Scarlett Meadows, May 1899
Amelia let out a small squeal as the blood pooled on the tip of her finger.
'For goodness' sake!' She cursed, sticking her finger in her mouth as she sucked at the metallic tasting liquid.
It was the third time she had managed to stab herself with the needle. She just wanted to fix the darn dress, but instead it felt as though she was better at slowly torturing herself rather than repairing the moth holes.
Scrunching at the material, she closed her eyes as she could feel the hot liquid of tear welling up whilst her breath became ragged.
It's late, ma'am.
She fought with her own memories, memories that were barely even formed.
Make sure you get back safe.
It repeated over and over like a thaumatrope, a child's game of repeated images with the same scene playing in a loop as she twisted it in her hands.
Sighing to herself, Amelia threw the dress on the floor. It was a pointless endeavour whichever way she looked at it. Even if by some miracle she could figure out the illusive art of the needle and thread, it would all be wasted.
No one she cared for would see her wear it, see her prancing herself proudly like a kingfisher poised on a glistening rock.
It was her favourite dress, both for how it made her look and how it was the first thing she bought after the estate was acquired. She had only worn it once before, to a confederate garden party that she despised every moment of.
A ghoulish affair arranged by her uncle to introduce her to the most prominent members of the South. And yet, even though she detested them all, there was something about how for the first time in her life she was treated as more than an object, as someone who could entertain - a woman who held some sort of standing outside of being a downtrodden child or a marriage prospect.
Of course, Amelia knew in her heart that regardless of all that and how the dress made her feel, she would always have been reduced to something of value. Something that only the men of the world would get to dictate.
And yet, even though that had been the case, even all those years ago - even now - it was the first glimpse of a future she could see herself having.
How her jokes were laughed at, how she could hear the powerful men of the South quipping to her Uncle Josiah what a delight she was and how much tenacity she had.
Amelia had always known the truth of her soul; her "spirit" as those men like to put it. A life she had built on all those distinctions that had helped her escape the clutches of the elite and yet as soon as she thought she was free of all of that, she was thrusted straight back into it.
Looking back at how she felt then when she had felt she had found the answers she was looking for, now all Amelia could think was that she had just chased away her best chance at happiness.
'What am I doing?' She mumbled into her chest, as her head hung low as the lace wrapped around her fingers.
It seemed so daft, so incredulous that she could have been so enamoured and lovestruck by a man she barely knew. A man that for every logical reason was well below her. Not that any of those reasons made a damn lick of sense. Hell, she even took a special liking to those sort of men, who would pay her in kind with honesty and hard work rather than top hats, tail coats and anything that her fucking class decided she was allowed.
Those men with stupid moustaches, tales of exploits to Africa and how she was nothing but a doll for them. A voiceless doll to make them look either better amongst their equally stupid friends.
God she hated it all. Hated ever fucking second of it.
Be damned Arthur Morgan, damn you.
She knew he wasn't one of those men, of course she did, but in that moment she hated him all the same. Because somehow, all of the things she had to be led to believe that courtship should be, was something that had never applied to him. He had stolen her without even knowing it and without playing all those witless tropes.
Amelia opened her eyes and tried to marvel at the soft blue coupled with the deep burgundy lace around the bust and layered down the skirt. It truly was an exquisite piece, but with no event to wear it and no one to show off to, it seemed all in vain. A pitiful excuse to be something other than what she felt deep in her soul.
How she longed to be the butterfly at sunrise, beating its wings across the meadow flowers or the possum that would scream into the night. She felt as though she was all of those and so much more every time she had looked at him.
That every single fear she had ever had melted away and made her feel as though she could conquer empires. All of that she had given to him secretly but felt in that moment of the previous night, Amelia felt that she had laid it all down and exposed her innermost workings.
Then the bastard walkedaway.
She hated herself even more for that thought. The thought that she only wanted to look as wonderful as she could for him, and only him. In the pit of her stomach she felt as though - for some bizarre reason - he did deserve that from her. A shining light for those troubled eyes of his was all she wanted to be.
To be that moment of solace and to see where all of his darkness would lead her. To take her by the hand and down into the caverns with an unreachable light.
