Chapter Nine: Sanctuary
Amelia stepped onto the branches of the tree outside her bedroom and lowered herself down as quickly and quietly as she could. She could not really tell how quiet she had been for she had slipped twice and her hands were scratched and torn from guiding herself through the frosty branches. Her heart was beating so loudly in her head that she could hear nothing but her own blood. When she had reached the ground she moved quickly to the gate and climbed over the wall not wanting the creaking metal to give her away after all her climbing efforts.
She ran quickly the seven houses to the one she'd been happy in only the night before, the upstairs windows were dark but to her immense joy and relief there were still candles lit in the downstairs rooms. She walked quickly up the path and to the door, which she decided simply to open, for if she knocked then Miss Matty who might be asleep upstairs would be woken.
Amelia closed the door quietly behind her and she peered into the parlour where the fire was burning out but Peter Jenkyns sat by his candle and read peacefully.
"P-Peter?" she spoke his name shakily and her throat hurt, barely any sound came out and she held her throat painfully as he put his book down in confusion and looked through the doorway at her in shock.
"Amelia?" he said in utter confusion, "what are you doing here?" he asked her and she put her fingers to her lips pleadingly as he moved through the doorway to see her standing with her back to his front door.
"Please," she begged quietly, one finger pressed to her lips and her other hand outstretched, "please, I- I don't want to wake your sister."
"Oh, Amelia," he tried to smile but he was shaken by her behaviour, "she is not here," he said quickly, "she- she was invited to a late supper with Mr Buxton and his ward- she has been gone an hour." He paused and watched her press both of her bare red hands to her face. "What has happened?" he asked her. "What has happened to you, Miss Amelia?"
She shook her head, "nothing," she said painfully and she cried quietly and shakily feeling the relief of being in their house wash over her.
"I- shall I fetch your mother?"
"No," Amelia looked up at him and seemed to tremble all over. "Please, no," she begged.
"A-a doctor then?" he tried, "you, you are not well."
"I- I am fine, Peter, I," she tried to say and she looked at his worried face, "I- I just feel so safe here- it, it is a relief to me, to be here."
"You- you do not feel safe in your own house?" he asked her quietly.
She shook her head painfully and the tears streamed from her eyes, "No," she managed.
"Your- your mother has done something to you?" he tried looking at her face, one side seemed more flush than the other, as though she had been slapped and she started to cry again and she shook her head. "No, no of course not," Peter spoke reassuringly though he could see she was denying what was plainly there. He moved towards her and touched her arms briefly before moving his hand to his pocket and taking out a handkerchief which he gave to her. She held it in her hands and looked up at him. He looked down at her with pity and concern and he touched her arms again. "Come and sit in the warm," he tried and she nodded and walked shakily into their parlour.
He moved her to the seat he had been sitting in, it was warm and by her side was the book of Indian etchings they had so often poured through together, he had been reading it when she broke in. Peter moved the footstool out from under the side table and in front of her, he sat down on it and looked up at her in concern.
"Will you tell me what has upset you?" he said softly and he looked at her hands in her lap, her knuckles were white as she gripped the handkerchief. When he looked up at her face her large teary eyes were bright in the glow of the dying fire as was the white streak in her hair which like the rest of her seemed unkempt and wild compared to the evening before when she had sat with him and his sister and taken tea and cake while making careless small talk.
"I- I had no one else to turn to," she admitted quietly and he smiled at her gently, "I never wanted you to know," she sighed sadly and she looked down at her hands. He watched the tears pour silently from her eyes down her face.
"Know what?" he pressed gently.
"What- what I have done," she said painfully and she breathed shakily and trembled. He did not say anything and she looked up at his kind face, "I- I know you shall hate me after I tell you, but- but you are my- my only friend," she tried to smile, "and I need to be with someone I trust."
"I shall never hate you," he said in quiet disbelief, "whatever has happened, I shall be your friend, Amelia."
"My mother," she started shakily and she bit her lip, "my mother despises me," she told him.
"Nonsense," he said automatically.
"She does, she does," Amelia sobbed, "and you will too, I know you will," she cried painfully.
He reached out his hands and touched hers in her lap, she clung tightly to them and after a moment he let go with his left hand, picked up the handkerchief from her skirt and raised it gently to her face, he dried her tears delicately while she hung onto his right hand tightly with both of hers. "Tell me," he said gently.
"The reason we came to live here," she said down to his hand, which she held in her lap, "is because of something I did- something that happened at home. Something that would have ruined our reputations had we stayed."
