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A new contract
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"Amelia what did you do!"
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With sure steps, Edith entered her sister's room. Amelia was sitting on the edge of the window, looking down at the street. The woman turned, her peignoir hung loosely on her body, her hair fell in cascades that almost reached the floor.
Her expression was devoid of all emotion.
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"Apparently, no matter what I do, someone will be upset,"
"Why didn't you defend Sir Thomas from our father! Not only that, he said you investigated him, it can't be true!"
"A copy of the papers that father confronted Sir Sharpe with are on the bed. Feel free to peruse them as you like,"
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Edith huffed, that didn't excuse anything. She moved to the bed, where a yellow envelope waited. It was unclasped, and the contents were half outside.
She walked over and grabbed the largest one, the one that had more letters in it. Edith's anger soon dissolved and morphed into a cousin of confusion, and then into alarm itself.
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"Atti... di mattrimonio,"
"It means it's a registration for marriage. Spanish and Italian are quite similar,"
"He's married?" Edith had ask out loud to understand it clearly. Her eyes moved along the document, the words in a language too complicated to understand, she moved to look in the bed for something else, and found a smaller paper, it's disposition something more familiar to the young woman.
"That's the legalized and translated copy of the registration, Mr. Holly was kind enough to bring this along,"
Still perplex, Edith moved her eyes around it, she identified the names of husband and wife and she could not be wrong.
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Sir. Thomas William Sharpe
Mme. Enola Sciotti
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Thomas was married? Then why did he have to be so cruel to her? Why did he insensitively wanted to be with Amelia? Why did he talk about love and it's torment, why did he call her sister a treacherous snake when... he was the one who lied?
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"Have you asked him?"
"What?"
Amelia was frowning, she almost looked like she couldn't believe her ears. That was the first expression on her sister's face since the beginning of the exchange and Edith steeled herself.
"Have you asked him if he's still married?"
"Wh-why would I ask him that!" Amelia stood and walked to Edith, all pretense at being calm had evaporated as mist. "I don't see a registration for divorce there!"
"Maybe she died,"
"I don't see a death certificate there either!"
"Why don't you talk to him and-"
"What good will it make! He lied... Edith! He told me he must be married, that...! That society was not approving of him being head of family and being single, that...! That he didn't want to... t-to loose me to another man. A-and when I told him that this marriage looked very convenient to him he didn't deny it! He didn't deny it! I'm so stupid!"
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She hadn't seen Amelia like this in almost ten years. Little by little, her voice wavered, her eyes watered, she had trouble to breathe. Edith wanted to run and hug her friend... her sister, she was in so much pain, but the reaction was so familiar that she refrained from it.
Amelia moved fast to wipe the unfalling tears out of her eyes and she started taking deep breaths. As fast as it came, it was gone, and Edith was left standing, unsure of what to do.
"Amelia...," she tempted.
"It's over now," she gave a last large intake of breath. "He's not here to defend himself, probably because there's nothing to defend,"
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They both heard someone knocking at her door, and only one man could me behind it.
"I don't want to see anyone else tonight," she whispered to her sister, "tell father I'm okay but tired, and that we'll talk about it tomorrow morning,"
"Okay...," Edith said, but bit on her lip, "I could always sleep with you... if you feel you need some company,"
Amelia smiled, that tender smile full of love that she always send her way... and Edith felt calmer. This was the Amelia she knew, and it had returned to her. She could hear her sister say that everything would come to pass, that things could and would be forgotten, and all that was left was to keep moving forward. It could not be ideal, but it could be a start.
It didn't really matter if Thomas was not lying.
right?
Right?
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Edith opened the door only to close it right after. Her father was waiting behind her, when she turned to him, he was the definition of befuddlement.
"Amelia wishes to be left alone tonight. She says you could talk in the morning,"
His face fell for a moment, but it was too short lived for anyone else to notice. The gentleman cleared his throat, and accompanied his other daughter to her room.
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"How is she?"
"She's... accepting it gracefully," Edith tried to say, she heard her father huff from behind her, and the rushed steps of the old man soon made him stand beside her.
"When is that not the case?" The mask fell off again. He looked defeated, dejected and even guilty. Edith frowned, wondering what it all meant.
"I wish to believe it would have gone better if she had throw him out instead but what if-"
"Father... what if he was a widow?"
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They had reached her bed chamber. Her father stopped and was frowning at Edith, unsure of what to say.
"Widow?"
"What if his wife had died before meeting Amelia?"
"I didn't see a death certificate there daughter,"
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Edith resisted the urge to smile, they were so alike. Maybe that's why father was so protective of Amelia, maybe that's why he didn't want her to get hurt.
