Page 16 of Jaxon (Gentlemen of War #4)
Amelia
Mrs. Gentry had shown Daisy and me to our respective rooms with only a single candelabra to lead the way. No hallway sconces were lit and no moonlight shone through the upper windows due to the cloud cover. It seemed the staff kept most of the candles in the kitchen while they heated water for the bath. I didn’t mind, truly, all I wanted was to rest my eyes. But when I stepped inside the room as Diggs poured another pot of warm water in the basin, the notion of a hot bath did outweigh the sight of the four-post bed.
“Ma’am,” Anna, the maid, appeared, addressing Mrs. Gentry. Her hand trembled as she tucked a loose strand of her light brown hair back into the knot at the nape of her neck while the other held a light bundle of fabric against her plump figure. “I’ve some frocks.” She spoke so softly I had to strain to hear her. She unraveled two dresses that could barely qualify to be called that. Both were wrinkled and stained with frayed hems, and one had torn pockets. She held them out gingerly. “I got no finer ones fer ya, I’m sorry.”
I retrieved the longer of the two. “Thank you so much, Anna.” I smiled. As I regarded the dress she currently wore, it confirmed to me that these were the best she had to offer. I was touched by her kindness and eager to shed my uncomfortable apparel. “These will do nicely. I trust this doesn’t put you out too much.”
She smiled wider and shook her head.
Mrs. Gentry waved her off. “I found shifts for you both, though they might feel more like a bedspread.” She chuckled and I found her laugh so warm and comforting. “I will address any necessary alterations tomorrow.”
“We will be fine for tonight. I’m certain when the sun shines tomorrow, all will be right as rain again…” I chuckled and quickly added, “Without the rain, naturally.”
She patted my hand sweetly, though her mouth curved downward. “Let’s just hope the sun does shine, my dears.” The way her lips pursed led me to believe she left the rest of her words unsaid and she handed me two linen drapes, one for Daisy and myself.
Upon the housekeeper’s departure, Daisy turned to me. “Let me help you out of your dress, then I will wait in my room.”
“You should bathe first, Daisy, you have some cuts that need to be cleansed.”
She scanned her body, then looked at me. “We both do.”
I knew I must look dreadful from the aches and the irritations, but there was little to be done for it.
Mr. Jack tapped the door with his boot. “May I enter?”
“By all means,” I said, grateful Daisy had not unclasped the buttons down my back yet and I opened the door wider for him as he stepped over to the basin and poured more water inside.
Once finished, he pulled upright—long enough for me to gape. Why did he intrigue me so?
He cleared his throat. “If you need anything else tonight, please do not be afraid to notify either Mrs. Gentry or myself. I will make sure Mr. Duncan is looked after and apprise you in the morning. Get some rest.”
I watched his lips move as each word came forth and the low timbre of his voice was like a sound that brushed pleasantly along my skin. Despite my excellent memory, widespread reading, and years of practicing that silly game with Elizabeth, I was rarely stumped, yet here I stood as if a hazy mist clouded my judgement, for his tone awakened something inside. Part of me felt that I knew this man, yet the belief seemed realistically impossible.
“Th—thank you, Mr. Jack,” Daisy stepped forward and curtsied.
“Yes.” I managed to offer a slight smile, shaking free of my woolgathering. “We are tremendously grateful for your kindness and generosity.”
His eyes met mine for only a brief moment before he dipped his chin and disappeared.
Daisy latched the door closed and took me by the hand, leading me toward the basin. “Are you well, Miss?”
“Yes, as best as can be expected.” I gestured for her to resume unclasping me from behind. It took a great deal of tugging, wrenching, and pulling to get the wet but now partially dry garment off my body.
“I might be able to save this.” She fondled the fabric, examining it closely. “It needs to be washed and mended but I think I can do it.”
“But what of the considerable tear up the side?”
“The tear is at the seam, Miss.” She continued to study it.
“Thank you, Daisy.”
Once she departed, I relatched the door just in case the men were hauling more buckets without my knowledge. Between my torn dress and my dreadful appearance, I hardly needed any further humiliation.
I shed my dirty shift and my reticule tumbled to the floor. I had forgotten that I had stuffed it against my skin before Mr. Jack pulled me from the coach. I unclasped it and dumped all the contents to the floor, quickly retrieving Peter’s damp letters and spreading them out before the glowing hearth to dry them. Upon closer inspection, most of the ink had bled into unrecognizable sentences. I wanted to cry, but instead chastised myself severely. Why was I so blasted determined to bring them along and risk their ruination? I could have easily left them in my treasure box beneath my bed for when I returned.
But I knew why… I never quite felt whole without them. They were the last things he touched before I received them.
