Page 75 of Trouble

If the doctor hadn’t been called, she would have to do that first, perhaps go straight to his house as it was only slightly out of her way – but if hehadalready been summoned then she was wasting precious minutes with this detour, and she would feel every one of them as she rushed home, trying to make up for lost time. She would have to use all of her Fairmont wages to pay him. Amy still might have the two sovereigns from Charles that she’d sent home – she had probably refused to spend them on the things she so sorely needed – but then, if there was nothing left, what about a funeral? She would not let Amy go without, but they could hardly wait for Emily to find some other place of employment for long enough to pay for it, which meant they would likely have to take some sort of loan, and then—

She cut herself off, feeling violently guilty for even thinking of afuneral.

She supposed somebody had to. Her mother would be next to useless. With Amy gone, it would almost be as if Emily had no family left at all.

She had always mocked her mother’s superstitions, but she knocked her knuckles twice against the wooden door frame of the carriage to try to undo her thoughts of grave plots and flowers.

Unfortunately, her mind could not be tricked into perfect blankness, and in trying to distract herself, her thoughts kept straying back to the captain. As they rushed alongside fields and lanes and Emily watched the flashing white tails of rabbits, flocks of crows wheeling, smoke rising from the stacks of distant farmhouses and villages, she wondered what he might be doing back at Fairmont House. Hiding in his study? Breakfasting with the children?

She could not delude herself into imagining that he was thinking of her. More likely, he was writing to arrange a next meeting with Mrs Spencer.Shemade sense at Fairmont. They would marry, and with the Royal Navy appeased, the captain would return to his ship. Everybody would be exactly where they ought, as if Emily’s trip to the coast had never really happened.

She thought of Amy, pictured her standing on the beach – a place she had never been, and now might not get the chance to visit – and then settled right back into spiralling again for the length of the journey home.

In the end, Emily went straight to the house.

It looked even smaller now than it had before. There was damage to the brickwork up near the roof, overgrown ivy trying to force its way through one of the upstairs windows; when Emily went to open the door, it stuck in the frame, and she had to give it a hard shove to gain entrance.

Inside it was clean. The stone floor had been swept; the rug with the little burn marks where sparks had escaped from the hearth looked freshly beaten. There was even a cup with a bouquet of wild flowers on the table.

The possible meanings of this turned Emily’s insides to melting ice; had somebody brought flowers to express their sympathy? Had her mother cleaned, knowing they might soon have visitors?

Emily’s movements were suddenly erratic and fumbling as she put down her trunk and stumbled towards the stairs, taking them two at a time and almost slipping when she reached the top.

The door to the bedroom she shared with Amy was closed.

When she opened it, she found her mother sitting beside the bed, in the chair Amy often read in.

She was holding Amy’s hand.

‘Amy,’ Emily choked out, going to her at once. ‘I’m home.’

She wasn’t unconscious, as Emily had feared, but she did have a high, clammy fever and a sickly green tinge to her skin that made Emily want to wrap her up in blankets and run away with her, as if they could outpace whatever was coming for her. She had grown thinner, too, her hands like little claws, all pale skin and jutting bone.

‘Em,’ Amy said weakly, as their mother got up and shuffled from the room with a pat to Emily’s shoulder that she barely noticed. ‘You didn’t need to come, you fool.’

‘Oh, shut up,’ Emily said. ‘I was sick and tired of the coast, anyway. Always too cold, even in the height of summer. The people were dull and the house was ugly and I missed your face. Look, I have an entire basket of rich people food here – take your pick. I’d try the chicken – I think they fatten them on plum cake and cream.’

Amy smiled thinly, and let Emily prattle on as she unpacked the food and presented it, her descriptions of its origin getting more ridiculous each time.

‘What are they like?’ Amy said hoarsely. ‘Were the children good? Was Captain Edwards reasonable?’

‘Ah,’ said Emily, with a brief and uncomfortable memory of the captain’s hand tightening in her hair. ‘Yes .?.?. sort of. They would havelovedyou. Me, they tolerated. Now, let me tell you about this pie .?.?.’

Amy could not eat the pie. She could not do much of anything. Even lying there listening to Emily seemed to take something from her that she could not afford to give, so Emily soon lapsed into silence and sat vigil instead.

When Amy fell asleep, Emily slipped from the room and met her mother downstairs, cutting a meagre pile of vegetables by the fire.

‘Amy told me the doctor has been here,’ she said, not sitting down. ‘What did he say?’

Her mother sighed. ‘More of the usual. She needs rest, she needs good food .?.?. She needs some miracle medicine that only he can provide, but it will cost us the earth and we cannot have it until next week.’

Emily did not ask what they were going to do. She did not collapse into her mother’s arms, weeping. She would have to figure this out herself. She would need to—

‘You could at least pretend to be glad to see me,’ said her mother.

Emily blinked at her. ‘I .?.?. am.’

‘Mmm,’ said her mother. ‘She has not been alone while you have been gone, Emily. I have been here.’