The Florentine Quilt

5. Amelia

5

AMELIA

CORNWALL, 1896

BLOODSTONE: Heightens intuition, decision-making, spiritual guidance

T he expeditious tick tack of hooves on hardened ground heralds the spirited approach of a beautiful stallion who appears to fly rather than gallop to my door. I watch in stealth while the fine form of Jago Carrick pulls him up. The stallion points his regal nose to the heavens and defiantly paws at the ground; he shakes his head with veins pulsating in his neck and the wind ruffling his mane.

Jago dismounts and tethers the stallion to a post, and smooths hands over his gleaming coat, all the while murmuring to pricked ears. I smile, wondering what secret is shared between the pair. With a glance at the cottage, Jago adjusts his jacket and strides to my door, his lips still curled in response to the nose that nuzzled his shoulder. Never have I seen such magnificence, man and beast alike. The sight makes my heart race.

With a deep breath, I adjust my blouse and quickly braid my hair, then admonish myself for such vanity. I have no wish to appear attractive to this man. Surely , he seeks me out to appraise his injury—nothing more. Yet a twist in my stomach signals other truths. I refasten the apron I had hastily untied and open the door to his knock.

‘ Mrs Treloar .’ He removes his hat and inclines his head politely. ‘ How well you look. It is indeed a fine day for a ride, and I thought to test my leg and then show you how well I have healed. Whatever would I have done without your care during my convalescence?’

A smile eases across my lips. ‘ You are well, sir? You’ve had no further pain these past weeks?’

He shakes his head in answer and reaches for my hand. ‘ Thanks to you, I am fully healed.’ His voice lowers. ‘ And in your debt, Amelia . Indeed , I owe you my life.’

I drop my head to hide the flush of heat to my face. I did what I would for any living creature. I would never leave anyone in pain if I had the power to save them.

The memory of loss flickers and twists briefly in my chest. I draw in a breath and endeavour to strike an even tone. ‘ I am glad to have been of service.’

‘ And now, a small token of my appreciation. By way of thanks…’ He holds out the prettiest package I have ever seen, tied with ribbon of imperial purple, the colour of royalty. Far too magnificent for the likes of me.

‘ Please . Take it. I hope you like it.’

I hesitate, but the warmth in his eyes encourages me.

Beneath the elaborate wrapping is a book bound in such soft leather that I raise it to my nose, breathing in a masculine scent of hide and vellum. A scent that reminds me of him. I open it and frown, surprised to find blank leaves with no words printed on the pages. The only embellishment is my name, written in a bold script inside the front cover.

‘ I noticed the volumes beside your bed.’ He looks in that direction. ‘ I intended to purchase you a novel, thinking you might appreciate a copy of the most recent by Mr Hardy .’

I nod in answer, lost for words, and run my fingers over the book’s cover. The leather is smooth like a polished stone.

‘ However , when I came upon this diary while on business in Penzance , I thought it perfect. Perhaps to list the ingredients for your preparations.’ He smiles and his eyes catch the light and seem to shine brighter. ‘ Then again, you might prefer to share your deepest and most private thoughts. The choice is yours.’

I take a step back to gather my emotions. ‘ How very kind. I thank you, Mr Carrick .’

‘ Jago . You know my name well enough by now. I had hoped to hear you say it.’

I hesitate. But he waits, eagerly. ‘ Thank you, Jago .’

My heart beats faster under his attention. His ardent stare sweeps from head to toe, taking in every part of me. But when it lingers on my mouth, his lips quiver.

I imagine running my finger across his bottom lip, following the pillowy curve of his mouth.

The breeze swirls and twists my skirts around my feet and tension binds us, dreamlike. There is only the rhythm of the tides to the shore, the echo of the sea calling beyond the line of trees. The wind whistling through them.

‘ If at all possible, you are even lovelier when you smile, Amelia . It gladdens my heart to see you take pleasure in my gift.’ His deep voice breaks the awkward silence.

My heart thumps, and I lower my head, afraid my delight in his words will show upon my face.

‘ Regretfully , I must take my leave. Good day, Amelia . And thank you for allowing me the pleasure of your company once more.’

N o sooner had Mother returned from tending the widow, she was summoned to London with matters of a private nature to attend to. She made quite a fuss about leaving this time, but I insisted I was content. Charged with the responsibility of selling our herbal brews and baked items at the market in her stead, I assured her of my industriousness and added that I had seeds to sow in the garden and my books for company.

