Make a Plan To Escape
1147 Words
The portly cook was admonishing Amelia for not paying attention. Amelia bit her lip to stifle a grin. Nancy’s face would turn red when she was angry and all the small hairs on her face would stand straight up in the air and Amelia appeared to be doing everything in her power to cause such a reaction.
“Pay attention, girl.” She yelled. Her large round face was turning purple. A giggle escaped Amelia’s lips and uncontrollable laughter followed.
“I can’t help it, Nancy. You know I can’t take you seriously when you yell at me. It’s only flour.” Amelia picked up a handful and threw it at Nancy.
“You wicked little girl!” Nancy picked up a handful of flour and threw it in Amelia’s face.
The girl sputtered and coughed. Flour caked her eyelashes and clung to the wisps of hair that escaped Amelia’s braid. Amelia continued to laugh. She hugged Nancy and wiped her face on the cook’s shoulder, leaving a white streak on the woman’s dress. Nancy huffed and placed her hands on her hips.
“Oh, Nancy. You’re so good to me. No one else would put up with my nonsense like you.” Amelia giggled.
“Alright, you’ve had your fun, Miss Amelia, but please pay attention and don’t waste any more food.” Nancy was interrupted by Mrs. Hunter who had been waiting in the hallway, watching Amelia and Nancy.
“Before I lecture you both about wasting food and making a mess,” Amelia smiled at Mrs. Hunter. She picked up her apron to try and wipe the flour from her face but instead, it made more of a smearing mess.
“Nancy, you won’t mind if I take Miss Amelia off your hands for a bit, do you?” She said, motioning for Amelia to come over to her. Amelia left Nancy’s side and crossed the room to Mrs. Hunter. The young lady was still trying to wipe flour unsuccessfully from her face.
“No, ma’am. I can handle everything on my own,” Nancy said.
“Upstairs, please.” Mrs. Hunter said to Amelia, pointing to the rickety staircase in the kitchen.
They walked up the narrow servants’ stairway with the broken steps to Mrs. Hunter’s quarters. Amelia paused above the broken step. She turned and held out her hand to Mrs. Hunter to help her over the step. The room was small, consisting of a small bed covered in a faded yellow blanket and a worn-out mat on the floor where Amelia slept. Mrs. Hunter kept the small room bright and cheery with freshly picked flowers in old ceramic vases and a few watercolors Christine had made as a child decorated the walls.
Amelia was also learning about running the household, and Mrs. Hunter was training her to become a housekeeper. And she was also doing her best to teach Amelia as many skills as she could. Her hopes were to help Amelia find employment elsewhere. She was sure if the young woman were to stay much longer in the Winthrope household, Amelia would truly die. She put a hand on Amelia’s shoulder and felt that the dress was damp. Pulling her hand away, Mrs. Hunter saw that she was right, Amelia had been beaten again. She shook her head, the sooner she could get the girl out of this home the better.
Amelia was good at calculating monthly expenses and had learned what her Aunt and Uncle were so desperate to hide. She knew about every new gown and hat her aunt owned. She knew about the creditors and how much money the Winthropes owed. She also knew how much her Uncle’s country estates made. Almost nothing was coming into the household and what did come in quickly left.
“Here,” Mrs. Hunter said, handing the letters to Amelia. “Your cousin didn’t abandon you and neither did your brother.” Mrs. Hunter turned her head to cough for several moments. Amelia drew her eyebrows together and wore a look of concern on her face.
Amelia sat at Mrs. Hunter’s small desk to read through the letters. Mrs. Hunter stood behind Amelia, she placed a hand gently on Amelia’s arm. Amelia learned that her brother had done well and had given Lady Winthrope all her dowry, plus several thousand pounds more.
“Well, that explains where the mystery money came from,” Amelia said. Her mouth was twisted into a crooked line. It was hard for her to feel any more disappointment since she believed her family had abandoned her. “But it still does not change anything. I have nothing and no way to get to my brother. I’m not sure he would believe me if I just wrote him after all these years.”
Mrs. Hunter shook her head. “I’ve been writing to friends of mine to try and find you a paying position. There are many families looking for a good governess. You are an accomplished young lady and you have taught Nancy’s son to read, write and do simple sums.”
“He is a sweet boy. Many of these children are vile little things.” She said, remembering her and George’s days they spent tormenting their governesses. “I don’t think I could do that. What about what I do now? I’m not a bad scullery maid.” She said with a hopeful grin. She didn’t enjoy the work, but she could do it, especially if someone paid her.
“No, the only reason why you are still a scullery maid is because your Aunt has refused to move you into a better position. You could do my job if you chose.” Mrs. Hunter was pacing around the small room. One hand was behind her back and she rubbed her chin with the other. Every so often the woman would pause to cough.
Amelia smiled. “We’ll think of something.” She said. Amelia took a deep breath and sighed, her shoulders slumped. She was tired of trying to think of a way to escape. Amelia had told herself multiple times that an opportunity to leave would present itself, but she grew tired of waiting. She had convinced herself that no one would believe her story and no one would take her in. She was certain that there was no one left who would remember the name Amelia Southerton.
“In the meantime, I will write to your cousin and brother. I can’t answer for your brother, but I’m sure your cousin will believe me.” Mrs. Hunter placed her hand on Amelia’s shoulder and gave it a reassuring squeeze. “We will get things straightened out.” She
continued. “Keep the letters, Amelia. Your uncle will never know they are missing and your aunt probably doesn’t know they are here.”
- Writer
