Page 19 of The Amsterdam Enigma (The Continental Capers of Melody Chesterton #3)

F or the second day in a row, Melody woke early.

It was closer to the truth to say she had slept poorly, tossing and turning all night as she replayed the conversation with Alessandro and Rat in her mind.

Finally, she had given up any thought of peaceful slumber and had got out of bed.

Now, she sat in the armchair in the living room of her suite, considering what she wanted to do next.

Alessandro had said he would send word about the two of them making a trip to whatever or wherever Huis Jensen was.

Should she just sit around the hotel until he made contact?

She had become involved in the investigation in Venice after discovering Signor Graziano’s dead body.

The elderly bookseller had been a friend of her new acquaintance, Marchesa Luisa Casati.

These two facts combined to make Melody’s involvement a natural, obvious next step, at least as far as Melody was concerned.

It was only when she was already deeply engaged in the investigation that it became evident that Rat’s interest in the murder was of a more official nature.

In Morocco, Melody’s motivation for forcing her way into the investigation was equally clear: Alessandro had been accused of murder and arrested by the Sultan.

Proving his innocence and ensuring his release from jail had been her primary aim.

But what was driving her now? Beyond her desire to find something meaningful to do with her life, what was truly at stake?

Even as she pondered this, Melody realised that peace in Europe was perhaps the highest stake of all. However, she was neither arrogant nor na?ve enough to believe that whether Britain ended up at war with Germany and its allies would hinge on her involvement in an investigation.

Yes, a man had died. But he wasn’t a man she knew in any way.

People died all the time, yet she didn’t feel compelled to involve herself in investigating their deaths.

More than anything, Melody was weary; weary from having to defend her involvement in the investigations, and from having to force Rat and Alessandro to share everything they knew.

Would it ever end? When would she have made a sufficient intellectual contribution that she wouldn’t have to fight to be part of the inner circle?

“Why am I bothering?” Melody said out loud.

Mary was just entering the living room. “Bothering to what?”

Melody looked at her companion. Perhaps for the first time, she really looked at her. Mary was still a relatively young woman. What were her hopes and dreams?

“How old were you when you entered service, Mary?”

The older woman looked at her charge in surprise; in the fourteen years she had cared for Melody, the young girl had never shown much interest in Mary’s life before arriving at Chesterton House, or indeed in Mary’s life when she wasn’t acting as a maid or companion.

This did not imply that Mary had any complaints; she had joined the staff at Chesterton House as a scullery maid. The opportunity to become four-year-old Melody’s nurserymaid had immediately elevated her status within the household, and in the time since, she had become devoted to the girl.

While Mary had the occasional romantic dream over the years, which sometimes sparked hopes of having a family of her own, for the most part, she was content.

She viewed her role taking care of Melody as the only mothering she needed to do in her life.

As that role evolved over the years, she considered herself fortunate to be a respected and cherished confidante to the girl as she transitioned into womanhood.

Mary was the eldest of twelve siblings. Most of them were in service or hoped to enter it.

Mary knew well enough how fortunate she was.

Tabitha, Lady Pembroke, had hired a tutor for Melody, and had encouraged Mary and the other servants to study with him to learn to read and write.

Mary was travelling across Europe in luxury, and her actual duties these days were minimal and not at all burdensome.

Of all the outcomes that a girl from a large, poor, working-class family in the East End might expect, there was little doubt that where Mary found herself was far beyond any reasonable expectations.

She went and sat in an armchair, contemplating the beautiful young woman before her. Mary understood Melody was struggling, and not merely because of her failed romantic affairs.

“I entered service at fourteen years old,” Mary answered. Then she added, “I counted myself very lucky to be working in as fine a place as Chesterton House, and I continue to count my blessings for all that His Lordship and Her Ladyship have done for me.”

To the extent that Melody had ever considered Mary’s life, she wasn’t sure she would have described it as lucky. “But do you not have regrets?” she pressed.

“Regrets about what?” Mary asked, in genuine confusion.

“What is the point in regretting that my father had to leave the family farm when he was a child? Should I regret that a search for work brought him to London where he met my mother? Certainly, if he hadn’t made the move, I would not be here today.

It is not for me to regret that my father came to care more for where his next drink was coming from than whether there was food on the table. ”

Melody wasn’t sure she agreed with this statement, but she let Mary continue.

“I am very content where my life has ended up today. I am staying in a beautiful suite in a luxury hotel, and my biggest concern today is whether I’m going to be able to darn that hole in your stockings.

If I am content now, then I cannot regret the path and choices that brought me to this point. ”

It was a remarkably wise philosophy of life, and Melody had no rebuttal to make.

It was all very well to be content with where life had taken one and then look back with no regrets, but Melody wasn’t even close to being content.

In fact, all she seemed to possess were regrets.

Regrets that she had allowed herself to be taken in by Alessandro’s charming words and handsome face; regrets that she’s let William Somerset walk out of her life without fully exploring her true feelings for him; perhaps even regrets at leaving London altogether.

Mary was too astute not to realise that Melody had become entangled in whatever Rat was involved in.

She didn’t ask questions and made an effort not to eavesdrop, but she had gathered enough information to recognise that they were engaged in some sort of investigations on behalf of the government.

It was not her place to question Mr Sandworth, who was, after all, Melody’s brother.

It had crossed her mind once or twice that perhaps it was her duty to report back to Lord and Lady Pembroke.

However, Mary understood that once that trust was broken with Melody, she might never repair it.

So, she simply stood by, watching and waiting.

Now, she rose and crossed the room to where Melody was seated. Stroking the young woman’s hair as she used to when Melody was a child, Mary said, “Miss Melody, fate has smiled on you over and over again. Look where you are compared to where you might have been. What regrets can you possibly have?”

It was very unusual for Mary to allude to Melody’s humble origins as the child of impoverished parents in Whitechapel.

Most of the time, she maintained the pretence that the young woman was the child of the Earl and Countess of Pembroke rather than their ward, and had every right to her place in society.

Mary’s explicit reference to Melody’s East End roots, along with considerations of where she might be now if Tabby Cat hadn’t taken her in and treated her like her own daughter, jolted Melody out of her self-pity.

“Thank you, Mary. What on earth would I do without you?” Melody said with a smile so sweet that Mary’s heart swelled with love. Truly, she couldn’t imagine a better way for her life to have turned out than to spend it looking after this young woman.

Melody stood, feeling reinvigorated by the conversation.

She understood her purpose in life: to ensure that the fortunate hand she had been dealt was not wasted.

Although she might not have complete clarity about what that might look like, she owed it to herself, Tabby Cat, Wolfie, Granny, and Uncle Maxi to make the most of the opportunities they had presented her with .

She possessed a good education, independent wealth, social status, and the support of a loving family. Although she might not know what a life that fully made the most of those assets might resemble, she understood that sitting around moping about minor slights and setbacks was not it.

“I am expecting word from Conte Foscari. In the meantime, I am going to get dressed now and would prefer breakfast up here rather than have people in the dining room wonder why I am suddenly dressed like a governess.” Again, while Mary’s expression suggested her thoughts on this, she said nothing.