To Mrs Jane Blacke
It deeply saddens us at Murrow and Musk’s of Calcutta to inform you of such dreadful news. Your brother Samuel Blacke, hereby known after as Samuel Blackwell, is now deceased. Mr Blackwell had given us his will before his death and named you and your brothers as conservators of his estate as it pertained to his daughter, Aisha Blackwell. Please contact us with any concerns you may have. 

We also inform you that the young lady, at the time of writing this letter, was en route to England, as it was thought best for her to be with family. Please expect her in due time. 

Regards, 
Charles Murrow Esq.
Gregory Musk Esq. 

The dust of saffron shores that had first coated the letter had long since disappeared by the time Whitby's Postman Fat handed over the letter.

"Letter for ye, Miss. Foreign like." Jane blinked and scowled yet said nothing. Foreign? She didn't even wait to go back to a comfortable chair, rather choosing to stand on the threshold and read it.

Why were her brothers such idiots? Both boys had run afoul of the law and paid the price. Billy had at least sorted himself out, mostly and set back on the beaten path. Sam had kept going off. The exact steps that had taken her brother so far from home were unknown, but the end result was not. The existence of the child didn't bother her - Men tended to stick their pricks wherever they wished - but what bothered her in the moment was the name: Aisha. Jane's tongue had trouble with it. It was not an English name, she was probably some dark skinned girl too. Hardly a Yorkshire Rose. She'd stand out a mile in this town.

"Oh Sam.." Jane quietly hissed so only the ghosts could here.