Page 10 of Jaxon (Gentlemen of War #4)
Amelia
9 May 1816
The last time Aunt Agatha visited London was when my mother passed. I do not recall specific details of her physical features due to my grief, but it was the smell of lye soap that stuck with me. Evidently, at the time I did not know it was lye soap, I only knew that the scent tickled my nose in a strange way. I do, however, recall her candid comments. She did not care for propriety in the way that it stifled your opinion, and I admired her for that.
I would give anything to see her and Katrina in a room together, though such an occasion would not present itself, for I was traveling to Bridport alone. Well not entirely alone, Daisy, my maid, accompanied me, as well as Ennis the footman, and my favorite of the two coach drivers, Mr. Duncan.
Saying goodbye to Katrina and my father should have been more satisfying, yet frustration threaded through my body. Indeed, I would no longer be hounded by my stepmother at every turn about accepting a courtship or a proposal, but in order for me to have a smidgeon of peace also meant I had to leave the city I loved. I enjoyed the museums, the artifacts, the ancient treasures, the intrigue. I would get none of that in Bridport being a companion to an elderly, outspoken aunt. And what of society? What did she do indoors all day? What must I expect?
Did it truly matter?
I would be unencumbered by the constant haranguing over a betrothal and I’m certain elderly people slept often. I would have plenty of time to read my books and continue to research the ancient Roman Empire and the language of the Egyptians. I peered at Daisy across from me as the gentle rocking of the carriage had put her to sleep within a couple of hours of our departure. At least my father allowed me to keep her as my lady’s maid. I feared they would separate me from the one person who I could truly confide in outside of Bastian and Elizabeth.
Elizabeth. My dearest friend suffered the greatest over the news of my departure. However, she vowed to visit as soon as she could convince her mother to bring her to Bridport. While I knew it might never happen, we carried a splinter of hope. Regardless, in precisely one year, I would be able to travel and do what my heart pleases and Elizabeth, if not married, will be by my side.
Picking up yesterday’s newsprint that I had brought along, I skimmed its contents and noted the announcement of Leopold of Saxe-Coburg’s wedding to Princess Charlotte Augusta and the recent departure of Lord Byron amidst his failed marriage and growing debts. This saddened me, I certainly loved his works. I skipped the articles by Miss Constance and Lady Ruse, both false names, naturally. I despised the gossip commentaries, having been a victim of them myself on occasion and turned the newsprint over to the other side. Near the bottom right corner, a small notation caught my eye, and I could barely hold still from the excitement that threaded through me.
Thomas Amyot of Norwich, Nowick County, historian and antiquarian, former private secretary to statesman, William Windham, has conceded to a series of lectures for his role in the illustration of English history through the medium of archaeology and his recent involvement at Tewkesbury Abbey. Invitations to address a number of elite schools, include the Magdelene College School, Oxfordshire May 2 nd , Chipping Campden School, Gloucestershire May 13 th , Bromsgrove School, Worcestershire June 5 th , The Royal Grammar School, Buckinghamshire June 20 th .
Chipping Campden School May 13 th ! In four days! My heart pounded in my chest harder than anything I had felt in ages. I swung my knuckles upward inordinately fast as I rapped against the ceiling, and the coach lurched forward following Mr. Duncan’s command for the team to halt. Within seconds, the ruffling sounds of movement surfaced, and Ennis opened the coach door. “Yes, Miss Amelia?”
“Please inform Mr. Duncan that we have a change of route.”
“Change of route?” His forehead wrinkled quite severely for a twenty-one-year-old. “To where?”
“To Chipping Campden, Gloucestershire,” I announced proudly. My first true independent decision, a mere three hours outside of my parents’ control and it could not have been any better. Mr. Amyot’s collection of speeches was the last book that Peter and I shared. He respected the gentleman’s parliamentary perspective, and I devoured his antiquarian discoveries. Peter would be so proud of my determination to meet the gentleman.
Ennis frowned and I could see he wanted to ask why, but social limitations did not permit him to do so. Though I wished to make sure he conveyed the information properly, so I continued, “There is a gentleman scholar I admire who is offering a lecture at the Chipping Campden School. This may be the only time I might see or hear him speak.” I ignored his astonished expression. “Once that is finished, we will be back on our merry way to Bridport. I understand our arrival will be delayed, but I will write a letter to my aunt at the next coach stop to inform her of our change in plans,” I said, adding to myself although hers will be a vague explanation. “Please inform Mr. Duncan of the change.”
“Yes, Miss.”
“Thank you and… and please, Ennis, this journey must remain a secret between the four of us. No one else needs to know the specifics.”
He dipped his head and closed the door.
Daisy stirred awake, yawned and stretched. “Have we arrived?” She rubbed her eyes.
