"Happy seventeenth birth, Constance," Aunt Aggie intoned, her voice rich with tradition.
With that, Constance received a folded piece of white linen. Her modest hands grasped the material, her amber eyes twinkling with curiosity and wonder.
Slowly, she unfolded it, holding it up to the light streaming through the mullioned windows.
"By heavens, Aunt Aggie, this dress is splendid!" Constance exclaimed, marveling at the intricate embroidery and delicate lacework.
"Indeed, it is a splendid gown," Aunt Aggie replied with a smile. "I had it made to charm Sir Edelman." She struck a few poses, looking every bit the elegant lady she was, her movements graceful and poised.
Constance giggled, feeling relieved to have her aunt with her on this momentous day of hee departure.
"Aunt Aggie, why are you the only one here? Why didn't Mum and Dad come to see me off? Or at least Sally? They didn't even wish me a happy birth." Constance asked, her voice tinged with sadness.
Aunt Aggie's smile faded slightly. "It is not for you to worry, Constance. Your little sister Sally fares well, but my brother, your father, would not let me bring her along. She is too young for such a journey. As for your mum and dad... they are well, but could not come. Matters of the… the estate, you know," she said, trying to reassure her niece while smoothing a crease in the linen dress.
Constance nodded, partly sure there was more to the story. "No matter, Aunt Aggie. Please say farewell to them for me."
Aunt Aggie hugged her tightly, her eyes glistening with unshed tears. "Farewell, Constance. Be a good girl, as the Lord would have you."
"Of course, Aunt Aggie. I shall," Constance replied, her voice soft yet resolute.
"You would look lovely in that dress. When you arrive in HolyWoodsworth, remember to stay true to yourself and our family's honor," Aunt Aggie advised with a warm smile. "And remember, a lady's virtue and intelligence are her greatest assets."
The carriage driver, a stoic man with weathered features, called out, "It is time to go now, ladies."
Aunt Aggie turned to him, "Ride slowly and take care of my pretty niece, I pray you. Constance, do write to us, won't you?"
"Of course, Aunt Aggie," Constance promised, her heart heavy with the weight of farewells and the promise of new beginnings.
Aunt Aggie moved a bit away from the carriage, calling out one last reminder, "And remember the Lord, Constance. He will watch over you and guide your steps."
"Of course, Aunt Aggie. Extend my greetings to Sir Edelman as well," Constance replied with a smile, trying to mask her apprehension with a facade of confidence.
The carriage began to move, the horses' hooves clattering on the cobblestone path. Aunt Aggie stood waving, her handkerchief fluttering in the breeze, her heart full of hope and prayers for her beloved niece.
The journey to Holy Woodsworth was long and arduous, the landscape changing from the familiar rolling hills of Hope to the bustling, vibrant streets of distant towns.
Constance gazed out of the carriage window, her thoughts and emotions going everywhere as that was the only thing she could do in this lonely, boring ride.
At times, she fell asleep. This time, only to awaken and find herself in unfamiliar territory. She clutched the lining dress, feeling its softness under her fingers, a tangible reminder of her Aunt Aggie.
Aside from Aunt Aggie, her parents were just that—parents. They didn't know her personally, viewing her merely as a holy, divine child.
Her little sister Sally, only eight, didn't look up to her either. Pfft! Who wanted to be a sacrifice to the Lord? Well, not Sally!
Constance's mind wandered back to the excuse Aunt Aggie gave of her parents being busy with manor and estate matters, but she knew the truth. It was because of her grandmother, . 'That old lady wouldn't just die, would she?'
Constance yawned, falling asleep for the third time that night and as she rode.
In her dream, she saw her grandmother. She had followed Constance all the way to Holy Woodsworth, chasing the carriage with holy oil and a holy book, calling her an evil child. When they reached Holy Woodsworth, the townsfolk listened to her grandmother, rejecting Constance and eventually burning her in the carriage, branding her a witch.
"Good heavens!"
Constance woke up with a start, wiping the sweat from her face. That was one of the usual foolish dreams she had almost every night.
The carriage had come to a halt. She looked out the window and saw the carriage driver, who was peering in at her. "Are we there? Have we arrived at Holy Woodsworth, Sir?" she asked, her voice trembling.
The driver nodded. "Oh, you're awake. I was just about to wake you. We are close to Holy Woodsworth."
"Thank you, sir. But why have we stopped if we haven't arrived yet?" Constance inquired, confusion lacing her tone.
He explained, "We are close, but you cannot enter Holy Woodsworth by carriage."
"Why not, Sir?" she asked, puzzled.
The driver smiled kindly. "It's Holy Woodsworth. The name speaks for itself. It wouldn't be proper. Your Aunt mentioned you're seventeen now, a big girl. You should understand the significance of holy things."
Constance sighed inwardly, rolling her eyes mentally. "Holy, holy, holy," she muttered under her breath.
Everything in her life seemed to revolve around holiness and it was so annoying, yet she held her composure, determined to remain a prim and proper young lady.
She bowed to the driver as she stepped down from the carriage with his assistance. He had already retrieved her luggage, two modest trunks.
"That dress," he noted, "you should put it in a box. It wouldn't be right to carry it around openly."
Constance rolled her eyes again, but only mentally, maintaining her outward politeness. "Thank you very much, sir," she replied. She opened her trunk, carefully placing the dress inside, and closed it securely.
As she stood there, adjusting her bonnet, the driver offered her a few final words of advice. "Be careful in Holy Woodsworth. It's a place of great reverence."
Constance nodded, thanking him once more before picking up her trunks. She took a deep breath, steeling herself for what lay ahead.