Peter breathed normally but his heart beat quicker as he thought of the dreadful rumour that his sister had told him, that couldn't possibly be true could it? She swallowed and heard the other voice take over as she continued to stare at his hand. "I've told you before of how my brother and father left and went to India when I was fourteen years old, well," she risked a glance at his patient face, "well," she said again as she looked back down, his hand seemed to twitch a little, squeeze reassuringly at hers, "my brother came back to us last year and- and obviously we were so happy." She looked up at him again and tried to smile. She let go of his hand and he took it away slowly and put it in his own lap.
"We- I was so looking forward to seeing my little brother, as I remembered him- he, he was only twelve when he left. He- I was looking forward to hearing about everything he- he'd seen and d-done." Amelia swallowed painfully and her lip twitched. "And- and he did tell us everything," she shook her head. "Only- only he had changed so much from how I remember- he." Amelia breathed and shook her head still in disbelief, "He was still that boy until- he waited until my mother had gone to bed and- and obviously I wanted to hear all his stories- wanted to stay up and be- be with him, my- my brother." She paused and breathed shakily through her mouth, "He- he did not want to be my- my brother," she raised her hand shakily to her head and looked down at the floor. "He wanted to, to show me things- do things that he had done in India. He," she looked up at Peter who sat in calm silence and listened to her. "He did things I did not want- I never wanted," she stressed, "such- such horrible things."
"Amelia," he said her name gently but she wretched a little and raised her hands to her face in horror that she had told him her shameful secret.
"My mother did not believe me," she hissed painfully and she looked up at him, "she did not believe me and she did not stop him from- from touching me, coming to my bed," she gasped painfully. "She still does not believe me! It- it was only when the evidence, the evidence was so obvious- the, the bruises, the- the blood," she wept, "that she took me away from him, but- but Peter," she looked into his eyes with such terror, "Peter she has written to him and he is coming here- he will arrive tomorrow, I am so scared!"
He reached for her hands again, unsure whether or not she would want him to touch her but she moved from the chair towards him and she hung onto his arms, knelt down on the floor and pressed her face against his chest as she broke into tears.
He put his arms around her and touched her back gently.
"She- she has been writing to him in secret," Amelia sobbed against the soft cotton of his clothes, "she believes him, all the lies he has told her, that I- that I am mad." She closed her eyes tightly, "Oh Peter," she sobbed his name and held onto him tightly, "I'm sorry," she whispered painfully against his waistcoat, "I'm so sorry, Peter."
"I- it doesn't matter," he told her gently, "Amelia, it's not your fault."
"I'm so sorry," she said again.
"You- you don't have to apologise, not to me, not to anyone."
"I- I didn't want you to know," she sobbed painfully.
"I don't mind, I- I am glad you told me," he assured her.
"But, Peter, I didn't want you to know," she sniffed, "that I am spoiled," she finished in a painful whisper.
"Amelia," he said her name gently and he rubbed her back, "You- it was not your fault, you are so pure, you are a pure and beautiful girl, it does not matter what has happened to you, please don't think like that."
"I didn't want you to know," she whispered again, "because-," she pressed her face tightly against him, "because I- I love you," she said painfully, "I am in love with you, Peter."
"Amelia," he said her name in a different tone and she cried painfully so he did not start to argue, he only held her tighter.
"And- and I know I cannot expect you to love me," she said quickly, "I do know that, Peter, I- I just needed to tell you," she sniffed, "that I love you."
He let go of her gently and moved his hands to hers, he stood up and helped her to her feet, she trembled terribly and looked up at his serious face, he moved his book to the footstool now and sat down with her on the sofa, he held her hands tightly and looked down at her beautiful sad face. "Amelia," he said her name gently and watched her close her eyes and tears fall from beneath them, "I'm going to protect you," he assured her, "I- I promise I won't let anything happen to you, but-" he looked seriously down at her and furrowed his brow, "I- I want you to look at me," she looked up. "I'm an old man," he pointed out gently, "You are a beautiful, wonderful girl. I'm old enough to be your father, this is why I'm refusing you, not because you are not wonderful." She nodded in acceptance. "I- I just assumed you saw me as a father," he said quietly, "It- it's all I can give."
"I- I have no father," she said quietly.
"I know," he said softly.
"My- my father was nothing like you," she whispered, "you- you are the most wonderful person I know."
"You are so young," he said with a gentle smile, "you are yet to meet so many interesting people, young men-" he started but she shuddered.
"I- I do not wish to meet any young men," she swallowed, "I do not wish to meet anyone, Peter," she looked up at him, "I- don't you see what he has done to me, what they have both done to me, my mother and my, my brother, I do not wish for an exciting life! I- I like it here, I like the quiet and the, the lovely old ladies and I like you. I- I wake up every morning wondering when I will see you! When I will sit near you and feel safe," she swallowed painfully and her eyes watered, "What you will talk to me about, what we shall discuss- like, like human beings!" she choked a little, "My stomach churns and my heart aches when I am with you, my heart hurts when I do not see you. I- I don't want to leave Cranford."
