Chapter 1
Suffolk, England 1858
It was still the early hours of morning and the sun had scarcely peeked its golden head over the horizon but the air was already stale and humid, bearing down heavily like molasses. England was going through another one of its sweltering Indian summers and it was magnified doubly so in the countryside.
Lady Helga Pataki leaned her head out of the window of the carriage hoping to be granted a short reprieve from the heat, but it made no difference. Strands of blonde hair clung to the temples of her perspiring forehead and her chest heaved up and down in a steady rhythmic movement as she struggled to breathe in the rigid corset that bound her. In an attempt to distract herself, Helga continued to stare down the long winding road ahead of her, hoping that time would quicken and she'd be home to Bedford Hills so that she might remove herself from the suffocating confinement of her garments. The heavy brocade of her skirts clung uncomfortably to her legs and she was reaching such a point of desperation that she likely would have undressed right there in the carriage were it not for her father, Lord Robert Pataki, sitting across from her.
"Helga, come away from the window this instant!", her father admonished, "You are to behave like a lady, not a common farm girl"
Helga brought herself back inside the carriage. It hadn't mattered anyway for there was no sign of wind blowing anywhere. The leaves on the trees stood were stagnant and unmoving.
Lord Robert sighed, "Why do you not behave more like the high born lady that you are? If you did, perhaps you would have already married to someone of large fortune and respectable gentry, like your sister Olga"
Helga fidgeted in her seat at the mention of her older sister's name. Her entire life she had lived in the shadow of Olga, who was the embodiment of the perfect upper-class lady. Ever since she had been a child of merely five years old, Olga had excelled in sewing, playing the piano, and even speaking French as well as a native. She was Lord Robert's pride and joy and as she grew older, word of her reknowned beauty and soft-spoken gentile manners spread throughout the county of Suffolk.
Therefore, it came to no one's surprise when Olga received numerous marriage proposals. By the time Olga had received her first monthly blood, she had wed Duke Edward Crowley of Cambridge, making her a Duchess.
In fact, it was from a visit to Olga's apartments in Cambridge that Helga and Lord Robert were returning. They had been on the road for a fortnight now and all Helga wanted was to be back in the comforts of her own home.
"Already sixteen years of age and no husband, it's unspeakable! What would your late mother think?", continued Lord Robert.
"Forgive me father", Helga mumbled rather insincerely as she stared apathetically out the carriage window.
"No matter. I'll not have a spinster daughter in my lineage. No, there is hope for you yet. The Coronation Ball of Prince Wolfgang III will be upon us within the week at which respectable bachelors will be present. At your age, you'll not receive any marriage proposals from a Duke or an Earl, but at best, I may be able to marry you off to a wealthy widowed mill owner"
"Do you mean he will be more than twice my age and already with children?", Helga gasped, leaning forward in her seat.
"It is possible"
Helga crossed her arms and turned her face in defiance. "I will not go"
"You will not go? What do you mean by this?", Lord Robert demanded.
"I mean, I will not go father! I refuse to be sold off like cattle to the highest bidder that you find!"
Lord Robert struck his daughter across the cheek, forming red streaks across her pale ivory skin.
"You insolent girl! You are my daughter and your fate lies in my hands. Our forefathers did not travel the wide distance from Hungary and build their fortune through toil only to have their legacy ruined by the likes of a wayward foolish girl!"
Helga held her cheek, still throbbing from the slap and didn't say another word. She knew better than to tempt her father's anger, even if she was just as headstrong and willful as he was. Lord Robert's temper was as provokable as a tempest and she knew he was not above taking a switch to her behind if she dared to go further.
Brooding silently, Helga vowed that she would rather die a spinster than be sold like a common whore to a strange man who would mount her like a horse every night. Helga shuddered at the thought. No, it was far better to be alone.