Jago calls in the following days, offering a flock of excuses for his visits and sprays of wildflowers that more oft turn out to be weeds. The thought of him gathering the straggly blooms with me in his thoughts is a compliment, nonetheless. He follows me at work with my herbs, entertaining me with intelligent conversation. I see puzzlement in his expression when certain topics are broached; my interest in literature, for one, intrigues him.

I expect he has never afore met a maid who both works the soil and is comfortable discussing the social subtleties hidden in the words of Henry James . Mother encourages the pursuit, believing it wise to consider the world through various lenses and points of view. While Jago quotes verses from the works of Keats and Shelley , I try to avoid such flowery prose and romantic sentiments. I see enough of that in my thoughts.

One day, Jago and I engage in a spirited conversation on theosophy and spirituality following my reading of the latest publication by the popular Miss Marie Corelli . Her heroine sought to experience spiritual truth by searching the higher realms for destiny. I immediately pictured the world the authoress created, understanding the truth in her fiction.

Naturally , Jago , a man rooted to earth, does not adhere to such ideological notions. When all about us is the sea and stone of our beloved Cornwall , the lush minefields of copper and tin, imagining the intangible is quite beyond his capabilities.

While Jago has been discreet and respectful, Mother’s gentle warnings are proffered in letters from London . I continue to remind him of my marriage, and that his attentions might be viewed as inappropriate. But he laughs and tosses his mane of wild wavy hair, assuring me we are but two good friends, and he is merely thanking me for the gift of restored health. Nevertheless , behind the thinly veiled innocence, I feel our deepening connection. My words urge him to cease such behaviour, yet I fear my heart begs otherwise.

On market day, I reach the last stretch of the dusty road from the village when he surprises me with a visit yet again. He dismounts Jupiter and leads him by the bridle and insists on carrying my basket. I hesitate upon reaching the door to my cottage, but he opens it and leads me inside.

‘ Your mother is not here again? Are you sure she is real?’ he enquires with a grin.

‘ Of course she is.’ I pull a face at him.

His huge frame fills the room. I look past softened eyes the colour of a peacock’s plumage to the herbs laid out and drying on a table, waiting for my attention. I cannot deny his presence warms my heart. The herbs can wait. Suddenly , the cool shadow of knowing touches me. Something is amiss.

‘ Now tell me, why are you here on my doorstep, on a day when the wind carries the sound of the wheal turning and groaning without you?’

His eyes cloud with a faraway look I cannot explain. A chill creeps down my spine. ‘ Is it your leg? Does it trouble you still? I can prepare an unguent to relieve tightness in the scar, if that is what keeps you from it.’

‘ No , Amelia . Please don’t concern yourself with ministrations today. Shall we take a walk?’ He pats my hand.

‘ But surely you are missed?’

‘ It appears my employer has other plans for me. Come now, we shall desist in speaking of the tedium of industry and enjoy the best of this fine day.’

He seems to have something on his mind. Fearing what it might mean, I agree to walk with him, despite knowing trouble is stirring.

‘ Let me empty this basket and I will check for early lavender while we walk.’

Jago draws me in a way I am too weak to resist, and I shudder to think what lies ahead. For both of us.

We cross the fields towards the sea where the roar of the waves fills the air; the ebb and flow is in rhythm with the tides. His strides are long, and he leans down to pick bluebells from the shimmering spread of indigo beneath our feet. When I reach his side, he threads the stalks into my hair, laughing when we scatter a trail of flowers behind us. We continue to climb the path towards the cliff tops.

‘ I had to see you today, Amelia .’ His voice is low and deep. ‘ To speak with you before I leave.’

‘ You are leaving?’ The sting in my throat surprises me.

‘ My cousin, my employer, bids me travel to South America . He is eager for me to assess the landscape for resources and further investigate the copper mines there. I regret, my departure will be imminent.’

I stare out to sea, watching its fury as a wild wave crashes against the rocky outcrop below. The wind catches my hair, lashing my braid and releasing bluebells from my curls. I am unable to meet his gaze, and though I have no right to him, or to feel the ache of sadness caused by his news, his words plunge me into despondency. To have him travel far away is a regret I will find difficult to bear.

He awaits my comment, but I am at a loss. Taking a step towards me, he cups my face in his hands.

