Chapter 5 — London

After a journey of two days, Mrs Winters, Ella and Cora arrived in London and stood directly outside of Mrs Fernsby’s home. Ella had not been to London nor seen Mrs Fernsby since she was much too young to appreciate the memory. She studied her aunt’s house which was attached to others along the street and was the colour of mud.

Ella’s n…

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Chapter 1 — Eve

June began to unfold and reveal her many gifts. One such gift was that of sultry days which inspired one to seek some nearby shady wood near a brook or remedy the heat with a seasonally ample supply of sweet cherries and plums. The landscape was blanketed with green and peppered with lazing sheep; the air filled with humming bees and a beaked chorus. The bouquet of geraniums and sweet pea blossoms swathed the warm breeze, enveloping Cheshire’s estates in a blissful start to summer.

One such estate, Wynbarry, was situated in the town of Disley and beautifully ensconced in this dawn of June and housed the Winters family. Wynbarry touted an expansive plot of land, a lavish home, massive stables, and an impressive garden. The Winters’ lawn would often accommodate summer picnics of cold lamb wrapped in cabbage leaves, pigeon pie with gravy, and cream smothered strawberries; a meal often had amongst the family and with friends. There was no frugality in the usage of the season’s fruits and vegetables at Wynbarry, Mrs Winters made that quite clear to her kitchen maids.

Inside the estate, the kitchen produced not only copious amounts of lobster salad and boiled eggs on hot summer days, but on this particular afternoon, a deluge of blackcurrant pudding and cherry tartlets laid on the kitchen countertops whose buttery and jammy perfume wafted idly throughout the house, from the kitchen through the hall to the dining room, then through the drawing room and parlour before seeping into the library. Nestled inside this library sat three young ladies, reading.

“Why has your face contorted so?” Both Charlotte and Cora watched Ella’s expression change with every new sentence she came upon.

“Is it the gooseberry foole which has made your nose scrunch?” Charlotte inquired. Her and Cora tittered.

“That is not the smell of foole,” Ella answered in monotone as she turned the page of her book, deeply ensnared in the plot of Euphues: An Anatomy of Wit.

“I don’t know why I bother with books, this Robinson Crusoe is painfully drab,” sighed Charlotte as she put her novel down and stared blankly at the wall of books in front of her. Ella glanced up at her momentarily before refastening her gaze onto the page.

“Charlotte, perhaps you would do best in following the recipe of a cherry tart rather than the classic plot of a seafaring man who grapples with pride and repentance. It is a bit complex,” Ella playfully sneered at her close friend.

“Unfeeling!” Charlotte retorted and all three young ladies broke out in a giggle. Ella turned her focus back onto her book and continued to disclose her impressions on her countenance.

“This story is one that makes me…” Ella furrowed her brows and searched for the words. “It makes me feel quite uneasy,” she concluded.

“What have you to feel uneasy for? It is merely a story from over two centuries before now,” Charlotte assured, brushing out the wrinkles in her dress.

“Nevertheless, Ms Stafford, this story in particular is indeed unsettling to the heart,” chimed Cora knowingly, having read it before. Ella glanced at Cora and puzzled over.

“Must friendship always give way before love?” she questioned. The themes of Euphues had been eating at Ella over the last few days of her reading. A man betrothed to a woman who had a heart for his close friend, a love that was secretly reciprocated by the aforementioned comrade. A betrayal of friendship between two gentlemen, a betrayal of trust between man and woman. The only thing more woeful, Ella thought to herself, would be a betrayal of friendship between two gentlewomen.

Charlotte grew tired of any conversations that aimed to solve onerous questions and sighed loudly, bored. Cora, having taught Ella to ask pointed questions such as these in her time as Ella’s governess, smiled before responding.

“Well, I should believe it must. Any sensible person would only face such a risk in the first place if the reward was truly great.” Ella inquisitively gazed at Cora.

“But should the reward justify the fracture if the reward is only felt by one?” She posed. Charlotte cocked her head slightly to ponder the question.

“I suppose that is for the executioner to decide,” Cora offered before their conversation was interrupted.

“Ms Stafford, a carriage has been sent for your return to Lyme Manor, I have packed you various puddings,” Mrs Pawley, the housekeeper, announced as she entered the room. A footman stood behind Mrs Pawley, holding the pudding as he waited to escort Ms Stafford home.

