The Governess

by Camille Oster

  The Governess

  By Camille Oster

  Copyright 2016 Camille Oster

  All rights reserved.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are the work of the author's imagination, or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, locales, or events is entirely coincidental.

  Camille Oster – Author

  www.camilleoster.com

  http://www.facebook.com/pages/Camille-Oster/489718877729579

  @Camille_Oster

  Camille.osternz@gmail.com

  Chapter 1:

  * * *

  London, 1871

  Tucking a stray blond curl behind her ear, Estelle Winstone pulled out the trunk from under her bed to start to pack away all her belongings. It hadn't been so long since she'd unpacked everything, but it was time to face a new chapter in her life. Her tickets to Dover, and more tickets underneath, sat on the bed. She still couldn't believe she was setting off on such a substantial journey. The letter responding to her advertisement for a position as governess had said travel would be required, but it had never occurred to her that she would be traveling out of Great Britain, let alone all the way to Hungary.

  Taking a deep breath, Estelle tried to order her racing thoughts. She had organized well, but still felt as if time was running out and she hadn't thought of everything she needed to. She wasn’t even sure how long she would be there for, or if she could get the things that she needed while there.

  Hopefully nothing would break or be torn during this journey, as she probably wouldn’t have a chance to replace them in what looked, according to the map she’d consulted in the library, like such an isolated place. Travel could be hard on possessions, or so she'd learned when she'd moved to London after her position in a fine house near Dartmoor, which had come to an end with the family taking on a commission in India.

  She didn't know how she felt about leaving England. In a sense, her world still felt turned upside down after the death of her father, a vicar in a small village called Lyne by the Scottish border. There had been no work for her nearby as the new vicar had come to take over the vicarage, so a position had had to be sought elsewhere.

  Now she was heading to another, but much more exotic than Dartmoor, which she had thought was very dramatic and romantic when she'd arrived. It had been a good position while it had lasted and she hoped this new position would be, as well. The distance and the fact that it was in a foreign country and culture made her inordinately worried.

  Unfortunately, she wasn’t in a position to turn the post down. Times were hard for everyone and her meager funds were running low. There was no choice but to accept the position to educate and guide the nine-year old boy, the son of a Count Drezasse. She just wished it wasn't so very far away. She didn't mind remote. Dartmoor had been near to desolate most of the time.

  With a shuddering breath, she conceded it was time to close the trunk and vacate her room in the boardinghouse she'd been residing in the last two months.

  Annalise stood in the doorway. "So, time to go, then?" she asked. "You're really going to do it."

  "I must," Estelle answered, wringing her hands nervously. She hadn't slept a wink that night, too nervous about the trip to settle down to sleep. Never had she left England before, let alone traveled so very far. It made everything much more difficult as she now felt sluggish and that everything was moving too quickly around her.

  Donning her coat, she buttoned up and turned sad eyes to Annalise, the only girl she had befriended in her brief time here. They were quite different in temperament, but somehow they had managed to see past that. Annalise was a much harder person, a nurse at the nearby Poplar Hospital, and Estelle knew it was a friendship unlikely to survive distance. They simply did not have enough in common.

  It really was time to go, and Estelle embraced Annalise. "Have a great trip, you," Annalise said, her eyes a bit glassy. “You are braver than I would be.”

  “It is a good position,” she replied, trying to convince herself more than Annalise. It was a good position; it was just far away, in an unknown country with customs she had no idea of. Hopefully things would turn out tolerable.

  Estelle nodded and drew a deep breath. It was time to go, although she didn’t dare think of the journey ahead of her. It seemed so far it was incomprehensible, and that was probably for the best. Would she sleep at all over the next few days? Arrive an uncomprehending mess in a foreign land?

  Matron had called a hack for her and Annalise and Mrs. Hawkers waved from the doorstep as she stepped up into the black cubicle, the springs shifting slightly as she settled. The horse took off before she felt ready and she didn't get to say her last good bye, instead leaned out the window and waved. Again, she was leaving behind everyone she knew to head off into uncertainty. This time she even hoped that her charge spoke English, or French. German even. If not, things would be infinitely more problematic. Her Hungarian was completely absent.

  The streets were busy and she traveled along the Embankment to Victoria station, where she would catch the train heading south. The red brick building, the very latest in modern design, stretched up before her behind the jumble of hacks and carts. The porter she engaged jostled them through the entrance and into the large cavernous hall, leading her down the platform. The noise was overwhelming, the people and the trains, and the echoing across the glass and steel structure.

  The porter continued ahead of her, dodging people and she tried to follow but also observe the massive structure above her head. It was a wonder it stayed up and didn’t fall down. It seemed illogical.

  She almost ran into the porter when he stopped, in front of what was apparently her compartment, finely appointed with red velvet seating. She had been assigned a first class ticket and took her seat while the porters stored her trunk. Tension clenched along her temples at the hustle and bustle, and the worry that by tomorrow, she would have left England.

