It’s the year 1891, and a very morose figure in black taffeta and velvet, a woman in formal mourning, a woman far too young to be wearing such sombre garb is crossing the Atlantic, not to the brave new world in hope and expectation, but back to the old world with her heart heavy with sorrow and loss.
She is neither traveling to, nor fleeing from, but her journey is somehow both.
Leaving America doesn’t mean escaping all her troubles; obligations follow her, expectations that have the unspoken implications for the continued protection of her daughter in mind. Skills taught, and those learnt in the cruel world of hard knocks must now be exploited to their full potential, to locate, steal and then deliver a precious egg.
This is the tale of such things, and this is the tale of what Amy ended up doing about them.