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Chapter One
Carrie Preston looked at her reflection in the mirror and sighed. She honestly didn't know why she was going to all this trouble, getting herself made up and doing her hair just so. Her Aunt Imelda was not two weeks dead, surely she deserved to look a little downtrodden. But if course, that wasn't the Preston way.
No matter what was happening in your life, whether your husband had just left you, your business had collapsed or your child had died, the show must go on. Heaven forbid any Preston appear in public showing visible signs of distress.
Carrie hated her family and yet, for an easy life when she was around them, she played along.
Aunt Imelda hadn't been like that. She was the black sheep of the family, the renegade who was whispered about behind closed doors. She had been a free spirit, free with her men (scandalous!) free with her money (hence always poor) but most importantly to Carrie, she had also been free with her love and affection, something Carrie got precious little of from her parents.
She hadn't been allowed to see Imelda until she was seven years old when for some unknown reason, her mother finally took the children to see their aunt. Carrie never did understand why they were suddenly introduced to this relative who they had never heard of before, but she was ever so glad of it.
Today was the reading of her will and Carrie had been told she had to be there, meaning she was mentioned in the will. She knew her aunt had no money so she wasn't expecting to leave the solicitors office with new found wealth, but she was hoping that Imelda had left her something of sentimental importance, like her hand written recipe books. God, how she had loved those things, scribbling new recipes on each page as she found them or made them up. Many contained ingredients that weren't exactly legal but Carrie wasn't planing on using them for reference, rather as something to remember her aunt by.
As she looked at herself in the mirror, she felt like a hypocrite, for though she claimed to despise her superficial family, here she was, dressed in Christian Dior, wearing probably around ten thousand pounds in diamonds, with flawless make up and smelling like Channel No5.
Imelda would have turned up with no makeup, in her long, flowing, hand made skirts, her wooden beaded jewellery and smelling of incense. Carrie could only wish for such bravery.
She looked up to the ceiling, where she imagined her aunt would be looking down upon her from.
"Sorry, Imm, maybe next time," she apologised.
Carrie didn't really believe in ghosts, or souls or an afterlife. Of course she didn't exactly disbelief either, but what mattered here was that Imelda believed in all that kind of stuff and if she could be watching events on earth wherever she was, then she surely would be, and probably having a right good laugh at her prissy baby sisters family.
"Wish me luck," she told the ceiling as she slipped her makeup into her handbag, just in case she needed any touch ups while she was out. Her mother hadn't been pleased when she'd cried at the funeral and hadn't brought extra makeup with which to repair the damage.
She had started talking to her aunt the day after she died, just trying to say goodbye really since she hadn't made it to the hospital in time, but it had comforted her to do so and ever since she had aimed the odd comment at her aunt, hoping that somehow she could hear her.
Though not yet thirty, Daniel Winston III was a very grave looking man. Carrie sat silently, almost afraid he would tell her off if she dared to laugh as he read the will. And laugh she truly wished she could.
"To my sister, Patricia Preston, I leave my collection of marijuana plants in the hope that you will learn to lighten up," Mr Winston read in his serious, queens English accent.
Carrie bit her lip to keep from laughing.
"To my niece, Annabel, I leave my art work. I know you think they are rubbish, but I thought you might be able to laugh at them in my death as you did while I was alive, for joy is sadly lacking in your life."
Imelda went on to insult a few more people posthumously but to a few she left boxes that were to be opened in private. Carrie received one such box, no larger than a shoe box really but, she hoped, chock full of happy memories.
She slid the box onto her lap where she held it protectively. She knew her mother and sister would be dying to know what was in there, but opening it was something she wanted to do on her own.
Finally Mr Winston finished reading the will and with a very pointed. "Well," he made it clear that the outrageous comments had not been his idea. "If you have any questions, please feel free to ask me before you leave or make an appointment with my secretary.
Carrie had arrived late and so, other than a few nods of welcome, she hadn't actually spoken to her family yet. She got up, hoping to get out of there before she was accosted but she wasn't to be that luck a second time.
