Chapter Eleven
It felt strange to be back in London, even though he spent much of the year in this townhouse.
It was odd to be surrounded by servants again, to have all this space, rather than the tiny cottage he and Amelie shared in Grantchester.
Already he missed it and he wondered how he would feel at the end of the summer when he had to give up that life entirely.
There was much to be done whilst he was back in London, yet his mind kept wandering back to his book and what section he would start on next.
He wanted to call Amelie in to his study, to discuss it with her as they might have when strolling side by side along the river Cam, but here it was not appropriate.
‘I have gone over the accounts with Amelie for the Grantchester cottage expenses. She is managing very well—sticking to the budget easily,’ Mrs Potter said as she knocked on the study door and entered the vast room.
‘You were right to suggest her, Mrs Potter,’ he said, thinking how his summer would have been very different if he had taken someone else. ‘She is efficient and good-natured, and her cooking is incredible.’
‘I am pleased. Amelie is an asset to this household and I would be very sorry to lose her. Although perhaps one day I might have to encourage her to look for a role as cook with some important family if she is as talented as all that.’
‘I should discuss the plans for the next month in Cambridge with Amelie. Would you send her in to see me?’ Will said.
There wasn’t much to discuss, but he felt a need to see Amelie this morning.
She had been quiet and withdrawn when she had returned to the carriage from seeing her family the previous evening.
Although she had responded to his questions, her answers had only been single words and she had been distracted.
He was aware of the turmoil she felt about leaving her younger sisters and brother in the care of someone else, but they had been there for almost a year now, and he wondered what had upset her so much the night before.
‘That will not be possible, Your Grace,’ Mrs Potter said, giving him an apologetic smile. ‘Amelie left about twenty minutes ago. I believe she is going to see her younger brother and sisters, perhaps even take them out for the day.’
Will closed his eyes, thinking of the dangers Amelie could face walking through the slum by herself. It was irrational—this was a journey she had been making for an entire year without mishap, without his intervention but, now he knew about it, he could not help but worry.
Making a decision, he stood. ‘Thank you, Mrs Potter. I will talk to Amelie on her return; there is no great rush. I have appointments until late afternoon, but I will be home for dinner.’
‘Very good, Your Grace.’
He hoped it was not obvious that he was rushing out after Amelie.
Mrs Potter was discreet, but she was also old-fashioned, and someone who put great stock in good morals.
She would not gossip, but he did not want her thinking poorly of Amelie, especially when nothing scandalous had happened—at least, not more scandalous than a kiss.
The air outside was thick with early summer heat, which felt much more noticeable in London than the Cambridgeshire countryside.
Will set off briskly, long strides eating up the distance as he made his way from the orderly grandeur of Grosvenor Square towards the narrower, darker lanes beyond.
The further he went, the more the city changed.
Polished stone and wide pavements gave way to crooked houses and gutters running with filth, the air sour with smoke.
He walked quickly, purposefully, ignoring the curious glances as his fine coat grew dusty and sweat dampened his collar.
All he could think of was Amelie making her way through the narrow streets and the dangers that could lie ahead.
At one of the entrances to St Giles Rookery, he paused, wondering if she had heeded his warning and gone around, and thinking back to her words. She had promised only to be careful, not to avoid the route that would get her to her destination the quickest.
As he plunged into the narrow streets, his chest grew tight, not from exertion but dread.
The place was a notorious labyrinth of alleys and crammed tenements, filled with shadows where crime could thrive.
He kept moving quickly, aware that his own stature and physical prowess would protect him only from some threats.
He would be no match for a group of attackers, and even one man with a weapon could cause him serious damage.
His well-tailored clothes also made him more of a target.
It was only when he was almost out of the slum, almost at the house they had stopped at the night before, that he caught sight of Amelie walking briskly ahead of him.
‘Amelie,’ he called out, seeing her stiffen in surprise before turning. The shock on her face was absolute and her reaction made Will wonder for a moment if he was behaving rationally, following her out here.
For a long moment she did not move, and then she checked over her shoulder before retracing her steps to stand in front of him.
