Farewell, darling continent, if your intention had been that of keeping Ruth Meijer around you should have done better to entertain her. Currently, the lady was not amused.

She was expecting a lovely, little secluded village where she could comfortably interrogate her brother about why on heart had he chosen such a place, instead she had been robbed of any such question by an overwhelming presence of tourists, pretty decent weather, despite what everyone said of England and some charming little architecture that anyone with taste couldn’t fault. As far as her sister went, well, she could have probably been persuaded. Besides, any reason to leave home was a good reason. Even the ones she had just made up for both her siblings.

If they’d rather *not* have that, they should have been punctual according to her own traveling schedule, which she had provided in a very vague format in the letter she had sent. There was a lot and nothing in it, but the only essential part read “I will be at Whitby’s train station on the “ with the date of her arrival “I shall expect a proper welcome. Please make sure my room is properly heated, I would hate to lose my voice because of the inconvenient climate.” She had just assumed the invitation. Now she was piling up her -oddly small- luggage while waiting for a servant, a brother or a brother functioning as a servant in this particular situation. She wondered if her little sister was also going to make an appearance or if they were going to meet directly at the house. Either way, she was looking around for familiar faces.