"Dozy old bat," Annabel said, linking her arm through her sisters. "Honestly, I knew coming here would be a waste of time."
"Then why did you come?" Carrie asked.
"Because I was asked to."
Carrie rolled her eyes, wondering if her sister had ever had an original thought.
"So, what do you think she left you? Her crystal ball? Her tarot cards?" she cackled like a witch.
"It's not heavy enough to be her crystal ball." Carrie answered simply.
"Oh come on, don't be so depressing! We all knew this was coming, it wasn't like the cancer came out of no where."
"No, but I wasn't expecting her to go down hill so fast."
"So what, you'd have cancelled your holiday if you had known?"
"Actually yes."
Annabel snorted.
"I'll bet Mark would have loved that!"
"Mark would have understood," Carrie argued, though in all honesty she wasn't sure he would.
"When are you two going to get married, anyway?" her mother said, coming up behind them as they exited out onto the street. "You've been together almost three years, it's time he made an honest woman out of you."
"I've told you before, not until I finish Uni at the earliest."
Her mother tutted, which Carrie translated to mean 'Why do you need a degree when you've got a rich stockbroker who is willing to marry you and keep you in the lifestyle to which you are accustomed?'
"Mum, I've got to go," she said, withdrawing her arm from her sister and turning to face her mother. "I've got a paper due tomorrow and I'm so far behind it's unreal."
"I wish you wouldn't use such common language," Patricia scowled.
If unreal upset her, Carrie wondered what hearing her banter after a few pints at the Student Union would do to her.
"Aren't you going to open it?" her sister pointed at the box.
"It's probably just rubbish like you said, I'll open it when I don't have a deadline."
Before they could argue, Carrie kissed their cheeks and dashed off across the road towards her car.
Patricia shook her head in consternation. "Honestly, that girl."
"She'll settle down soon," Annabel assured her mother. "She's just sewing a few wild oats in college, she'll be fine once she graduates."
"I hope so. Anyway, darling, how are the twins and that lovely husband of yours?"
"Oh, they're fine. We just got a new Au Pair actually."
III
As soon as Carrie got home she stripped off her suit, pulled on jeans and a jumper, put her hair up into a messy twist with a butterfly clip and poured herself a large glass of wine. She took a long sip and sighed.
She was home, safe at last and free to be herself. She settled down on the sofa, turned the CD player on and set about opening the box.
On top was a letter.
Darling Carrie, if you're reading this I have either eloped with George Cloony, never to be heard from again and been declared dead after seven years.
Carrie smiled, for Imelda's crush on George Clooney was legendary.
Or, as I fear, I really am dead and you've just been forced to listen to that arse, Winston, read my will without a trace of the humour it deserves.
If it is the second option, I just want you to know how very much I love you, and how much you mean to me. If I could have had a child, I would have wanted you.
In this box is just some old junk really, things that are of importance only to you and me. There's my favourite pictures of us, some nic naks that have precious memories and one more thing that is very dear to me.
The amethyst earrings you'll find in here were a gift from a great friend of mine when I was in my twenties. You'll have seen me wear them a lot, especially when you were young. Now, I know it sounds crazy but those earrings gave me my hearts desire. No, I won't tell you what that was, but let's just say my life would have been very different if it hadn't been for those earrings and I hope they will give you as much joy as they have brought me. And if you don't believe a word of this, then just treat them as my favourite pair of earrings, something I now pass down to you.
Wherever I am now, always know that I'm looking out for you.
All my love,
Your Dotty Aunt Immy.
Carrie sighed and wiped the tears from her eyes before she put the letter away and began going through the contents of the box. Imelda was right, it was mostly a bunch of junk, like the teeny teddy bear Carrie and wasted twenty pounds trying to win at a funfair. She'd wanted the giant teddy but alas her skills meant that she could only win this two inch tall dog. Still, they had a great time trying.
