Chapter 4.
A Journey to the Past.

The invention of the steam engine had made travelling quick and easy. No more jostling about in a mail coach along a road filled with potholes. No more waiting to change horses at every other stop.

Now it's a short, smooth ride along rails. Abigail mused as she watched the scenery speed past her. Her Aunt Imogen Smith lived in the country. She was her mother's only sister and was a widow. Her husband had been a certain Squire James Smith, who had owned some very pretty property and a nice house. All this had been passed down to their only son, George Smith.

Abigail had lived with her aunt after her father's death when she was seventeen. It had been there, at Ivy Court, that the accident had taken place.

The accident itself she could not remember, only waking up in her bed with her head wrapped in bandages. She knew her name, she knew her age. She recognized her Aunt and Cousin. She remembered she was an orphan. All else was a mystery to her. The memories of her childhood, of her parents, of the rascal uncle that everyone spoke of, it was all gone.

There had been a vague hope that maybe time would bring the memories back, but three years had gone by and nothing. Abigail now resigned herself that she would mostly likely never remember anything for as long as she lived.

It hadn't bothered her much until now. She had assumed that her life had been quite ordinary with little to no adventure. Now she wondered what sort of life she had led and what sort of things she had done. Was Lord Righton her only suitor? Were there others? Perhaps that was the real reason behind Aunt Imogen's dislike for her. Maybe she had been a real flirt.

Only Aunt Imogen never said anything about suitors and forbidden love. Maybe she is afraid I'd go back to my old ways if she said it. Maybe she felt if she let sleeping dogs lie, the past wouldn't repeat itself. Or maybe I'm just over-thinking all of this. Abigail concluded as she got off the train. It was about three and a half miles from the train station to Ivy Court. Had it not been winter, Abigail would have gladly walked the road. But it was twilight already, and a cold wind blew about. Snow mixed with rain fell from the sky. It was such unpleasant weather that Abigail was glad she had written her to Aunt, telling of her visit. Aunt Imogen had sent the groom with the covered carriage.

Soon, they were driving up the entrance of the grand house. The housekeeper, Mrs. Browne, greeted her at the door.

"Miss Havisham, supper will be ready in twenty minutes. Madam said you can go to your room to wash and dress."

"Thank you, Mrs Browne."

Twenty minutes later, Abigail descended the stairs and came to the dining hall. Aunt Imogen was already seated. She was a thin woman with a severe look. Her nose was small and her chin sharp. Her dark brown eyes were ever suspicious. hlHer brow was furrowed with her eyebrows knit together. Since the death of her husband five years ago Aunt Imogen dressed strictly in black. Her strawberry blonde hair had not a strand of grey. It was always tied back in a tight knot and covered with a cap.

"Good evening, Aunt Imogen," Abigail gave a small bow before taking her seat.

"What brings you back?" Aunt Imogen asked in a calm voice. "I thought you settled in London. Have you run out of money already?"

"It's the Christmas holidays, Aunt Imogen, and you are my only family."

"There is always your Great Uncle Silas. You should try and make peace with him."

"I don't see that I should. It was Uncle Max who quarrelled with him. There was no need to turn hostile to Papa and me."

"That is no way to reason, Abigail. If it hadn't been for your stubborn father who refused to go and seek out your wayward uncle, the Viscount would have never turned his back on the rest of us. I had been counting on his help to get George into Parliament. Now he won't give us a second thought. I wonder what that fool of a Max could have done with his fortune. If only there was some way to find it. Maybe that would put out the fire in Silas Havisham's heart."

Abigail looked at her plate, not sure how to respond. For a few moments there was awkward silence.

"Aunt Imogen," Abigail spoke up again, "I wanted to ask you something."

"I thought you didn't need money."

"It's not about money. It's about my time before the accident."

Aunt Imogen glanced up sharply. "What about it."

"I was just wondering, did I ever well...I mean...was there ever someone who wanted to marry me? Did I have a suitor?"

Fire burned in Aunt Imogen's eyes and Abigail could swear there was smoke coming from her nostrils. "Where is all this coming from, Abigail? Why would it matter what you had or what you didn't have? If God wanted you to keep your memories He wouldn't have let them yet lost after the accident."

"I hardly think God had anything to do with the accident, Aunt Imogen."

"It's in the past and there is no point in bringing it up. I don't want to hear any more questions about things that happened before the accident."

"Mamma, why are you cross?"

The two ladies looked up and saw George Smith had finally come down.

"I was only asking about something that happened before the accident." Abigail replied

"We will eat and we will eat in silence and that's that! Sit down, George."

Abigail sighed. Something terrible must have happened in the past. Aunt Imogen was behaving so suspicious. Grace was said and they began their meal. When Aunt Imogen turned to say something to the butler George leaned over.

"Abby, tomorrow Mamma will call on the vicar's wife. When she is gone you can ask me whatever it was you wanted to know."

Abigail smiled her thanks. She could wait till tomorrow. It wasn't easy, but possible.