had substantially overpacked, as it seemed unknown even to her when they would be returning to Leabourne and she did not wish to be caught unprepared. Which meant a different dress for almost every hour of the day and the assortment of matching jewelry to go with.

Edith's lot was simpler. As Lady Atwood's companion, she was not trying to draw anyone's attention or impress with her fashion, so nothing she wore needed to be anything more than appropriate for the occasion. Even so, it still seemed like entirely too many clothes, especially after working as a governess and living with only three sets of garments to choose from for the last year.

She sat at her writing desk, staying out of the way of the flurry of activity that consumed the rest of the house and trying to finish the letters she intended to send to Meg and her siblings. She was already dressed for the day of travel in a dark linen and sturdy shoes. Her gloves and carpet bag sat behind her on the bed with her overnight things.

... Do you remember telling me about your dream of the snake? Well, now I have one of my own to share.

I dreamed of the ocean and that I was standing on its surface as the waves rolled beneath me. It was so real that I could feel the salt spray on my face and the wind against my back and I remember thinking that I ought to be afraid, but I wasn't. I could reach down and drag my fingers through the water and I could see nearly all the way to the bottom.

I do not know what to make of it. I do not know if dreams hold meaning or if they are just the creation of the sleeping mind. Maybe they are both and the challenge is in recognizing which is which...

"Miss?" Mrs. Evans, the housekeeper, ducked her head into the doorway. She was an older woman, with a plump, motherly face and the bark of a hellhound. She gave the watch chain she wore around her neck a meaningful jiggle. "The footmen are nearly done preparing the carriage. You will be off soon."

Edith glanced back at her. "Oh? Yes, all right," she said. She turned to her letter and hastily signed it, accidentally splotching the ink as she scribbled. Over her shoulder, she asked: "Would you put these in the post? I have the envelope for the last one here with the address–"