I chuckled. “For heaven’s sake, no. The travel to Bridport takes several days.”
“Oh,” she wiped her eyes. “Then why have we stopped?”
“Well…” I smiled wide. “I have changed our course.” I wanted to squeal with excitement but controlled myself. “And I could not be more thrilled,” I giggled.
“What change?” Now, she wrinkled her nose. Why can’t everyone just be satisfied with a simple directional diversion? It can’t be that difficult.
“We are going to Gloucestershire,” I announced. “I am going to hear Thomas Amyot lecture at The Chipping Campden School.”
She blinked and wiped her eyes again. “Won’t that delay our arrival to our true destination?”
“Yes, but only by a sennight if we are fortunate in our travels.”
“A sennight?” Her eyes widened.
“Oh, come now, Daisy, where’s your sense of adventure?”
“I don’t know.” She slunk back against the squabs. “I don’t think I have any.”
I chuckled and tapped the ceiling of the coach assured that Ennis had conveyed the message by now.
As I sat back comfortably myself, I opened Vestusta Monumenta , an archaeological book published by the Society of Antiquaries of London. This volume, dated 1796, included detailed illustrations like the Pit Mead Roman villa mosaic by Catherine Downes and the Roman mosaics from Wellow, near Bath. Months before, I had read a later volume in which Thomas Amyot had illustrated the Tewkesbury Abbey—the very etchings of ancient artifacts and ruins that Mr. Amyot will speak of. The thought stirred my soul in ways I could not describe.
At the British Museum, most of the exhibition pieces are under secure glass, but on occasion the stones, marbles, or uniquely-sized objects are not, such as the Rosetta Stone and I could not keep myself from touching them. Naturally, I waited until the others departed and I lingered alone. Whether its surface felt like grainy sand, or smooth like glass, the feel of the object beneath my fingertips was like transporting in time. I often wondered who touched this item last, or what they may have felt when they held it or carved it or used it. Those were the questions that plagued my mind every time I crossed something of ancient significance… and it consumed me.
I felt the coach make a wide turn, then rumble along while I became further engrossed in my book and, what seemed like only minutes later, the coach came to a sudden stop once more.
Ennis opened the door. “I’m sorry, Miss Amelia, but we have gotten turned around in the storm.”
“What do you mean, turned around? Surely we could not have gotten that far off course in such a short time since we last spoke.”
His brows furrowed. “Miss Amelia, we have been on the road for many hours since then.”
“Oh.” I inspected the book and, to my surprise, only a few pages remained. “Very well.” It was only then that I realized my footman’s coat collars were pulled up against his chin, water cascaded over the rim of his hat, and his mention of a ‘storm’ sank in. I had been so engrossed in my reading that I hadn’t even realized the rain hit the windows in sheets.
“Ennis! Get in here! Why in the world would you stand right out in the rain to speak to me?”
“We are looking for an inn to spend the night.” He ran a hand over his face. “I shouldn’t come inside, I’m drenched.”
“Precisely why I am telling you to enter the coach at once. And Mr. Duncan as well.”
“He is mighty determined to find a place to shelter both us and the horses.”
“Fine. Tell him to go forth but do not stay out there. Come back here, I won’t have you get ill if I can prevent it.”
“Yes, Miss.” He dipped his chin and closed the door, though the rain had already flooded the flooring, our half boots, and the hems of our dresses. I carefully set my book aside to keep it from getting wet.
“This is a terrible storm, Miss,” Daisy cried as she attempted to look out the windows. “I can’t see clearly myself. Oh, I do hope Mr. Duncan and Ennis are alright up there.”
“Yes,” I said as I joined her staring out the windows, grateful that my father had given us use of the coach with such protections in place. “It might be the worst I have ever traveled in.”
Ennis opened the door once more and the wind caught it, yanking it out of his hands. He scrambled to step inside and closed it tightly behind him as he squeezed beside Daisy across from me. “I need to remain up top, Miss, and help Mr. Duncan guide the horses. He can’t see more than a few paces ahead and the horses are growing restless in the bad weather.”
“What options do we have? Is there a barn or home nearby?”
“There are lights ahead, but not many so it may be a few houses but not a village. Still the master of the house will likely assist us. I must return up top to help Mr. Duncan.”
“Very well, be careful. Stay safe.”
“Yes, Miss.”
He stepped back outside and pushed the door shut several times until we heard a click.
Daisy looked at me with wide eyes. “Are you not frightened, Miss Amelia?”
“Of course, I am,” I said, though I had learned to cleverly hide my emotions since Peter’s death. “Come, come sit beside me and we will pray. You will see that we will find a kind and friendly place to shelter in for the night and be on our way at first light tomorrow.”