PartⅠ

Dear Nathaniel,
The rain falls in large plump drops over here, which splatter everywhere and on everything. It is a miracle, for the garden sorely needed a spot of rain. It has been shockingly dry here this summer, and I have been so sick of mother’s dull company.
Poor thing, doesn't know she’s a complete and utter bore.
Must not keep you.
Miss you and wish to see you in a fortnight.
Sincerely yours,
Charlotte.

It is common knowledge that when one writes a letter, they will always dip their pen about a dozen times. It is quite difficult to do so, when one is outside though. It might not come as a surprise to you, reader, when I tell you that our aforementioned Charlotte has been outside; is in fact writing at this moment outside in the garden shed.

She leans against the rotting wood of the shed and breaths in the fresh scent of rain and wet grass. It is an invigorating, yet calming, earthy smell is it not? Makes you want to dance, but yet cuddle up inside on the hearthrug while watching it splatter against the windowpane.

Charlotte is a true encourager of dancing in the rain... when you are not writing a letter of course. Especially not when you are writing a letter to a most beloved brother. So she is extremely careful when writing her letter, so as not to get it wet. It is indeed a challenge, and a few drops of rain gust in through the open shed door which soils the parchment terribly.

“All the more proof of it raining,” says Charlotte to herself as she wipes away the wet splotches with the sleeve of her brown and dull white printed daydress. The damp lace around her neck makes her itchy, and her cotton chemise underneath feels heavy and sticky. You might think that both would make her so uncomfortable that she can’t bare to sit around in the damp air. But the fact is, she is enjoying herself quite ardently.

Charlotte looks out at the rain as she waves the parchment in the air; letting the ink dry out. She sighs blissfully and very nearly get’s her beautiful letter too close to the open garden shed door.

Satisfied that the ink will no longer smudge, she folds it in half then opens a layer of her v-shaped bodice and stuffs the letter unceremoniously against her bosom. After closing the layer of her bodice back up again, she stands up from sitting on a large pile of sacks, full of what Charlotte thinks to be chicken feed, but actually are manure.

Turning her head left to right, peering out of the shed door, looking out for her mother or anyone that might scold her. She steps out into the rain, her feet ghastly bare to the elements, she skips and runs through the downpour. Fists full of her skirts and her mind full of delight as the rain falls against her shoulders and face, drenching her through.

A few paces more, across the flooded garden beds, across a stretch of grass and between the tall Wych Elm, sits the small square glasshouse. A figure moves slowly to and fro, blurred by the glass and ran.

Giggling with gaiety, Charlotte hops into the the protection of the glasshouse, full of plantless pots and flowers unable to bare the amount of rain coming down from the heavens.

The figure, so blurry before from outside but now clear inside, smiles. It is the warm welcoming smile of the gardener of the small country manor in which Charlotte and her family have been occupying for a week now.

The Gardener is a lean elderly man, with a coarse white linen shirt stained numerously with dirt, a brown unbuttoned vest, and beige pantaloons held up with navy blue braces.

He turns in surprise to see her and bows quickly, “Hullo, m’lady.”

“Mr. Hambley,” Charlotte grins and curtsies, “Isn’t this rain delightful?”

Mr. Hambley bows and stoops, “A blessin’ m’lady, certainly.”

Charlotte picks up a pot and turns it over in her hands, her hair glistening with the rain. “A blessing that I have been enjoying myself in.”

“M’lady,” Mr Hambley steps forward, stooping and bowing. “May I just say, m’lady. You shou’n’t be out here. You’ll catch cold.”

“Oh, you silly old man,” Charlotte giggles and throws back her head, her long dark braid of hair swinging in and out. “I am as healthy as a horse. There is very little chance of me catching anything except maybe someones eye.”

“Yes, m’lady, but-”

“I won’t tell the Mistress, if you don’t,” Charlotte sings out and kisses the sweet old man on the cheek. “How are you faring in here, oh dear Mr. Hambley?”

Mr. Hambley offers her a wicker chair, “Splendid, m’lady. Tomatoe’s are growin’ fine, soon you will be eatin’ tomato salad and tomato sauce.”

Charlotte sits down and claps her hands enthusiastically, “Oh how wonderful. Splendid indeed.”

They fall into silence, both staring at each other; Charlotte stares lovingly while Mr. Hambley stares with uncertainty.

“How is Mrs. Hambley? Well I hope.”

Mr. Hambley nods, “She’s the same as when you asked the day before yesterday, m’lady.”

Charlotte giggles, “I’m terribly sorry, I am beginning to be bother aren’t I?”

Mr. Hambley shakes his head quickly, his damp shoulder length gray hair sticking to the sides of his face. “Never, m’lady.

Charlotte looks at him in playful sternness, “Come, come, Mr. Hambley. I asked if I were tiresome, I didn't ask to be lied to.” She holds up a hand quickly before he can argue. “Now, I don’t want to hear another word. I shall leave immediately, for I am being quite ungenerous to your hospitality. Please, do not let me ramble on again.” She stands up and starts to gather her skirts

He bows, “M’lady, I assure you, miss. I quite enjoy your company.”

