Page 30 of The Hidden Daughter (The Lost Daughters #7)

Amalie sat and looked out at Hyde Park, a bird in a gilded cage if ever there was one.

She shifted in her seat, adjusting her dress for her newly rounded stomach.

It was as if one day she’d gone to bed not showing her pregnancy, and the next it was very much on display.

Not if she was careful with the way she dressed—to anyone else she would look as if she’d simply indulged in a little more to eat—but when she saw herself before bathing, the evidence was undeniable.

It had been four weeks since she’d seen Oskar, and he’d promised to arrive no later than this week. But the days had passed by and now it was Friday, which was why she was so eagerly sitting with her forehead pressed to the glass, staring out the window and hoping he would appear.

She couldn’t keep doing this alone. The family she was staying with were lovely—Rachel and Benjamin had treated her kindly and with all the warmth and respect she’d once hoped to receive from his parents, but she knew that she was starting to overstay her welcome.

They had four children of their own, so it was a busy enough household without having a guest to contend with.

Oskar had sent her letters, and even a gift; a delicate watch that she held up to admire now. It was gold and fitted her small wrist as if it had been made for her.

But she didn’t want gifts, she wanted Oskar.

To hold her hand, to whisper to her that everything would be all right.

She wanted a kitchen of her own to cook the types of foods that were familiar to her, and the joy of celebrating her pregnancy rather than having to keep it hidden.

She was only thankful that she had her own bathroom in the house, otherwise someone would surely have heard her being unwell in the mornings and through until lunchtime.

Where are you, Oskar? For the first time, she couldn’t stop thinking that he might have changed his mind, that his family might have somehow convinced him to stay and turn his back on her.

Amalie reassured herself by taking out his latest letter, holding it to her chest before unfolding it to read again.

She’d read it so many times that she should have known it by heart, but she still found comfort in seeing his familiar handwriting, in imagining he was whispering the words in her ear as she read it.

My darling Amalie,

I’m so sorry that so many weeks have passed, but it’s taken even more organising than I thought to put all the necessary arrangements in place.

I’ve now secured funds so that we can purchase a home of our own, it will have to be modest, of course, but it will be ours.

Alexander has tried to change my father’s mind, but alas he is set on forgetting I ever existed, so we shall forge our own path and make our own family without them. For now, anyway.

Please know that everything I’m doing is for us, and I will be in London within the next fortnight, likely the week after you receive this letter. I promise it won’t take any longer.

She folded it and tucked it into her dress, leaning into the window once more and staring out.

Please hurry, Oskar, I don’t know how much longer I can stand being without you.

Amalie knew something was wrong when there was an urgent knock on her bedroom door late at night. She rose and reached for her dressing gown, covering herself and hurrying across the room to open it.

‘Rachel?’ Amalie asked, seeing the woman’s pale complexion and red eyes. ‘What’s wrong?’

‘Amalie,’ Rachel said, taking her hand and guiding her back into the room. ‘Please, sit down.’

‘Rachel, you’re scaring me,’ she said, sitting with her, wondering why she still hadn’t let go of her hand.

‘I’m so sorry, Amalie, there’s no easy way to say this, but it’s Oskar.’

‘Oskar?’ she gasped. ‘What about Oskar? Is he not coming, has something—’

‘He’s dead,’ Rachel cried, enveloping Amalie in her arms and holding her tight. ‘There was a plane crash and we’ve been told there were no survivors.’

Amalie sat still. She couldn’t raise her arms to hug Rachel back. She couldn’t cry. She couldn’t feel.

‘No,’ she said, pushing to her feet and pacing across the room and back. ‘No, absolutely not. There must be some mistake! Oskar will be here any day now, I’ve been waiting a month and…’ Her voice trailed away as she stumbled over her words.

‘He’s gone, Amalie,’ Rachel said, standing and opening her arms again. ‘I’m so sorry, my love, but he’s gone.’

