Amy Snow (49 page)

After some time, Elspeth, Joss, and Verity come out to the garden with a jug of lemonade. My eyes fill once again; Aurelia had a passion for lemonade that I have never seen rivaled. It is the little things like that that undo me still, but then it has only been five months since I lost her, though it feels like many lifetimes now.

With the children playing a safe distance away, we begin to talk. Firstly, Joss hands me a thick envelope with my name on it in Aurelia's hand. Like all its predecessors, it disappears into my pocket. This will be the last I hear from her, and I want to cherish it. Now, I want to get to know these people to whom Aurelia has entrusted the care of her precious son. I want to know everything.

“The story really begins with Joss's childhood in Wales,” says Elspeth. “Tell her, Joss.”

He nods. “Yes, by all means. I was born in Wales, Amy, and orphaned very young. I can't remember my parents. I was from a mining family, I was told, but the nearest orphanage was in Cardiff, and there I was sent at the age of two. I do not suppose it was worse than any other such place, but nor was it a happy one. It was managed without passion or interest by people who did the work for the wage. Friendships were not encouraged and education was rudimentary—counting to ten, writing one's name, and so on. We all knew that at the age of eight we must leave—we were furnished with no illusions about the sort of future we might expect. It was a drab existence.

“But when I was six, I was blessed with the most enormous good fortune you can imagine. One of the trustees, Lady Everdene, had a friend, John Capland, who hailed from York. He wanted to adopt a boy. He had lost his wife, you see, and had only one child, Jeremiah. He had determined never to marry again, for he had loved his wife so dearly, but he wanted the very best of everything for his son. That included another boy as a brother for Jeremiah.

“He was visiting Lady Everdene when she suggested he choose a boy from her Cardiff orphanage. She selected four boys who had caught her eye and gave Mr. Capland the opportunity to meet us and choose. That was the day that changed my life. Of course, I had no idea of the purpose of meeting this stranger; it was merely a pleasant break from the monotony. If I had known that a chance for a family and a better future was at stake, I believe the suspense would have been unbearable. But I did not know. And he chose me.

“I made the long journey to Yorkshire with my new father and made his better acquaintance. He was a good man, Amy. He is dead now, which pains me still, even after five years. I met my older brother, Jeremiah, who was then nine years of age, and after demonstrating repeatedly that he could knock me down in a fight—for he was, and still is, three times my size—we became first tolerable friends and then true brothers.

“Two years later, Lady Everdene, who was by then Mrs. Hamilton of Truro, sent my father a considerable sum of money to be used for the betterment of his sons. Having instigated the adoption and having no children of her own, it pleased her to have some involvement with our little family. My father was scrupulously fair, divided the money equally between us, and offered us the same opportunities. But we were very different. Jeremiah had become apprenticed to a butcher in York, and he liked the post very well. Nor did he wish to leave home. I took the chance to go to school in London. I spent every holiday at home, but I loved school and devoured my lessons like a plate of grilled trout.

“The years passed and Jeremiah bought the butcher's shop he had begun his career in, for he had been given as capital the equivalent of what had been spent on my education. Like my brother, I wanted a shop of my own, but not a butcher's shop—oh no! I wanted a business that was pleasing to the eye, and profitable, where I might meet a beautiful young lady with whom I could fall madly in love.”

“That's where I come in!” Elspeth smiles. I can well imagine it. “I was twenty years old and engaged to a boatbuilder from Whitby called Sam Perrin.”

“I've never met Sam Perrin,” interjects Joss, “but I intend to spit on him if I do.”

“I hardly think you need feel jealous now, my love,” she reproves mildly. “It was a great many years ago. Anyway, Amy, my mother brought me to York for my trousseau, for we had all heard tell of a new haberdasher's that had opened up there. It was run by a dashing young man who had been educated in London, we were told. He had contacts with all the manufacturers, and offered all the fashions of that great city but at a third of London prices. Apparently, a great many young ladies passed through those doors that year. A
great many
,” she emphasizes pointedly.

“I intended to make a success of my business and I did,” Joss counters complacently. “I did indeed meet a great many young ladies. But only one who made me look twice, and then look again for the rest of my life.”

“We married,” concluded Elspeth. “I broke my engagement, and my mother's heart.”

“And Sam Perrin's, I presume,” I add.

“Oh, Sam. He found someone else within the year, so I do not trouble myself over him. My mother has yet to recover, I believe!

“Anyway, I am the happiest of wives and we have a beautiful home, as you see, but, Amy, we were not blessed with children. After ten whole years, that joy was not given to us. We tried hard to remember that if it were always to be just the two of us, we would still have a great deal for which to be thankful. But I cannot deny that it was a very great sadness to us. Very great.

“We talked about adopting, but I had a superstitious belief that to do so would be to close the door to conceiving a child of our own. Then one day, almost four years ago, we received a visitor. It was the trustee from the orphanage. Tell her, Joss.”

“Yes, well, the visit was nothing remarkable in itself. The trustee, Lady Everdene as she was in Cardiff, had kept in touch with my father all those years and occasionally came to see how I was getting on. She is a person who likes to interest herself in other people's affairs. After he died, she kept the contact with me. I mentioned that Lady Everdene became Mrs. Hamilton, Amy, and over the years she passed through many incarnations as husbands died or disappeared. She was . . . er . . . not a
conventional
lady, but what will I ever care for that? If not for her, I would not have known my father, or my brother, or my wife. By the time she reappeared at my cottage door in 1844 she was Mrs. Riverthorpe.”

