Chapter 1

It was the 16th of September, spring was starting very late on this side of the world. Jon sat on the cherry wooden chair on the balcony of his small one bedroom cottage in the centre of the town of Westville. He was gazing at the square below. He pressed his fingers harder against the mug of coffee in his cold hands as though forcing them to feel warmer. He enjoyed the view of the seasons as they came and went. Now, the trees were just starting to gain some colour, as though struggling for release from the wretched cold of the past few months. The trees were still stripped of leaves, but the square was greener with grass almost all over the recently barren-looking land.

The only people in the square were Mrs Berch and her 9 year old daughter almost running across to their cottage a few blocks west – coming from little Lydia’s piano lesson no doubt. Jon smiled as he daydreamed about what a pleasant family they were. They would be going home to Mr Berch who was probably sitting in the living room smoking a cigar and reading the newspaper. Mrs Berch would probably scold him for entering the house with his dirty shoes on, and they may fight over little Lydia’s homework not being completed. But that’s what made them a true family. Despite their little quarrels, they were able to have their supper together, complaining that it was soup again, and still be a part of something so beautiful, a family. A family they may not always appreciate, but one they knew they could rely on.

A frown etched itself on Jon’s face. It had been almost four years since his parents had passed on, but he still missed them. He missed them dearly, and thought of them often, wishing he could tell them so many things about his life.

Before he could get too caught up in the familiar depression, a cold gust of wind swept over the balcony. Jon was forced to admit defeat and, with a sigh, entered his small cottage. It was supposed to be the final cold front of the fiercely cold winter, and Jon looked forward to days of clear skies and warm air.

The cottage wasn’t much, but it was enough. When Jon had set his feet on the balcony for the first time, the view of the square and the town around it seemed to remove any and all doubts he had about the rest of the small residence. He could not resist the small one bedroom cottage with the balcony overlooking the beauty that is the square at the centre of the small town of Westville, and he had not regretted it since he moved in shortly after his parents’ untimely death. He was simply unable to remain in their familial home.

He had lived in Westville all his life – 22 years to be exact. The town held so many memories, and the memories seemed to be caught in this central part of the town where he was currently residing.

The town of Westville had been founded as a train stop. It was, mostly, a farming community, and, as such, was surrounded by various plantations (mainly vineyards) and estates. The estates were all owned by the wealthiest of residents. All other middle-class residents found themselves within the town itself.

Jon closed the wooden entrance to the balcony and crossed the small living space, with the antique maroon couch and large overstocked cherry wood bookshelf, towards the open-plan kitchen. He finished his coffee at the wooden counter and decided to retire early in order to be ready for work the next day.

Jon was employed by the postmaster as a translator. Jon had excelled at studying various languages, and the postmaster saw it fit to gain some income for the town by using his pull in the province to suggest to the various other postmasters that all documents in need of translation from and to English should be sent to Westville where they were able to translate the documents at a cheaper fee than those charged elsewhere. Jon had at first doubted whether there was any need for such a job, but he soon realized that there was more to it than he had initially realized. Many documents came through from all over the province every week. There was never a shortage of work. Various authors sent their manuscripts to Westville to have them translated for sale in a foreign market. Other than that, Jon also dealt with various immigration documentation, as well as foreign correspondence for the government. His discretion was, of course, of the utmost importance. He was occasionally invited to other towns where he had to translate in person as important foreigners paid a visit for various reasons. The work was, in fact, too much for one person. Over time, the little office Jon had started out in became a larger floor space with five individual translators for various languages. Jon was, now, managing these five employees, and earning a considerable salary for his important work.

After washing the coffee cup, Jon walked over to the bedroom. Something at the door caught his eye – a letter. He walked over and looked puzzled at the sight of the formal red seal of the Batten estate. He knew Lord Batten very well, but had only on very special occasions received such an incredibly formal invitation to his estate. Usually, a small handwritten note delivered by one of his employees would do.

Lord Batten was probably the wealthiest man in town. He was known as a fair and just man. Besides being the owner of the incredibly wealthy estate, Lord Batten was an attorney, one of the best in the country. He didn’t need to work a day in his life, but he provided employment for many residents at his vast estate just outside of town, attending to the vineyards and various other undertakings taking place there, while he, himself, preferred to spend his time at his law practice in town.