She looked through the pictures, alternately smiling and crying.
Finally she reached the jewellery box and opened it to see the earrings that Imelda used to wear very often.
She wondered what her aunts hearts desire had been for a while, then she wondered what her own hearts desire would be. Not Mark, that was for sure.
Mark was okay, but he was too superficial to ever settle down with. Like her family, he valued money above all else, where as Carrie wanted to become an artist or a teacher. Something meaningful where she could really help people. Mark didn't understand that desire. He wasn't evil or anything, and when they had first met and he'd still been in his final year of Uni, he'd actually been rather nice. It was only since leaving and getting a job at the brokerage that he seemed to have gained such a love of money.
She knew she should dump him, but like the coward she was she couldn't face the grief she would surely get from her family over it, for they adored Mark. She had been planning to tell him when they got back from their holiday actually, but no sooner had she turned her mobile phone once they had landed on that she'd received the text telling her that Imelda had passed away.
She would break it off soon, she just needed to regain some of her strength first.
She traced the earrings with her fingers, wondering who had given them to her aunt, then on impulse she took her earnings off and slipped them into her purse for safekeeping, put the amethyst ones on instead. They were infinitely cheaper than the diamond clusters that they had replaced and yet priceless by comparison.
Finally, depressed enough for one evening, she put the lid back on the box and put it out of sight for a while. She picked up her dog eared copy of North and South off the coffee table and settled down on the sofa to read a little more.
This book was like chocolate to her, her comfort food in literary form, a safe haven she could dip into whenever she needed a respite from her troubles or just a distraction for a while.
III
Carrie awoke the next morning and realised she'd fallen asleep on the sofa. She rubbed her eyes and was starting to regret that third glass of wine. Still, she had class this morning, she really should make a move to get up and at 'em.
She closed the book that was lying on her chest, swapped it for the TV remove on the coffee table and turned the TV onto News24 while she attempted to rouse herself into a mobile state of consciousness. The clock on the corner of the screen told her that she had an hour to get to her first lecture, plenty of time.
Finally she summoned the necessary willpower to get up and put the kettle on while she brushed her teeth, took a lightening quick shower and changed into clean jeans and jumper. By the time she made it back to the kitchen the kettle was boiled and she made herself an industrial strength coffee and sat back down on the sofa while she sipped it, hoping that the caffeine might help her tap into an as yet undiscovered energy reserve.
It did help clear some of the cobwebs from her mind but the truth was, she was depressed, that's why she'd had the third glass of wine and that was why she constantly felt like she had no energy these past two weeks.
It wasn't just her aunt dying, though that was probably the catalyst for how she felt. She just felt like she was stuck in a rut, living in an apartment bought by her family, studying for a degree she hadn't wanted and would probably never use, dating a man she didn't particularly like any more and basically just living a life she didn't want.
She was studying literature because that was deemed a suitable subject for a society wife. She liked literature, obviously, but it wasn't something she wanted to make a career of. She had wanted to study engineering but her family had vetoed that idea, refusing to support her through uni if she did choose that subject. Of course she had caved. If she did manage to break away from her family when she left university, she didn't really want to start her new life saddled with massive student loans.
It was cowardly. She was cowardly. She wished she had her aunt's strength but the truth was simply that she was weak and unable to stand up for what she wanted.
How much simpler things were in books where any of life's obstacles could be overcome. Well, except for the downer novels, but Carrie liked those with happy endings. How she would love to just walk out of her life right now and into one of her novels. What joy it would be to know that no matter what happened, things would turn out all right in the end!
Still, as nice as that daydream was, she had places to be. With her coffee sadly finished, she pulled her boots on, picked up her handbag and rucksack and headed out of her apartment.
Her flat might be owned by her parents but it was in one of the slightly seedier areas of London, convenient for the campus but not the safest place to walk alone at night. As such her front door had a deadbolt that had to be locked from the outside so she turned back to the door as she pulled it closed and locked it. She turned back to the stairwell only to find that it wasn't there any more. In fact the whole corridor was gone and she was looking at a country garden.
