Chapter One
There was shit on the heel of Emily’s boot. Horse, presumably. She had tried to scrape the edge surreptitiously on the step as she ascended into the coach, but had only half succeeded. The presence of the (probable) horse shit wouldn’t have mattered if it weren’t for the large family crammed into the coach with her; they clearly considered themselves rather genteel, but they weren’t dressed well enough to excuse the expressions of pure disdain on their faces—the puckered mouths and wrinkled noses as they glanced at her sidelong, having decided she must be the source of the smell.
The fact that they were right was not softening Emily toward them. If the opportunity presented itself, she had already decided that she would rid herself of the shit by wiping it on the gentleman’s soft fawn breeches, or the lady’s muslin, which was far too pale for traveling in anyway. They could hardly imagine themselves so far above her in station when they were sharing the same carriage, the cheapest Emily had been able to find to the coast that didn’t require strapping herself to the roof and making her body into a very straight line to lessen wind resistance. Even that might have been a more pleasant sensory experience than this: trapped in close quarters with these strangers and all their scratching, their breathing, their fidgeting, all the while judging her as she sat perfectly still and, yes, smelled very slightly of manure.
Emily despised people who put on airs. If this family thought her low and common, then low and common she would be. She crossed her arms. She glowered. She noticed the small, snub-nosed boy in front of her glance over and flinch at the expression on her face, and felt only grim satisfaction. Good. Let him be afraid. Let all children cower before her, and keep their grubby hands to themselves, and know that they were not to cross Miss Emily Laurence.
“Where are you traveling to?” asked the lady opposite. “Fairmont House?”
“Yes,” said Emily.
“To take up a position?”
Emily gritted her teeth and nodded.
“Which?”
“Governess.”
“Oh,” said the lady, glancing between her child and Emily and frowning slightly. “Won’t that be … pleasant.”
It would not. Emily had never taken to children, nor dreamed of having a clutch of her own, and had circumstances been different she would have laughed at the very thought of taking up a position minding anybody else’s.
Her sister, Amy, was the natural caregiver. The empath. She brewed tea whenever there was an emergency of an emotional nature; mopped brows and brought pots for vomit when the ailment concerned the body. She was kind to the elderly without wincing. She voluntarily asked questions in dull company, prompting further conversation, when Emily was perfectly happy to let the interaction wheeze, rattle, and die.
Amy also genuinely adored children. She found them winsome. Even when they were awake. Even when they were talking to her!
It was not to be borne.
“I had a governess,” said the little boy. “I did not like her.”
“Where is she now?” Emily asked conversationally. “Dead?”
“Mmm,” said the boy, thinking. “The baby … ate her.”
“The baby did not eat her,” said the boy’s mother, tutting at him and reaching over to straighten his collar.
“Ah,” said Emily. “She ate the baby.”
“Good God,” said the family’s patriarch.
The various members of his family fell silent. Apparently, this signaled the end of their conversation.
Emily was all too relieved for the excuse to adjust her position—she was pressed very tightly against the door of the carriage, so she had to revolve jerkily on the spot to make any progress—and gaze out of the small window at the countryside whipping past. Greenish-gray fields hemmed in by dark gray stone walls, the sky graying grayly above. It had been much the same for the past three hours, but it was somewhat soothing to be reminded that the world outside this four-wheeled hell still existed.
She had allowed herself to be vaguely excited by the prospect of seeing the sea for the very first time, but when it did come into view, it took her a long time to realize that she wasn’t just looking at another vast gray field. With her only diversion a severe disappointment, Emily misplaced the will to carry on, and the carriage started to feel very hot. The bony girl-child sitting next to her smelled strongly of lavender, but it did not quite mask the base notes of mackerel and milky vomit. The road was getting rougher, so that they were all bouncing out of their seats.
Emily clenched and unclenched her hands, and started counting the things around her in an attempt to slow her breathing. Six pleats in each ragged curtain. Four large gouges in the roof above them, possibly made by a werewolf or an escaped Pomeranian. Three horrible children. One moth squashed into the upholstery just above the gentleman’s head, so that every time he bounced near it, he risked making a hat of it.
“Have you met Captain Edwards?” said the lady, trying to catch Emily’s eye encouragingly. Apparently she was very difficult to put off.
“Have you?” Emily countered.
“Oh,” said the lady. “No. We are not … acquainted.”
Copyright © 2024 by Lex Croucher
