Prologue
Cumbria, Redwood Manor on October 1875
“My Lord!” exclaimed Lionel who was by the bedside of his master.
“Do not be so sad Lionel,” replied Earl Emery Hawthorne. “But we need to keep this place alive.”
“But my Lord—!”
“You have been like the son I never had,” Earl Hawthorne interrupted in ragged breath. “Unlike that scoundrel who ran off with his wife and my prized possession.”
Weakly extending his hand, Earl Hawthorne cupped Lionel’s cheek and gently used his thumb to wipe away a tear that rolled down from his brown eyes.
“Once I die,” continued Earl Hawthorne. “Please bury my body in the primrose garden. The flowers will need their nutrients soon. Keep doing what we have always done, until it obtains my prized possession!”
“You mean?!”
“Yes,” replied the Master. “Have Silas contact my lawyer in London and pass him my instructions on how to go forward with my will. This is my last request. Now go. If the deal ends up being broken, I will lose everything my ancestors worked hard to maintain.”
“Yes, my Lord…” said Lionel as he gripped his master’s weak hand upon his cheek in return.
Three months later at a lodging flat in London…
“Cecilia darling,” whispered a woman’s voice as she gently shook five-year-old Cecilia awake. “How do you feel about going on an adventure with Mama and Papa?”
Slowly sitting up from her bed, Cecilia rubbed away the sleep in her eyes. Dawn had not yet broken, but it was unusual for her to be woken up at this time of the day.
“An adventure…?” she murmured, “What about Grandpapa?”
“Sshhh!” her mother whispered back, “Grandpapa must not know. We have to go before he wakes up.”
Without further questions and too naïve to know what was really going on, Cecilia clambered out of her bed as her mother quickly gathered some of her clothes from her wardrobe and shoved them into a bag.
Before long, Cecilia was in a carriage with her parents travelling along a mountainous path. They had not taken the family carriage with its insignia on it, but an unmarked carriage.
“It would be a lot more fun if Grandpapa were to come along,” Cecilia chimed innocently. “Where are we going?”
“Somewhere far away from Grandpapa,” replied her father. “But do not worry dear Cecilia, you will still be able to write to him. Though not for a long time.”
Before Cecilia could utter a word, the horses pulling the carriage let out a sudden cry, followed by the sound of rocks crashing down towards them.
The driver struggled to halt the carriage, frantically pulling the reins, but was quickly overpowered as the horses, breaking free from their harness, bolted in terror. The carriage careened out of control and plunged off the cliff, sliding down until a branch halted its fall.
Cecilia opened her eyes to find herself cradled in her mother’s arms. Her mother was bleeding heavily from a head wound, and her father lay lifeless, killed instantly by the impact. Outside, there were shouts and the precarious creak of the branch barely supporting the carriage. The driver, having jumped from the carriage before its descent, must have summoned help from nearby.
“Heave-ho!” shouted a man’s voice.
A team of men struggled to haul the carriage upwards, the task made daunting by its weight. Gathering her strength, Cecilia’s mother swiftly lifted her daughter and handed her over to one of the men.
“Please do not send this child back to where we came from,” she quietly told them. “Take her straight to Windermere Station and have her board the first train to London. She will be safer there.”
“Mama!” Cecilia shouted in protest as the man took her into his arms.
Suddenly, the branch supporting the carriage gave way. The ropes that were being used to hoist it slipped rapidly from the men's grasp, and the carriage carrying Cecilia’s parents plummeted down the cliff into the abyss.
“MAMA! PAPA!” shrieked Cecilia as the carriage disappeared from her sight.
Eighteen-year-old Cecilia sat up in her bed, gasping for air. That dream again. She quietly thought to herself.
It had been thirteen years since the death of her parents. All she remembered was; she had been placed on a train headed for London and passed out upon arriving at Euston Station. When she woke up, she was at a Foundling Hospital for orphans. To make things worse, she had no recollection of her earlier life before the accident that killed her parents.
The rest of her life until now had been spent at the Foundling Hospital. Most of the benefactors supporting the hospital were artists and musicians who sympathised with the orphans. Cecilia took great joy getting involved with their charity works because of her love for art and music. She had also learnt how to read and write, but had shown great promise as an artist and a writer, with music merely being a past-time hobby to her.
When she had reached the age of eighteen, Cecilia had decided it was time for her to spread her wings and experience the outside world. The orphanage was kind enough to supply her with a sufficient amount of money to start her new life. However, living independently as a woman was not easy at her age. It had already been a year since Cecilia left the orphanage and she had been struggling to make ends meet by selling her drawings and having her stories published to various newspapers.