Alice Pawley bore the responsibility of overseeing the cook, the head parlourmaid, and the head housemaid. These three positions were charged with overseeing a bevy of kitchen, scullery and stillroom maids, the service of all the family’s chambers, and the under-housemaids who dusted, cleaned and polished the home. Mrs Winters, the lady of the home, aimed to only converse with Mrs Pawley who then relayed all of her requests.

“It is time for my retirement,” Charlotte professed with spirit before mockingly curtsying to her two companions and pirouetting on her heel, causing her dress to billow dramatically upon her exit.

“I shall call on you tomorrow,” Ella called out with a smirk.

“I will depend on it, Ms Winters,” Charlotte riposted playfully as she left the library. Ella and Cora continued to read throughout the rest of the afternoon.

As evening began to roll in, two housemaids entered to light the candles in the library.

“The tallow candles are fine,” Ella assured them when she saw the beeswax candles in their grasp. They glanced at each other, Cora, and then back at Ella. It always was a curious image to the other servants and maids to see Cora’s enjoyment in Wynbarry alongside Ella, though her rank was that of a governess.

“Ms Winters, we have been informed by Mrs Pawley that Mrs Winters would like us to light the beeswax candles. May we light them for you?”

“Beeswax candles, this again? How uneconomic. What candles are you given to take everyday?”

“Ms Winters, we are given one tallow candle to light our way to our quarters each night.”

“Well that will assuredly do for me as well, you may light the tallow ones. Reserve the beeswax ones for our next gathering,” Ella concluded and looked back down at her book. Cora continued reading quietly. Ella soon observed the housemaids’ hesitation to switch the beeswax ones for the tallow ones. After a few moments, a rush of pity overcame her and she knew this would very well be an act of rebellion for the housemaids so she waved her hand, approving the beeswax candles, sighing in frustration.

Ella’s mother, Mrs Winters, was not a very economical woman, especially when given the chance to display her wealth to members of society, which often clipped at her daughter’s natural prudence. It was surely her assumption that Charlotte was still in the family’s company and so commanded the beeswax candles to be lit for Wynbarry’s guest.

As Ella continued flipping page after page, Mr Winters entered the library. He acknowledged Cora.

“Ms Bennet, good evening.” Cora immediately stood upon his entrance and gave a small curtsy before excusing herself.

Cora had been appointed governess to Ella when Ella was only thirteen under the responsibility of continuing her French studies, though she often indulged Ella in her passion for literature. Oftentimes they sat for hours besides one another reading and conversing about books and authors. Although Cora had completed her tenure of governess to Ella, Ella requested she stay at Wynbarry as her companion. This gave no assumption to Cora, however, that she would ever truly be considered anything other than part of the domestic offices of the estate, regardless of her middle class background.

Despite Ella’s desire for Cora’s integration within the family during daily events such as breakfast, luncheon or dinner, Cora often dined alone. It was an attempt to preserve her middle class status and refrain from tainting her rank by dining with lower servants, or any servant at all. It was times of reading and relaxation that Ella often invited Cora to sit with her as if she were Cora Winters.

As an additional burden to her unknown place in the home, she had not the chance to create circumstances that would lead to marriage. Cora was approaching two-and-thirty, and in the presence of Ella and Charlotte who were approaching three-and-twenty, she rarely garnered the attention of any gentleman. She was nearing spinster status and it was Ella’s presumption that this fact did weigh heavily on her heart, however discreetly.

Mr Winters knowingly walked to the far end of the bookcase and plucked off a worn binding of poetry. Mr Winters was a tall, broad man with a genuine face. His hair was nougat while Mrs Winters had lighter, chestnut embellishments. Ella inherited consummate features from both her mother and father which was an apparent excellence by all who laid eyes on her, yet she often presumed her own features quite dull, especially compared to Charlotte’s. She thought her dark hair and green eyes muddy next to Charlotte’s flaxen hair and clear blue orbs. Ella hadn’t burdened herself with this presumption in the form of it coming to bear in her temper, but only thought of it as mere fact and felt some relief in the possibility that it would assist her in avoiding unwanted attention from courters.

Ella and her father sat opposite of one another as they read, being interrupted only once by a maid who offered Mr Winters a cigar which he declined. Soon thereafter, Mrs Winters invaded the quiet space.

“O! Will you ever take your gaze off the page, John and Ella!” She looked around inquisitively before inquiring, “Has Ms Stafford left?”