Step back, Amelia . I will myself to push his hands away, to ignore the burn of his fingers on my skin. I draw in a breath to contain the unassuageable longing that grips me; how can I lose him? I am alive to his scent, the sweet and arboraceous melding like the taste of the earth mixed with freshly picked plums and sandalwood. His body moves closer and his handsome face blocks the sun. My world will grow darker without him. The thought pulses through me as though spoken aloud.

I break from his hold and walk silently along the path until we reach the gate to a walled garden. Built on the crest of the cliff, the manor house of granite behind it overlooks Penzance Bay , with battlements and turrets facing towards St Michael’s Mount . When I was a child, I pretended it was a castle from the time of King Arthur . I imagined knights riding hard across the estate and soldiers marching the ramparts to defend us from invasion.

Now , the owner of the nearby copper mines retains it to house his mine manager. I belatedly realise this is Jago’s private residence.

He steps closer and twirls my hair around his finger, then presses a kiss to my forehead, the tip of my nose, my cheeks, the corner of my lips; hovering, searching, seeking…

‘ Please …,’ my voice is barely a whisper, ‘we must not.’ My words catch in the wind and blow out to the sea.

‘ Must not what, Amelia ? Does my touch offend you so?’

‘ I should not be here with you.’ I say one thing but wish another. My heart beats so fast, I fear I will fly away. What spell has he cast on me?

‘ I have no wish to displease you,’ he murmurs. He does not step away and to my shame neither do I . ‘ If it were in my power I would never see you hurt, my fair one. You must know how I feel about you.’

He draws me to the firmness of his chest, and the heat of his body presses against mine. Whatever is said and done next, we will be unable to breach the gap without loss. I am aware of all I have to lose, and what I yearn for. Everything about this is wrong. Perhaps in the time of knights and maidens it may have been different. Another time and place…

‘ You do not displease me. But Thomas is my husband. I cannot.’ I gather my resolve and step back from his embrace. Thomas — I am married to Thomas . I chant it in my head.

‘ Treloar is no longer here.’

I press my lips together. ‘ It does not change the fact he is my husband…’

‘ Look at me, Amelia . I am here.’ His voice rises, impassioned. ‘ Here in flesh and blood. You fill my thoughts, my days and nights. I am beyond caring about what is wrong or right, and may I be damned for my lack of moral regard. But I swear, my dearest one, I have never felt this way before.’

‘ Jago … I am married.’ I should say this to his face, only my head is bowed for fear he will see how much I yearn for his touch. ‘’ Tis wrong. Wrong in every way.’

‘ And for that I am deeply sorry. But tell me, what do you feel for me? Can you deny there is something between us? At the wheal I can barely focus for thinking of you. I lie in my bed at night, longing for your touch, your body, beside mine.’

‘ No , Jago ! Please . This must cease.’

‘ Pray tell me, do you love him?’

A breath catches in the back of my throat. Yes , I love Thomas . I have always loved him. We were children together, and he is my dearest friend. But do I love him well enough? I am uncertain of facing the truth and what it means to speak it aloud.

Time stands still, and birdsong shrills in the distance. I cannot answer. I fix my stare on the path, on the single bluebell discarded between us.

‘ I love you, Amelia . I long to hold you in my arms, to show how much you mean to me. I want to care for you, always. I did not believe it possible to feel this way. But I love you deeply and refuse to leave Cornwall without telling you, nor can I bear to let you go. You mean the world to me…’ He heaves a sigh. ‘ Alas , if you do not feel the same—if you can tell me on God’s oath you care nothing for me–– I swear I will walk away.’

There is buzzing in my ear, the sign of knowing I understand. In my mind’s eye I see myself in his arms, his lips on mine. Hearts and souls unite as we float through the windows of the castle, joined as one. My body is ready and willing—my heart too, in honesty. There is no choice at this moment but to give in.

‘ Indeed , I feel it too.’ Although my mind resists, I take a breath and give in to the spirits around me, as my soul seeks his.

‘ Dear one.’ His face lights like a golden morning sun at rise. He takes my hand and with little resistance I follow him up the stone steps, and rest under the arch. He presses a kiss to my fingertips and the heat of his mouth, his lips, is soft against my palm. I see the centre of his being alight in his eyes —and my image mirrored there. I have loved him deeply in another time and will love him again. ‘ Come , we will not be disturbed…’

The shock of his kiss courses through my body. His lips anchor me to this time and place, at once strange and familiar. I entrust my body to him, completely bound to him and his love. And in this moment, neither the forces of heaven nor earth are able to stand between us.