‘What are you doing here?’
‘I was worried about you walking alone. You seemed so distracted last night when you got back in the carriage, so despondent. I thought it might mean you were not as alert when making your way through London.’
Myriad emotions flitted across her face and then Amelie sighed. ‘I should be angry with you,’ she said, shaking her head, ‘But you are correct; I have not been particularly vigilant today.’
‘What happened last night when you went to see your sisters and brother?’
Tears welled in Amelie’s eyes and he had to resist the urge to reach out and touch her, to reassure her in any way he could. No one would know him here, but it was unfair to put Amelie in that situation, no matter how much he wished to comfort her.
She gestured for them to start walking and fell into step beside him, after a minute linking her arm through his as if they were a courting couple taking a pleasant stroll through a park.
‘They all looked terribly thin and malnourished.’ She shook her head and took a deep breath. ‘I suppose it seemed worse because I have not seen them for a while. When I visit every week, it is easier to ignore the fact they are losing weight and their clothes hang a little more from them.’
‘What did the widow have to say for herself. Is she not feeding them?’
‘She wasn’t there. Marie, my middle sister, tells me Mrs Creedy is out drinking most nights from five or six o’clock until late.’
‘How old is Marie?’
‘Eight.’
‘Young to be in charge of the other two every night.’
‘It is.’ Amelie stopped and turned a despairing face up to him.
‘But what can I do? I cannot afford better; I cannot take them away with me. Even with her neglect, at least here they are together, they have a roof and a bed and some food. The alternative is the workhouse.’ Amelie shuddered at the thought.
‘It will not be for ever,’ he said slowly.
He wanted to storm into the terraced house and rescue these children he had never met, but he was very aware this was not his battle to fight.
Amelie had survived so much adversity these past couple of years; she would not want someone else thinking they knew best.
‘No, but the future does not look great for them, even if we muddle through the next few years. Marie will probably have to go into domestic service when she is ten or twelve and Harriet will follow her. Charles will be the worst off. He won’t ever remember when things were better.
This is his whole life. He will not have the memories of the happy times to sustain him. ’
Will did not say anything. Any reassurance he’d try to give would be hollow. It was well known that people did not rise from the slums to live long, happy, successful lives. Everything was stacked against them and trying to convince her otherwise would be nothing but lies.
‘Charles does not even know how to read or write; even Harriet is only halfway through her education. At least I had a wonderful childhood. I learned to play piano, to paint watercolours. I spent my summers running through the countryside and coming home to freshly baked delicacies. All they will have is this slum and a childhood of misery.’
‘They have you,’ Will said softly. ‘Do not underestimate the importance of love. Growing up secure in the knowledge that someone loves you is as important as some of these other things you mention.’
‘They do have me, but they deserve so much more.’
As they rounded the corner, Will saw the house they had stopped outside the evening before. In the daylight it looked even worse, the brickwork filthy and the windows grimy.
‘I do not wish to impose,’ Will said, looking around to see if there was somewhere he could wait for her. ‘Are you planning to take your sisters and brother out for the day? Perhaps I could escort you from this area and then I will leave you to enjoy their company.’
Amelie considered for a moment and then shook her head. ‘Come inside. I am grateful for your concern, Your Grace.’
‘Will,’ he said. ‘Please, when it is just the two of us, please call me Will.’
Hardly anyone used his given name anymore, not since Catherine had died a little over a year ago. He expected her to protest, but instead she nodded.
‘Will,’ she said quietly. In that moment he would have given anything for her to say his name again, softly, just for him, followed by a long, lingering kiss.
Instead she turned back to the house, squared her shoulders and made her way to the front door.
‘Amelie!’ A skinny young girl who had the same eyes as Amelie opened the door, her face lighting up as she saw her sister. Another girl followed close behind her, throwing herself past her older sister to embrace Amelie.
Amelie’s smile wavered as she bent to kiss each one in turn. ‘Oh, my darlings. I have missed you. It warms my heart to see you.’