This time she fled into Rachel’s arms and didn’t let go, crying into her shoulder as the other woman held her tight.

Eventually Rachel eased her onto the bed, tucking her under the covers like she might one of her children and whispering to her that everything would be all right.

That morning would come and they’d find out more, that answers would help to heal her wounds, that Oskar would want her to be strong.

But it didn’t matter what Rachel said; nothing was going to ease Amalie’s pain.

She had a baby on the way, she was alone in a country that wasn’t her own and she couldn’t go back to her family, pregnant and unmarried.

Oskar’s family wouldn’t want to hear her name uttered again; they’d probably blame her for their son being on the plane in the first place, which meant that she was alone.

Utterly and completely alone.

‘I’m going to get something to help you sleep,’ Rachel whispered, stroking her hair before rising. ‘Close your eyes, I’ll be back soon.’

Amalie started to sob then, her body shaking as she cried until her pillow was wet and her throat dry, until her eyes felt so swollen she knew that come morning, she’d barely be able to open them.

You can’t be gone, Oskar. You can’t be.

Just come home to me. Please, let this be a horrible dream. Just come home.

Amalie didn’t leave her bed for three days.

She kept her curtains drawn and her bedcovers pulled over her.

Rachel sent up a maid who insisted on spoon-feeding her chicken broth and something to help her sleep, and Amalie obeyed only because she didn’t want the child growing inside of her to go without.

But she refused to rise or leave the bedchamber.

Until the same maid came back, this time not with broth but with a renewed determination to get Amalie out of bed. She pulled the curtains wide and let in the sunshine, before throwing back the covers.

‘It’s time to bathe,’ she insisted.

Amalie groaned but let her guide her from the bed to the bath that had already been drawn.

She raised her arms like a child as the maid stripped her nightgown from her, and obeyed when she told her to get into the tub.

She didn’t even know the woman’s name, but her touch was gentle and she washed her hair for her, and her words became even kinder.

‘I can see that you’re in the family way,’ the maid said.

Amalie had thought she was all out of tears, but more filled her eyes now that someone had said her secret out loud.

‘I don’t know what to do,’ Amalie whispered.

‘Rachel will ask you to leave once she finds out. She won’t want an unmarried pregnant woman in the house, not with the children here. And there’s been a letter.’

Amalie froze. ‘A letter?’

‘From your Mr Oskar’s family. I overheard her and Mr Benjamin talking.’

‘Where will I go?’ Amalie asked as fear gripped her. ‘What am I supposed to do? I only have enough money to tide me over, without Oskar…’ She closed her eyes and slipped beneath the warm bathwater, only for the maid to hold her head up by her long hair.

‘I know a place. You’ll be safe there, and you won’t be forced to make any decisions you don’t want to.’

Amalie considered her words, realising what kind of place this woman was talking about, the kind of place that women like her ended up in when they were pregnant and alone.

‘I know what you’re thinking, but it’s called Hope’s House. I have a friend who’s a midwife, she’s told me all about the woman there, and I can tell you that she’s not like anyone else.’

‘You know where this Hope’s House is?’ Amalie asked.

‘I do, and I’ll even take you there myself if you need me to. Women like us have to stick together in times of need.’

Amalie reached for her hand. ‘I don’t know what I’ve done for you to be so kind to me, but thank you.’

‘I can tell you’re not like Miss Rachel and her friends, that’s why I want to help.’

‘I don’t even know your name,’ Amalie whispered.

‘Helen,’ she said. ‘My name is Helen.’

Amalie cried as Helen rinsed her hair and sponged her body, caring for her in a way that no one had cared for her in a very long time, not since she was a girl.

‘Everything will be all right, I promise. You just need to give it a little time.’

Amalie bit down on her lip, trying not to think about Oskar, even though his face was all she could see every time she closed her eyes.

Time was going to do nothing to heal her pain. Not with a child on the way.