Beyond the Horizon

CHAPTER ONE 1885-1

CHAPTER ONE

1885A big black horse moved quietly and easily through the woodlands bordering the immaculately kept grounds of the Five Oaks Boarding School for Young Ladies tucked away down a long drive in the sleepy countryside of the County of Hampshire.

The Five Oaks Boarding School was a fine example of mid-Victorian austere architecture with its grey stone walls and imposing bulk and it could have been a prison or a textile factory in the far North of England rather than a fashionable school for young ladies.

It was a fine summer afternoon in late June and the huge stone house lay basking in the sunshine.

Beds of roses glowed white, red and pink with their scent filling the air.

Sir Andrew Dexter tightened his reins sharply and murmured soothingly as his mount flinched at a squirrel rushing across the path.

Urging the horse forward again, he pushed back the lock of dark hair that insisted on falling ungraciously over his forehead.

Sir Andrew’s piercing grey eyes then searched the woods, lawns and gardens on the other side of the high fence that surrounded the school, looking for anything or anyone out of place.

At present the beautiful grounds were empty.

But Sir Andrew knew that very soon a bell would ring and the young ladies would all come flooding out of doors eager to sit in the sun, smell the flowers and enjoy a welcome break from their lessons.

Sir Andrew was not interested in the flowers or the sunshine.

He was desperate to see one particular young lady, who was a pupil at the school and to make sure that she was safe and secure.

He frowned as his horse pushed on through some bushes and he realised that he was now on a narrow track leading to a small lake.

The blue water glittered and gleamed in the sun and ducks, geese and moorhens were swimming round between the rushes.

A sudden plop sounded the presence of a water vole and a bright flash of brilliant blue marked a kingfisher’s flight.

Turning his mount round, Sir Andrew headed in the opposite direction, finally reaching a high gate in the wall surrounding the grounds.

To his dismay it was standing wide open.

He leant down from the saddle and closed the gate, pushing the bolt across with his crop. But he knew that his action was a mere formality as anyone could unlock the gate and walk down to the lake.

And just as easily someone could reach over from the wood side and ease the bolt open to let himself into the garden.

Irritated, he sighed and urged his mount on along the path that circled around through the trees towards the front of the school building.

He needed to speak to the young lady who was so much in his thoughts – and quickly!

*

In the large drawing room of the Five Oaks School, Lady Beatrice Remington sat, her hands clasped firmly on the ivory handle of her ebony walking stick.

Dressed all in dark grey silk from her large hat to her grey suede shoes, her lined face stern and unsmiling, she was listening impatiently to the girl standing in front of her.

“Stay at school? Forever? Great-Aunt Beatrice, you cannot possibly mean that!”

Rosilda Harvey pushed her hands deeper into the pockets of the paint-stained tussore apron she wore over her dark pink day dress.

She had been attending her art class, trying to finish her study of two apples and an orange, when she had been summoned to the drawing room to greet the only relation she had in the world.

Rosilda was just eighteen and exceedingly pretty.

Her long blonde hair was tied back with a dark pink ribbon from her lovely face, but her usual sparkling blue eyes now looked bewildered and concerned.

“Well, forever is a very big word, child,” said Lady Remington. “But your days as a pupil here at this school are over. There was enough money in the bank when your dear parents died to pay for your education, but that money has now gone.”

She paused for a moment before carrying on with her little speech,

“You are now all of eighteen and by the terms of your father’s will, I am no longer your Guardian, but I still have a responsibility to think about and indeed worry about your future.”

“I thought I would travel North to the Lake District to live with you next week when the term ends,” Rosilda said, almost unable to take in the fact that all her plans lay in ruins. “I have so many new ideas to help you in the house and the garden.”

Lady Remington shook her head.

“I have now sold the Windermere house and intend to move to Italy to live with my good friend the Contessa Elizabeth Scarfini.”

Rosilda was about to blurt out that she would love to live in Italy too, but one look at the old lady’s stern face told her that expressing such sentiments would be a waste of time.

Lady Remington now went on,

“Miss Landers, your Headmistress, has told me that you are proficient in your art and music, have a good brain and will learn quickly, although you do have a worrying tendency to daydream.”

Rosilda flushed and bit her lip.

She knew that she found it hard to sit at a desk in a classroom when the world outside was calling to her.

Every morning she woke, leant out of her bedroom window and gazed at the woods and hills that stretched as far as the eye could see.

Oh, how she longed to be roaming over them rather than sit learning French verbs or the finer points of English grammar!

Lady Remington now looked unsympathetically at Rosilda before coughing and then delivering her bombshell to her great-niece,

“I have been having a close discussion with Miss Landers about your position and have told her the details of your current predicament. And she has kindly suggested that you stay on here at Five Oaks School for a number of years as a junior teacher for the youngest girls and taking care of them when they first arrive at the school.”