Stepping into the warm water, I paused to let the heat seep through my feet and legs like butter melting on a warm Chelsea bun. Gooseflesh rippled across the portions of my skin that had yet to become submerged, which I readily did with delight. This was the first agreeable thing to happen all day.
A pang of guilt struck my chest.
Blue Eyes , now known as Mr. Jack—though I did prefer to call him by his nickname—Diggs, O’Keefe, Mr. Duncan, Daisy, and Ennis had all been out in the rain as long as or longer than me, yet here I was the first to bathe like a pampered miss. Everyone had been soaked through, cold, and possibly injured in some way. I ran my hand down the bruises on my arms, hips, and legs from the fall—the fall where a brawny man rolled to the ground pressed against me. The pressure of his weight upon me nearly knocked the breath out of me, but surely—I chuckled to myself—Elizabeth will be quite amused once I reach Bridport and write to regale her with the harrowing tale.
My fingers then brushed along the cuts on my neck, face, and upper lip from the broken glass. They stung when I first lowered my body into the water, but now they felt soothed. With a quick dunk of my hair, I gripped the bar of soap that Mrs. Gentry left me, lathering and rinsing my long strands so that Daisy, too, might have warm water to relish in.
Mrs. Gentry knocked on the door. “Miss Amelia, dear, I have left some more items you might find useful out in the hallway when you are finished.”
“Thank you, Mrs. Gentry, thank you kindly,” I called out.
Once I finished and draped the linen around me, with no dressing gown to indulge in, I stepped gingerly toward the door and looked out before I retrieved the clothing. True, her shift was double my size, but it smelled freshly laundered and I had few options at the moment. Tapping on the wall nearest Daisy’s room, I hoped she understood the message I sent. When she arrived to take her turn, she could not keep the smile from her face.
“I know,” I grumbled. “I am an abysmal mess.”
She reached for my hands. “No, you still look beautiful, just worn a bit.”
“I am exhausted.”
“Lie down, while I bathe, I shan’t be long.”
“I’m certain you long for your privacy, Daisy.”
“Miss, I cannot allow you to leave the room in that.” She pointed to my abundant shift. “I can bathe with you here.”
“Very well,” I said and slipped beneath the velvety coverlet on the bed. While this might be a man’s lodging, he certainly did his guests a delightful service by providing this most comfortable bedding. I did not hear Daisy bathe or leave. I closed my eyes and when I opened them, morning had arrived.
I stretched and groaned at the pain that radiated through my limbs. I did not believe I had irreversible wounds, it only felt like it. It took some time to move to the side of the bed, but once I did, I felt strengthened by a solitary sunbeam that shone through my window.
Rising, I shuffled slowly toward the window and tugged the olive-colored drapes aside to reveal additional light but nothing more breached the glass. The sun mocked me, teasing me as it tarried somewhere behind dense foliage and a gloomy, overcast sky. I studied the grounds in the daylight. A thick forest surrounded the entire backside of the lodge. The forest reminded me of the Grimm Fairy Tales of my childhood, for I could not see through the density of the trees even out this second-floor window. As I took in the restricting scene, a crippling fear caught me by surprise as I remembered the words that passed from O’Keefe to Mr. Jack the night before. The bridge is gone.
A niggling pain shot through my chest. What did that mean precisely? I recalled yesterday while traveling in the coach, I had kept my head down entirely in my book, so I failed to see my whereabouts before the accident. I had never traveled in this area of England before, so I didn’t know what to expect. It was all quite foreign to me.
Circling away from the window, I nearly cried out, pressing my hand over my mouth. More animal heads bore down on me from the walls. How had I not noticed these last night? Granted, exhaustion overcame me and after my bath I fell right to sleep.
I tiptoed slowly over to them. Between the great room downstairs and those on display here, there were more beasts in this house than I had observed at the menagerie. Except here, they were dead. It was also safe to assume that other bedchambers, not only mine, exhibited this particular type of adornment.
I recognized the familiar head and antlers of a deer, the physiques of a fox, squirrel, and small wild cat, even a few birds, but I could not identify the other half dozen creatures by sight. Only then, my bare toes curled against a soft fur hide covering much of the wood floor beneath my feet. I crouched to touch it, engrossed by the smooth texture against my palms. Had I been so delirious last night that I could not see all of this in the shadow of my candle?
Where precisely had we become stranded? I wondered. A madman hunter’s lodge where, if we weren’t careful, our own heads might join those upon the walls? The noise that escaped my chest surfaced as a half laugh, half cry, bewildered over the morbid thought.
