Chapter 6
CHAPTER SIX
Amelia sighed in displeasure as she crossed out her latest note. The margins of the play’s text were two blocks of confused chaotic scribbling, notes haphazardly recorded and struck through, a visual representation of the unstable nature of her thoughts.
She had only one manuscript of ‘A Midsummer Night’s Dream’ and had taken pains to rewrite the play into a piece that could be performed by children—each reply, each direction, copied by hand twenty times or more on stationery of her own.
“You’ll need another copy soon,” came Mary-Ann’s crooning voice from behind her.
Amelia gripped hard on her quill, spooked. She turned in her seat and came nose-to-nose with her cousin, placing a playful kiss on Mary-Ann’s cheek to dismiss her.
“When did you come in?” Amelia asked.
Mary-Ann stepped away, clipping in her earrings. Their shared room glowed in the light of the fire, Amelia’s blue gown hanging from her armoire and shimmering like a sky full of stars.
“I went to fetch these pearls chez Mama. That was five minutes ago. I could have sworn I told you...” Mary-Ann finished attaching her earrings and sighed.
“Oh, sweet Amelia... Do you know, sometimes, I have dreams that you forget my name altogether.” She positioned herself behind Amelia at the escritoire, wrapping her arms around her.
“In my dreams, I grab you by the shoulders and cry, ‘Amelia! Amelia! You must remember me, I am your Mary-Ann!’, but you look at me with gorgeous, vacant eyes, and I know in my dream-heart that you do not know me at all.”
Laughing softly—though it was far from a laughing matter—Amelia grabbed one of her cousin’s hands where it rested on her chest.
“I could never forget you,” she murmured, squeezing her cousin’s soft fingers. “It is only facts and numbers, dates and places, the occasional face, speeches of course...” Amelia paused, blinking. “But nothing that matters so much to me as you do.”
“Hm,” was all Mary-Ann replied, performing a little moue. She peered over Amelia’s shoulder. “Amelia, how many children live at the orphanage?”
“Thirty-two,” Amelia answered, proud of herself for remembering. She put her quill in its stand. “I know my adjustments seem excessive, but not all the children will have speaking roles, and I want them to feel included. I have adapted the play as such.
“Many of Shakespeare’s lines were repurposed, and there are a few dance scenes.
.. Though I mainly wanted something to occupy the children once it gets cold, to keep their hands busy with props and costumes.
” She gasped, turning to face Mary-Ann. “And now that reminds me—did you speak with the owner of the theatre house in town?”
“Not yet,” her cousin replied, releasing Amelia to inspect her coiffure in the mirror.
Mary-Ann had the same coloring as Beatrice, her mother; auburn hair and dark brown eyes.
“But I plan on catching him tonight and will ask him about borrowing the space at Christmastide. Mama knows the sister of his late wife, and I thought...”
She smiled devilishly.
Amelia knew what her cousin thought.
Mary-Ann made a point of seducing any man she met. She was two years younger than Amelia, ten-and-eight, preparing for her second social season. But by far and large, she was the more popular and successful cousin.
“Well, I shan’t corrupt that delicate albeit pure mind of yours, Amelia,” her cousin joked. “You have never had such a salacious thought in your life, I am sure.”
Amelia ducked her head, pretending to review her notes again.
Her cousin had no idea that Amelia had recently met Mr. Moore—had thought of no one else in the week since his visit to the orphanage.
And those thoughts had been salacious and more.
She shivered as she recalled, with striking clarity, the timbre of his voice, the brush of his fingers against hers. ..
In all likelihood, we will never cross paths again, she thought. And if we do, if he comes to the play, he may very well pretend not to know me. Yet how strange, that the one man I may as well not bother remembering is the one man who has pervaded my thoughts since our last meeting!
“Enough of that now,” Mary-Ann chided, waving at the writing desk.
“You must get dressed, or else we will be late for the ball. You may no longer have aspirations of snagging a husband, but I very well do.” She cocked her shoulder, admiring her reflection once more.
“And if not a husband, then at least a suitor or two, to occupy my time until Papa takes me to London.”
Having received her orders, Amelia dressed as quickly as she could. Within a quarter of an hour, the cousins piled into the Spencer carriage, where Amelia’s uncle and aunt awaited.
Benjamin affectionately tapped Amelia on the knee as she settled beside him, the other hand balancing a newspaper. Her uncle looked older than he was, with wild grey hair and a suit that had passed out of fashion five years prior.
“You will never read that in here,” Beatrice said opposite him, already preening her daughter, fixing a ringlet at the back of Mary-Ann’s head. “There isn’t any light, sir! I am sorry to say you will have to satisfy yourself with speaking to us poor women.”
