Alexander
October 29th, 1847
Morning sunlight filtered through the delicately embroidered white lace curtains, accompanied by the chime of the London town hall tower clock striking six—precisely the sound that rouses me to live another day, and so it shall continue, day after day, until my life is no more.
Yet it was not only the sounds from outside. Within my bedchamber, there was also the familiar noise of a window being opened and the deep inhalation of a certain gentleman, the one who habitually takes it upon himself to see to my meals and organize my daily schedule every morning without fail.
"Good morning, your grace."
"Good morning. I should like Earl Grey today."
"Yes, your grace. I have already set out your breakfast in the dining room. I will inform you of your schedule for today once you have finished bathing and dressing, your grace."
Theodore came to stand beside my bed, back straight, arms neatly folded behind him, as he delivered the morning's news as was his daily custom.
"There is no need to wait until then. You may tell me now—I am already quite awake." I told him so, for in truth, I had barely slept until dawn. The vexation from yesterday evening still lingered faintly.
"This morning, you have a meeting with the Duke of Wellington at Apsley House, your grace."
"Is it regarding our company? I thought we would discuss everything together at the board meeting."
Work has kept me rather busy lately, as the company in which I've invested is planning to expand the northern railway routes of the Empire, aiming for the most comprehensive transportation network possible.
"Yes, your grace. His Grace returned to London last week and requested to discuss matters with you in advance of the official board meeting. He only sent word yesterday evening, not long after Lady Eleanor had left."
"Could you refrain from mentioning her name in my presence right now? I am already quite unsettled." Merely hearing that name was enough to agitate me, oddly so.
"My apologies. Would you like me to read His Grace's letter aloud to you?"
"That will not be necessary. I trust you."
Theodore is my most trusted attendant and personal secretary, as well as my appointed knight. He once served as the right hand of the late Duke of Devonshire—my elder brother who has now passed.
"Thank you, your grace. However, I must report something regarding Lady Eleanor, if I may."
At this, I pressed a hand to my brow. I had only just said I did not wish to hear her name, for she had been the cause of my sleepless night, yet Theodore seemed insistent. I supposed I could not refuse to hear him out.
I let out a deep sigh to steady myself before resolving to listen.
"Speak."
"Yesterday, I received word from her ladyship's maid that Lady Eleanor is suffering from amnesia, your grace."
"What do you mean, she is suffering from amnesia? Explain yourself!" I felt a sudden unease at his words. What could possibly have caused her ladyship to lose her memory? That might explain why her manner and speech had seemed so strange lately.
"I do not know the particulars. Her maid simply told me that Lady Eleanor has forgotten even her own name."
My gaze drifted to the window, past Theodore's frame to the grey sky beyond, where dark clouds were gathering—a sign that rain was likely to fall within the next few hours. I struggled to comprehend what he had just told me: my betrothed had lost her memory.
'She remembers nothing of the past.'
Whether this would prove a blessing or a curse for me, I could not say. But for now, it filled me with guilt for how I had behaved towards her. Unaware of the cause, she could not know what had transpired between us, and the words I had meant to say remained unspoken. I ought to have discussed our wedding with her yesterday.
"Theodore, would you accompany me to Wexford House after my business with Lord Arthur? I should like to settle the matter of the wedding once and for all, so I need not concern myself with her any further."
"Of course, your grace."
He bowed and withdrew from the room. Today, I resolved to put an end to the matter that had weighed upon me for so long, before my imminent departure in the days ahead.
Eleanor
I sat jotting down the events of the day while sipping tea blended with warm milk and fresh honey at a small round table in my bedroom. Unlike most days, I did not venture out to the back garden, as the weather today was hardly pleasant—worse, even, than yesterday. The sky rumbled with thunder, and rain fell intermittently, at times stopping and then returning in light drizzles. The dreary atmosphere allowed me to linger in bed until quite late in the morning.
Lillian had asked for permission to go into town alone at dawn, saying she needed to purchase more tea leaves for the pantry and wished to stop by the apothecary to procure medicines for the coming season's colds. She has yet to return, likely delayed somewhere nearby by the rain. With nothing to do, unable to visit the garden, and not permitted to go out alone, my day was left quite empty.
A lady of high rank like myself ought not to wander the streets unaccompanied—not because I am a woman, but because venturing out without an attendant is simply unsafe. Of late, there have been frequent tales of a serial killer in the Whitechapel district to the east of London, recounted to me by the servants of the house. Truth be told, I cannot help but worry for Lillian.