I walked gingerly toward the pitcher on a nearby table, pouring just enough water in the basin to wash my face. A suitable stack of linens were found beside it. I first touched my hair and gasped, knowing it had to be a horrifying sight, for I fell asleep with it still wet and had no brush to tame it. Glancing around the room, I found no dressing table or mirror to inspect the damage. I sighed. Without my personal belongings, I could do little to rectify my circumstances.
I pressed my hand to my bare neck and a sudden twinge pierced my chest. My locket! Now, both of my hands shot to my neck and hair searching for remnants of the chain in case it got tangled there. “No, no, no,” I cried and whipped the coverlet from the bed searching to see if I had lost it overnight. I rushed over to the copper bath basin left in my chamber and stuck my arms into the dirty water, scrambling around for anything that resembled my gold chain or beveled adornment.
I sank to the floor in sorrow. Of all the items that could have been lost, why did it have to be that one? I buried my head into my hands. Why did I not secure it in my reticule? I peered over at the one item that happened to survive simply because I tucked it down my corset, though it didn’t protect Peter’s letters. I glanced over at the remaining contents of my reticule scattered across the floor—a ten-pound note… damp but salvageable, my lip pomade… utterly useless, a letter from my father to Aunt Agatha… also likely ruined, and my dagger—all inconsequential in comparison to that one piece of jewelry.
I pushed up off the floor and hobbled, dazed and numb, slowly back toward the wash basin, dipping a linen into the water. When I brushed it over my face the fabric turned bright red.
What is happening to me?
My breath shortened as I set it down and used my fingertips to follow the cuts along my cheeks, forehead and the bridge of my nose. Though I tried to keep my head down when I shattered the window, it had to be from the broken glass.
Most of the cuts along my neck, chest and arms were superficial, even dried so I was bewildered over where this fresh blood came from. Setting the linen down, I lifted the hem of the shift to inspect my legs in the light of day. Several revolting bruises and scratches appeared with one particularly hideous cut on my ankle. Another peek at the bath basin told me that it would not be a sound solution to cleanse my open wounds now that it appeared dark and murky.
I turned back to the bowl and dipped a different linen this time, squeezing out the excess water and continued to wash, but after a few seconds, I realized that it didn’t matter what I did, I would not be presentable in any form.
Sitting on the edge of the bed, I fingered the fabric of the borrowed dress in my hands and groaned at my predicament. I had no clean underthings—no proper shift, no unsoiled stays, and no stockings. I might as well be walking around the house stark naked. I shook my head at the thought. Indeed, that would be ghastlier but still, could I go out with such sparse coverage without appearing like a light skirt?
My soiled dress, in tatters and no longer recognizable as powder blue, lay with my sullied underthings over a chair near the desk. I tried not to feel discouraged. This was nowhere near the depths of sorrow I felt at the news of Peter’s death and if I could survive that, I could survive anything.
A small knock on the door drew my attention. “Miss Amelia?” the housekeeper opened the door. “Oh, my dear…” Her eyes softened with compassion. “You look quite—”
“—dreadful?” I finished her sentence. “I’m aware.”
“I was going to say uncomfortable.” She tsked. “Now we have little in the way of clothing that might fit you or might be up to your standard. I know the men retrieved one of your trunks but kept it sealed, so perhaps you will have something else to wear this morning.”
“Oh no!” I cried, my palm muffling the sound. If the trunk found contained my dresses, the knowledge of all my books, research papers, and notes disappearing down the river in my second trunk made my stomach sink. Another sound assault on my heart, knowing that my last connection with Peter was through those books.
“What is it, dear?”
I clasped my hands in front of me. “N—nothing,” I muttered, trying to hide my sorrow. “Nothing of consequence. Would you please tell me where the trunk is?”
“I can have it brought upstairs.”
“Thank you,” I whispered.
She eyed me carefully. “Pardon us for not having much in the way of toiletries, but I might be able to rustle up a hand mirror and a brush.
“That would be delightful.” Though I feared the fright I would see if I looked at my reflection. Slipping to the chair near the desk, I attempted to prevent the stinging behind my eyes to materialize into tears by pressing my fingers against them lightly.
“Here let me help you, love.” She walked over and set another stack of fresh linens on the desk beside me. “I will have the copper basin emptied and refilled. It will be so much easier to wash in daylight,” she said as she reached for my hand and rubbed it gently.
“Oh no, Mrs. Gentry. I’m certain the others could use a bath. I’m sorry we kept it overnight. I fell asleep.”
“Well, we must do something for the mud caked in your hair.”
“Mud?” I released her hold as my fingers fumbled over the ratted mess. “I still have mud in my hair?”
