A World Rewritten II
1095 Words
The room remained quiet, Margaret did not rush to her side.
She simply stood a respectful distance away, watching with the patience of someone who had spent years serving the Ashcroft family.
"My lady..."
Amelia slowly turned.
"I know this must all seem frightening."
"You don't understand."
Her voice trembled.
"I'm not...her."
Margaret's expression softened.
"The physician warned us you might say such things."
"No."
Amelia shook her head vigorously.
"I'm serious."
She looked around desperately, searching for anything that made sense.
"My name is Amelia Carter. I was born in New York. I have a mother and a father. I have friends. I have a phone, a school, a whole life waiting for me."
Her breathing grew uneven.
"I didn't ride a horse."
"I've never lived in a manor."
"I don't even know how to wear..." She looked down at the flowing nightdress. "whatever this is."
Margaret listened quietly, when Amelia finished, she spoke with remarkable gentleness.
"You needn't force yourself to remember today."
"I am remembering."
"You have suffered a terrible injury."
"I haven't!"
Silence settled between them.
For several long moments, neither woman spoke.Finally, Margaret approached.
"My lady...would you allow me to help you prepare for luncheon?"
"Luncheon?"
"You have slept for three days."
Three days.
Amelia's heart sank...three days.
Whatever had happened at the museum...It hadn't lasted a few minutes, time had truly passed.
Margaret disappeared through a side door and returned carrying several neatly folded garments over one arm.
Amelia stared, there were no jeans or sweaters.
Only layers of beautifully made clothing in soft shades of cream and pale blue.
"What...is all that?"
"Your day dress."
"My...day dress?"
Margaret smiled.
"You will change again for supper this evening."
Amelia blinked.
"Again?"
"Yes, my lady."
She spoke as though it were the most ordinary thing in the world.
Amelia couldn't help staring, people changed clothes just to eat dinner?
Margaret laid each garment carefully across the bed.First came a linen chemise, then stockings, a structured corset, several petticoats.
Finally, the beautifully embroidered gown itself. Amelia frowned...
"That can't all be for one person."
"It is."
"How am I supposed to move in all of that?"
Margaret laughed quietly.
"You become accustomed to it."
"I seriously doubt that."
The words slipped out before she could stop them.
Margaret paused.
"Seriously?"
Amelia froze, that wasn't exactly eighteenth-century language.
She cleared her throat awkwardly.
"I mean..."
She had no idea what she meant.
Margaret merely smiled.
"It is good to hear you speaking so much, my lady."
Before Amelia could respond, another maid entered carrying a basin of warm water.
Steam curled gently into the air.
"There is no bath?" Amelia asked.
"A bath was prepared yesterday, but Dr. Whitmore advised against moving you."
The maid dipped a cloth into the water.
"If my lady would permit us..."
Amelia looked from the basin to the maids.Then realization dawned.
"You're going to help me bathe?"
Both women looked confused.
"If that is your wish."
"Oh."
Amelia rubbed the back of her neck.
"Right."
This was... awkward.
"I'm perfectly capable of bathing myself."
Margaret hesitated.
"My lady..."
"that would be highly unusual."
Of course it would, everything here was unusual.
After several minutes of insisting she could manage on her own and several minutes of the maids politely insisting otherwise they finally reached a compromise.
The maids prepared everything.
Amelia washed herself behind a folding screen. It wasn't ideal but it was the closest thing to privacy she was going to get.
. . .
Half an hour later...
"I can't breathe."
Margaret tightened the corset one final time.
"You can breathe, my lady."
"Barely."
"It must fit properly."
"I think my ribs disagree."
The older woman smiled despite herself.
"You have always complained about your corsets."
"I have?"
Margaret nodded.
"You once declared them to be instruments of torture."
Amelia muttered under her breath,
"That girl was brilliant."
Margaret didn't hear her or perhaps she pretended not to.
The rest of the dressing process felt endless, petticoats and sleeves, buttons, ribbons and delicate sapphire pendant,soft leather slippers.
When Margaret finally stepped back, she looked satisfied.
"There."
Amelia looked down at herself, the gown was breathtaking.
The pale blue silk caught the afternoon light beautifully, while tiny pearls had been stitched into the sleeves by hand.
She felt...elegant and completely trapped inside it.
Margaret guided her toward the full-length mirror.
"My lady?"
Amelia looked up, the girl staring back at her could have stepped from an oil painting.
Long chestnut hair had been brushed into soft curls before being pinned neatly away from her face.
The gown fit perfectly.
Her posture seemed different because of the corset.
Her eyes...
Those unfamiliar blue-grey eyes stared back at her.
Beautiful...yet undeniably someone else's.A lump formed in Amelia's throat.
"I don't know her."
Margaret misunderstood.
"You have changed very little since before the accident."
"No."
A tear slipped down Amelia's cheek.
"I mean..."
She touched the mirror gently.
"I don't know the girl I'm looking at."
Margaret quietly lowered her eyes.
She had no words capable of easing that pain. A knock interrupted the silence.
A footman stood outside the partially opened door.
"My Lady."
He bowed respectfully.
"His Grace requests your presence in the family drawing room whenever you feel able."
Margaret nodded.
"We shall come shortly."
The footman disappeared, Amelia turned.
"Do I have to?"
Margaret answered honestly.
"It would mean a great deal to Their Graces."
Amelia closed her eyes for a moment, they weren't her parents.
And yet...the relief on their faces when she'd awakened...
The Duchess's tears, the Duke's quiet gratitude. It had all been real.
They loved Lady Emilia, whoever she had been, Amelia took a slow, steady breath.
"Then..."
She smoothed the front of the unfamiliar gown.
"I suppose I should meet them properly."
Margaret offered her arm, without thinking, Amelia took it.
Together, they stepped into the corridor. The door closed softly behind them, for the first time, Amelia truly saw Ashcroft Manor.
The corridor stretched endlessly ahead, lined with portraits of stern-faced ancestors in gilded frames.
Sunlight spilled through towering windows, illuminating polished oak floors that gleamed like glass.
Somewhere in the distance, a grandfather clock struck the hour.Its deep chime echoed through the manor.
One,two...three.
Servants moved quietly through the halls, bowing the moment they saw her.
"My Lady."
"My Lady."
"My Lady."
Each greeting reminded her of the same terrifying truth.
No one here was waiting for Amelia Carter.
To them...she had always been Lady Emilia Ashcroft.
And unless she found a way home...she always would be.
- Writer