Perhaps it was her own glutton, her own need for a story that made all of it before seem worthwhile. All the heartache and loss, the bruises and hardship, the pain and the wanting that she had felt since before it was fair to feel such things. Arthur made all of it feel worth it.
Was that the reason for it all? That she had put him on some sort of pedestal of a saviour when there was no such thing? Her heart ached at the thought of seeing him again - if she was to ever see him again.
Amelia's mind wandered back into their last conversation and then suddenly there were tears rolling down her cheeks.
She wiped them away angrily. How many times did she have to cry over this man? It was ridiculous. He wasn't coming back. So why couldn't she accept his rejection?
Why was she wasting precious hours fixing up what would never be fixed? Whether she felt that way about the dress or Arthur, she wasn't entirely sure.
Amelia felt utterly ashamed with herself, how loose she had become with her heart once again as it seems age had brought her little wisdom when it came to her passions of the impossible.
Perhaps her father was right all those years ago to try to beat sense into her. She wanted to beat herself if nothing else. And her mother... how her mother would always tell her that men would always run from her, that she would never find a respectable husband. It felt it was a truth she refused to believe, but now it seemed it was inescapable.
Her heart ached so terribly for Arthur's affection that it hurt like a knife wound. And now all she was left with was shame, her ghosts and something she could never have.
Amelia did not even attempt to wipe away the tears, and they fell freely down her face.
Not only did she shame herself for offering her heart with little thought other than hope, but she had lost the most valuable person to her and the estate. The one person who could keep them all safe.
The worst part of it was knowing that if Arthur returned, she wouldn't be able to hide anything from him anymore. All the secrets and lies, even the things that her uncle didn't know would spill free. But it was unlikely he would return her affection as he had made it clear he was not inclined to do so.
She wanted to bare her soul to him, for him to see who she truly was underneath all the silks and graces.
But Arthur had walked away from her without a backwards glance. Now she feared that he might never come back. All because she had to part her lips like some sort of lightskirt.
And now she felt too vulnerable to even touch her own feelings.
Was that wrong? What happened between them had been barely physical, and yet she felt more connected to Arthur than any man she had known in her life.
She sniffed deeply as her breath caught in her throat as she let out a sob. All she knew was what she saw: the house, its beauty and grace, and how it reminded her of the woman she was meant to be; and yet all of it would be turned to ashes. There was no point in fighting fate. Not any more than trying to stop time itself.
She wiped her face against her sleeve, removing the moisture as best she could, leaving her skin to feel sticky and dewy from the tears. Her eyes were still blurring as she reached for her pen and letter stationary.
Her fingers took a sheet of paper as she smoothed it out over her desk with shaking hands.
I hope this letter finds you well.
She wrote, slowly, her uneven breath, pacing her mind to the words she hoped to convey. There was little she could do with the matter of Arthur, but she didn't have to give up on everything.
I have already had the pleasure of meeting your representative, Mr Cooper. As I am sure you are aware, he has laid out your proposal in the frankest of terms - and I shall return mine in with an equal kindness, Mr Cornwall.
Amelia glanced back over the discarded dress on the floor.
I will be travelling to Saint Denis on 1st June, and will be having a luncheon with my advisor. It will be in both of our professional interests if you join me at Hotel Grand at noon to settle this matter in its entirety.
Your Sincerely,
Amelia Edwards,
Founder and Proprietor of Edwards & Co
Amelia slumped back in her chair, closing her eyes softly. She wanted the opportunity to tell Mr Cornwall to his face that her business was not for sale, certainly not to the likes of him. He could offer her all the money and jewels from here to the Arabian peninsular and it wouldn't make a damn bit of difference.
She didn't care about money anymore. It certainly couldn't buy happiness or love it seemed. It wasn't like she needed it, anyway. She was rich enough without it, even without the business she would hardly become destitute.
But she wanted to prove to Mr Cornwall that he would never own her heart and soul. That she would fight tooth and nail to protect what she had built up and already fought so hard for.
She wanted to show him that he would never get the better of her and that he would always lose.