Helga might be forced to go to the ball but all the power in the world couldn't force her to act like the docile little lamb they all expected her to be. She grinned. Her headstrong and bold behavior would be enough to ward the men away. If Olga was a delicate little flower on a tree branch, then Helga was the sturdy tree trunk: tough and unbending. She had no qualms about voicing her opinion and in a society so dominated by the male figure, this was frowned upon. As a woman, she was expected to be quiet and amenable and this, Helga was not. People, including her father, wondered how two sisters born from the same womb could be so different.
At long last, the sound of hooves stopped against gravel signified the end of their extenuous journey. Helga sighed in relief. Finally she could be away from the company of her insufferable father and stall the talk of marriage for yet another day.
"Welcome home your lordship; Lady Helga"
A row of servants greeted in perfect unison as they stood outside in the courtyard. Helga climbed down from the carriage and peered at the large Victorian stone manor before her. Bedford Hill. She was home at last.
Though Helga had only spent a week at Olga's, she felt as though it had been an eternity since she had been here last. It was strange not to hear the usual hustle and bustle of horse hooves and carriage wheels against cobbled stone roads, or the shouts of the newsboys around the block as was common in the streets of London. Here in the countryside of Suffolk, she only heard the faint buzz of bees and smelled the distinct scent of cow-dung, as only one who had been away would notice.
Her peace was quickly disrupted however, by the sound of shattering glass. Helga turned to the direction of the noise. There by the stairwell to the cellar stood a tall, young servant-boy, dressed in a wrinkled white shirt which was spotted with dust and dirt. He stood there and stared back at her, his arms hanging loosely by his sides. For a moment, neither of them said anything as if this were a western draw-scene, in which the both of them were locked in a stalemate.
Finally the boy parted his lips and called her name.
"Helga!", he said.
The stalemate was broken. Helga stepped back, startled as if his words were gunshots that wounded her. No one ever called her by her name aside from her father, let alone a servant. Did he know her from somewhere?
Just then, Helga noticed a flash of white as the cook came storming out of the kitchen.
"Bite your tongue Servant-boy! How impudent you are to dare call the lady of the house by her Christian name! You shall always address her as Lady Helga or Milady. Do you understand?", he yelled at the boy, "I shall have you whipped for such gall!"
Helga smiled. Cook had a fierce tongue, but she knew it was merely a hardened exterior that he put up for show. She knew he wouldn't actually whip him, but still she felt sympathetic for the poor boy who seemed lost and disoriented.
"That's quite enough cook. He meant no harm", Helga said to Cook. She turned to boy and said with a gentle voice, "Are you alright, Boy?"
The boy didn't say anything. He just continued to stare up at her dumbfoundead. Did she have something on her face? Why did he stare at her in such a manner?
"I beg for forgiveness Milord, this boy is a new servant to the household. I've bought him just last night at the market. He's an orphan and my poor, weak heart took pity on the fool. Please Milord, do forget this incident. It'll not happen again"
"It had better not Cook. You'd do well to keep these boys in line, or it'll be you out on the streets", Her father threatened.
The cook nodded ferociously in understanding and obedience.
"Come Helga, we shall adjourn to the resting room", he called out gruffly as he walked to an adjoining room.
"Yes father"Helga endeavored to stare curiously for another moment at the boy. Somehow she couldn't help but to feel perturbed. This boy had called to her as if they had known eachother their entire lives. A strange feeling of dejavu prickled up her spine as Helga looked into the boy's vivid green eyes. Had they met somewhere before? Another second passed before Helga laughed to herself in denial. She shook her head as if to shake off the feelings of uneasiness and picked up her skirts to join her father.
...
By the time Arnold had finally regained control of his muscle movements, he had realized his chance had passed. As he watched Helga's fleeting figure, he wanted to run after her and grab ahold of her arm. But the thought had scarcely crossed his mind before he felt himself being pulled by the back of his shirt.
"Off to the stables with you boy!", Harold yelled at Arnold as he gruffly dragged him back through the kitchen, "You'll be nothing but trouble for me here. I shouldn't have paid a pence for your useless hide!"
"Wait, Harold!"
