Scarlett Meadows, March 1899
'I'm so sorry, ma'am!' Ellen exclaimed as she dropped to her knees, rushing to pick up the toppled linen that she was carrying.
Amelia, taken aback by being barged into, took a moment to recover.
'Please, ma'am, I'm ever so sorry.' The maid whimpered as she tried to refold the laundry with shaking hands.
'Honestly, it's fine. I wasn't looking where I was going,' Amelia rushed to say, dropping to her knees also to help the girl collect the tousled fabrics.
In truth, she really wasn't paying too much attention to anything except for the new expense report. She had her nose buried in it as she walked around the corner into the hallway, without a thought too much else. It was no wonder the mishap occurred.
'Please don't tell Mrs Fernsby,' the girl pleaded with moist eyes.
Accidents happened often enough in the household; the odd smashed plate, a trip down the stairs from a skirt hem or other such incidents. It was more often than not that Amelia caused them, so when it was one of her staff, she was never cross with them and, if anything, she usually found it quite amusing.
So when Ellen, the young serving girl, looked up at her with all sorts of anguish on her face, Amelia had little idea as to why. Even Mrs Fernsby, the housekeeper who was often brash, was never unkind to the girls.
'No, of course not. Now here,' Amelia said with a soft smile and handed the girl some of the folded linen.
'Is everything okay, Ellen?' She questioned, curious and concerned in equal measures.
The girl, by all accounts, was always cheery, singing often to herself and giggling away with whomever she came across. It was rather unlike her, especially over something quite small, to become so distressed. She had not been at the estate long, perhaps eight months, and not once had Amelia seen the girl so perturbed.
It was only last week that they celebrated the maid's fifteenth birthday with songs, cakes, and games. Now, as she sat on her knees hurrying at the mess, she was completely different.
Amelia got little of an answer, just a steadfast nod and a sniffle. She handed her the last of the sheets, and stood up, grabbing the expense report as she did so, offering a hand to Ellen and pulling her up.
'Well, if there is anything that is the matter, you know you can talk to me.' Amelia commented warmly, placing her hand gently on the girl's arm.
'Yes, ma'am,' was all she got before the girl scuttled off with the linen.
Nonplussed, Amelia carried on down the stairs, paying her mind to not read anymore as she wandered around the house.
Stepping into the entrance hall, she saw the petite silhouette in the usual stiff black dress.
'Ah, Mrs Fernsby, if I could have a moment?' Amelia called, as the housekeeper turned around.
A small woman, but by no means fragile, nodded at Amelia.
'Of course, ma'am,' the older woman spoke, her dark hair speckled with grey at the edges.
'Is anything the matter with Ellen?' Amelia said in hushed tones, stepping closer to the woman.
Mrs Fernsby clicked her tongue and rolled her eyes.
'Don't tell me. Has she been crying again?'
Amelia nodded, bothered by the lack of worriment from the housekeeper.
'Ma'am, it's nothing to worry about. She started her first monthly a few days ago, and well… you know how it makes some girls a bit hysterical.' She said flippantly.
Hysterical was perhaps a bit of an overstatement, but Amelia knew all too well how the toll of womanhood could take on your mind as well as your body.
'Very well. If she needs rest though Mrs Fernsby, please be sure it is given to her. I'm sure Millie and Bertha can cover her for a few hours.' Amelia noted, being firm in her words and meaning them, too. She wasn't about to have the poor girl try to adjust to her new afflictions, only to have her faint at a moment's notice.
'Of course, ma'am,' Mrs Fernsby said without changing her expression in the slightest.
'Have you seen Mr Jameson at all? I need to speak with him.' Amelia asked, changing the subject.
'The last I saw him, he was with your stable master. I believe your order has arrived.'
Her order? Amelia furrowed her eyebrows in confusion, trying to think what on earth she was expecting.
The horses. Almost chiding herself with everything that had been on her mind the past fortnight, she had completely forgotten about the horses her uncle had promised her.
'Right, of course. Thank you.' Amelia folded up the paper, placing it into the pocket of her walking skirt and approached the grand doors, which, as always, Mr Yates, her footman fondly tended to.
Smiling at the old man, she gave a 'thank you,' before setting off onto the grounds.
Thankfully, the rain they had a week ago seemed to have completely disappeared as the crisp blue sky stood above her. It certainly wasn't warm, but she could feel the hints of spring in the air.
The birds had started their yearly song, as though an opening performance at the ballet, whilst the marigolds and crocus were pushing their green shoots through the earth.
She walked along the path, taking in the fresh air and the sound of the horses nickering at one another in the stables. She smiled, thinking back to when she was younger and how she would spend most of her time at the stables.