“She has,” Ella answered. Mrs Winters immediately called for Mrs Pawley.

“Mrs Pawley, we must put out these beeswax candles and replace them with the tallow!” She walked over to Mr Winters and Ella.

“Ella, the coachman is to ready a carriage for us tomorrow to go to town. We must provide your measurements to the seamstress for new gowns. This summer shall bring many a ball,” Mrs Winters insisted with enthusiasm.

“Esther, had you not just gone to town on the same task merely a fortnight ago?” Questioned Mr Winters. Ella smiled to herself as her mother’s expression pulled into one of bemusement.

“Why, that was to get our feet measured by the shoe maker. Nevertheless I must inspect some bangles I ordered from the blacksmith. I don’t trust Alice to do it.”

“You would trust Mrs Pawley with your children, but not a bangle?” Mr Winters quipped and Ella let a titter escape her lips.

“You two are troublesome. The carriage will be ready in the morning, we shall leave immediately upon finishing breakfast. Now make haste, dinner is to be set at any moment,” she advised before exiting the library.

Ella always became amused by her mother’s busybody and frivolous nature. Her and her father made no haste and resumed their reading. A smile crept onto Mr Winters’ lips before lowly chuckling to himself. He was reading Elegy Written in a Country Churchyard, a poem he had surely memorised after decades of reading it.

“How poignant a poem,” Mr Winters broke the silence and his dimpled smile portrayed a knowingness of some secret.

“Which one?” Ella inquired before her father turned the page towards her so she could read the title. “O yes, I have come to know that this is one of your favourites.”

“Indeed, a recountment of all the menial work of man during one’s lifetime,” he paused, “The simple pleasures experienced by him, and his comprehension that he will pass without recognition by most.” Ella thought to herself that this theme was not one to elicit any amusement.

“Well, should life that produces menial outcome be recognized any more than marginally?” She questioned. Mr Winters paused and thought about this question momentarily before responding.

“Their plot of life was the mere restriction of their contribution. One’s talent can only yield significance if the opportunity is present to do so.” Ella contemplated this remark. “There are ubiquitous pleasures that all men will experience, regardless of their rank. The pleasures of family, his wife, his children.” He ran his finger down the length of the page and stopped at a specific stanza. He read it aloud:

“For them no more the blazing hearth shall burn,

Or busy housewife ply her evening care:

No children run to lisp their sire’s return,

Or climb his knees the envied kiss to share.”

He smiled to himself and reread the verse in his head. Ella watched him thoughtfully and examined the creases by his eyes and his weathered hands which held the book.

“Papa? Do you suppose it is alarming to see one’s features change and become worn?” He cleared his throat before responding,

“If I had not the fortune of you and James to witness the embodiment of your mother and I living on, it would surely be more fearsome.” He paused and rubbed the page with his thumb. “I do fear for my son, with that wife of his. She will wear out his heart and mind one day. I hope not to live long enough to see it. Or rather, if it should happen, I wish to be alive to restore him.” Ella’s face pulled into an expression of repugnance.

“What a wretch that Cecil is,” she cursed quietly.

“And the sleepless nights your poor mother endures, she dwells on their marriage.”

“Was she not a proponent for the marriage?”

“Not one was a strong proponent. Admittedly, we had not the knowledge we do now of Cecil’s behaviour. We are quite worried for his wellbeing.” He shook his head as he turned the page.

“And what about me?” Ella probed, closing her book. “Do you fear for me?” she asked curiously. He, too, closed his book and sighed before answering.

“My dear, Ella. If my heart experiences any consolation, you must be behind it.” A small smile formed on her lips as she watched her father rise to his feet and walk his book back to its place on the case. He kissed her on the forehead before exiting towards the dining hall. She stared out the window, her eyes lost in the aubergine sky. She was unaware if she had sat staring out the window for merely a minute or over a quarter of an hour. Two more housemaids entered the library to switch the candles which created shadows that danced from wall to wall, a show which Ella spectated. On top of the dense aroma of pudding, she could smell the fish souchet and mushrooms au gratin for dinner. She stared at the end of the bookcase and pondered her father’s sentiment on one’s restriction in life. She sauntered over to the poetry her father had just set back in place and opened it. The spine naturally opened to the poem she had in mind and she began reading from the beginning, standing at the end of the bookcase and leaning on the wall as she read.