Arnold struggled to release himself from Harold's herculean grip, but Harold quickly had him tossed out the backdoor of the kitchen before Arnold could get a word in edgewise.
"And no supper for you tonight!", Harold shouted as he slammed the door in Arnold's face.
Try all he might, Arnold couldn't pry the door back open. He figured Harold had bolted it shut. He pounded on the door, but Harold was deadset on banishing Arnold from the kitchens. Arnold ran a hand through his hair in frustration. What was he to do now? He had no idea how he had even gotten here, or what was going on. Now to top it all off, he was homeless. Suddenly, he wished he was back in the boarding house, or even back in school with his ripped pants. Anywhere would do but here.
Where was he anyway?Arnold sighed and surveyed his surroundings. The mansion was surrounded by vast green moors which seemed to stretch endlessly beyond the horizon. The blades of grass blew in the wind. From where he was standing, they rippled like waves in a sea of green. In the distance he spied several horses grazing in the pastures. Arnold had only ever seen places like this in the landscape paintings of Gainsborough or Constable when his school had visited the art museum on one of their many excursions. This certainly wasn't the urban neighbor of Hillwood he was used to. Then again, this wasn't like anything he was used to.
"Toto, I've a feeling we're not in Kansas anymore", Arnold muttered to himself.
...
A drop of sweat rolled down the side of Arnold's face but he didn't bother to wipe it anymore. He had been walking around the moors for what seemed like ages now and from the position of the sun, he assumed it was around noon. Arnold walked along the footpath down the sloping hills and looked back at the mansion which was now just a blimp in the distance. He had started off energetically but now he found it quite difficult to keep his pace as exhaustion caught up with him. His breaths grew ragged and his throat felt raw and dry like his own personal Sahara.
When he felt as if he couldn't possibly go on, Arnold collapsed in the grass. Though the sun still bore down on him, he felt some relief in the softness of the ground as he drank in the scents of baked earth and dried grass. He lay there for a few moments until he felt something moist and warm graze his calves. Arnold sat up quickly in alarm only to see it was a chestnut coated horse who had been licking him. Next to the horse a familiar, dark skinned boy peered down at him, grinning cheekily.
"So what did you do?"
"What do you mean?", Arnold asked.
The boy laughed and extended his hand to help Arnold up off the ground.
"You must've done something bad if you're all the way out here. Cook always sends the misbehaving 'uns to work in the stables", he said.
"I dropped a bottle of sherry"
The boy shook his head in mock disdain, though a smile was ever present on his face. "Mmm Mmm Mmm, cook's temper just gets worse over the years"
He drew a hand for Arnold to shake, "Names Gerald. I'm the stable boy"
"Arnold", Arnold said as he shook Gerald's hand. It was rough and callused and he could see dirt ingrained in the tiny spaces of Gerald's nailbed as if they now were a permanent part of his hand.
"Cor!", Gerald cried out in surprise. He grabbed Arnold's hand and turned it over to inspect. "You've never done a day's work in your life have you? Your hands are as soft as a baby's bottom!"
"Well...", Arnold trailed off as he rubbed the back of his neck sheepishly. He did remember shoveling the snow around Christmas ever since he was a kid, or helping Grandpa mend the pipes. Did this count as manual labor? Arnold had always thought so. But when he saw the faint muscles outlined in Gerald's build and the appearance of his hands, he knew that it was nothing in comparison.
"Go on then, what's your story?", Gerald asked curiously as the two continued to walk down the path. He held onto the reins of the horse and lead him along. "Hands like that don't belong to someone who's known servitude all their life. No, Sir they don't. Are you one of those aristocrats that went bankrupt?"
"Not exactly...", Arnold began. Arnold thought of his grandparents and the eclectic boarders that made up his makeshift family back in Hillwood. He sure wouldn't describe his family as aristocratic. Should he tell Gerald the truth? After all, Gerald had been his friend his entire life even if this wasn't exactly 21st century Gerald. Or even an American version of Gerald for that matter.