As far as I can remember, Whitechapel is notorious for its overcrowding, poverty, and crime, especially in the late nineteenth century, coinciding with the era of "Jack the Ripper," the most infamous serial killer in history. But that dreadful episode would not occur until 1888, forty-one years after the present year in which I find myself.
'Never mind,' I thought.
Danger lingers all the same.
I scanned the room for the gold-engraved clock that chimes annoyingly at every passing hour to check the time. It read 2:02 p.m. I was growing bored of staring at the page of my journal, tempted to go downstairs to find a new book to pass the time. Then a thought struck me: perhaps I should explore the house a bit in Lillian's absence—maybe I'd discover something interesting about Lady Vivian, now that there was no one to stop me from wandering.
I hurried out of my bedroom, dashed down the stairs, and went straight to the library, intending to search for someone's diary. I was convinced there must be some clue or relic of hers hidden somewhere in this house. I longed to know what Lady Vivian looked like—she must have been so lovely for Lord Barnett to still speak of her with such longing even now. But as I reached the ground floor, I stopped short, suddenly wishing to ask someone about it instead.
Let me briefly describe the house: Wexford House is not grand or palatial, especially compared to Devonshire House. It has only three floors—four bedrooms with en suite baths on the second floor; on the first, there is the guest salon, Lord Barnett's study, the laundry, kitchen, adjoining scullery, library, separate lavatories for ladies and gentlemen, and the dining room.
Beyond the main house are two small cottages in the back garden, serving as lodgings for the household staff, including Lillian's own quarters. Though she is permitted to stay in the guest bedroom upstairs temporarily, to keep a close watch on me in recent weeks.
As for the third floor, I have no idea what lies there—I am not allowed up. Listening to this, it may seem as though Lillian is more the mistress of this house than I, but I have followed her rules faithfully, as Lord Barnett entrusted her with my care until his return.
There are eight servants in total. Lillian, my devoted maid; Agatha, the young housekeeper, who manages laundry and cleaning with Lillian; Mrs. Barker, the stout, middle-aged cook; her daughter, Beneth, just two years older than her brother, helps in the kitchen; and Mick, the mischievous youngest son, assists with chores here and there.
Among the male staff—excluding Mick—are Mr. Barker, the coachman and husband of Mrs. Barker, father of Beneth and Mick, who takes me everywhere; Jason, the young gardener; and finally Wyatt, Jason's brawny, intimidating elder brother by three years, who is responsible for repairs and is skilled in matters of defense.
I wandered the empty halls, humming quietly in search of anyone at all. Oddly, the house was utterly deserted—not even Agatha, who is usually found dusting or polishing somewhere on the first floor, was anywhere to be seen. I went to the laundry in hopes of finding her.
"Agatha!" I called out.
No answer. No sign of her.
A wave of loneliness came over me. Day after day I had been cooped up in my own bedroom, rarely speaking to anyone. Unless I had some urgent errand, Lillian would scarcely allow me to go anywhere without her watchful eye.
"Agatha!" I called again.
Silence.
Certain now that no one was home, I fancied paying a visit to the staff cottages. I wanted to see how they lived, what their quarters looked like.
To get there, I would need to run through the rain as quickly as possible, for the drizzle could easily chill me and I had no desire to sample any of the fever remedies Lillian was fetching for me.
"Dover's Powder," a widely used medicine of the time, contained ten parts opium, ten parts ipecacuanha, and the remaining eighty parts consisted of potassium sulfate, lactose, and milk sugar. The method was simple—just mix the powder with warm water and drink.
Its sedative effects were believed to relieve fever and chronic pain, but the opium brought risk of addiction, and excessive doses of ipecac could induce vomiting and even stop the heart. Effective and safe medicines would not be developed, nor dosages properly regulated, until the next century.
Returning to my journey to the servants' cottages—
There were two routes: one from the back stone terrace I frequented, the other from the front of the manor, bypassing the main house altogether. I chose the first route, as it was closest to the laundry.
Following this path, I would pass the pavilion and then turn left down a small lane, arriving at the cottages' front yard.
As I ran past the pavilion—
Crack! Snap!
A noise rose from the depths of the woods surrounding the garden, like someone treading on fallen branches. I froze, my heart pounding, fearful it might be some wild beast about to pounce. I hastily retreated toward the house.
Just then, voices drifted from behind the woodshed—a man and a woman, quarreling. Peeking, I saw two figures in rain cloaks, their faces hidden. I ducked behind a large tree and strained to hear.