The rivalry she had found herself in helped to goad her spirit, her natural competitiveness, which had got her in so far in a world that was set out to despise her. Yet little of it filled the aching gnaw inside of her chest.
The hollow twinge that filled her with the thoughts of Arthur, of his throaty laugh and the mystery that he held in his crystalline eyes. She thought of all of him, but mainly his complete and utter rejection.
She felt ashamed at how quickly she gave into her desires and emotions. Even when she knew it was wrong. How she allowed herself to be swept away by his charm and charisma.
And now it seemed she was going to pay for it, one way or another.
A knock sounded at the door as she turned to face it, folding the letter and placing it in an envelope.
'Enter,' she called as she addressed the letter, wiping her eyes one last time.
As the door opened, Talako stepped through, his dark eyes peering over the threshold towards her. A face she didn't want to see with another reminder of the scars on her heart.
'Sorry, ma'am, I know you're busy...' he trailed off, his expression unusually downcast.
Her brow furrowed slightly. There was something strange about his attitude today. She watched him for a moment, noting how he fidgeted, as if there was an invisible weight on his shoulders.
'What's wrong? You look troubled.'
She could not help but worry that something terrible might have happened while she was busy fiddling with her dress.
'Nothing, just tired,' he said quietly, turning away and staring down at the ground.
'I assume there was whiskey involved?' Amelia said, looking on at the man, who nodded and cleared his throat.
'I er... I think I've got something for you,' he said, as he shifted awkwardly on his feet.
'Talako, what's wrong? This isn't like you at all.'
He sighed as Amelia stood, placing the letter into her skirt pocket as she walked over to him.
'Couple of men I was with last night,' he began as his cheeks grew awkward as though he was stifling a yawn, 'told me there was some Waipti folks down in Blackwater, hold up at the trading post.'
His gaze darted to hers, but he continued before she could ask anything.
'I don't know much more than that, but seems a good a place to start as any.'
She smiled kindly towards him with a slow nod of agreement.
This was the closest she had come in months to finding any way of contacting the tribe in order to negotiate some conduct on their lands. It wasn't much of a plan, but it would be the first step to protecting the estate and keeping herself from falling to pieces.
'I'll arrange passage for you and Mr Jameson to go and speak with them. Let's see if they are interested in talking before we make any decisions,' she said. Within seconds, it was as though she found her voice again.
'Don't think my permit extends quite that far, ma'am,' he said as Amelia scrunched her mouth.
'No, I suppose it doesn't. I will speak with the office in Saint Denis but in the meantime...' she said, pulling the letter from her pocket, 'if you could kindly take it to the post office tomorrow, I shall attend to this Blackwater business.'
He nodded, taking the envelope and shoving it in his waistcoat pocket.
'Do you think it's wise both me and Mr Jameson head south? With everything that's going on?' He said, his voice uneasy as he looked at her through his thick eyelashes.
'Perhaps not,' she said with a small shrug, 'however I specifically need you to speak with the tribe first - '
'And Mr Jameson,' Talako cut in, 'in case the white man sees an Indian alone,' Talako said with a wry smile.
'Well... it won't do any harm,' Amelia said, feeling somewhat better about the situation, although she would have been more comfortable sending only one of them. It was just so much for her to manage by herself.
'And the estate? You really think that Morgan feller can protect you and everyone else when he's only here a few times a week?'
She bit her lip, avoiding his gaze. The last thing she wanted to do was to speak of Arthur, or even think of him. Especially as she had finally seemed to get some momentum going with the business.
'There's enough staff who know how to use a gun. Myself included. I'll look after matters here.'
Talako stared at her for a moment as though trying to decipher something. Then he sighed deeply and looked down again, his eyes distant.
'Doubt Mr Jameson will be too happy.' He added softly.
'Mr Jameson will do what is asked of him.' She said firmly.
Talako nodded and then left the room without another word. She felt numb and hollow inside. Her thoughts were jumbled up like broken glass. That damn letter could be the end of everything.
She had not felt this alone in so long. She knew the position she was leaving herself in, a confrontation with Cornwall, the estate without a competent guard, and god knows where her uncle had gotten to this time.
All she could do now was to wait and see if it would be worth the cost she was willing to pay.