She turned back to where her front door should be but it too had gone. She looked down at the keys held in her hands, as if that was proof that she had in fact just locked the door as she remembered.
"Excuse me?"
Carrie spun around towards the voice. It was a young woman dressed in (she guessed) Victorian clothes. Was this fancy dress?
"Can I help you?"
Carrie tried to remember how to speak.
"Where am I?" she asked, quickly becoming frightened. Had she lost her mind?
"You're in our garden in Helstone."
"Helstone?" she queried.
"That's right."
Carrie shook her head. Perfect! Bloody perfect! Somehow she was in the fictional village of Helstone which meant that either she was asleep, and she was pretty sure she remembered waking up and leaving the flat, or she was insane.
"Where did you expect to be?" The woman asked her.
"The last thing I remember, I was in London." There, that was truthful at least.
"And you have no idea how you got here?"
"Nope, not a one." Okay, that wasn't strictly true, she certainly suspected she was hallucinating.
"You're clothes are very unusual," the girl noted. "Is that what you usually wear?"
Carrie looked down at her jeans and sweater. Of course they looked odd here, women had probably never even considered wearing trousers in the 1850's.
"No." There, keep the lies small and don't elaborate, that was something her mother had taught her.
"Are you perhaps injured?" the woman asked.
"I don't know," Carrie answered, because now that she thought about it, she could well have been hit on the head and right about now be lying in a coma somewhere. This could just be a coma dream, if there was such a thing.
"Well, let's get you inside."
"Who are you?" Carrie asked.
"I'm Margaret Hale."
"Oh." Really, she should have been expecting that so she shouldn't be as shocked as she felt.
She suddenly remembered how people always thought Margaret haughty, and seeing her for herself she supposed she could understand why. Carrie was often accused of being standoffish but really it was because she was shy, not arrogant. She saw a lot of herself in Margaret, which was one of the reasons why she loved the book so much.
"And you are?" Margaret prompted.
"Oh, right, uh, I'm Carrie. Carrie Preston."
"Pleased to meet you, Miss Preston." Margaret gave a slight bow so Carrie followed suit.
"And you."
"Well, let's get you inside. Perhaps you would like some tea?"
"Um..."
Margaret put her arm around Carrie shoulder and guided her inside.
Carrie had a few moments to think while Margaret left her in the study as she set about ordering her some tea and fetching her father. If this was a dream, she wondered how to wake up. She tried pinching herself but that didn't work so, remembering that Inception film she had watched recently and she tried jumping like they did, but that also didn't work.
She sat back down and turned her mind to a good excuse for being here because she really didn't think "I was on my way to Uni in the 21st century when I suddenly ended up here" would really go down too well. The folks in this time hadn't even heard of Einstein yet, let alone his theories on time travel and parallel universes.
"How are you feeling?" Margaret asked as she returned a few moments later with a tray of tea and her father in tow.
"Um, rather disorientated to be honest."
"This is my father, Mr Hale. Father, this is Miss Preston."
They bowed slightly to each other.
"Very pleased to meet you, Miss Preston."
"And you, Mr Hale."
"My daughter tells me that you are confused as to how you came to be here?"
"That's right. I was in London and the next thing I remember I was here."
"I'm afraid our village is too small to have a resident doctor but I am something of a learned man myself. Would it be all right if I examined you to see if you are hurt."
"Of course."
Mr Hale took her pulse, felt around her head for a lump and asked a few more questions about how she came to be here, why she was dressed strangely and what she remembered.
"What of your family?" He asked when he had finished.
"I have no family. They..." She hated to tempt fate by saying this but really, what other excuse could she use? If she said they were alive, Mr Hale would surely insist on writing to them. "They're dead."
"You're an orphan?" Margaret asked, her voice full of compassion. She handed her a cup of tea which Carrie accepted with a smile.