“Mrs. Riverthorpe!” How had I not guessed it sooner?

“Indeed. As I say, it was not the fact of the visit that was remarkable, it was what came of it. She barreled into our house and informed us that we must do her a favor. I agreed, thinking she wanted me to put her in touch with a certain milliner, or perhaps accompany her on a journey, for she was very old by then . . . But no. The favor was that we were to host a stranger, a young lady, in our home for several months. Oh, and the young lady was with child, and we were to oversee the birth, and then adopt the child after it was born . . .”

Both Caplands are quiet for a moment, wearing nostalgic, slightly wry expressions on their faces. I snort with laughter, imagining it.

“It was an outrageous demand, of course,” continues Elspeth, “and I had something to say about it, as you may well imagine. There was quite a tussle, for she is very used to getting her own way, as you must know. But I was not about to have our entire future commandeered to her whim, for all that Joss owed her everything. It was not that I was unsympathetic to the young lady's plight, but I have told you of my feelings about adoption, and I could not just change them for the asking. I don't know if sounds strange to you, but it was a very emotional response to a very personal disappointment. In the end, a compromise was reached. We would meet the young lady in question; we agreed to that at least.

“And so, the following day, Aurelia alighted at our door, pale and thin and shaking, but still the most beautiful girl imaginable and with that
heart
burning out of her, lighting up everything around her, drawing us in . . . She told us her story; she was very frank about how she came to find herself in this unenviable situation.”

“When we learned that she was dying,” says Joss, “we began to see things in a different light. When she told us of her parents, however, it made me very worried. It was not their power and influence that caused me hesitate, it was the idea of keeping a child from its own flesh and blood, of standing between people I had never met and their grandchild. But we spent time with Aurelia. She came to stay with us after all. She got to know us and we learned about her life.”

“I think she felt safe here from the start,” Elspeth continues. I can readily believe it. “Being so far from home, allowing us to nurture her . . . these things all restored her to some degree. Even so, she was not properly well for the whole of her time with us. Her pregnancy was a strain on her body. Well, her letter will no doubt tell you how we managed things between us, but the outcome is as you see. Louis is as we imagine Aurelia must have been before her illness took hold of her. You will be able to judge that better than we can, of course.”

“And Verity?”

Elspeth laughed. “It turned out that my superstition was wrong—entirely wrong. Louis was six months old. Aurelia had departed from us some four months previously. And I discovered that I was pregnant. Joss and I could not believe it, though we have heard since that it is not such an uncommon phenomenon, after adoption. Well, Aurelia always believed that we had a great deal to offer Louis. Little did any of us imagine we would also be able to offer him a sister!”

“And now, we hope,” says Joss, looking at me steadily, “he will have an aunt too. We have told him about our family friend, Miss Snow. He has been excited to meet his Aunt Amy! We should love to know you better, too. Please spend as much time here as you would like. I know this must be a lot for you to take in, but . . . well, we hope this makes you . . .
happy
.”

Happy. Yes.

It will take a long time for me to fit the pieces together in my heart and in my head, but Mrs. Riverthorpe is not here to mock me for it, so I expect I may take all the time I need to.

I watch Aurelia's son tumbling with his sister on the grass and murmur, “Aunt Amy.” And smile.

I do not arrive back at the Jupiter until ten o'clock at night. Joss drives me in the cart and Louis demands to go with us, although he has already been put to bed three times. He is refused, kindly but firmly.

At the hotel, a short letter awaits me from Mrs. Riverthorpe. In it she graciously agrees to put me out of my misery—as she terms it—provided I burn the information at once. She then instructs me to visit Joss Capland, a draper on High Petergate. She also requests that I continue to correspond with her and allows that I might visit her in Bath again one day at my convenience. I smile as I fold up the letter.

I summon the concierge and beg a plate of sandwiches to be sent up to me. I feel terrible, knowing how the late-night whims of the wealthy can feel to the maids like the tiresome last straw after a busy day in the kitchen. I would be happy to fetch them myself, but of course that would never do. Yet I find that completing a quest, and freedom, and aunthood all generate a fierce appetite.

I sit at the table in my room, still fully dressed, and devour my sandwiches and my letter both at once. The letter is many pages long, and I am glad of it. I have at least a million questions.

My treasured Amy,

This will doubtless be my longest letter to you and I find I hardly know where to begin. It will also be my last—the thought of it breaks my heart. Foolish really, that it feels like farewell when once again I shall see you tomorrow. It is just that I have been keeping so much from you. My letters are the only place where I can shed that reticence. Once this is written, I can share no more confidences with you for the rest of my life.

I wonder if you have been angry with me for not confiding in you. I dare not speak of Louis to you. The temptation to do so again and again would be too great. It would be the same for you, I know it would. We might be overheard. And then, I am quite sure, my parents would stop at nothing to learn whatever you knew. I have to put it all aside and go on as though it had never happened; that is the choice I have made.

At last I can write freely. Joss will guard this letter with his life, I know that. If you are reading it, then you have followed my trail to its conclusion and you will know my whole story. For this one night, alone in my room, I can unburden myself to you fully and fill in the gaps.
Then
I need only fear its discovery before I post it, but I shall do as I have done with all of them.

I write to you, dearest, last thing at night. I sleep with my secrets under my pillow and rise early to haul myself to the post office, even if it is not a good day, even if I am feeling wretched. I can feel my strength fading fast and I need to finish this before I am altogether incapable. The letters do not stay on Vennaway property for one second more than they absolutely must. I see them placed into the care of Miss Penelope Lambert, postmistress, with my own eyes!