"You would let her ladyship die, then? Why not tell her the truth?"
The young man's demand echoed warnings I'd received from a mysterious stranger the previous night. The voice was strikingly similar.
"I have no choice! It is the master's will. What would you have me do? It is not as though I disagree, but my hands are tied."
That was unmistakably Lillian's voice.
'So, she knows that man?'
From their exchange, it was clear they knew each other well. But who was the man in the cloak? What was his connection to Lillian, and why all the secrecy, the warnings whispered to me and to her?
"You are leading Lady Eleanor down the same path as Lady Chelsea—do you realize that? At least her ladyship is alive and well for now. Let her know the truth! I will not let him take another life!"
Their words filled me with dread. What sort of danger was I in? Who would wish me dead, and who was this 'Lady Chelsea' they spoke of?
"No! You must let this go. My mistress is happy again, and I have not seen her so lively in years. I will not let her know—not even if I disagree with this marriage."
'What does that mean? Why would my marriage make someone wish me harm? Who is this man?'
"I know you tried to warn her ladyship last night. Enough! What you are doing will not help as you imagine. If the master learns the truth, he will not let you go unpunished."
Lillian's words made it clear she and the man were well acquainted, and Lord Barnett was aware as well. Something dark and complicated must have happened before I arrived in this body.
Before the two could finish or stumble upon me eavesdropping, I hastened back to the manor to change out of my drenched clothes before Lillian noticed my absence. My body was soaked, but I had heard enough for now—my mind was already swimming with questions and anxieties.
I was surprised Lillian had returned to the manor without coming up to check on me as usual, but I resolved to ask her later.
Stealthily, I crept back inside, hoping no one would see my dripping form. I opened and shut the door quietly, hurried up to the second floor, and dashed into my bedroom's bath. As I changed, my thoughts whirled with the mysteries I now faced—three new questions I must solve if I am to discover who I truly am in this new life, and perhaps find a way home.
First: I must recover all the memories of Lady Eleanor's past. My safety now comes first. At first, I doubted the warnings of that strange man—who would threaten a noble's daughter? But with Lillian involved, it must be true.
Second: I must find out why Lord Alexander's name is missing from all historical records, though he is heir to the illustrious Cavendish line, and should, by rights, be the seventh Duke of Devonshire—William Cavendish, by history's account.
Third: Why is my marriage to Lord Alexander so perilous that someone would wish me dead?
Click!
I was lost in my thoughts when the slow creak of a door broke my reverie.
'Oh dear, Lillian is back—and my hair isn't even dry! But at least I have changed.'
"Young miss, whatever have you been doing? Why are you so drenched?"
"I—I just took a bath," I stammered.
She looked at me, puzzled. Who, after all, bathes at such an hour?
"It was cold, so I wanted a warm soak, that's all."
'Terrible lie, Ellie—no one will believe that.'
I had forgotten that in this era, there is no modern hot water; water must be boiled, and usually, Lillian prepares my bath. She must have seen right through me.
"Did you sneak out in the rain? I saw water droplets on the stairs."
'Oh no—I forgot about that!'
"Uh, well, yes…" I stammered, anxious she'd discover my little excursion.
"Did you go out to the back garden?" she pressed, her face anxious—she must have worried I'd overheard her secret meeting.
"I just went to the laundry to look for Agatha and slipped at the door. I didn't want to tell you, lest you worry."
"But—I wasn't hurt!" I added hastily, fearing she would insist on examining me.
'Honestly, Ellie, your lies are hopeless.'
Yet, to my surprise, Lillian believed me this time, and asked no further questions.
"Please take care of yourself while I am out, young miss. Do not go outside while it's raining, for your own safety. Now, let me fetch some warm water for you—you don't want to catch a chill." With that, she left, her expression once more serene, the earlier worry vanished from her face.
✽ ✽ ✽
I bathed, dressed, and changed into a new house dress that Lillian had laid out for me. She did not ask any further questions after returning with a bucket of warm water she had boiled in the kitchen, so I surmised she had not suspected that I had been eavesdropping on her in the garden.
To keep the atmosphere between us from becoming strained, I sought for something to discuss as I sat with my back to her, letting her gently towel my damp hair while seated at the chair by the foot of the bed.
"Do you think Lord Alexander will summon me soon?"
"I am not sure, miss. But I do not think His Grace would leave the matter of your wedding unattended for long. I believe he has simply been busy with work."
"What sort of work does Lord Alexander do? I should like to know."