She peered closer and brushed her own fingers through my strands as something wet trickled down my forehead.
“Oh, my, dear girl, it’s not mud. You’re bleeding.”
“I am?” I cried as she sweetly guided my fingers to where a jagged gash surfaced along the hairline.
“It might need sutures.”
“Sutures?” I continued to touch the cut no bigger than the tip of my thumb but certainly deep.
Mrs. Gentry dipped a clean linen in the bowl and held it to my head like a mother would and I adored her for it. When she drew it back, it was stained dark red. She pursed her lips. “Keep this against the wound and I will return straightaway with a needle and thread.
Before she departed, she called back, “I will notify Mr. Jack to have your trunk brought up. Also, I do have some laudanum if you would like some while I sew it closed.”
“No, no thank you. I don’t take laudanum if I can avoid it.”
“That is wise.” She chuckled and disappeared.
When Mr. O’Keefe knocked on my door and announced himself a few minutes later, I felt awkwardly exposed wearing only an ill-fitting shift with one hand pressed to my wound. “One moment,” I hollered and pulled the coverlet off the bed to drape around me. “Very well, you may enter.”
Thankfully, his attention did not linger in my direction and he excused himself shortly after setting my trunk down. Eagerly throwing the coverlet back on the bed and the linen aside, I approached the trunk. Small pools of water leaked from the corners onto the floor and my heart sank. I recalled only briefly yesterday seeing one trunk being dragged from the wreckage after Mr. Jack and I had leaped to the bank. Sadly, it may have been left outside in the rain as distracted as we were at the realization Mr. Duncan was missing. I quickly reproached myself. What a sinful thought. I would take Mr. Duncan’s life over any swathe of fabric.
I ran my hands along the frayed leather padding. A change of clothing will do nicely for my disposition. To finally discard these odd-sized clothes, and if at least one of my dresses remained unsoiled from the river water, I will feel truly blessed.
There were no bell pulls in the lodge connected to a below stairs , so I couldn’t readily call for help. Daisy inhabited the chamber next door to me and, though we had no adjoining door, we had discussed last night the idea of me tapping on the wall as a means to get her attention. I would certainly need help going through a wet wardrobe.
Though I could not help feeling dispirited over our circumstances, it was not entirely past me that we had our lives… the most important save of all and, if it hadn’t been for the master of this house and his staff, it’s possible neither me nor my servants would be alive at this moment.
I unlatched the chest and pulled the lid back only to gasp at the sight of it. It wasn’t my clothing after all, it was my books! I squealed and swiftly reached for the sacred contents with gentle hands. Indeed, there had been some water damage but not as much as I expected, and as I retrieved one book in one hand and a pile of vellum in the other, my heart bloomed at the prospect.
Another knock came to the door, and I threw the contents from my hands inside the trunk before I quickly shut it closed. “Yes?” I stood guardedly beside it. I did not wish for anyone outside of my staff to misunderstand my reasons for such a collection nor the true reason we had been off course from Bridport.
“It is only I, Miss Amelia,” Mrs. Gentry called.
“Please, come in.” I called as I stood as innocently as possible.
“Oh, wonderful, dear.” She clapped her hands at the sight of the trunk. “Did your wardrobe survive the river?”
I swallowed. “No, sadly nothing is salvageable.”
“Oh, surely I can make miracles happen.” She stepped over to open it with what appeared as an intent to inspect its contents.
“No,” I moved in front of her and prevented her from opening it. “I will check more thoroughly and inform you if something can be done.” I reached for her hand and led her to the desk, taking a seat, preparing for her to seal my wound.
She did not respond, but I could see from her expression she likely found my behavior odd. I spoke the truth—unless they located the other trunk, I would not have any salvageable clothing.
I clenched my fists into the shift skirt and cringed as her needle sunk into my skin and with each subsequent prick and pull as she sewed. She looped the string several times before she cut it loose and tied a knot. My fingers impulsively went to the rough threads, quite grateful that my hair covered them adequately. “Thank you, Mrs. Gentry, you’ve been so kind to the lot of us.”
“You’re welcome, love. Now, I’m certain you’re famished. Come downstairs for some breakfast.”
“Thank you,” I repeated and, once she departed, I rushed back to the trunk, eager to relieve it of all its contents. I first rummaged through for the ones in the worst condition and spread them out along the floorboards and rug to dry.
All of that hard work, all of my studies, and my notes would not be lost after all. I was so thrilled that it did not occur to me until I had brought out the last item that with this discovery, I didn’t have a change of clothing after all.
Drat.
I guess I could not have all my wishes come true, but in the end, dresses, gowns, hats, and accessories could be replaced. What I held in my hands could not.