Page 21 of Maid for the Duke

There was a depressing smell of stewed vegetables as she ascended the stairs and, as always happened when she arrived at the widow’s house, Amelie felt terrible guilt that at the end of the visit she would leave her kinsfolk to live. This was their reality now, ripped from their beautiful childhood home to live with a stranger in these awful couple of rooms in London. They had no say in the matter, no influence over what happened to them.

Pushing the thought from her mind, Amelie knocked at the door, smiling broadly when Harriet opened it. Her middle sister had grown in the four weeks since she had last seen her, but she still had the same messy dark-blonde hair and the same wide green eyes.

‘Amelie!’ she cried, throwing herself forward into her sister’s arms.

Amelie felt the tears prick her own eyes at the affection. Harriet held on to her tightly, burying her face in Amelie’s dress and squeezing her around the waist.

‘You came back.’

‘Of course I came back, ma petite chérie.’

‘I thought you might have left us,’ Harriet’s voice was muffled, her face still pressed against Amelie.

Amelie smoothed a hand over Harriet’s hair, trying to mask the shock she felt. Her sister was far too thin, her wrists like twigs beneath the worn fabric of her sleeve.

‘Never,’ Amelie whispered, her voice breaking despite herself. ‘I will always come back to you.’

A small cough drew her attention and she looked up to see Marie standing behind her. Harriet’s elder sister tried to appear composed, but there was sadness in her eyes. They were hollowed with shadows and her dress was hanging more loosely than it should.

‘You shouldn’t cry, Harriet,’ Marie said with a kind of brittle pride. ‘Amelie has enough to worry about.’

Amelie reached out her free arm and drew Marie in until the three of them clung together. It took a moment before Marie relaxed into the hug, letting out a long, deep sigh that made Amelie think her little sister was holding the weight of the world on her shoulders.

‘You are both so brave,’ Amelie said, trying to keep the sadness from her voice. ‘You have been looking after each other, haven’t you?’

The two girls nodded silently, Marie pressing her lips together in a thin line. Amelie wanted to press her, to ask what it had really been like these last few weeks, but she was afraid of what might spill out of her sister if she did.

When they had first arrived in London, Amelie had struggled to know what to do with her kinsfolk whilst she looked for work. At eight, Marie was old enough to be left by herself sometimes, but Harriet was only seven and little Charles five. She’d not been qualified for any roles that would have allowed her to bring them with her, and the paltry wages of most menial jobs meant she could not afford to rent somewhere for them all together and make sure there was food on the table. The only option had been to seek out someone like Mrs Creedy—a widow who would take in the children, look after them and feed them whilst Amelie worked. Every day since they had made the arrangement Amelie had regretted it, but there had been no other options.

‘Where is Charles?’

‘He’s asleep. He hasn’t been well, but I think he’s on the mend now. He’s been sleeping a lot.’ Marie gestured over to the narrow bed in the corner of the room and Amelie felt her heart burn in her chest.

Amelie crossed the cramped room, her gaze falling on her brother curled up on the narrow bed. His fair hair, so much like their mother’s, was mussed and dull, and when he lifted his head at the sound of her footsteps she caught her breath. His cheeks were hollowed, his shirt collar too large for his thin neck.

‘Amelie,’ he murmured, a smile lighting his pale face.

She knelt beside him, taking his small hand in hers and pressing it against her lips. ‘Mon trésor,’ she murmured. ‘How I have missed you.’

Charles tried to sit up and she quickly helped him, arranging the thin blanket around his shoulders. ‘I knew you would come back. I told Harriet so.’

‘Of course I am back. I will always come back.’

He looked so frail, so vulnerable, that it was hard to stop the sobs from erupting from her body. Yet she knew she could not let her sisters and brother see how much she was hurting. This was their suffering.

‘Where is Mrs Creedy?’ she asked, looking around the bare room as if the widow might emerge from behind one of the trunks or the other narrow bed.

‘Out,’ Marie said with a shrug. ‘She goes out most evenings. Then comes home smelling of liquor.’

Amelie closed her eyes and breathed deeply. She wanted nothing more than to sweep up her little family and get them out of this place, but she had to be sensible. If she took them from Mrs Creedy’s care she would have to give up her job, and then she would have no way of supporting them.

She wanted to rage—at Mrs Creedy, at the world, at the cruel unfairness that had stolen their parents and their home—but it would do no good. Their father, the man who had lost them everything, had already been properly punished. Hating him would not do anyone any good.

Harriet came and curled up beside her, and a moment later Marie joined them. For a moment, Amelie closed her eyes and let herself feel the weight of them all pressed against her. They were her anchor, her reason for working as hard as she did. She loved coming back to see them yet each visit tore her heart in two knowing, she would have to leave them in this place.

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.