With most of her last possessions in their places, Isabella managed to get herself undressed, only the third time she had done so on her own, and slipped beneath the soft cover of her bed. She was grateful for a room with a fireplace.
She stared dreamily into its dwindling embers as she wondered if that was why she had been placed in a room so far away from the other staff. Had it been for the extra comfort of the fire? Or was it the access to her pupil’s side without interfering with others in the house? Or simply to give her a physical reminder that she was no longer one of the lords and ladies who lived in such a lavished manor nor one of the staff that served them?
Her last thoughts as she fell asleep was if this had been how her father felt when out to sea. Adrift, with land in front and land behind and nothing but a lone ship to carry her. Would she spend the rest of her days lost out at sea as a solitary island or could she find a way to make it to a shore, no matter the one she chose?
The next morning, Isabella woke early to the darkened grey sky greeting her through the small porthole window. She was surprised how well she had slept, no doubt due to exhaustion from the long journey. She was afraid that she might have overslept, as she was not used to waking early. She sat upright with a bolt and quickly tip toed over to the small clock that alone adorned the fireplace mantle.
She poked at the fire, finding a few coals warm beneath the ash, and did her best to use the fuel provided to get it going again. Once there was a small flicker of flame, Isabella turned, hearing a slight knock at her door.
She opened it to find a maid standing with a pitcher of steaming water and basin. She stood aside to let the girl in to set it down on the small stand next to her bed.
“Thank you, that looks lovely, miss…” Isabella trailed off waiting for the girl to introduce herself. She was very young, not more than sixteen.
“Just Betsy, Miss Watts,” she said with a thick Scottish accent and a curtsy.
“Are you Scottish, then?” Isabella asked.
“Aye, most of the lower staff is, Miss Watts.”
“Please call me Isabella,” she encouraged. “Shall I bring my basin down when I am done?”
“Oh no, Miss…I mean Isabella. I shall come and fetch it up when I brin’ your breakfast tray.”
“That is very kind of you; I am sure it is tedious work to go up and down so many stairs.”
“Dinna fash. I dinna mind it one bit. It’s a much more enjoyable task than the others.” Betsy turned to leave after another short curtsy, but paused just a moment. “I dinna mean to be a bother, but I was a’wonderin’ if you happen to need help with your things, dressin’ and hair, I mean to say. I would be happy to help you.”
“That is very considerate of you, Betsy, but I would hate to ask more of you than you already do, or give you additional tasks. It may take some practice, but I believe I will soon learn to do it on my own.”
“You see, you would be doin’ me a favor if you let me,” Betsy continued. “I want to be a lady’s maid one day for a fine house. May’haps even this one. I need the practice first, you see. I heard that you were raised as a lady, so I thought you might help me. Tell me if I was doin’ somethin’ wrong and the like.”
“Well, I suppose I could use some help to make something simple with my hair.”
“Aye, that would be great practice for me if ye would allow it.”
“Mrs. Peterson won’t be mad? I had the feeling she didn’t want me speaking with others very much.”
“It’s not like that. She is just verra particular that all are in their place and none try to be more than they are. It makes it pretty impossible for a lass like me to make much more o’ herself. But what she dinna ken won’t hurt her much.”
“Well, if you are sure we won't be caught,” Isabella hesitated. “I suppose it would be fine. I would love to do what I can to help you.”
Isabella meant it sincerely, too. It was the first friend she had made in the house and any way she could help Betsy she was willing to. It reminded her of something her father used to say, “a small act of kindness can open the door for great friendships.”
Isabella used the warm water to wash and freshen herself before dressing. She found a soft green colored cotton morning dress that she paired with a dark, velvet green spencer jacket. Though the dress was very modest in cut, she still fretted over its look as a practical dress.
She was, after all, hoping to put the right foot in front of His Grace after clearly blundering things with the Marquess the night before. She smartly tucked a fichu into the top of her green gown before putting on the spencer jacket.
Though she had the fire going relatively well, she feared she would never get used to the chill that always seemed present in this northern country. Tucking a cream handkerchief into her long sleeve, she finished just in time for Betsy to knock at the door again.
She came in and set the tray down on the small table beside the port window. Before eating, Isabella sat in the only chair facing the window while Betsy pulled her hair back into a tight chignon. She left a few of Isabella’s dark ringlets out to frame her face. Isabella did her best to feel around to assure Betsy she had done a fantastic job, as there was no mirror present in the room.
Seeming happy to have gotten some practice in, Betsy thanked her again then took the water basin and left Isabella to eat her breakfast alone.
She had just finished her toast and rejuvenating cup of tea when a knock came to her door again. This time, it was Mrs. Peterson, and she was very accurate with her timing. Without so much as a good morning, she turned on her heels, expecting Isabella to follow after.
Isabella supposed that this was a common habit of Mrs. Peterson. Not only did she feel everyone had their place to be, but also the use of words that didn’t need to be spoken were a waste of time. She quickly walked to catch up to Mrs. Peterson for the second time in two days to start her new beginning as governess.
Chapter 5
Isabella made her way down the narrow stairway and ended on the second floor of the main house. She followed Mrs. Peterson along the Turkish-rugged hall listening to the soft pads of their feet on the ground and swishing of skits.
She was surprised that, for such a large house, filled with not only the family of the house but at least a hundred servants downstairs and not all the tables were even full, it was so quiet.
Where was everyone else? She had expected to see maids bustling about and hear the clank of breakfast silverware in the distance, but it was complete and utter silence as she walked. Perhaps it was just that the west wing of the manor was far off from the rest of the house, she thought to herself.
The wing was basically a rectangle shape with a walkway that outlined the rectangle. Off the walkway, numerous doors sprouted along the walls.