"Yes, but I imagine that it's only matter of searching thoroughly. What if she died in England, obviously the death certificate would be there;"
"Yes, but he said nothing in his defense," the man ruffed. Edith walked over and dusted his jacket.
"Because you didn't even give him a chance to, father. I heard it, "
"He could have refused the money,"
"With an unproductive business, with the promise of an investment falling down at his feet? If you were in his place and had mouths to feed... would you?"
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"You are talking like Mimi," his father said, sulking. Edith couldn't help it and she sweetly smiled.
"Oh, I think you are talking like her," she answered.
Her father wide-eyed, and then he frowned in pain. Indeed, Amelia tended to show a strong facade, but in reality she felt betrayed and defeated, as betrayed as her father felt at the moment.
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"She's suffering," Carter Cushing said, his tone so desolate that it almost seemed as if he would cry. Edith sighed, and reached to caress his cheek.
"Maybe you could reach an agreement tomorrow. Even if Thomas Sharpe were to leave, I think the contract should be signed nonetheless."
"Edith-"
"It's still Amelia's first own proposal, people will start to talk and that will be no good for her. Maybe with time, we'll find out more about the Sharpes and we'll know for sure if what came to light is the whole truth;"
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"...I thought I only had one sweet talker in the family,"
"I'm the writer, it's my job to have a way with words," Edith said with a smile. Her father reached down to kiss her forehead and Edith entered her room.
"I thought you were opposed to this marriage,"
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Edith remained silent as she opened the door to her room and stepped in; however, before her silence could be interpreted as an affirmation, she turned.
"Mimi has gotten in a nasty argument with me for Sir Thomas. She loves him, I know she'll soon realize... and I don't want her to loose her chance at happiness because of a misunderstanding." She looked down troubled, "those... have already made her see hell once,"
Her father said nothing, but Edith could see that he had been once again thrown in conflict.
With a sigh, Edith closed her door and walked to bed. As she moved to switch her lantern off, and thought of her sister.
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Amelia; there was no way that Edith would allow her to walk away this fast after she got in such big fights with her for him. No, Sir Thomas may consider her way of writing romance as something coarse or abrupt, but she knew her sister like no one else. If Amelia were truly offended, she would barely give the gentleman part of her indifference.
The truth had made itself evident... Amelia was raging mad, she felt betrayed, and that only meant she cared a great deal for him.
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Edith couldn't fight that; the Thomas that asked her to support their union could not be lying. The Thomas who looked at Amelia with admiration _something that Edith begrudgingly started to notice one she was rejected_ could not be married and deceive Amelia for money.
No, this problem had to solve itself somehow, even if she had to convince Amelia to chace the man to England itself.
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...Peak
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The subtle whisper made her thoughts disappear. Edith looked at her closed door and she frowned. Had she heard right?
Memories of a life past came back to her, and she shivered. The need to reach her door and listen to the other side was tempting, but not tempting enough. With a tremble, Edith turned away from the door, and hugged her covers tightly. She closed her eyes and resisted the pull of her mind to relive her childhood memories... convincing herself that it was only her imagination
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With an uneven but profound exhale of breath, Amelia rose from the ground.
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As soon as Edith had walked out of her room, she had fallen to her knees; with her hand clutching her mouth with force as the whines turned into little hiccups. Her tears streamed down almost involuntarily, and she used her willpower to remain silent.
It only lasted some minutes, before it ended. She willed herself to calm down, and long breath after long breath, she regained enough sense of self to rise and welcome back her rationality.
As it should always be.
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The fact that Thomas -no, Sir. Sharpe- was married or a widow meant nothing in her eyes. He had lied to her, and that's all that counted. For all the times she had vouched for his sincerity, for the truth of his feelings and the lack of ambition; she sure had been mercilessly corrected.
Oh, the shame, when she met William's eyes after she read those documents. The man almost wanted to be wrong, and she wanted to slap herself for it.
She reminded herself to better forget all that's happened in between, all the little details and sensations but most importantly... all those moments when she thought she had peeked into his heart, his feelings, his insecurities...
Those were fake too... and that's what hurt her the most.
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With erratic movements, Amelia moved herself to rest on her bed, only for her to press herself against the bed frame and hug her legs. She wanted that day to disappear... that week to disappear, and imagine that she'd just arrived to Buffalo; with the sole purpose to cheer on Edith, keep on working, and most importantly...
Keeping her promise of never falling in love.