Rosilda suddenly began to realise the full horror of what her great-aunt was telling her.

“Could I not – take on a post as a Governess,” she said wildly. “Great-Aunt Beatrice, I have been here at Five Oaks for four years. You cannot ask me to stay on at this place for the rest of my life!”

The old lady stood up, her expression remote and implacable.

“I am afraid that there is little choice, Rosilda. You have no money. Maybe in a few years’ time you will have reached a sufficient standard to find work as a Governess, but you are not ready to take that step yet.

“No, helping out with the younger children here in exchange for your bed and board will suit very well. I am sure Miss Landers will advise you to accept her generous offer. Now, I must take my leave. Goodbye, Rosilda, my dear. Work hard and do your best”

Rosilda dropped a little bob curtsey, but made no move to kiss her.

She knew that it would not have been welcomed by her austere great-aunt.

Lady Beatrice swept out of the school, sighing in relief as her chaise carried her away to her new life with her friend in Italy.

She had little affection for Rosilda.

In her forthright opinion the girl’s mother had made a disastrous marriage to a young Clergyman.

And, when a fever had killed them both four years before, Lady Beatrice had been appalled to discover that the penniless Rosilda Harvey was her responsibility and she was forced most reluctantly to become her Guardian and largely because there were no other relatives around who could do so.

Well, she had done her duty by her and now it was up to the girl to make her own way in the world.

In the dusty drawing room, Rosilda stood, fighting back the hot tears that threatened to fall in torrents down her cheeks.

She just could not believe how quickly her life had changed.

Only this morning she had been telling her friends that, although life with her great-aunt would not be very exciting, to live in the Lake District, surrounded by all that natural beauty, would be marvellous.

Rosilda loved drawing birds and flowers and had imagined spending many peaceful hours wandering around the beautiful countryside with her sketch book in her hand seeking out new vistas to paint.

And, of course, Great-Aunt Beatrice would have friends and neighbours.

There would be a Social life. Dances, picnics and boating on the glorious lakes.

Now all that had been swept away.

‘Oh, I cannot bear it!’ Rosilda screamed at herself. ‘To have to stay on here at Five Oaks – teaching year after year, becoming old and grey and never seeing any of the wonderful world I so long to visit.’

Rosilda stared round at the gloomy room, the heavy curtains shutting out the sunshine and the wallpaper dull and colourless.

The walls were lined with books that were never read and even the leaves of the plants in their china pots were dusty and fading.

All this reflected her mood, which was becoming more and mode dispirited by the moment.

Suddenly she desperately wanted to be outside in the fresh air.

Pulling off her apron, she hurried from the room, just as a housemaid scurried past, ringing the huge brass bell that marked the end of lessons for the day.

Doors were hastily flung open and then groups of chattering girls began to hurry out of the building and into the garden.

“Rosilda – come and play catch with us!” one of the younger girls called out. “You are so good at throwing the ball.”

But Rosilda sped past them, not wanting to talk to any of her friends, knowing that she would burst into tears if she had to listen to their plans.

The term was ending in a couple of days and the girls in her form were already packing, anxious to be back with their families, looking forward to parties and balls, meeting gentlemen and falling in love.

Since Rosilda’s parents had died and she had come to Five Oaks Boarding School, she had spent some of her holidays in the Lake District with her great-aunt, but often she had been invited to stay at a friend’s home, which she had always enjoyed enormously.

She knew now that this would never happen again. Penniless schoolteachers did not stay with the daughters of diplomats, doctors and members of the aristocracy.

‘I shall just be one of the teachers from now on, no, not even that – I’ll become a sort of servant,’ she groaned to herself as she ran over the lawn to the shelter of the trees at the far end of the grounds.

‘Oh, I don’t mean to sound proud,’ she now said to herself, ‘and, if there is no money then, of course, I must earn some. I am prepared to work hard, but to be forced to stay on here and never to travel or see the world. Oh, dear Lord, please give me the strength and courage to bear this!’

She flung herself down in the long grass under the trees and buried her face in her hands.

“Why Rosilda, what is the matter? Have you hurt yourself? Look – your dress is all dirty!”

Rosilda looked up sharply and her heart sank.

The one girl she did not want to see her in this state of misery was standing watching her.

Princess Marianne of Montdeaves was six months younger than Rosilda, but, because of her upbringing and Social standing, she often seemed older.

Slim, beautiful and graceful with shining dark curls and flashing green eyes, she was a great favourite with the staff of the school, who often went out of their way to give her everything she requested.

They called her a most charming child when they spoke of her amongst themselves.

The pupils of the school knew otherwise!

They felt that Marianne was spoilt, stubborn and selfish, but, as the sister of the ruler of Montdeaves, a small Principality in the mountains of Central Europe, she was a very important person and always had her own way.

“No, I am quite all right, thank you, Marianne. Just thinking about – well, about my future.”