April 23rd, 1890 — Port of Southampton, England
The morning was crisp and cold as the ship pulled into Southampton port. For the last hour, in the early spring sunshine, the port of Southampton had been growing larger and larger, and now the port was right before her, the dock hands were crawling all over the ship and dockside, securing the passenger gantry and the lines. The hatch had already been opened and the first of the trunks were being unpacked. A buzz of life and activity, as though today wasn’t truly momentous – but then how could any of them know what today truly meant.
Adrestia stood at the railing that separated the first class promenade deck from the second class accommodations, a battered suitcase by her feet. It had clearly seen better days, the leather was cracked and peeling, but the metal face plate and the faded letters H.V. were still visible. When she had left England she had travelled in steerage, a lone child, and a bitter nanny, paid just enough to justify her trip to the other side of the world, with the promise of a better placement in a rich household. Hermione Villefort had had 1 suitcase, one of her fathers, a battered old leather thing that had contained every item in the world that was left to her.
Adrestia Dantés has returning home with servants and luggage that would be following them across the world for weeks. The refined and elegantly dressed young woman had been the talk of the ships company, enchanting and elegant she had said all the right things, to all the right people. The story was well in hand, the others returning to England would go forth with the narrative she had carefully planted.
The daughter of a wealthy man who had died of brain fever in India, leaving her to the tender care of her grandfather – who had himself died 2 years ago. Raised all of her life in India she had never before set foot on English soil – there was no reason anyone would miss the girl she had been, or think it strange that they didn’t know her father – although enough would remember ‘grandfather’ Dantés enough to remember his wealth, his half blood status and the fact he had decamped to India as a young man. The story of his marriage, the birth of his son and the sanitised story of her own family, childhood and birth were enough to be beyond question. It was all well enough embedded, and with Mister Salvage to go along with the story – her cover was rather solid. No one would miss Hermione Villefort when Adrestia Dantés bore no resemblance to the shabby, frightened, disgraced little girl who had fled England – physically or in temperament.
Ramdas appeared at her shoulder ’Missy Sahib – We are ready to disembark’ she nodded, he came forward to take the suitcase that sat by her feet. She held up her hand to stop him, and took the bag herself. She was finally home, and she had work to do.
@'acacia ruskin' - FYI
Adrestia stood at the railing that separated the first class promenade deck from the second class accommodations, a battered suitcase by her feet. It had clearly seen better days, the leather was cracked and peeling, but the metal face plate and the faded letters H.V. were still visible. When she had left England she had travelled in steerage, a lone child, and a bitter nanny, paid just enough to justify her trip to the other side of the world, with the promise of a better placement in a rich household. Hermione Villefort had had 1 suitcase, one of her fathers, a battered old leather thing that had contained every item in the world that was left to her.
Adrestia Dantés has returning home with servants and luggage that would be following them across the world for weeks. The refined and elegantly dressed young woman had been the talk of the ships company, enchanting and elegant she had said all the right things, to all the right people. The story was well in hand, the others returning to England would go forth with the narrative she had carefully planted.
The daughter of a wealthy man who had died of brain fever in India, leaving her to the tender care of her grandfather – who had himself died 2 years ago. Raised all of her life in India she had never before set foot on English soil – there was no reason anyone would miss the girl she had been, or think it strange that they didn’t know her father – although enough would remember ‘grandfather’ Dantés enough to remember his wealth, his half blood status and the fact he had decamped to India as a young man. The story of his marriage, the birth of his son and the sanitised story of her own family, childhood and birth were enough to be beyond question. It was all well enough embedded, and with Mister Salvage to go along with the story – her cover was rather solid. No one would miss Hermione Villefort when Adrestia Dantés bore no resemblance to the shabby, frightened, disgraced little girl who had fled England – physically or in temperament.
Ramdas appeared at her shoulder ’Missy Sahib – We are ready to disembark’ she nodded, he came forward to take the suitcase that sat by her feet. She held up her hand to stop him, and took the bag herself. She was finally home, and she had work to do.
![[Image: NObv2Tw.jpeg]](https://i.imgur.com/NObv2Tw.jpeg)
MJ did things