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"Stupid, you're truly stupid," she whispered; she should have known this would happen, he told her... didn't he? That no one would be as sincere as him... that no one would love her as he loved her.
And as monstrous as his love was... it was the most sincere she'd come to know.
Amelia let out another sigh. She was not going to fall asleep any time soon. With a lazy stretch, she crawled over her bed to reach her night stand. Faithfully, the drops of valerian that Alan had given her were waiting to be used. He had said only two were needed... and she had to make use of all her willpower not to turn those two drops into twenty.
She was closing the cap of the medicine when a tap at her door almost made her drop the bottle.
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Amelia panicked. In the middle of all her suffering, she had forgotten to put the belt and the chair against the door.
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She tried to crawl to the other side of the bed, and gasped in terror when the handle turned and the door slid open.
"No, no... no, no," she repeated under her breath, and her sleeping gown caught on her feet as she jumped down the bed. Cursing and clumsily standing up, she made a mad run to stop said door from opening any further. The young woman panted, and released a huff of relief when she reached it and closed the door again.
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It had not been him.
But it had to have been someone.
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Before the door closed completely, she peeked to the hallways, expecting to find something, anything... that would explain the sudden movement of her door.
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In the distance a black figure in an equally black dress floated in her direction.
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Memories of a disturbed childhood surged through her, and Amelia hurried to close the door. It had been a decade since she's seen her... since she's felt her pain and heard her voice. It had been an awful encounter, a wrenching sensation... one that she rather not repeat. A flash of worry invaded her body and her hands trembled, as she put the chair in adequate position, and her belt tightly holding the door closed. She only hoped the woman didn't decide to visit Edith that night.
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My child
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Amelia lent against her door and took a shaky breath. The voice was close and somehow... far away at the same time. She frowned, finding the word alien and even mocking.
"It is me. What is it that you seek?" She whispered in an almost defiant tone.
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*moan*
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It whimpered, the young woman was unsure of the meaning behind the sound. Deciding she rather not know, she moved to step away from the door when...
A pair of lanky black hands stopped her. The pressure on them should have not been possible... even when she was alive. Panicked, Amelia struggled and cursed the moment she decided to be cheeky with her.
As if knowing the girl had lost any pretense of bravery, the ghost of a woman peeked its head through the door. As it had been almost fifteen years prior, the girl could not close her eyes. The form was so hideous, so familiar and yet so alien to her that she couldn't simply look away.
.
Amelia felt herself going lightheaded, a fog clouded her eyes and she wasn't sure if she was crying... she felt weak, thirsty, and nauseous. As the misty fog cleared, the figure before her transformed, slowly but surely, into what had been the last moments of her life. The blueish skin, the tattered complexion and the hooded eyes...
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It was her... Eleanor Cushing.
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"Let go... of me," Amelia managed to whisper, despite the weakness, despite the pain. The sickly figure did not move however, and almost seemed to relish in the sensation of having lifted of her ghostly appearance. The specter released another whine and Amelia let herself fall against her, more and more tired.
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Beware of crimson peak
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This... she's heard this before; last time she had appeared before her and Edith, she had said the same thing. Her knees buckled under her, but instead of releasing herself from the women's vice like grip, she took her along with her.
It was turning worse, the feeling of numbness, the fog in her eyes... Amelia could no longer tell where she was. Was this her room? Was this Eleanor's? The woman was taking more and more human form, it was too much, too much stolen away.
.
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"Let... me... GO!"
Not sure from where, but she called for forces. Startled, the woman released her. Her appearance was once again that of a black carcass, a hideous figure that had made her cry as a child.
"Begone!" Amelia wailed again, struggling to rise, using the chair as leverage.
The dead woman merged itself back with the door, and Amelia let out a whine of pain. Not even two minutes later, she heard an anxious knocking on her door.
Snarling in hate, she moved to release the hold on her door. Was this her still? Would she dare to steal from her again? The insistent knocks only stopped once she swung the door open.
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She was met with Jane.
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The young woman stumbled backwards, falling to the ground; her hands over he mouth as a fresh stream of tears appeared on her eyes.
No words were exchanged, for the maid had once again risen and fled from her sight. With a forceful move, the young woman closed the door, and with much effort... she put the chair and the belt back at their place. Only when stumbling back to her bed she halted to look at herself in the mirror.
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Her skin was blueish in color, and the ashy remnants of a black dress, not her own, dissolved into the air.
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It was not even dawn, when he woke.
With a sigh, he rubbed of the sleep from his features. One of the supposed perks of being old was being able to sleep for longer hours. At this point, Carter thought, he might as well forgo sleeping at all.