Full many a gem of purest ray serene,

The dark unfathom’d caves of ocean bear:

Full many a flow’r is born to blush unseen,

And waste its sweetness on the desert air.

A look of awe formed on her expression at this epiphany of truth, but was suddenly startled out of her trance by a shrill hiss of a voice.

“I thought you might have impounded yourself here with your nose thrust in a book.” Ella turned to see Cecil standing in the doorway. Cecil resembled that of a small bird, with her petite build and sharp nose. Her tiny red lips chronically pursed, her blue eyes glaringly bright from across the room.

“Cecil, have you stepped away from dinner?” Ella inquired with no interest as she continued looking down at her book. Ella often wondered to herself what appealing qualities Cecil exhibited for her brother to take notice of her; she was of ordinary handsomeness, it ought to have been her father’s wealth. Indeed, Cecil had not always looked so ugly to Ella, but as of late she did evoke a feeling of aversion.

“I will not be eating in order to remain shapely,” replied Cecil as she smoothed her dress. Ella raised her eyebrows, her gaze never straying from the book. “You might do well to follow suit, I have seen nary a gentleman here courting you for marriage,” Cecil jabbed. Ella closed her book and stared blankly at her sister in law.

“I have no interest in marriage presently,” Ella uttered dryly.

“Well, I should hope someone whets your interest soon. You would be the better for it,” Cecil retorted.

“I heard you and James were running about town in search of property today, a shame you have not found one. Is it right that you’ve been married nearly four months now and yet no estate calls to you?” Ella inquired with a feigned innocence. Cecil squinted her eyes before a sardonic huff escaped her.

“James insists on staying in Disley for a reason entirely unknown to me. If he were to mind my suggestion of moving to London, then my eye for homes would surely be more compromising,” Cecil explained with a look of distaste on her face as she peered out the window into the country.

“Perhaps one only feels so called to a country property if their ability to run it seems deserving enough. Surely a smaller home in London is more manageable,” Ella shrugged, setting her book back on the shelf. Cecil’s lip curled into a half smile.

“Nothing you should need to consider for some time I suppose,” Cecil replied in an overly kind tone before stepping out of the doorframe and into the hall.

Chapter 2 — The Crux

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The Winters

The Staffords

The Fernsbys

The Coffins

The Price Siblings

The Men of Combe

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Swans,

A few years ago, I wrote a novel. Ella Winters.

Writing on the weekends during my full-time MBA, I began to create a world which I disappeared into quietly with an ever-cooling cup of coffee next to me. It was a world I mostly kept to myself as it was unfolding from the depths of my imagination.

With this story, it was clear to me as I was writing it at age 23, and especially now at 26, that there were things I wanted so desperately to say. There were themes I wanted to explore and dialogue that would come to me at all hours of the day, prompting me to quickly note it down and file it away for a future scene. There were characters I wanted to see in action and a whole world I wanted to explore; a world I wanted to create myself.

So I wrote this novel over the course of a year and despite the triumph of completing it, it has laid dormant for 3 years as my life has unfolded in other, unpredictable ways. But now, an opportunity has presented itself to go down the publication pathway.

So as I begin editing the novel for publication, I wanted to share the original manuscript here first with you, my wonderful ballet of swans who have provided me with your unwavering support. You all have cheered me on in my pursuit of knowledge in the humanities and I never thought that facet of life was mine to explore given my career in medical devices which I am also attempting to solidify in parallel.

This version of my novel is intentionally untouched. It exists before revision, before any polishing, and before the strange transformation that happens when something private to me becomes public. I like the idea of you reading it in its original form, the way it lived inside my head while I was writing it.

I’ve decided to keep the manuscript within the paid tier because I want this part of The Sedo Diaries to feel smaller and more intimate like a private reading room rather than content being broadcast outward. If you feel drawn to Ella Winters and want to follow the story throughout the month, you are welcome to subscribe at any point, even just for June.

The novel follows Ella Winters through one year of her life in regency England, beginning in June.

So throughout this upcoming month of June, I will be posting the manuscript in its entirety month by month, so that by the end of June, you will have the complete novel in its original form. I will also post a Dramatis Personae for those who would like a reference guide to the characters as they read.

Posting Schedule

Week 1: Summer

• Dramatis Personae

• June

• July

• August

Week 2: Autumn

• September

• October

• November

Week 3: Winter

• December

• January

• February

Week 4: Spring

• March

• April

• May

So with that, welcome to the world of Ella Winters.

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