Nocturne by Elizabeth Ellen Carter

of her as plain was more accurate. Her face was too thin, her hair too mousy – there were twenty other girls in their village prettier than her by far. At twenty-four, she was older than most new governesses but the death of her father had left her with no choice but to go into service. Her only advantage was an education, which she was now to share with two little girls. Grace and Louisa Worsley were five-year-old twins and that’s all she knew of her charges. Blackheath Manor was her first posting. The carriage slowed to a halt once more and, with a squeak of rain-soaked wood, a little hatch opened at the front. Cold air rushed in along with the words of the driver. “We be turnin’ in’t Black’eaf Manor now, miss.” The hatch closed around a swirl of icy mist before she could give her thanks. Ella reached a black gloved hand to the heavy curtains of the door window for a first glimpse of her new home. There was little she could see of it looming out of the fog. The grounds wore a mantle of snow. The trees, that in summer would spread their leafy canopy wide, were bare; skeletal arms rose heavenward supplicating for the end of the dreary weather. Through a break in the miasma, the spire of the village church with its crown of snow rose out of the dale and stood proud. There was supposed to be a village nearby, but it remained out of view. Ella felt as though she was in the middle of nowhere. A prickle of loneliness struck her anew. She breathed in deeply, filling her lungs with