"Look, Gerald", Arnold began hesitantly, "I'm not from around here"
"I could've told you that. I can't place your accent but it sure isn't any type of English accent I've heard before", Gerald laughed.
"I'm from America", Arnold said.
"America? Well you're a bloody long way from home"
"Yeah well, not only that. I'm also from the...", Arnold fidgeted nervously, "from the future"
Gerald stopped in his tracks. He stared at Arnold long and hard as if he were surveying every inch of Arnold's face. Slowly his expression twisted until he burst into sudden laughter. Gerald laughed so hard he slapped his knees and wiped away tears from his eyes.
"If you didn't want to tell me your history, that's one thing. But to make up a tall tale like that? Arnold you're a right natural clown!"
"But Gerald, it's the truth!"
"And I'm the King of England. Well nevermind, we're here now anyway."
They had come to a stop at the top of a hill and below the path Arnold could see a tiny cottage, partially covered in thickets. There were animal tracks in the mud surrounding the place. Probably the horses. Still leading the chestnut horse, Gerald took him around the back of the cottage where Arnold could see a wooden shed. These were the stables, he assumed. There were two horses to a stall and seven in total. Gerald lead the chestnut horse to it's place at the end of the row and closed the gate behind him.
"This is where you'll be working for the next few days, at least until Cook lets you back in", Gerald explained. "You'll be mucking out the floor and feeding the horses"
Arnold winced slightly at the disgusting prospect of having to spend his days cleaning out horse-dung from the stable. As Gerald continued explaining his tasks for the day, a loud grumble came from Arnold's stomach.
"When was the last time you ate? It sounds like a war is going on inside your stomach", Gerald said mid-instruction.
Arnold smiled sheepishly and placed a hand on his stomach in embarrassment.
"Last night", he answered.
"God!", Gerald said throwing his hands up in the air, "Come with me"
Arnold followed him back around the front of the cottage. It was old and rather peculiar looking. The wood was old and weather-beaten, silvered by the sun. The roof was green with moss and caved in at one place, making the house look topsy-turvy. Arnold thought for a second it might crumble to the ground at the slightest touch.
"Granny! It's me", Gerald called out to someone. The door creaked with old age as he pushed it open.
Arnold looked around. The only source of light in the cottage came from the sunbeams which shone through the grimy windows. Dust bunnies tumbled across the worn floor boards, old tea cups lay around in every nook and cranny. There was a strong smell of mildew and musty air; thick and clotting. All around the place were piles of clutter, full of random objects such as a military boot, an old clock that no longer could tell the time, and even a rusty ship's compass.
"Is that you? Is that you my prince?", A voice called out from the corner.
Arnold practically jumped out of his skin. He hadn't noticed the tiny, hunched figure sitting in the darkness. She stood up and walked towards him with slow rounded movements and as she came towards the light, Arnold could make out more of her features. She wore a dark plum shawl, draped over her head like a hood, from which wisps of gray-white hair peeked out. Her face was heavily lined with age but her eyes twinkled with mischief like that of a young girl's.
Grandma? Arnold thought to himself.
"This is Granny. She used to run the stables long before I came to Bedford Hills. She can't do much anymore in her old age but his lordship granted her a small cottage out here since she's been around for so long", Gerald said.
"'Ave you come to rescue me at last my dear prince? Ah've been waiting here for ages, I 'ave", Granny said in a strongly exaggerated cockney accent as she stroked Arnold's face.
"Don't pay her any mind. She's a little weak in the head", Gerald whispered.
"Granny, come on now, it's time for dinner", he said as he lead the old woman away from Arnold and back to her seat.
The fire roared alive as Gerald lit the wooden logs in the hearth. It sparked and hissed like a snake, sending its warmth and light far into the room. Blackened pots and pans of iron and copper hung from the rafters above it. Gerald took a large pot and placed it on a hanger directly over the fire. He poured a little water from a pitcher into along with some oats.
"Fetch the loaf behind you would you?"