  This was an adventure, she told herself; she had to see it that way. Growing up at her father's sedate vicarage, who would have thought she would one day be traveling to distant lands, and by herself. A man and a woman joined her in her compartment and she smiled tightly as they sorted themselves before settling in their seats.

  Estelle had chosen her blue traveling dress with the matching jacket, trimmed with white lace. It had belonged to her mother, but it’d had been updated to a more modern, slim style with a bustle rather than its original round skirt intended to be worn with hoops. The lace was also a recent addition that Estelle herself had sewn on. Father had kept her mother's dresses after her death from a fever when Estelle had been eight, and a few of them had served her well as she'd grown into womanhood.

  Her tickets across the channel were for the night ferry and she checked her beaded reticule yet again to ensure they were still there, to then replace her gloved fingers back down in her lap and watch the madness outside the window as porters, passengers and others all seemed to converge on the same space.

  Before long, the steam whistle blew, making Estelle's heart speed up and her stomach churn with nerves. This was it. She was on her way, traveling to an unknown place to unknown people. It had been a solicitor who had replied to her advert and who had also hired her, which was unusual, but under the circumstances, it was perhaps not surprising.

  A tug pulled on the carriage sharply as the locomotive started to move, gaining more and more speed. The track soon rattled under them as they emerged from the station hall into the gray daylight of the late autumn day.

  *

  Venice was madness and Estelle understood none of the direction the Venetian porters were yelling at her. Her next ticket was in her hand and she'd shown someo
ne, but wasn't convinced they’d understood it. She had no idea what to do if she missed the train, or even if the booking agent had gotten the schedule right. What if there was no train? Who hadn't heard of such mishaps with foreign travel?

  In a way, she had been lucky. Her travel had been organized with the most sumptuous conveyance. From Calais, she'd had her own compartment and it had been beautiful. A manservant had come and converted it to a sleeping compartment in the evening, with the most ingenious way of folding down the day seat to reveal a full bed. She'd been quite comfortable.

  Stuck in the madness of Venice train station, she didn't feel quite so serene, was instead following a man she wasn't entirely sure knew where he was going. Someone bumped into her and her shoulder ached, then swung a heavy trunk on their shoulder, almost hitting her with that as well. Her toes were also in threat from trolleys and wheelbarrows, so she had to watch for threats from every direction, or she might not survive this traverse across platforms.

  At last, she was ensconced in another compartment, again one she seemed to have to herself. It was just as sumptuous as the one she'd come from, and she direly wished for some tea. No doubt some would be served fairly quickly after they set off.

  It took a while, but at last the platform outside her window started to clear and the conductor's whistle blew in two sharp peels. With heavy strain, the locomotive pulled the carriages and the large steam whistle blew, gray steam momentarily enveloping everything outside the window as if immersed in a cloud.

  Taking a deep breath, Estelle searched out the window for sights of Venice. Over the years, she’d read about Venice and had always wanted to visit, but she hadn't been given any time to explore it, which was a shame. But such things were not her prerogative. Her employer obviously wanted her there at the earliest opportunity.

  Chapter 2:

  * * *

  It was sometime before noon when the conductor suggested her stop was approaching. It was dark and gloomy outside, belying how early in the day it was. She smiled as the conductor pushed past her to operate the door for her. Two of the railway's young men stood behind, carrying her trunk.

  As soon as the door opened, a wintry blast assaulted her. It was cold, even as far south as they reportedly were. The conductor looked at her expectantly, but for a second, she didn't want to step off the warmth and safety of the train. They had taken such good care of her, it seemed hard to think they wanted to expel her into such harsh weather.

  The wind had a bite, as if there was snow somewhere nearby. There was no sign of it on the ground as far as she could see, but it wouldn't surprise her if she saw snowflakes falling from the sky.

  Strengthening herself, she smiled and grabbed the cold handrail outside the carriage. Her gloves would be needed, she thought as she stepped down. Her trunk was placed on the platform and one of the men tipped his cap to her before jumping back on the train.

  With a blow of the conductor's whistle, the train started moving with heavy chugs as the engine turned over. Warmth was leaving without her, but she certainly couldn't continue, could she?

  Turning around, she noted the small station building made of stone. There were no lights inside and a padlock hung on the door. The name of the station was written on a board along the roof-line, a name she couldn't pronounce even if she tried. She hoped they had dropped her in the right place.

  Turning again, she searched, but there was no one around, no one she could see. "Hello?" she called and listened, but received no answered. What was she supposed to do? Was no one coming to meet her? Surely there must be a station master. "Hello?" Again no one answered.

  Looking down the platform, she saw a wooden box left sitting by itself, as forgotten as she was. There was a chance Count Drezasse had no idea she was coming. The appointment had happened so fast it could be that she had arrived before any letter announcing her.

  She had no idea what to do. This place looked utterly desolate and she saw no other buildings around, just thick, tall wood in every direction. It wouldn’t take long before she’d freeze if she stayed here. Without conveyance, she had no means to carry her trunk. It was much too heavy for her to lift.