With another sigh, he stood to reach for his clothes. Better to start of the day now... since he was certain he could not sleep again.
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He had dreamt of his wife... Eleanor. He wished it were a happier moment of his life, but what his mind provided was one of their heated arguments. She was a willful woman, gentle and kind but also a little headstrong, no wonder Edith was exactly like her. With a saddened sigh, the now old man looked at himself in the mirror as he changed to leave.
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They were discussing about Amelia.
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With a gruff, he put on his coat and walked out. It was too early for anything besides a ride to the Gentleman's club so that he could eat breakfast and maybe take a shower. That was for the best, considering that the last thing he wanted to do that day was to look at Amelia in the eyes.
He was a coward when it came to things like these. Carter knew that his daughter would never hate him for what he did; but that didn't change the fact that if left him with a sense of guilt. When he first met Sir Thomas Sharpe, he knew that he was trouble. The way he and Amelia had climbed the stairs together, laughing as if they were old acquaintances, had ignited a sense of jealousy that was not usual in him. Even... when she defended this man's absurd idea of business, if it weren't because of the willingness of the other investors to pursue the proposal as such, he would not have yielded on his decision.
When he hired Mr. Holly to investigate him, he had done so with the biggest sense of duty and even satisfaction; oh, how different would he feel when said results arrived at his door, and when his little pigeon entered his office and read the copy she had requested. For a moment, he wanted to take the forsaken documents and threw them into the fire, forget that everything had happened... just as the light in Amelia's eyes faded moment by moment. How he wanted to defend Sir Sharpe -A preposterous idea at another time- when the young woman, as she often did, showed her impassive face to him and William, thanked for the papers, and then kindly asked him to cancel the celebration and send Sir Thomas away as soon as he arrived.
He hadn't talked to her ever since; he didn't know what to say.
.
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What if Edith was right, and they were judging the boy too soon?
.
In other circumstances, he wouldn't even think of such an idea. He had promised to protect them both... Edith and Amelia, from anything; and the decisions he took were intended to do just that. Amelia was heiress of the Harrington's fortune -not an idle title-, and his Edith would inherit all that he has ever worked for. Both women were not your average marriage prospects and he, as a loving and protective father, had to look out for men who would want to posses that kind of fortune.
It was an oddity on itself, that both women had not many pretenders. His Edith, because she was withdrawn and shy, and because the profession she had chosen, a whiter, was one that required an spouse with an open mind.
On the other hand, his pigeon, Amelia, was outspoken, charming, funny and kind... but refused to get near any possible suitor, actively. However the reason for this attitude had nothing to do with the profession that she favored -one that was commonly associated with males-. It was her unusual circumstances; traumatic memories from a childhood not too far away, that had driven her to mistrust anyone and anything that hadn't been by her side before that moment.
His beloved daughter's heart had frozen since then; until one Thomas Sharpe came and gave this old man hope of melting it away... only to do the opposite? He knew the moment he saw Amelia return from Mexico that she had not changed, she hadn't ridden from that mistrust and fear, and that broke him inside.
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For a fleeting moment, he looked to his right, and noticed that his steps had guided him to her closed door. Carter Cushing let his forehead slowly touch the wood that it was made of, and he closed his eyes. All at once, he could hear the laughs of a little girl, that had spread his contracts and papers all over the floor; he saw a young woman that twirled exited in her snow white gown, ready for her debutante party.
He saw the same girl, calling his name with a faint and rasped voice, as the white was covered in the crimson color of blood. He saw, as the young woman announced she was making a trip, her expression a mixture of fear, uncertainty and more than anything... feigned optimism. He saw the woman in a violet dress, blushing and smiling as he asked why had she taken so long at the hallway.
With a shaky breath, he raised his head, and with rapid blinks he willed the tears away. His direction changed then, and returned to his room. Fetching a small piece of paper and pulling out his pen and ink, he scribbled fast on it. Then returnedq, and barely stopping for the ink to dry, he closed the small parchment and slid it under his daughter's door.
He needed to clean himself and then go to his office, he needed to call William and then... he needed to talk to Sir Sharpe.
.
"..."
"...please, Jane-"
"No... no, don't make me go there,"
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Carter had reached the end of the stairs when his thoughts drifted away, the sound of a woman crying making him stand alert. On the other side of the lobby, the direction to the kitchen, stood a group of maids. They were clad in their light gowns and he frowned. They shouldn't be awake at this hour, nor should they hold meetings in the middle of the lobby. With a frown on his face, he moved to walk on their direction, only to be interjected by Mr. Dewitt.