Arnold looked behind him to see a round loaf of bread on the windowsill. It was stale and hard as a rock. For a moment, Arnold feared that he would break a tooth if he attemped to eat it. Nonetheless, he brought it to the table in front of the hearth and took a seat.
"So how'd you end up here Gerald?", Arnold asked.
"Well me Mother's a seamstress. Father's a drunkard. And I'm one out of six other kids, so I came to work for Lord Pataki to make what I can for the family and I've been here ever since"
Gerald scooped some of the gruel from the pot into a wooden bowl and placed it in front of Arnold. Staring down at the unappetizing gray gloop in front of him, Arnold was glad he wasn't a particularly picky eater. Then again, this wasn't a huge deviation from the odd meals that Grandma regularly served back at the boarding house.
"Where exactly is this place?"
Gerald raised an eyebrow and stared at him as though he were insane. He spooned gruel into his mouth and said,
"Cook must have boxed your ears severely. You sure do ask strange questions"
"That's because he's not from our time!", Grandma cackled madly.
Arnold's mouth dropped open as he stared at Grandma who was still laughing in her chair. How did she know? Arnold knew he'd have to talk to her alone at some point. Maybe she knew a way to get him back to Hillwood. Meanwhile, Gerald sighed and rolled his eyes as if hearing something like that wasn't anything unusual from the old woman.
"Eat your gruel granny", Gerald said dismissively.
"You're at Bedford Hills, Lord Pataki's estate. See all this land around you? Lord Pataki owns all of it. He collects taxes from the commoners who live on his land and this is how he's built up his fortune. He might be the wealthiest man in all of Suffolk, and probably the shrewdest"
"That sounds like Bob", Arnold muttered under his breath as he took a swallow of the gruel.
"What?"
"Nothing", Arnold mumbled, "What about his daughter?"
"Lady Helga?", Gerald raised an eyebrow, "Forget it Arnold, a girl like her would never look at you. She won't even look twice at gentlemen from high born families. Not that there's been any suitors for her anyway. Her wildness is enough to drive them all away"
"Enough talk. We shan't tarry Arnold. If you've finished with your gruel, there's much to be done today"
Gerald rose from his seat and started to clear the bowls from the table. He turned around to smirk at Arnold.
"By the time I'm done with ya, those baby hands of yours will be tougher than leather!"
...
"I cannot bear this intolerable heat any longer"
Lady Helga was lying on her canopy bed, dressed only in a corset and her lace pantalettes. The dark velvet curtains of her bedroom were drawn but the daylight still found a way to sneak into the room from the crevices in between. Despite the exhaustion she felt from her long journey, she could not sleep. The air in the room was too hot and balmy and besides her heart was bursting to do something exciting.
"Should I fan harder my lady?" Phoebe, her ladies maid chirped cheerfully from the side of her bed, holding an ostrich feathered fan.
"No, that's quite alright", Helga replied, "Phoebe, how long have we been together?"
"Since I was just a wee child, my lady"
"Exactly. Yet you still refer to me 'my lady'. Just call me by my name"
"Oh I couldn't do that, it wouldn't be proper" Phoebe placed a dainty hand over her mouth in surprise.
Helga rolled her eyes. Ever since they were children, Phoebe had always been the more demure and conservative one. Now here they were, both sixteen years of age and Phoebe continued to scold her for her behavior. But Helga knew she did it out of love, for they were the closest of friends despite the difference in social ranking and ever since Helga's mother had passed away, Phoebe had seemingly stepped into the role.
"But there's no one here to hear you", Helga smirked with a mischievous spark in her eyes, "Say it. Just once"
"Hel...Helga", Phoebe blushed a deep jewel tone of scarlet as if she had just spoken a forbidden word.
Helga's laughter rang out like bells seeing how embarrassed Phoebe had gotten over just saying her name. It tickled her to no end to tease her best friend in this manner.
"Oh you're so wicked!", Phoebe said, hiding her face in embarrassment.