He swallowed and looked down at her in alarm almost. "I- I cannot protect you if you do not leave," he tried quietly and she too looked up in alarm. "I have contacts, I have money, I- I was going to suggest sending you away."
"On- on my own?" she asked anxiously.
"Amelia, I cannot think of an alternative!" he stressed, though he had thought of one while she spoke about her feelings, but it did not seem right at all to him. "I cannot hide you here!" he said incredulously but still quietly.
She nodded and let go of his hands, put her own hands back into her lap shakily. "I- I know, I- Peter, I, I did not come to you for help, I- I had already decided what to do but I, I needed to tell you what you have meant to me first."
"What- what are you saying?" he said angrily, "What do you propose to do, Amelia?"
"It- it doesn't matter."
"It does," he said furiously, "just because I refused you does not mean I do not care about you, I -of course I love you dearly." He told her indignantly, "You don't think I won't be crushed when you- when you do whatever stupid thing you plan to do."
She looked up at him with a tragic pleading face and she tried to smile, "Don't you see, if you love me then there is an obvious way for you to protect me!"
"I- I'm not the person you're supposed to marry," he protested looking down at her.
"You're the person I choose," she stressed, "I want to be quiet in Cranford," she whispered to him, "I don't want to be anything else, I- I don't want anything, if- if you do not desire me it does not matter," she whispered.
"But Amelia, it does matter."
"Not if I'm marrying you for your mind! And if you're marrying me for the same reason."
"And what of your desires?"
"I desire to be in your company always," she whispered. "Do, do you have desires? I mean, is there someone you love, someone you wish to marry? I, of course- Peter, I will not force you to do anything, I'm just," she swallowed, "I'm just telling you that I would love to be with you. I am not telling you all of this just so you will protect me, I- I could have taken your money and gone but I, I could not do that."
"Amelia," he said her name gently and she lowered her eyes sadly at the tone of his voice, "I know you have been violated, hurt in the most terrible way and- and you feel that anything like that is, is wrong. But when you marry, when you fall in love with someone it is, it is natural to desire them in that way and- and though you must feel like that is so horrible, it- it is different when you are in love. And if you fell in love and felt that with somebody in the future imagine how terrible it would be to be married to me."
She looked at him sadly and shook her head slightly, "then, then you feel nothing like that towards me?" she whispered.
"Of course not," he assured her and she started to cry, she raised her hands to her face and stopped herself, she pushed her fingers up through her hair.
"You- you have been in love before, Peter, haven't you?" he nodded and smiled reassuringly at her, "I- I knew there must be something wrong with me," she whispered to herself more than him.
"There's nothing wrong with you," he said softly.
"And yet I have thrown myself at you, I have told you I love you, felt- felt such things for you that I did not think I would ever feel after, after what has been done to me- Peter," she looked up at him painfully, "Last month when I did not see you I, I thought I was going to die, I thought my heart had broken, I do have those feelings! I- I tremble when you touch my hand, have you never noticed?" She asked in disbelief.
Peter opened his mouth and stared blankly for a split second before he put his hand up to his open mouth and shook his head unsure what was happening to him. "I- I assumed you didn't like it. And, obviously after, after what you've told me, I- I thought you must hate to be touched! Not that- that you- you feel like this," he stammered.
She sat next to him in silence and breathed painfully as she watched him run his own hand over his forehead and through his thick silvery hair.
"Peter," she said his name quietly. "You- do you remember how we have been these past few months, before this last month," she corrected, "How you make me laugh and- and sometimes I make you laugh. How I love to listen to you and read the same things you do so we can talk about them. How I like to draw you when you are busy reading and," she smiled nervously, "how you have painted me," she breathed and swallowed trying to stay calm, "how we talk about your lovely sister, Nothing- nothing of that memory has to change," she whispered, "does it?"
He looked at her sadly, his eyebrows furrowed in painful thought, he shook his head and too tried to smile, he stood up and she looked up at him with worry etched on her tired face but he knelt down in front of her and he spoke while he reached for her hands. "Nothing will change," he promised her, "when we are married. We will be the same as we were, except I will look after you," he gripped at her hands tightly.
She cried and nodded, "thank you," she whispered painfully. "thank you," she fell to the floor again in front of him and she put her arms up around his neck and hugged him tightly pressing her face into his shoulder. "I love you," she whispered.
"I love you too," he told her quietly, "probably- probably not the way a husband should love his wife, but- but I do love you."
"I- I told you," she whispered, "nothing has to change, you, you do not need to desire me," she spoke into his shoulder, still hanging on tightly, "you are so wonderful."