"Thank you. I'm a bit old to be an called an orphan, but I suppose yes, I am."
"Well, drink your tea, Miss Preston, we will be back in a moment," Mr Hale said, rising and escorting Margaret tout of the room. Carrie knew they were going to talk about her but there was little she could do to stop them. Instead she set her mind to ways to get home, or wake up, or whatever the hell she needed to do to get out of this freak show.
III
Mr Hale and Margaret went next door to the sitting room where Mrs Hale was waiting for them. Not wanting to overwhelm the girl, Mr Hale had asked his wife to wait in her sitting room while they spoke with Carrie.
He filled his wife in on what had been said, on her unusual dress, her memory loss and her seeming lack of injury.
"Why should she appear dressed so strangely?" Margaret asked.
"Perhaps she had no choice in her manner of dress," Mr Hale suggested. "Perhaps those were the only clothes she could find."
"So what do you think has happened to her?" Mrs Hale asked, her voice grave, for anything that robbed a young woman of her clothing could not be a good thing.
"I do not know," Mr Hale began. "But I have read about a condition called amnesia, which is essentially memory loss. Sometimes this can happen after a head injury but sometimes something so awful can happen that a person literally forgets about it, unable to face the horror of their memories."
"You think something awful happened to Miss Preston?" Margaret said, her voice grave.
"She seems physically unharmed so I think it likely that she experienced or saw something terribly traumatic, and that is why she has no memory of how she came to be here."
"So what should we do?" Mrs Hale asked.
"We must take care of her," Margaret said. "Though her turn of phrase can be unusual, her accent is that of a lady and she is clearly not from the working classes. Since she has no family of her own, I believe it is our Christian duty to take her in and look after her."
"But we are leaving for Milton in two days!" Mrs Hale said, clearly still upset at that fact.
"I know, Mother, but I see no reason why Miss Preston cannot come with us, if she would like to."
"Margaret is right," Mr Hale agreed with his daughter. "I believe there is a reason Miss Preston ended up in our garden, so that we might open our hearts to her and take her in."
Mrs Hale nodded, clearly not that happy with the idea but knowing that her husband was right, they couldn't in all good conscience turn her away.
"Good," Margaret smiled. "I will take her upstairs and find something more appropriate for her to wear and ask if she would like to stay with us."
Mr Hale smiled warmly at his daughter. She really was a good girl.
III
While Mrs Hale and Dixon went to the sea side for two weeks, Mr Hale, Margaret and Carrie set about moving into the new home in Milton.
After being in this fictional world for a week, Carrie was resigned to staying here for the foreseeable future and had decided that she might as well enjoy her time here. She did wonder if perhaps this was like Life On Mars and she was trapped in purgatory, but regardless of how she came to be here, she couldn't seem to find a way back to reality.
Carrie knew that both Mr and Miss Hale had both met Mr Thornton while they were looking for a house and she asked a lot of questions about him and Milton. She also knew from the book that Margaret had not made a very favourable impression on Mr Thornton, but there was little she could do to change that at the moment.
Still, Carrie was looking forward to watching their romance unfold before her eyes.
"He really is quite a taciturn sort of man," Margaret told Carrie of her first impression of Mr Thornton.
"Perhaps, but maybe he was intimidated by meeting you? I doubt he meets many ladies from the south. Don't think too badly of him."
Margaret wasn't sure what to say to that. She knew nothing of trade or manufacturing so she was content not to think of Mr Thornton at all, for he was neither of her class nor was he her equal.
They settled into the house nicely and Carrie smiled when Margaret seemed pleased by the change in wallpapers, for she did not know that it was Mr Thornton who had got the landlord to change his mind and redecorate.
When Mr Thornton arrived for his first lesson with Mr Hale, Carrie opened the door to him, eager to see the man she had read about for so many years, and found herself struck dumb as she opened the door, for he was quite the most striking man she had seen in a long time. Elizabeth Gaskell had been been rather harsh when she called his features unremarkable, for to Carrie he looked rather like she imagined a Greek god might have. His eyes were light blue and accentuated by the dark lashes that framed them and his jaw was strong and square. Yes, in her time at least, there was nothingat all unremarkable about this man.