Helga continued to bake in the heat of the room, feeling perpetually bored until a grand idea popped into her head.
"Phoebe, I've a wonderful idea!", Helga said sitting up abruptly in her bed. "I can't bear to be in this stifling room any longer. Let's go to the lake. We'll dip our feet in and cool ourselves"
"But my lady, it's almost sun down"
"Please Phoebe, please. I'm dying of suffocation", Helga clutched at the skirts of her maid, as if to beg.
"Well...alright", Phoebe said at last with slight hesitance, "But only if you promise we'll be back before supper."
"Oh thank you Phoebe, thank you!"
Helga jumped from the bed in excitement.
"But Helga you have to promise! Else I'll get in trouble with the head maid and your father will be livid with you." Phoebe said sternly.
"I promise, now stop your worries and help me get this dress on"
Helga slipped into a rose muslin dress with short puffs for sleeves. The material was significantly lighter than the one she had on in the morning and she felt she might be able to breathe in it. She looked every bit the upperclass lady with her hair smoothly swept up into a chignon and with lace gloves donned upon her fair white hands, but still Helga's spirit shone through. The look of her vivid blue eyes betrayed her feisty nature and her strong, stubborn willful attitude in life. She was a wild creature hiding in a proper woman's clothes and Helga knew it.
...
The sun hung low across the green fields, painting them in reddish-gold tones. In the distance, the clouds were thick and filtered in the orange glow, lending an ethereal vibe to the hills and streams. The skies were dyed in a expansive palate of colors, first a deep red, fading off into orange and then finally a light blue.
"My lady, please, you're walking much too fast to be lady-like. Come under the parasol or you'll get freckles on your skin"
"Oh Phoebe I don't care about freckles" Helga said half-running through the grass fields, basking in the scent and sounds, "I only care for Bedford Hills, I've been dying to come home"
"But Helga, you won't catch a husband if you get freckles all over", Phoebe insisted.
"Why does everyone speak to me about husbands and marriage? I'm so tired of hearing this exhausting word—husband", she spat out the word as if it were vulgar. "Is a woman's life to be nothing but for the purpose of getting married and henceforth becoming a mere decoration; a doll to be admired and never heard?"
"Then what will you do? You cannot be unmarried forever. For a lady of your standing, why it's just not done"
"Why not? I would be glad to be a spinster", Helga huffed as she crossed her arms.
"Helga, hush. Don't say such things!", Phoebe admonished her.
"Sometimes I think I would have been better off born as a boy. So that I can go wherever and do whatever I please. Like go to the plays at the theater alone or gallop off into the sunset across the fields on horseback!"
As soon as the words had left her lips, a devious idea crept into her mind. Horses. Ignoring, Phoebe's gasps, Helga unfastened the ribbons of her hat just enough to be discreet. When a gale of wind crossed the moors, she felt the weight of her hat lift from her head and be carried off into the distance.
"Oh my hat!", Helga called out in faux-surprise. She watched the hat blow with the wind further down the hill and she looked towards Phoebe in alarm.
"You wait right here my lady. I'll be back shortly!", Phoebe said as she rushed off to catch it.
Helga waited until she saw Phoebe run down the hill until she sprinted off in the opposite direction. She felt the wind whipping through her hair as she ran down toward the stables. Helga felt her boots sinking into the softness of the mud beneath her but she didn't care, all she knew was that in a few moments she would be feeling true liberation.
When she came to the stable, she saw the horses were all still in their stalls. They were sleek, majestic creatures with strong muscles that rolled under smooth coats. She looked for one horse in particular, her favorite. She was a beautiful black horse with a flowing mane, soft and silken. The horse had large, genuine eyes that just seemed to look right through Helga.
"Shhhh, there now Bessie, be a good girl", Helga whispered. She stroked the horse gently on its nose and slowly undid the clasp of the gate. She grabbed ahold of her skirts and lifted them so that her legs could have more access to what she was about to do next. She took a stool from the corner and placed it next to Bessie as she slowly climbed up the gentle creature.
