Chapter Two

The Rowans was large manor house, so called due to the grove of rowans that mark the house’s borders beyond the forlorn looking iron fence. It is located in a pretty little part of Yorkshire, the name of the village often escapes me though I believe it has an equally pretty name. I moved here at the age of ten and was employed by a candlestick maker, an old man whose skin reminded me of gnarled bark. His sons were both thin and and bore similarities to moths, something about the way they simply hover about. Never really doing anything useful if at all. But then the old man passed away and I had the choice of working at a workhouse in the city or in the kitchen of a wealthy family.

Well the choice was obvious, I had heard nothing but awful things happening in the workhouses and considerably less awful things happening in kitchens.

It was in the carriage staring up at the large building that was my master’s home on the day we met Amelia that I first took note of how ominous the house looked from the outside. And what with the appearance of the inhabitants I could only chuckle at what those that were not close to the Eldridges must think of them.

The day was warm so we drove in an open topped little model. I was a friend of the driver, a short and plump little man. Amusing looking with a large fluffy gray moustache and cherry red nose. Despite being aware of him half my life I had never seen him without his bowler hat firmly glued to his head, I presumed he was bald underneath it.

“Good afternoon Arthur,” I smiled at him and we exchanged a handshake.
“Afternoon Phil,” he nodded with gusto. It occurred to me that he was forever intoxicated, still it never effected his driving and he was always polite. We exchanged minor pleasantries and commented on the warm september day we had been blessed with.

With a soft clip clop of his leather shoes on the pathway Claude appeared on the stairs down to where the carriage was located. He stopped and plucked a flower from the closest bush and placed it in his jacket pocket before continuing down the marble steps.
Arthur and I bowed and I opened the door for him, the horses tapped their hooves as Arthur mounted his position and I took my seat beside my master.

His appearance was, as usual, as close to perfection as one could imagine being achievable. The weak sunlight pawed his face in adoration, his dark hair was clean and well groomed and on his lap sat his favorite top hat. He smiled at me and urged Arthur on.

We were at a leisurely pace as we entered the main square of the village and watched children as they played and women working. Claude had a certain interest in the working class and was especially fond of the inhabitants of the village.

“I think I am looking forward to seeing Amelia again.” He said with smile without facing me, or even showing any indication that the statement was directed at me.

“You think, sir?” I asked, he had a strange way of talking at times, especially in regards to people.
“She can be quite dull, everything is rabbits and hats to her,” he slid one side of his smile downwards and raised an eyebrow “do you suppose she owns any rabbits Philip?” an other of my master’s traits were his random questions that seemed to appear from no where.
“I believe she has spoken of her rabbits on occasion, sir. Eleven in total if I am not incorrect.” I reminded him

“Oh thats right, she treats them as if they were children does she not? Ribbons and the such, its criminal.”
I had no comment so simply nodded in response.