"Mr. Carter,"
"John... what, what is going on there?"
"One of the maids has had a nightmare Sir, nothing to worry about," he said gently. Carter took a breath, unsure of what pushed him to not let this matter in the capable hands of his butler, he inquired.
"And... may I ask, Who is the maid that is distraught?"
"...It's Jane... sir,"
Amelia's maid. Carter pinched his nose, a sensation of deja-vu coursing through him. With an expression akin to exasperation, he waved, "Give her something else to do, and assign another one to my daughter. Older, that is more level headed," he turned to leave.
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"Certainly Mr. Cushing, should I get the carriage?"
"Call a cab," he ordered and walked to the exit.
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The first thing that Amelia heard was a tug at her door and then... a couple of knocks.
With a whine of pain, she incorporated, she had fallen asleep sitting against her bed frame, her head hanging to the side and now, her neck was impossibly sore. With a couple of propound eye blinks, she willed the drowsiness out of her and stumbled out of her bed. As her feet touched the ground, she felt a shiver run down her spine; the floor was ice cold. A little fog formed on her mouth and she realized her lamp had probably consumed not too long after Alan's medicine had taken effect; since Jane never came to lit the burner or the stove, she was left with the freezing temperature of the outside.
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Poor... poor Jane.
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Certainly, that couldn't be her, the insistent knocks had a purpose on them... that Amelia doubted were from the young girl. With the grace of a sedated elephant, Amelia moved to take her peignoir and tie it around her frame, her hands rubbing against her arms in a pathetic attempt to warm herself up. As her feet paddled the ground and she moved the chair away... she noticed something on the floor.
It was a small piece of paper.
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"Miss Amelia? Are you awake?" she heard from the other side, the voice female but definitely from an older woman. The young lady's attention favored the little paper however, and she unfolded it open.
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Daughter, I'm sorry.
Please meet me today at the Gentleman's club or my office, depending of as soon as you can manage to come.
I'll be with William around ten, we need to talk about the clay machine.
P. E.
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"Miss Amelia? Should I return later?"
"A moment please," Amelia said in response, not resisting the annoyed tone. She frowned at the paper and read it a second time before moving to unbuckle the belt. Lottie, the cook, entered the room with no preamble, and started complaining about the temperature, about Jane, and about everything in general.
Amelia paid her no mind, she slowly walked to her boudoir with an absent expression. Why did her father wanted to talk about the machine when Thomas was going away? The words of Edith resounded in her mind, and a spark of anger threatened to grow inside of her.
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And what if Thomas was a widow? Why should she care?
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Somehow, her father now cared. Maybe it had been because Edith had managed to convince him so, maybe because he saw the potential of the machine despite the other aspects that transpired in between... after all, business is business. A rebellious part of her even wanted to think her father feared that the withdrawal of the proposal might make her loose face in front of the other interventionists. Certainly, no one knew what had transpired at her home, and would question the change of heart... even attribute it to the whimsical ways of a woman.
But why would her father apologize for something like that?
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Another part of her -one part that she now fully resented- harbored the hope that maybe there had been a mistake, that somehow her father knew something about Thomas she ignored, something that was enough for her and him to consider giving the man a second chance. It made her blood run faster, both in shame and outrage... and the prospect of being wrong all along, of wanting so desperately to be wrong... or wanting to forgive, forget and even ask for forgiveness.
.
She could ignore the request, and let events unfold as they should. But then... what if she made a mistake? What if Thomas was a widow, and what transpired yesterday night was only a part of the whole story?
What if Thomas had not lied to her, and only had hidden a dark moment of his past?
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Wasn't she guilty of the same sin?
.
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"Lottie, is Jane alright?"
"Oh, well..." the woman began, Amelia ignored if she had said anything of importance during her own musings, but it seemed not... for the woman now tugged her apron uncomfortably. "The girl has a vivid mind, as you know Miss... she must have seen a mouse and confused it for something else. The lass had nightmares all night, she did; talking about specters and such. Miss should not worry about such a thing though, it will come to pass!" she said with an optimistic tone, while walking over and taking the brush from the table.
The young woman nodded. "Maybe it would be better if she returned to serve my sister,"
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"... of course miss," the maid said after a pause. Amelia looked at space with an pensive expression, until she heard the brush being left on the table once again.
"Lottie, what time is it now?"
"it's ten past eight Miss,"
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"Help me change into my brown dress. I want to be at the Gentleman's club at nine," she said moving to pull out her amethyst necklace.
"If course Miss Cushing," the woman said with a determination that pulled a small smile out of her.