Clambering out of her bed, Cecilia rinsed her face in a small basin before glancing at her own reflection in the mirror.
“Today is going to be a fruitful day,” she reassured herself.
Cecilia had been invited to an editor’s office to discuss a manuscript she had sent over to him. She had earned a few shillings from some drawings she had sold, but with several of her stories rejected by some editors who gave her the misogynistic impression, it was barely enough to cover her rent. The pound coins she had earned from the stories that were narrowly successful was mostly spent on food and rent.
Quickly getting dressed in her most decent outfit, Cecilia started making her way to the editor’s office. As she was about to exit the building, she passed by the elderly landlady.
“Ah! Miss Hawthorne,” she chimed. “Do not forget that your next rent is due in a few days time.”
“Yes Mrs. Bartley,” said Cecilia. “I will make sure to have it by then.”
“You had better,” said Mrs. Bartley. “Or otherwise I will have no choice but to have you evicted. I cannot keep being lenient with you all the time.”
Cecilia gave a small nod while hiding her infuriation. Mrs. Bartley was always at her heels when it came to rent. She had even lost count on the number of times her landlady had been tolerant with her when she was able to at least pay half of the full rent. She always barely managed to make up the remaining amount.
In the editor’s office, Cecilia gripped the folds of her skirt nervously as she watched the editor, Mr. Norbury skim through the manuscript she had posted to him. Her heart resonated in her ears as he picked up his pen and drew a line across several pages of her manuscript that he appeared to be dissatisfied with.
“Your writing is brilliant as always,” Mr. Norbury finally spoke. “Fine penmanship you have indeed Miss Hawthorne. I will take it. And as always, I will publish under your pseudo-name, Cedric Heythrop.”
“You will?!” Cecilia exclaimed, her expression brightening up almost immediately.
“However,” said Mr. Norbury, “Permit us to make the necessary alterations. Your story is too long. I also had the impression that this was a romantic novel, but I did not expect it to be political with the rages of war talk and the hierarchy of society.”
“Well,” said Cecilia. “The rages of war you seem to be critical about personifies my character’s feelings of anger and doubt. The hierarchy of society is something people should be made aware of. The majority of the poor in this country is of working-class background. The poorest of the poor do not have anywhere they can call a home or barely have anything in their stomachs.”
“Miss Hawthorne,” sighed Mr. Norbury. “Our country has fought many battles across the globe just to expand our Empire. People do not want to be reminded or entertained politically because it is the job for newspapers, and we already have charities to help the poor. Stories should be amusing to the point where people can just escape from reality, even for a brief moment.”
Knowing there was no point in arguing back, Cecilia bit her lip as she allowed herself to sink into her deep thoughts. I am still expected to write what is expected of women writers. But I really need the money.
“Very well Mr. Norbury,” she finally replied. “You can make the alterations.”
Mr. Norbury faintly smiled as he tidied Cecilia’s manuscript before reaching into his drawer to get out his money box. He took out several pound coins and handed it to Cecilia.
“One more thing Miss Hawthorne,” added Mr. Norbury. “If you have any other stories you wish to submit, please make sure that they are short. If your protagonist is a woman, make sure she is either married in the end or dies tragically. That is the essence of romance which people want to read about.”
“Of course, Mr. Norbury,” replied Cecilia as she stood up to leave. “I look forward to continue doing business with you.”
Returning to her lodgings, Cecilia removed her bonnet and hung it up on the stand before undoing her bun. The locks of her fair brunette hair tumbled down as Cecilia used her fingers to briskly comb out any tangles.
“At least Mrs. Bartley will have the money for the rent this month,” she sighed to herself.
It was not too long until Cecilia heard a knock on her door. That is strange. She thought to herself. I do not usually have visitors. The only visitor I have is Mrs. Bartley who only comes to collect the rent.
Answering the door, Cecilia felt somewhat relieved that the visitor was Mrs. Bartley. However, she was not here to suddenly collect the rent. In her hands, she held an envelope with a wax insignia.
“Letter for you Miss Hawthorne,” said Mrs. Bartley as she handed a letter to Cecilia. “Fancy one at that. Did you attract some bloke of high society?”
After quietly thanking Mrs. Bartley, Cecilia opened the envelope carefully as she hurriedly sat on her bed to read its contents.
“I don’t believe it!” Cecilia exclaimed, “This is too good to be true!”