Charlotte smiles pleasantly, “I don’t enjoy my company, why should you? No, I shall not torture you with my chattering any longer. I am quite ashamed of myself.”

“M’lady-”

“Oh and please, Mr. Hambley. No more of this ‘m’lady’. It is quite tiresome,”

Charlotte says shaking her head and smoothing out the wrinkles in her dress. “Do say ‘hello’ to Gideon for me, I do miss him terribly.”

Mr. Hambley opens his mouth and then bows instead.

Charlotte nods and then steps out of the glasshouse, the raindrops falling more slowly onto her face than before. She runs quickly through the rain, holding her skirts and laughing as she blinks away the drops of water in her eyes.

She rounds the corner of the country manor and slips in through the servant door, surprising an unsuspecting footman.

“Oi!”

“Sorry,” Charlotte giggles, slowing down and dropping her skirts aware of how improper she must look with her shoes and stockings off. “Please,” she begs the footman, still walking away but looking back to talk to him, “Not a word to the mistress.”

The footman blinks in surprise, muttering under his breath after Charlotte has turned her back on him and ran down the corridor of doors.

Charlotte passes the kitchen, trying to keep her head down, while pulling up her wet braid into a pile on her head.
“If only I had thought to bring pins,” Charlotte mutters under her breath as she stomps up the stairs, up to the main level, her wet dress weighing as if she wore four petticoats instead of one. Water drips onto the stairs and leaves behind puddles. Instead of pinning her hair, she’s content with twisting the braid into a large bun, so if she passes her mother on her way up to her bedroom to change, she would at least not see her hair down.

“Miss?!”

Charlotte turns around on the top step to look down at Nurse.
Nurse is a rather plump middle-aged woman with a thick Scottish accent and a sweet expression, most of the time. Now, her face has gone from sweet to shocked. She steps up onto the first stair.

“What on earth are you doin’?”

Charlotte sighs in exasperation, her arms falling from fixing her hair to the sides of her wet dress. “Shh, Nurse. Can’t you see I’m sneaking?”

Nurse purses her lips and looks up at her from under her thin pale eyebrows, “Now, miss, where have you been? You are all wet.”

“I was dancing,” Charlotte explains shortly. “In the rain.”

Nurse puts her hands on her hips, “Well I can see that, but why? Well, nevermind, you’re caught sneaking now.”

“Oh please, Nurse,” Charlotte begs as she watches Nurse climb up the stairs towards her apprehensively, “Please don’t tell. Mother would simply die if she saw me like this.” Charlotte and Nurse both look down at the hem of her skirt, stained with an inch of mud. “Now, why don’t you help me get to my room? I can dry off and get dressed without Mother ever knowing.”

Nurse frowns in disapproval, but the sweet nanny she is, she takes Charlotte’s wet forearm gently and guides her through the staircase entrance and out into a servants hall.

“Oh thank you, Nurse,” Charlotte whispers and grins delightedly.

They both quietly walk through the halls, trying to be as inconspicuous as possible. Though inconspicuousness is rather hard to manage when one is wet, with no shoes or stockings on.

It is not but five steps away from her bedroom, Charlotte is called upon from behind.

Charlotte let’s go of her skirts so that her bare feet are hidden and turns around to see her mother gliding down the hallway towards her, her hand placed gently on her stomach as if keeping herself together.

“Oh Charlotte, I called for you ten minutes ago. Where have you been?” Mrs. Green stops halfway towards her as she notices the hem of Charlotte’s dress. She opens her mouth in shock and horror, “What have you been doing? Playing in the mud?” She bustles over and fusses about her appearance, looking to Nurse for an explanation, but not receiving any.
“Heaven’s me, you look like a vagabond.”

Charlotte sighs, refusing to look at her mother, instead looking at a bit of wall. “I’m sorry Mama. I just went outside for some fresh air, is all.”

“Fresh air?” asks her mother incredulously, waving her arms about in exasperation. “Lottie, dear, one does not ‘go outside for fresh air’ when it is pouring rain.”

Charlotte tries not to roll her eyes, thinking sarcastically how it is just one more rule she has to add to her growing list of rules and etiquette. “Yes, Mama. I won’t do it again, Mama.”

“Now change immediately, we have guests.”

Charlotte perks up at the mention of company, other than her mothers.
“Oh? Who?”

“Mr. Pearson and his sister Ms. Pearson.” Mrs. Green turns on her heel, heading back the way she came, fanning herself with her hand as she goes.

Charlotte frowns deeply, “Oh Nurse, what a strange summer it has been. Rules and suitors, it sounds as if they’re trying to get rid of me early.”

Nurse curtsies as she opens the door to Charlotte’s room, a small little sly smile touching her lips “Now, miss.”