A Victorian Lady's Memoirs

This is complete fiction and has no connection to anyone, apart from mentioning death of Queen Victoria.

The story takes place in Bishops Park near the City of Traydin, and Craymore-On-Sea in South Wezley, which were invented places from my imagination.

Inspired by Inspiration point: 'Life Lessons,' of Friday 16^th May 2025.

My name's Emily Rose Thorn. This day of January 22^nd 1901 is indeed sad. I have just received news that our gracious Queen Victoria has died. It leaves me wondering what the future holds. I grieve as if it were one of my own family, as mama has passed too.

The graveyard was a mournful whisper recalling those many spirits now departed, with cawing crows echoing over tops of Yew trees displaying their feelings.

It was edging towards darkness on this cold January late afternoon as storm clouds once more increased bringing with them more wind and rain that matched my mood, though I was glad the downpour held off till after the funeral.

Heartbroken, I allowed myself tears as mama's coffin was lowered gently into place beside papa and my two younger twin brothers. I was grateful that my black veil hid sore eyes from so much crying, my sorrow was so enormous, it was more than I could bear, as wet grass beneath my feet was sodden in character with my weeping.

The realization that my parents were reunited was of some comfort, but recognizing notions that I'd not been there for mama made me feel so guilty. She'd died of a broken heart after losing papa. It was more than I could imagine.

After papa died of tuberculosis while I was away, it broke my heart when mama said she was okay, mentioning in a letter that her social life, where good friends offered help was such a blessing, and I didn't need to return home, that it was too far to come and she was managing just fine.

That long silent walk along the path to my waiting carriage seemed like an eternity with my reflective contemplation.

Returning to my childhood home, thinking of life and my late parents endowments bestowed, leaves me with fear for having such a large amount of money and property as a legacy.

Now when I walk around this empty huge house it's so cold and unloved. Even my bedroom has lost its beauty. Every bit of furniture is now concealed by webs and dust sheets. Walls are damaged with cracks, the odour of mildew lingers in every room apart from the library.

Both my younger twin brothers Albert and William regrettably died of consumption. Now I'm left alone to deal with everything. Many tears leave me with no idea how I'll cope.

There are times when I think I'd like to stay here because of my love for the beautiful tree lined streets of Bishops Park, and the opulent wealthy Victorian mansions with their original character.

Being someone who has never stayed still for very long, moving from one family to another, only being responsible for myself, never have I had to take on the business of such a large estate.

I gazed out of the window at the fine, stone lion pillars situated like bookends each side of large wrought iron gates, their very presence giving a sense of splendour that always captures the imagination; especially my own which as a child growing up was deeply embedded in visions of animals and objects coming alive; like in my all time favourite book Alice In Wonderland by the Great Lewis Carroll.

Trying hard not to dwell on death too much, It's late evening as I enter our Mansion library, my late papa's pride and joy. It's a place that's so peaceful for thinking, but for the Grandfather Clock which stands prominently in a corner of the room still ticking away as it used to, helping me to concentrate when reading, before returning to reality as it chimed on the hour.

But since my parents passing, gone is the once familiar atmosphere of family gatherings, all perished with time. Yet from the outside you would never know the condition had deteriorated.

Departed are the charladies and cooks that prepared splendid meals, as well as our palour maids, personal maids, my Governess, Butler, Footmen and Coachmen. Now It's just me with my thoughts and memories on this cold winter's evening.

Glancing old brandy which sits beside me on the mahogany occasional table, decanting the mellow Armagnac into a crystal glass, I relax into papa's comfortable armchair, dressed in my warmest attire of thick black velvet skirt and matching waist jacket.

A roaring fire now crackles and snaps fueled by the energy from burning logs I had to collect myself from our basement. I couldn't help feeling guilty about the state of spider webs that hung from antiquated voluminous hardback books collecting dust. The job of cleaning every book and shelf seemed so immense to me...that's of course along with my fear of webs and spiders. It became ludicrous to even consider attempting the clearance, so it remained in a state of squalor.

I never did marry or raise a family; much to the disappointment of mama and papa, deciding to study teaching and take jobs as a Governess. It gave me pleasure to know I was making a difference to a child's quality of life. My Governess employment also took me on many travels which I enjoyed, but now gone is the contact with many people I met.

Returning home I seem to have lost my way. I'm not exactly filled with much confidence, or have any idea where to go from here. So to reminisce about younger happier moments when all is peaceful gives time to reflect and wonder just what the future holds for us all with the demise of our Queen and how different life will be.

Our large rear garden gave so much pleasure growing up, as we helped Robert our gardener with his chores and the many flowers he attended to in his greenhouse. Large conifers that stretched along edges of lawn shaded us on hot summer days as we picnicked, while mama created with her stitch work, or sat at her easel and painted.

When I was born on June 28^th 1856 my papa Edward George Thorn announced to the world that I was his angel, this title stuck with me till he died. Now at the age of forty five I can imagine he'd probably still call me his angel if he were still alive.

Papa was a proud tall man with a distinguished dignitary air of walking, and tended to only let his guard down when in the company of his family. My mama on the other hand was a lot easier going. She always showed tolerance and fortitude in guiding myself and younger twin brothers in our growing up years.

There was never a dull moment in our household, for mama with her many hobbies of splendid needlework, playing the piano and her art which she achieved with such clarity, preferring to paint outside in the garden, but particularly enjoyed taking her paints, brushes, easel and canvas up to the Downs, just a stones throw away.

Unlike papa, mama regarded calling me Emily far more genteel and dignified, telling him so quite regularly, but papa insisted that I was his only daughter and so remained his angel. He'd wanted me to marry, but unlike a lot of my friends, he didn't believe in arranged marriages, and hoped I would meet a pillar of society and be swept off my feet. I had no intentions in such matters, my career giving me the freedom to travel was far more important.

Now much older and wiser, I've taken to writing novels in my spare time...not that I've had any luck at publishing, but entering my formal years of filling in many diaries, creates such nostalgia about those important years as a young lady, which now inspires me to write.

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To be continued...A Victorian Lady's Memoirs ( Part One ) | ABCtales