His family were from these parts and had always been incredibly wealthy. The Batten estate was one of the oldest in the entire province, and had been passed down from generation to generation. But the law practice was started by Lord Batten himself, and he had poured his blood, sweat, and tears into the practice. He found the practice to be a solace – a place where he could do the work he so enjoyed, instead of living off what his name had entitled him to. Jon had great respect for the man.

Still Lord Batten’s estate was notoriously lavish, but he was an incredibly charitable man. He was well-loved and well-known around the entire province, and it always seemed that there was no dispute he was not able to solve.

Jon took the large envelope in his hands and delicately removed the seal. He stared at the formal writing: Dear Mr Jonathan Farthing, It is with great pleasure that I announce the return of my daughter, Lady Claudette Marie Batten, as permanent resident at the Batten Estate.

In celebration of this joyous occasion, your attendance is requested at the ball to be held at Batten Estate on 24 September at 18h00.

Yours faithfully, Lord Matthew Batten.

Jon immediately felt an air of apprehension settle around him, although he was uncertain as to why. He was delighted for Lord Batten. Jon knew just how much he missed his beloved daughter whom had moved to Hanover a few hundred kilometres away in order to complete her education. Unfortunately, higher education for women in Westville was hard to come by.

Lord Batten had been friends with Jon’s parents since they were children. As such, Jon had, for many years, spent a lot of time at the Batten estate and knew the family incredibly well. Lord Batten was like a second father to Jon, and even more so after Jon’s parents died.

Jon’s parents were not at all wealthy. His mother had been a housewife, and his father worked as a mechanic at the railway station. Jon had never understood how the Battens could be such good friends with his family, yet they were, until the death of Jon’s parents.

After their death, Lord Batten had begged Jon to move to the estate. Lord Batten assured him that he would always have a home there, and that his future would always be secure. Jon had thanked him gracefully, and said that he would keep it mind, but Jon knew that he would never be able to accept any money from Lord Batten. His parents made a living without any handouts, and so would he. Jon still appreciated Lord Batten, and they got along very well. So well, in fact, that Jon saw Lord Batten at least once every fortnight, either at the Batten estate or at one of the townhouses he owned in town. Jon was surprised that Lord Batten had not mentioned the return of his daughter at their supper last week. It must have been sudden news.

Jon’s thoughts drifted to Detty (his childhood nickname for Claudette, which she had absolutely detested). Lord Batten spoke of her often, but Jon wasn’t sure how much of what her father said was exaggerated. Lord Batten often exclaimed how incredibly smart and beautiful his daughter had become – something Jon always thought all parents said about their children, even more so when they were speaking about their only child, having nobody to compare her with.

Claudette’s mother had, unfortunately, died whilst giving birth to her. Lord Batten would never take a second wife, and, as such, Claudette and her father had a very close relationship. It was completely understandable that he could not wait for his only daughter to be back in his home.

Of course, Jon knew Claudette as well. She was like a little sister to him when they were growing up. Jon was five years her senior, and, like any little sister, she seemed to annoy him endlessly. She would follow him around like a puppy, and they would fight often, but she truly felt like family. They also had a lot of fun together – riding the horses on the estate, swimming in the river, playing games and so on. Jon had very fond memories of her. He remembered her mischievous smile, and how she always seemed to get herself into trouble. Although he would never have admitted it to her then, it was very difficult for him when she left five years ago. As the Battens had no other children, he felt very alone. Of course he had other friends his own age, but he had enjoyed being an ‘older brother,’ teaching her to read, scolding her when she threatened to do something completely out of place for a little girl, and bandaging her scraped knee when she fell out of the large willow tree down at the river. He had warned her not to climb such a large tree, but being her stubborn self, she promised to show him that, even though she was a girl, she would be able to do it. He still thought of that day when he saw the big tree outside the mansion at Batten estate. She had simply refused to cry, but Jon could see that she was in incredible pain. The memory brought a smile to Jon’s face.

Claudette was 12 when she was sent to Hanover to finish her education. All the Batten children had been sent to the prestigious school – either the boys or girls school. Jon remembered that Claudette had refused to go at first. She had formulated an entire, almost legal, argument to present to her father, listing all the reasons as to why she should not be sent to such a horrific place where, she had heard it being said that, “the only thing they ate was spinach,” and where “the girls weren’t allowed to climb trees or do anything remotely fun.”