"Mr Thornton?" she asked, finally finding her voice.
He removed his hat and seemed to shake himself out of a stupor of his own.
"Indeed. I'm afraid you have me at something of a disadvantage."
"Oh, yes. I'm Carrie Preston," she held her hand out to him. "Pleased to meet you."
Mr Thornton looked shocked that she was so forward but he shook her hand nonetheless.
"Please, come in." Carrie stood aside and Mr Thornton entered. She took his hat and coat from him.
"How are you settling in?" he asked as she turned her back to hang them up.
"Oh, very well, thank you." She turned back to face him and lowered her voice. "And thank you for getting the wallpaper changed. Though I didn't see it, the description of the old paper alone was enough to make me shudder."
"I'm sorry, I don't-"
"Come Mr Thornton, I hardly think the landlord relented because he wanted to impress Mr Hale."
Mr Thornton smiled, pleased she had seen through him.
"I haven't said anything to the family," she assured him, finding his modesty rather endearing.
"Thank you."
Carrie smiled back.
"This way," she said, leading him to Mr Hale. As she closed the door behind him and found herself alone in the hallway she bit her lip to keep from squealing but she couldn't stop the ear to ear grin that formed on her lips.
She had just met Mr John Thornton, manufacturer, magistrate and frequent occupant of her racier daydreams. She wasn't disappointed.
III
Mr Thornton, however, was disappointed that Miss Preston had left since he had hoped to be able to spent a little time with her. Not only was she very handsome, she was obviously insightful and he was intrigued by her to say the least.
"Ah, Mr Thornton, how good to see you. Do sit down." Mr Hale greeted him.
They exchanged pleasantries and Mr Thornton took a seat.
"Miss Preston has offered to bring us up some tea in a few minutes."
"She is your servant then?" he asked, for she certainly had not looked like a servant.
"Oh no, she is my ward but she does like to make herself useful."
"I hope you do not mind me asking, but how did she come to be in your care?"
"Well, it's something of a mystery, as a matter of fact. Margaret found her in our garden with no memory of how she got from London to Helstone."
"She does not have family of her own?"
"No, I understand they are deceased. She is rather vague on the matter but I gather they perished in a house fire."
"I'm sorry to hear that. You took her in?"
"Well, what else could we do? It seemed clear to me that she had suffered some form of trauma that had left her with amnesia, we couldn't just turn her away."
"No, of course not."
John had many other things he wanted to ask but it would be impolite to be too inquisitive.
"So, have you given any thought to which book you would like to begin with?"
Just then the door opened and Carrie came in with a tray which she placed on the table and began serving. He watched her as she poured the tea, concentrating on her task with far more interest than was usual. She handed him the cup and his finger touched hers. He saw her eyes meet his and he wondered if she had just felt the same swell of emotion that he had at that simple touch. She swallow and withdrew her hand.
As she prepared Mr Hale's tea she seemed slightly flustered and that pleased him, for it meant that she too had felt something. She handed Mr Hale his tea and quickly left, almost scurrying out of the room. She struck him as somewhat shy and introverted, though she tried to hide those tendencies.
Of course he had very little to base those beliefs on but he was rather astute when it came to reading someone's character so he very much doubted that he was wrong.
Finally he returned his full attention to Mr Hale, only to discover that he had evidently agreed to start his lessons with Homer. Thankfully Mr Hale seemed blissfully ignorant of Mr Thornton's interest in his ward.
Mr thornton focused on the lesson for the rest of the hour and stayed well beyond his time, hopeful that Carrie would put in a further appearance, but she did not. Finally he left, though he thought that Mr Hale seemed disappointed to see him go.
He hoped that he might see Carrie on his way out but alas it was not to be. Still, there would be many more lessons and many more chances to see her, he hoped.