In truth, I already knew well enough: noble families of high rank draw vast revenues from the lands they own—rent from agricultural tenants in the provinces, fees from townhouses in the city, and income from coal and mineral mines. Especially great houses like the Cavendishes, who hold extensive lands in several counties across the United Kingdom—London, Derbyshire, Yorkshire, Sussex. Some may dabble quietly in commerce, but a duke's status is almost equal to royalty; they have no need to trade, their fortunes are already immense.
Still, I wanted to know what, in reality, he did each day. There might be things never recorded in official letters, documents, or chronicles.
"His Grace is a member of the Whig party, miss, but he does not take an active political role or lead any particular faction. He also sits on the Privy Council, the group of close advisors to Her Majesty."
"If you ask what he is most known for, it would be his reputation in town planning, land development, patronage of the arts and literature, architecture, and business, rather than political leadership. As for business, I know only rumors: some noblemen are quietly investing in private companies—particularly railways. I believe if you asked His Grace yourself, he would be willing to tell you more, miss."
'How admirable that he is so well-versed in so many matters. I truly respect that,' I thought.
From what I gathered, he seemed to fit the profile of the sixth Duke, for the seventh was known mainly for political reforms in education, according to historical records.
"Which number in the line of Dukes is Lord Alexander?" I asked.
"He is the seventh Duke of Devonshire, miss."
'How can that be!' I thought. 'At the very least, I have discovered another clue to help me uncover the truth. There must have been some pivotal event during the transition from the sixth to the seventh Duke.'
"And what about Father? What is his position?"
Indeed, I could not neglect to ask about Lord Barnett. The title of Marquis, while just below that of Duke, is still high enough to secure a place in the House of Lords, with considerable political influence. Yet as far as I could tell, the title Marquis of Wexford appeared in no records I had ever come across.
My hypothesis was that the title might have become extinct during the reforms of England's feudal system, as the country transitioned from a land-based economy to industrial capitalism—much like the era I now found myself in. Judging by the situation, he had no male heir, so perhaps the title would end with him, for there was no suitable relative to inherit.
By now, my hair had fully dried. Lillian had moved to kneel at my feet, rubbing olive oil onto my legs to protect my skin from chapping in this cold, dry weather, starting at my feet and working upwards as she told me all this.
"His Lordship is a Whig as well, and on the Privy Council, just like His Grace. He owns nearly all the land west of London, including Putney, where we reside. He also has large agricultural estates stretching from Derbyshire to Manchester, and is likely a business partner of His Grace as well."
"That explains why Father is so close to Lord Alexander," I nodded in understanding.
Lillian looked troubled, as if there were more at stake than mere business between the two families. Perhaps I should ask her outright about the warning from that mysterious man—maybe the threats against me were connected to political interests.
"Lillian, I have a question." I leaned closer, searching her pale eyes for a reaction.
"Is someone trying to harm me?"
At last, the question that had plagued me since yesterday escaped my lips. Lillian spun around, meeting my gaze with a tense look that told me there was truth to my suspicions.
"Why do you ask, miss?"
"I met a man in the garden last night. He warned me not to trust someone, saying that person intended to kill me. Can you tell me anything about this?"
She recoiled, her face paling, her hands—midway through massaging oil into my legs—freezing with the bottle still in her grasp, her lips trembling as if this were a matter of life and death I should not broach.
"Do you remember everything, miss?"
"If I remembered, would I be asking you?" I replied quietly.
"I—I apologize, miss. There is nothing, truly. You mustn't believe the words of a trespasser. I shall order Wyatt to search for that stranger. No one should dare intrude on our estate. It is sheer luck that you are unharmed."
She was flustered, pretending not to know the man, hurriedly turning her face away to pour more oil onto my other leg.
"Please, Lillian, answer me—was there any incident before I lost my memory?"
"There was nothing, miss, I swear. Please, believe me—you are perfectly safe. No one means you harm. That warning was the raving of a madman, nothing more." She insisted.
Seeing her evasive reaction, I realized that pressing her for the truth would get me nowhere. Lillian was clearly determined to hide something. I would need a new strategy—perhaps questioning other servants, or better yet, confronting Lord Alexander himself. My highborn fiancé would surely know the truth.
'But how to get him to tell me, that is the problem…'
He is such a cold, guarded man. If I asked him directly, he would surely walk away. Yet, as his soon-to-be wife, if I drew close enough to him, perhaps he might confide in me. It was at least possible.
Dong!... Dong!... Dong!... Dong!...