.
.
The squeals of the two teenagers would only be drowned by the movement of maids and pages, of the clatter of fine china and silverware, and the prompt commands of Mary and the Buttler.
The Harrington household looked like a castle of fairy tales, with white flowers everywhere, the cristal candelabra shining like stars and the hard stone floor as clear and pristine as if they were thousands of mirrors.
"I can't believe Sebastian accepted to hold the party here!" Edith said with much incredulity.
"But now that's he's accepted there is no turning back. And I mean it for you too Didi, we are repeating this arrangement the next year," Amelia assured raising her eyebrows in mischievous invitation.
The blonde blushed, as shy and reserved as she had always been... Amelia knew she was a sucker for these kind if things. A lady's debut to society was no simple matter, it was probably the most important moment of her youth. Even if she hadn't been as excited as Amelia felt at the moment, she would be pulling some strings for it to happen.
No, she could not be denied this moment. She had missed the ball at New York, and she wouldn't miss it again. She was adamant to get at least three suitors tonight, and if things proved right... even a marriage proposal. There was no reason why Edith couldn't and wouldn't do the same.
.
"Girls,"
Both ladies turned, only to meet the form of Mary herself. She had her hands at her waist, and tapped her foot with an even rhythm.
At least Edith had good sense to look ashamed. Amelia, dressed only in her corset and petticoats, crossed her arms annoyed.
"Miss Amelia! What am I to do with you!" She said pushing both children upstairs "Come now! What if someone passed through here and saw you!"
"This passage is off limits to strangers!" The young lady objected.
"But not to servants!" She admonished and pinched the ear of the brunette.
"Ay!" She whined covering her ear.
"I don't want any other word from you young lady, you'll go back to change and I want you as quiet and still as a mouse!"
"Cali doesn't know how to tie the corset right," Amelia complained, getting her finger inside the garment and tugging on it, "just look how loose it is!"
"It's no use if you faint in the middle of your own party, Mimi," Edith commented with an eyeroll.
"Miss Edith is right; you are too young to even use this type of corset,"
"I turn fifteen today!"
"Which is too young if you ask me," ended Mary with finality. The middle aged woman then shooed Edith to the kitchens, the promise of getting her hands on some sweets making her obey without question. Meanwhile the maid guided Amelia through the door and in her room.
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A beautiful dress, white as the purest snow laid sprawled over the four poster bed. Made entirely of embroidered silk, it was covered at the base with ribbets of tulle from which hanged french silk roses, making a path to the end as if they had been showered over and stayed in place.
Amelia moved to the boudoir, pulling out a square velvet box and from inside, shone a necklace made from three rows of pearls, separated by small diamonds.
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"Dear, you know the drill... the dress first," the woman said and Amelia stood.
"You are not going to tie the corset?"
"What will we do if the dress looks too lose?" Asked Mary with a knowing look. The young lady blanched and lifted her arms without question. With a hearty laugh, the woman eased the dress from the end and adjusted it to her frame.
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"So, how are the dance prospects for tonight?" Teased Mary, knowing the little lady had practiced the waltzes and polkas until her instructor wanted to quit.
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"I want to dance with Papa Elias first,"
The maid frowned, and she fixed the hair of the young miss.
"Mr. Cushing?" She stopped, and bit her lip, "Amy... dear, how about you dance with young Master Sebastian first? After all, he's done his very best to prepare everything as-" but she cut her off.
"Papa Elias goes first,"
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"Miss Cushing,"
Amelia rose her head, looked outside, and frowned. They had stopped.
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"Are we there yet?"
"We are only some meters away Miss, but I doubt we can get any further from here," he sounded unsure.
As her eyes adjusted to the light, they recognized the street that lead them to the Gentleman's Club; however, the entrance was blocked by some people and other carriages.
She recognized some belonged to the police force...
.
Instinctively, Amelia let a hand rest over her stomach. The emptiness of the cavity felt almost painful, as if lead had accumulated inside; her breath started to quicken, the air felt suddenly so thin she couldn't even feel it.
Her thoughts were focused on her father, a sixth sense... a foreboding sensation, told her that there had been danger. She worried, and knew that she would not sit still until she had her arms wrapped around him.
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She opened the door to the carriage and stepped outside. Amelia could hear the coach calling for her in the distance and she spared a moment to signal him to stay, not even turning her gaze from the front as she did.
In a blurred hurry, she walked past the people that gathered around the building. She felt like an spectre, or something akin to invisible... given that no member of the police force bothered to stop her and favored the curious bypasses and reporters. With terrifying intensity, she focused her gaze in the red color of the stairs. Not even wanting to wait for the elevator, she climbed all four floors to the men's bathroom area, and was only stopped then by a group of men at the cordoned area.