  Suddenly a man appeared, clearly some kind of farmer. He wore rough clothes and a cap. Fear crept up her spine, but she steeled herself. He took one look at her and then moved to collect the wooden box. He turned to leave without saying a word.

  "Excuse me?" Estelle called. "Can you help me?"

  With another sideways glance at her, the man kept walking until he was out of sight behind the station building. Estelle was astounded at his rudeness, and the lack of willingness to help a stranded woman. Perhaps he was deaf, she wondered, or maybe he just felt uncertain speaking to a woman who obviously spoke another language.

  Again, she didn't know what to do, if she should leave her trunk. There was a good chance she would never see it again if she did, but what choice did she have? It wasn't a risk she wanted to bear, but she had little assurance anyone else would come here until the next train came along. And for all she knew, that could be in a week.

  Leaving her trunk, she wandered in the direction the man had walked, still annoyed he hadn't so much as tried to help her. There was a road that led into the forest and Estelle followed. The man was no longer in sight, but he had to have gone down this road.

  The dark and gloom of the forest only made it seem colder and more desolate. While completely empty, the station seemed to be some link to civilization. Maybe coming here had been a huge mistake and they would find her frozen body on the platform by the time the next train came.

  No, that man lived somewhere, so there was at least one inhabited house around. She had to find someone who could direct her. Insist, if she had to.

  *

  After walking for half an hour, she reached some cottages—wooden mostly, with roof gables that sloped on all sides. It seemed to be a start of a village and she kept walking along the muddy thoroughfare. The fences were roughly constructed with wood. A woman was tending a garden patch ahead, but as Estelle approached, she turned her back to her.

  Extraordinary behavior, Estelle thought. Perhaps the rudeness of the man at the platform wasn't atypical. "I am trying to reach Drezasse castle," Estelle said, but the woman flatly ignored her, just kept attacking the weeds in her vegetable patch with her garden hoe. "Frightfully rude," she remarked. Normally she wouldn't point out other people's rudeness, but this woman was beyond the pale.

  She had no choice but to keep walking as the woman was obviously not going to help. There were others who stared at her through windows or doorways, but no one offered assistance of any kind. Perhaps she had better assume no one spoke English.

  Then there was a man on the road, who stood with his feet apart in black, heavy boots, watching her approach. His beard was thick and scraggly, and a fleshy nose, and an expression that was both hard and unfriendly. It seemed to be a theme in these parts.

  "Drezasse," she said loudly, having had enough of the rudeness.

  The man grunted and nodded towards a road that led off to the right.

  "Thank you," she said with less than heartfelt gratitude. "That wasn't so difficult, was it?"

  She continued walking in the direction indicated, hoping the man hadn't deliberately misled her. She wasn't sure if she trusted their direction, but they would at least know the name of the nearby count, surely. This was probably his land. For all she knew, this place might still be organized by some medieval feudal system. The village itself looked as if it could belong in the middle ages.

  The road was long and her shoes were ruined, but after an hour of walking, she saw a castle in the distance, high on top of a hill. That was likely to be her home for the foreseeable future. It looked as inviting as the village near it. Spearing towers, dark turrets, and also what looked like a rampart. It had to be medieval, set to defend against an invading army. It felt as if she had stepped off that lovely train and stepped back in time four hundred years.


  It would still take some time to get there, so she trudged on, again thinking this might be the worst mistake she had ever made.

  The road up the hill was steep, but she did see the mark of carriage wheels. So there was a carriage no one had bothered to send for her. She was most likely being unkind and unfair, but she had earned the right to a bad mood.

  She was sweating and hot by the time she reached the main gate, where a bridge stretched to the gatehouse across a severe drop. The cobbled stones were uneven under her sore feet, but luckily the portcullis was raised. It seemed they were not expecting an invasion just at the moment. There was a courtyard on the other side of the gatehouse. Buildings stretched up along each side. It was a vast complex of buildings and turrets, and she walked toward what looked like a main entrance. The doors were much taller than she was, stretching up far above her head as if a giant lived here.

  An iron pull hung down at the side and she pulled it, hearing nothing. If there was no one home, she would be in real trouble. The icy wind would only get worse as the mild sun set. Turning around, she saw another door, which she suspected led to a stable. There were quite a few windows around her, again, far above her head, but she saw no people around anywhere.

  Finally, scraping noises told her the door was being unlocked and slowly opened. It took some effort to swing the massive ornate doors, which were made of wood and a blackened metal of some kind. An elderly man appeared in front of her.

  "Hello?" Estelle said, trying her best to sound bright. "My name is Miss Estelle Winstone and I have been engaged to take the governess position in the Count of Drezasse's household."

  The man stepped back to give her entry and she noticed it was almost as cold inside as it was outside.

  "Come," he said with a heavy accent and led her through a cavernous hall made of marble. It was beautifully carved. The wealth imbued in this castle was beyond doubt. The central hall was massive, a staircase winding up to a mezzanine floor. But he walked to the right and took her down a long corridor with intermittently carved arches in dark wood until they reached what looked like a parlor.