"Amelia," he held her gently as she clung to him, "if you meet someone else I will let you be with him, I, I will not make you my prisoner."
"I will not meet anyone else," she whispered into his clothes, "I want always to be with you." She closed her eyes tightly in relief and felt the warmth of his body up against hers, for the first time in what seemed like years she felt truly safe. "May, may I kiss you?" she asked very quietly.
He let go of her gently and she looked up at his handsome face. She had often thought that he must have been very handsome in his youth, for he was a handsome old man, with long eyelashes around his warm brown eyes and a strong jaw leading up to thick silvery hair that must have once been as black as the dark eyebrows that seemed to look so seriously down at her now. He had never looked so serious before, on his face was usually a warm and friendly smile, tonight he had worn a fixed frown, he did not frown now though, nor did he smile. She looked up at the warm eyes and wondered if she had been granted permission for he did not nod, but he did not push her away, he still had his large elegant hands on her back and she still had her long white fingers pressed into his shoulders.
She knelt up and pressed her lips gently against his mouth, she kissed him shortly then she smiled at him nervously and kissed his cheek in thanks for the first kiss, "thank you," she said gently.
"Amelia," he said her name softly, nervously and his eyebrows raised a little in worry, "you are so beautiful," he told her gently, "I- I never thought, I would never have believed you would fall in love with me."
"I- I love everything about you, Peter," she said quietly back and suddenly felt very exhausted. He smiled sadly and she put her head on his shoulder and closed her eyes. "I am so tired," she whispered, "I don't know if I can climb the tree back up to my bedroom."
He reached for her bare hands on his clothes and held them, ran his thumbs over them softly feeling the scratches once more. "So that is what has done this," he said quietly. "Come," he said gently and he moved, stood up and pulled her hands, "you will sleep in the spare room, I will fetch you a nightdress of my sister's and you shall stay here."
"Thank you," she said gratefully.
Peter sat on his bed and stared at his tired reflection in the long mirror. He looked particularly grim tonight he thought. For the past ten years he had started to look in the mirror and not recognise the old man who looked back at him. Since his dark hair had faded to grey and then to the silver it was at the moment he had become less recognisable to himself. His face seemed to have stayed the same for a very long time thanks to his eyebrows, always very dark even though his hair was not. But lately he had noticed specks of white in them and he knew that when they turned then his reflection would be a total stranger.
He wondered how many of the hairs in his eyebrows had turned white in the last hour. Since his young friend had told him first of the terrible disgusting thing that had been done to her, second that she was in love with him and third that she was not just in love with him because he was an old man unlikely to harm her in the way she had been hurt before, but that she felt she desired him. Then of course he had agreed to marry her, which was something he had never planned to do after his first odd experiences with love decades ago.
He wondered about his eyebrows as he got into his bed wearily and he thought about the large streak of white hairs in Amelia's dark chestnut locks, he guessed now why they had appeared. What had caused them to appear so prematurely in the worryingly young girl. He had left her asleep in the spare room and then he had left his sister a note on her bed which simply read "Amelia in spare room. Do not wake her. Will explain in morning." He did not know what he intended to tell his sister. Certainly not what Amelia was afraid of. Not why she was not in her own bed in her own house. He supposed he would have to tell Matty that he was engaged to the girl. How would she take that? She would most probably be horrified, especially after what her friends had spread rumours about and all the time she had just spent trying to keep them apart purely for her theory that Peter had dismissed as totally ridiculous, her theory that Amelia desired him... He could not tell her the real reason why he was engaged to her, to protect her, he would have to tell her what from, and that was a horrible story that he decided to take to the grave. No, he would have to tell Matty that he was in love with Amelia.
And he knew he wasn't.
He knew he wasn't supposed to be.
But of course he had loved her very dearly for many months, maybe since she had first spoken to him. She was an intellectual and his best friend, but she was so young, much much younger than what was suitable for a man of his age to consider marrying. What would people think? Neither of them had any sort of great fortune- he had given most of his money to his sister- so without money in the picture people would just be confused.
And she was so beautiful, she was stunning. He felt terribly ashamed of himself for agreeing to marry her, he would look disgusting on her arm. People would think he was a disgusting old man even if he had no interest in her looks or her body. He had never thought about her like that, and when she had told him what had happened to her of course he did not want to think of it ever. But she had told him she desired him, that her heart ached when she was near him, could that possibly be true? Wasn't he too old for that? Wasn't there a law against it? He would not let himself feel like that even if she said she did... He had felt something when she had kissed him, but mostly he had felt an overwhelming sadness and longing to do something for his friend, so when he had resolved it by promising to marry her he had felt relief for both of them in that kiss.