The Lighthouse Keeper’s Secret
The train lurched to a stop at Whitmore Station, and Eleanor Grey stepped onto the platform with nothing but a worn leather suitcase and a letter of employment clutched in her gloved hand. The autumn wind whipped her dark hair across her face as she surveyed the small coastal town that would be her new home.
It was 1893, and opportunities for women were scarce. When Eleanor had seen the advertisement for an assistant lighthouse keeper, she’d applied immediately, knowing full well that such positions were rarely offered to her sex. But the lighthouse keeper, one Mr. Tobias Crane, was elderly and in poor health. He needed help, and Eleanor needed to escape London—and the memories that haunted her there.
A young boy approached her, cap in hand. “Miss Grey? I’m to take you to the lighthouse.”
The journey along the cliff path took nearly an hour. The lighthouse stood at the edge of the world, it seemed, a tall white tower against the grey sky, surrounded by nothing but rocks and the endless, churning sea. Eleanor felt her heart lift for the first time in months. Here, she thought, she could finally be free.
Mr. Crane met her at the door. He was a tall, gaunt man with a shock of white hair and eyes as blue as the summer sky must be over these waters. “Miss Grey,” he said, his voice rough as gravel. “Welcome to Whitmore Light. I’ll be honest—I didn’t want a woman for this job. But you were the only one who applied, and beggars can’t be choosers.”
Eleanor lifted her chin. “I assure you, Mr. Crane, I am more than capable.”
“We’ll see about that,” he muttered, turning back inside.