The gold-engraved clock chimed, striking seven in the evening. I glanced at the window; night had fallen, darkness settling over the sky. Lillian and I had talked for hours without noticing the world around us.
Knock! Knock! Knock!
A series of knocks sounded at the door, following soon after the clock chimes. Lillian rose to answer and opened the door to see who had come.
"Miss Lilliana, His Grace is here to see the young mistress. He and his attendants are waiting in the drawing room below," Agatha announced, reporting the arrival of our unexpected guest.
✽ ✽ ✽
"What did you just say?"
I exclaimed, hand to my chest, upon hearing the rules he expected me to follow after our marriage. I had no patience left for flowery language or polite conversation—Lord Alexander had come all the way to the manor solely to discuss what he expected of me as his wife.
"As I have said, my lady. I am telling you plainly: our union will be in name only. There will be no intimacy between us, and I will not father any heirs with you." He spoke coldly, with a face entirely devoid of feeling.
'Why does he hate me so much?' I wondered. It didn't truly bother me that he had no desire for a relationship—I wasn't exactly enamored of him either. But to state outright that he refused to have children with me—wasn't that a little cruel? Was I truly so disagreeable that he would not even consider the idea? I could only curse silently, struggling to regain my composure.
"I understand what you are saying, but do you not think others will find it odd that you marry a wife but do not intend to have an heir?"
It wasn't that I was keen to share a marriage bed with him… Not at all. It was simply astonishing that a duke would have no desire for children. This was a significant matter for a noble family, after all; even illegitimate offspring could not claim this right.
"I have my reasons, which you need not know." His voice was as cold as ever as he sat there sipping his tea, refusing to meet my eyes just as he had yesterday.
"Oh, one more thing," he added. "We will not spend time together as ordinary husband and wife. You will only see me when we are required to attend social events, or if I have some matter that requires discussion."
'Am I just here to adorn your reputation?'
If I could be as openly expressive as I felt, I would have rolled my eyes at him.
"…"
I had nothing to say in response, so I merely stared at his handsome face as he continued to avoid looking at me. It was nearly the same scene as yesterday, except he did not storm out of the room this time, leaving me sitting here bewildered. And where was the apology for yesterday? Not a single word escaped those perfectly-formed lips.
Soon after, he excused himself and departed, our negotiations concluded. This is what I resolved to do next: I would not care about any of the restrictions or rules he tried to impose.
He could be as proud as he wished—I would not cower before him, duke or not. I was determined to uncover the truth, and I would get close to him until he finally revealed everything to me. Just as the saying goes:
'The more you forbid me, the more determined I become.'
Liliana
After the young mistress had seen His Grace out, I watched as she stormed upstairs in clear displeasure. I, who had been eavesdropping just behind the door of the adjoining dining room, took it as the perfect opportunity to slip out and convey my master's wishes to His Grace.
I hurried after His Grace and Sir Wycliffe, who were making their way to the carriage at the front entrance. Fearing I might not reach them in time, I rushed down the stairs and waved frantically, hoping Sir Wycliffe would notice me and alert them to stop. It was, perhaps, highly improper to behave so before His Grace, but for the young mistress's sake, I was prepared to do anything.
"Your Grace! I have a message from Lord Barnett!"
I saw Sir Wycliffe nudge him to draw his attention before instructing the coachman to halt the carriage.
"Huff... huff... I—"
I stopped at the manor's front doors, struggling to catch my breath, unable at first to speak.
"Catch your breath, I will wait," His Grace said.
"Th—thank you, sir..."
My words came in broken gasps as I fought to fill my lungs, standing there for some moments before gathering myself to deliver my report.
"I have something to report, a message from Lord Barnett."
His Grace fixed his gaze upon me, neither interrupting nor rebuking.
"Speak. I am listening."
"Are you aware of Her Ladyship's condition?"
"I have heard some mention of it. Tell me the details."
"The young mistress drank poison, intending to end her life last week. By some fortune, she was revived and her life was spared, but she has forgotten everything from her past. I have already informed Lord Barnett, and he has instructed me to keep all matters concerning Lady—"
I caught myself, realizing I ought not to mention her name in his presence.
"To keep her past well concealed, Your Grace, believing it is best for both herself and for you."
His Grace's expression darkened the moment I told him of the young mistress's suicide attempt.
"Thank you for informing me. Do not worry—I shall cooperate fully with Lord Barnett's wishes."
"Thank you, Your Grace," I replied, grateful that he would comply with my master's plan. Now, the young mistress would have no way of learning her own past from anyone—save for the one person I must deal with next.