A little boy pushed himself up from where he had been sitting on a threadbare rug, his movements a little sluggish, but the smile on his face stretching wide.
‘It is good to see you up and about, mon trésor.’
‘Amelie.’ A sharp voice came from the other room and a woman in her fourth or fifth decade stepped through the open door, wiping her hands on a cloth.
Will took the opportunity to look around, a sinking feeling in his stomach.
He had prepared himself for poverty, but he had not expected such frailty in the children—the pale skin, the lifeless hair, the slightly scared look in their eyes.
Rage flared inside him and he battled to suppress it.
This was Amelie’s burden, not his. He had no right to storm in and tear their world apart.
Amelie stepped further into the dingy rooms, her brother and sisters clinging to her as she faced up to Mrs Creedy.
‘Have you brought the money you owe me? I’m not a charity worker, I need to be paid.’
‘Charles has been ill.’
‘Congestion of the chest. He’s getting better. I paid for the medicine out of my own purse so you’ll owe that too,’ Mrs Creedy said, crossing her arms in front of her chest.
‘The girls look thin…’ Amelie said, her voice quiet, but there was a steely undertone.
Mrs Creedy scoffed. ‘I feed them plenty. They’re fussy little madams, that’s the problem.’
He saw Amelie stiffen and wondered at how she kept control of her temper.
‘You’re welcome to take them elsewhere if you’re not happy with my care,’ Mrs Creedy said, a triumphant note in her voice. The widow must have known of Amelie’s impossible situation. It was heartbreaking to see the hope in the three children’s eyes as they looked at their older sister.
For a long moment, Amelie did not speak and then her shoulders sagged. ‘How much do I owe you for the medicine?’ Her voice was flat, almost lifeless.
‘Come through to the kitchen and you can settle the whole amount you owe.’
Will was left with the three children looking at him with a mix of curiosity and distrust.
‘Good morning,’ he said, lifting his hat and then feeling a little ridiculous.
Marie scowled at him but Harriet broke out into a wide, beaming smile and gave a little curtsey.
‘Good morning, sir. I am Harriet Somersham. It is a pleasure to meet you.’ Her refined accent and perfect social manners seemed completely out of place with her raggedy clothes and their run-down surroundings.
It was horrible to think they had been born into a comfortable life and that it had been torn from them.
‘It is a pleasure to meet you too, Harriet. I am Lord Beescroft, but I would be honoured if you would call me William.’
Marie’s eyes narrowed. ‘Are you a lord?’
Will turned to Amelie sister. ‘Yes.’
‘Baron? Marquess? Earl?’ she snapped, making it clear she did not believe him.
‘Duke,’ he said.
Marie scoffed before her sister elbowed her in the ribs. ‘Amelie said she works for a duke.’
Marie’s eyes widened but she was saved from having to interact with him further by Charles barging his way past. The little boy had a charming smile and he looked up at Will with expectant eyes.
‘I’m Charles,’ he said, reaching out and taking hold of Will’s hand. ‘I expect you want to see my toy soldiers.’
Without waiting for an answer, Charles led Will over to the corner of the room and proudly pointed out half a dozen toy soldiers that were lined up.
‘That is an impressive regiment,’ Will said, crouching down to inspect them.
‘This is my favourite. He lost his arm when we left our old home, but I pretend he lost it in battle.’ The little boy held out a battered soldier without his left arm.
Once, the models would have been beautifully painted, but these treasured possessions had been played with and held until half the paint had rubbed off.
Amelie emerged from the kitchen, her mouth set in a grim line. He could see she was barely holding things together.
Will straightened and looked down at the little boy next to him. ‘How about a trip to Hyde Park? We can take a stroll along the Serpentine and perhaps go for ices.’ He turned to Charles, ‘Have you tried an ice before?’
The little boy shook his head, his eyes alight with anticipation.
‘I do not wish to impose on your time,’ Amelie said quietly. He could see she was almost at breaking point and he had to resist the urge to take her in his arms. Instead, he smiled brightly. ‘There is always time for a walk in the park and an ice.’