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"Miss, you cannot be here,"
"My name is Amelia Cushing and I wish to know if Carter Elias Cushing is inside there," she demanded, even if her heart made her fear the worst, even if a terrible little voice told her that it was him... that it had been him.
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That voice became a deafening scream when she saw a form she could recognize.
For a moment, she collided gazes with William Ferguson.
Amelia walked forward, and when the police officer tried to stop her again... she shoved him away with an elbow to the chest and a step on his foot. Ripping away the rope that served as cordon, she hurried her pace; the splashes of water that formed everytime she took a step were ignored by her mind... the way her dress gained weight as it slowly suck up water another meaningless detail...
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Meaningless
Meaningless until she spotted a fine trail of red.
Dancing through the water like a snake, it blurred and disappeared as her own movement rippled the surface of water. Amelia stopped, catching of the elusive form and then blanching in response to its meaning.
It was just a turn around the corner.
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She followed the red trail to the source and when she found it, she fell to her knees.
She could barely recognize him, half of his face had just... dissapeared, leaving an indistinct form of blood and flesh. But it was him; his hands and his beard, and his legs and his round belly. Amelia trembled, her eyes hurt and filled with tears, and she put a hand to her mouth to stop herself from screaming.
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Papa Elias
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"Amy, hey... hey," she felt little slaps on her face. "Can you hear me?"
She noticed she could no longer see his face. Her eyes slowly focused on the person blocking the view, and she barely recognized the familiar features.
"Alan..."
"Yes, that's right. Come on... you can't stay on the floor, come on," she felt herself be lifted, and tried to stand on her feet by pure synergy.
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William Ferguson's face also came into focus, the old man had a worried and disturbed expression, certainly not expecting to find the young woman at the crime scene.
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This had to be done by someone.
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Amelia arrived to such conclusion by looking at the place, the tap water had stopped flowing, but the red liquid appeared to be still leaking from a broken sink. At first glance, her father could have slipped and fell to the ground, hitting the hard surface of the sink first, bashing his head and dying in the process. The implication was hideous, the water had filled the room and that explained why he would slip and all in the first place but.
No sink, be it stone or metal, could leave a skull as destroyed as his.
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A murder... the Implication crossed Amelia's mind instantly, her eyes providing clues as to justify such explanation. Her body regained equilibrium, now standing straight and releasing her hold on Alan. The man was talking to her, his face a mix of pain and pity, she couldn't hear him, or didn't want to.
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A murder.
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"Will-..."her voice was but a rasp, she cleared her throat, "William,"
The old man widened his eyes at the expression of the young lady. His own sorrow soured instantly.
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"Miss Cushing,"
"I want a full autopsy, whatever the police may assume or say, this was not an accident;" she turned to Alan. "Dr. McMichael,"
Her childhood friend frowned, her gaze unsure, "Amy..."
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"I would be forever grateful if you could help Mr. Ferguson with the preparations, and to keep an eye on the doctor that will hold the examination,"
Her friend put a hand on her shoulder, "Rest assured,"
She nodded and conceded a little smile at him before turning her gaze to her other lifelong friend.
"William, we need to tell Edith...," for a moment the mask of strength faltered.
"It will be done. Amelia... the chief of police has conceded us a moment to visit your father's room and see if there's anything of value that you'd like to take along with you,"
"Yes..., yes," she nodded and moved to leave without another word.
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Amelia spared only a side look at the police man that was now escorting her to her fathers room in the Club. The dripping water of her now damped and heavy dress left a trail that the man disapproved of. Amelia payed him no mind, and continued her hurried walk to said room. As she moved to open the door. She felt a hand over hers and she brusquely turned to the stranger.
"Miss, this room will also be perused for investigation, please..." he said pulling out a key, and unlocking the door himself.
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Amelia's lip trembled when the door opened before her... and she gripped tight them of her vest.
Whether she had wanted or needed some privacy or solitude to release her emotions... it didn't matter, it could not be here.
With the ghost of a touch, her hands moved around familiar objects. There was this set of metric rules he loved, and also a mosaic lamp that had been bought by his wife... or the frame that contained a photo of them at Edith's birth, quite the novelty at the time, that now looked blurry and too small in size.
She took the photo, and moved forward to the desk. As much as his father called it a room, it could not be complete without a desk where he could write, read, and ponder. It was small in size, property of the club, but Amelia knew the contents weren't. A stack of papers rested over it.