In the dimly lit carriage, Amelia swore she saw her uncle roll his eyes. He was a quiet man, an amateur philosopher, a proud Whig, who much preferred the company of the learned man than ton aristocrats—and had nothing against women at all, despite Beatrice’s joke.
“Who said the broadsheet is for now?” Benjamin protested. He elbowed Amelia in the side, leaning in conspiratorially. “If I can find no amusement in the library tonight, I intend to retreat here and read in peace.”
“A ball in a library!” Beatrice exclaimed, aghast and shaking her head. “I have never heard so queer a thing in all my life!”
“I think it sounds romantic,” Amelia argued, looking out the window as the carriage departed.
The windows of their small manor house were fading spots of light in the distance.
“Dancing among books, the light refracting off the spines, chandeliers glittering overhead... All that history, that knowledge...”
“Pish, posh. You really have been reading too much Shakespeare,” Mary-Ann interrupted.
She squirmed away from her mother. “Enough, Mama! You’ll ruin it if you keep fiddling.
” She sighed and returned her attention to Amelia.
“If you can tear yourself away from the books, if you can remember to, you might try to dance tonight, Amelia. It will reflect badly on me if you do not.”
“Oh, Mary-Ann,” Beatrice scolded. “Your candor is not nearly as endearing as you believe it to be.”
“I beg to differ,” said Mary-Ann, settling into her seat with a shimmy of her shoulders.
The mother and daughter quickly began discussing something else, and Amelia returned to gazing out of the window, reviewing the play in her mind.
As Broad Street came into view a little while later, their carriage slowed significantly. Benjamin pressed his nose to the glass, squinting out at the dark road.
“We’ll be stuck here in this jam for an hour,” he cried, quietly counting the shocking number of carriages ahead of them. He turned to Amelia and grinned. “More the pity...”
Beatrice gave a guttural sigh. “We shan’t survive another hour in this carriage all together!” She fell quiet for a moment, and Amelia swore she could see cogs turning in her mind. Suddenly, she grabbed her husband’s hand. “You proceed with Mary-Ann on foot,” she ordered.
“Pardon?” Benjamin cried.
“Oh, Papa, please!” Mary-Ann begged, nodding furiously. She bundled her pink satin skirts and shuffled toward the door. “Mama is right. There is no point in being trapped in here. It is only a short walk. If we do not hurry, there will be no gentlemen left to dance with! Please, Papa!”
For all his flaws, Benjamin loved his family dearly. He offered Amelia a sorrowful look, which she returned with a laugh, and said his goodbyes as though they were parting forever. Mary-Ann slammed the door closed behind them, happily skipping up the road and dragging her father by the hand.
Amelia sighed, content to wait with Beatrice in silence.
Though Beatrice had other plans.
As soon as they were alone, she shuffled across the carriage to sit beside her niece, grooming her just like she had groomed Mary-Ann.
“Have I told you how beautiful you look tonight, my dove?” Beatrice asked, looping a ringlet of Amelia’s brown hair around her gloved finger. She let it fall back in place and chucked Amelia’s chin. “You are a brave girl coming out tonight. I know you much prefer to remain by yourself.”
Feeling a little patronized, Amelia merely smiled. “It is no trouble. I am excited to see the Bodleian.”
Beatrice ignored her. “Mary-Ann—though I love the bones of that girl—has a tyrannous way with you, I know. I saw how she wore you down over this ball, saying it was necessary for both her sake and yours that you come. We would not have been cross with you if you had refused her appeals. Your life is yours to lead as you see fit, dearest. Have I not always made that clear?”
“You have, Aunt Beatrice,” Amelia said. She took her aunt’s hand in hers.
“But I am not nearly as fragile as you believe me to be, and an evening well-surrounded will not tire me so. If I feel myself growing weary, I shall retreat at once into a quiet corner—or into the carriage with Uncle Benjamin.”
“And you work yourself much too hard at that house...” Beatrice frowned.
“I enjoy my time there,” Amelia assured her in vain.
“What I mean to say,” Beatrice continued, “is that I love you very much. We will write Freddy at the Pension Espoir again and see whether he has made progress. He would be so proud of you tonight.” She kissed Amelia’s forehead and admired her. “Oh, how much you look like your father...”
The mention of Amelia’s father made her uneasy. She swallowed sharply and feigned a smile. Her memory was fickle at the best of times, but she would never forget her father’s face. She knew they bore a striking resemblance—wondered if that was why Beatrice doted on her so much.
“My dear departed brother, and your poor mother too...” She kissed Amelia again. “Should anyone mention them to you tonight, you must come directly to me, Amelia. Promise.”
“I promise I will,” Amelia replied, unsettled.
But once the carriage finally parked before the Bodleian twenty minutes later, the promise was a long-forgotten dream.
The events of that event, as Amelia would soon discover, were well outside the control of even steadfast Beatrice.