"I-I did it", Helga breathed in disbelief, "I mounted Bessie!"
Suddenly, someone called her name.
"Helga?"
Helga dug her heels into the hinds of the horse in surprise. She screamed as the horse whinnied and bucked its front legs up in fear. All at once, Helga was falling from the horse and she closed her eyes to brace herself for the impact.
"Helga! Are you alright?", A gentle voice called to her. Helga slowly fluttered her eyes open, realizing she hadn't landed on hard ground, but rather someone had caught her.
"It's you! You're the boy from this morning", Helga said as she realized she was in the arms of the servant-boy she had seen before.
She quickly realized her position and blushed deeply as she pushed away from the boy. She cleared her throat and looked back at him.
"Tell me, why do you call me by my name? Do you know me?"
Now it was the boy's turn to blush. He rubbed the back of his neck sheepishly and stumbled over his words.
"Oh uh..um..sorry Lady Helga"
"No, it's quite alright. To be frank, I'm a little surprised. No one calls me by my name except for father", Helga's eyes widened in sudden realization at the mention of her father, "Oh father! Oh, please don't tell him I was here. He'll be livid if he knew"
"Don't worry, I won't say anything", Arnold said smiling.
"Thank you"
A brief silence encompassed the both of them. He looked away from her and out onto the pastures, surveying the way the sunlight streaked across the early evening sky. Helga wished for a brief second that she could hear what he was thinking. She watched the boy and noticed how tall he was. At least a good deal taller than her, and his eyes seemed soft and kind, unlike the cold ones she had always known her father to have. She liked his eyes, she thought. They were green and reminded her of the first hint of spring after a long and harsh winter. They were offset against the orange burn of sunset, and she could see tiny flecks of gold in them. The boy looked back at her and she shyly turned her face away as if to pretend that she hadn't been staring at him.
"So what were you trying to do?", he broke the silence.
"Promise you won't laugh", Helga said as she twiddled her thumb-a nervous habit.
"I promise"
"I was...I was trying to ride Bessie"
She expected him to snigger or to make a snide remark. Or simply to sigh. But he did none of those things.
"Why would I laugh at that?", he said in a tone that implied true confusion.
"Because a lady should never ride horses. At least that's what father always says. It's a man's activity."
"Well, I don't think so. I think if you really wanted to learn how to ride a horse, you should be allowed"
Helga glanced up at him with wide eyes. It was quite a peculiar thing to hear from someone, let alone a boy. She thought she had been the only one in the world to think in such a way.
"Do you really think that way? No one's ever said that before."
"I do. I could teach you if you want"
"You know how to ride horses?"
He nodded and smiled at her. Then he looked up to the ceiling as if he were recalling a memory. Helga wanted so desperately to say yes when suddenly she heard a familiar female voice calling her from outside the stable.
"Lady Helga!"
Helga gasped as she looked outside to see a small figure approaching the stable in the distance.
"It's my maid. I must go before she finds me here. She'll give me a terrible lecture and I won't hear the end of it."
"Meet me here tomorrow morning at dawn, if you're serious about teaching me", she whispered.
Helga ran to the door of the stables, but looked back one last time at the boy. She smiled at him with eyes that conveyed that they now shared a secret. He returned her smile and she turned herself on her heels and disappeared around the corner.
A/N: I changed the date back a year from 1859 to 1858, hope that didn't bother anyone too much. Also, the way the characters talk will be slightly OOC and that can't be helped due to the time period and the location this story is set in, but I did try to keep true to their core characters and temperaments :) The last thing I wanted to mention is about Gerald saying it's time for dinner when it's still afternoon. This wasn't a typo. I did some research on Victorian history and apparently their eating schedules were a little different than ours is today. They ate breakfast in the morning, and "dinner" during noon or early afternoon and then supper could be eaten any time before they went to bed. I found it really interesting! Thank you for reading! Please review and tell me what you thought of it.