With gravity and pain, she recognized the yellow envelope that Holly have given them. She moved them aside, revealing loose papers underneath. At first, she payed them little mind, her fingers pushing them and spreading them all over the table as she went; the police officer fretting at the prospect of too much disorder. Amelia looked at the papers again, and her gaze lingered.
The contract for the machine, it was there.
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Frowning, she picked it up. It as true then, her father had been considering accepting the contract. Amelia would have thought that his father would be final, and rather make Thomas leave American ground as soon as he could afford it.
She took the contract, and moved to review the other papers, now... with more care. She found some unrelated papers, and also his chequier... important or not, she had to take that.
As an action she often did on her own, she moved to check the last movements that were done. And she thought, one remained that was fairly decent. She moved her eyes along her father's writing, and she wide eyed in recognition.
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There was a cheque for the amount of the contract... destined to the bearer, dated from yesterday night.
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Her eyes now searched for something else. Making a stack fo the papers and setting them aside, she moved to check the drawers. Her movements stilled for a second when, opening one, she found a revolver inside.
She felt a shiver. Was her father worried he might be attacked? Amelia wasn't even aware he had one... or that he needed a license, or that he had ever used it. Was it even loaded?
She tried to be more impartial. It was not uncommon for gentlemen tl carry the means to protect themselves, and Carter Cushing was a man that preferred to be prepared.
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Deciding she could let the gun be, she closed the last drawer and looked in all directions until her eyes landed on the hanged coat. Amelia walked to it and as she grew closer... she thought she could feel his cologne.
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Her knees faltered and she wanted to hug the cloth for comfort.
The police officer cleared his mouth then.
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"I'm sorry Miss Cushing, but that'll be important for the investigation... I cannot let you take it,"
"... I understand, may I take his watch instead?"
"Yes... of course," he added.
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Amelia moved to search for said watch on the pockets that were inside the vest. She reached in when she felt the familiar bulge on one of them...
Until she felt something else. A folded paper.
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No, it was a letter. Without looking back, she moved to use her body frame to block the view of the officer and turned it around to search for its destinatary.
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To: Amelia Cushing.
From: T. S.
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Her eyebrows furrowed, her expression showing the loss of understanding she started to feel.
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It simply could not be.
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With trembling hands, she slowly tugged on the wax seal at the back. Amelia winced, when the rip on the folded paper echoed in the room, and she resisted the urge of turning and checking the attention of the police officer. She took a breath and half unfolded the letter carefully, with the intent of only scanning over the first lines; her mind tried to remember the calligraphy and way of writing and she chided herself with chagrin for the longing she felt until...
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She noticed.
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She grew pale... probably paler than she already was, giving her a nauseating appearance. In search for stability, she put a hand on her stomach and pressed hard against the corset. The little sway on her heels must have alerted the policeman that stood by the door... and was now approaching to her, calling her name in an alarmed tone.
But it was gone as soon as it had appeared. Amelia turned to face the man, and he halted... almost involuntarily straightening up, as if he were in front of a superior. Correcting himself of such presumption, he eased up a little; however, the harshness of the young woman's face didn't diminish in any way.
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"Are... you," he cleared his throat. "Miss, are you feeling alright?"
"Yes, thank you. I'll be checking the desk a final time before leaving," she provided with a forced smile. As the man nodded and stepped back to his previous spot. Amelia crumbled the little letter with more fierce, almost hiding it completely on her left hand.
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She walked to the desk once again and used her body to block the view.
While her right hand graced over some other papers left array, she used the left one to open the cabinet. In one continous, unassuming move, the gun fell inside the yellowed envelope.
Amelia exited the room with all the calm that she could muster.
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"Officer," the man turned to her, she reclined her head, "thank you, you've been truly kind,"
"I'm only following orders Miss," he said moving to salute and tipping his uniform hat. Amelia clutched the enveloppe against her when the ghost of a smile crossed his lips.
"Would you be kind again and tell me where is the building's telephone?" The man blinked, "It's and emergency,"
"Yes, down the corridor there is one, at the corner," he frowned, "But... Miss! You might need help to use it," he called, Amelia was already half way in the direction he pointed. With another forced smile, she turned to the man.
"Do not fret; I know how to use it,"
The figure of the police man became smaller and smaller, and it completely disappeared once Amelia reached the phone stall at the end of the corridor, grabbed the speaker and turned the handle vigorously. Tapping her foot she shivered of cold and waited.
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Operator, how can I help you?
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"Hello, please to the reception office of Harrington Hotel. "
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