Making her way to the stables, which lay at the west of the grounds, she could already see the new arrivals. Five gigantic beasts with shining coats and muscular haunches bucked their heads as Talako was doing a rather impressive job of herding them into the stables.
'I see you've already got control of everything?' Amelia smiled, standing at the stable doors as she shielded her eyes from the bright sun with her hands.
'Yes, ma'am,' Talako returned her cheerfulness, and he closed the last of the pen door. 'They're some fine animals your uncle got.'
Amelia admired them, four mighty thoroughbreds and one colt. Thankfully, her uncle did not disappoint and, looking at them, Amelia felt a hopefulness she had not felt for some time.
'They just for racing, or are you planning or breeding them?' Talako asked, collecting the bridles and walking them over to storage.
'Honestly, I'm not quite sure. What do you think?'
Talako looked over his shoulder at her as he hung the leather assortments on their respective pegs. He smiled his usual grin as he continued to fuss with the straps.
'Be a shame to waste them. We only got one stallion, but I reckon the mares are ready to breed comfortably. Wanna rotate them, so there's only one out of action.' He shrugged as he moved his way over to the saddles, removing one from the wall.
'Do you know enough about racehorses?' Amelia inquired, curious by his depth of knowledge.
Talako was the best stable master she had ever known. Even when he came looking for employment - not two months after the estate was purchased - his talent was raw and unrivalled at the age of nineteen.
She had seen her fair share of hands and those who had spent a lifetime building their knowledge and trade with horses, but whatever gift Talako had for the creatures was astoundingly rare.
'I know my horses, ma'am,' he said with a gentle laugh, pushing his sleeves up as he got to work polishing the saddle.
'I'm perfectly happy for you to take over the duties. I'll write to Uncle and let him know that a trainer won't be necessary,' Amelia said, walking into the stable and towards the tool bench.
If she was quite honest with herself, she wanted a distraction. Something away from her office upstairs or another conversation with Mr Jameson about finances. She cared for the man deeply, but sometimes he was like a goading father. Hiding out in the stables with Talako seemed a much better alternative, especially as Mr Jameson was nowhere to be seen.
Besides, the sun was out, the birds were chirping, and she had been given a new lifeline with the horses.
'Do you think they'll ride well?' She asked as she poked at the various tools on the table.
'They look strong, ma'am. I need to take them out on a run, see their stamina, but they're mighty impressive.'
She smiled, satisfied with his evaluation. She did not know where to even start or how to put them onto the circuit, but Amelia presumed, as always, that her uncle wouldn't leave her alone in the matter.
Fiddling with the leather awl, she played with the point, testing it on her fingertips.
'You alright, ma'am?' Talako asked, breaking her away from her idling thoughts.
'Quite well,' she sighed sweetly, looking over her shoulder at him. He wasn't paying her too much mind as he continued to buff at the saddle.
'Sure?' his eyebrows were furrowed as he wiped his forehead with the back of his dirtied hands.
Turning the tool in her hands, she shrugged, not really wanting to go into too much detail about her bothers. Amelia felt she had already leaned on Talako far too much over the past few weeks with things that he didn't need to concern himself with.
'I'm just thinking is all,' she tapped the awl on the back of her hand, 'so much to do, so little time and all that.' Giving him a timid smile, Talako threw the rag over his shoulder, crossing his arms at her.
'You need a break, ma'am. You ain't much use to anyone, least yourself when you're like this.'
He wasn't wrong, but she had no time for such frivolities. Besides, relaxing was something that was hardly in her nature during daylight hours.
'Once I can figure out a way to make contact with the Wapiti tribe without burning the bridge before it's even built, I can rest.' Amelia assured him. 'I don't suppose you have any secret contacts in the tribe?' She mused, with a slight tease to her voice.
'You know good and well I don't,' Talako said with a small shrug. 'Besides, even if I did know anyone from boarding school still, I don't think they'd take too kindly to me.'
Amelia nodded in resignation. She knew very little of Talakos' background prior to his employment as, understandably, he didn't reveal a great deal on the matter.
'Talako, I'm sorry, I didn't mean -'
'Don't worry. Look, when you start as many fires as I did in an attempt to get out, then all your native friends get beaten for it, you don't tend to keep said friends for very long.' he took the rag from his shoulder, cleaning his hands.
As he often did with his past, he spoke about it with little emotion, as though he was merely describing the weather. Amelia understood, knowing how tightly she kept her past to her chest. Even when there were times that the two of them would lie there after their intimate moments and either of them would briefly open up, the sea of secrets remained.
'Well, there are always more ways to skin a cat, so to speak,' Amelia said, gesturing the tool towards him. 'I will figure something out… I always do,' she beamed at him with a light giggle.
'You're a real white knight, you know that?' Talako cocked his eyebrow at her, as Amelia returned the awl to its place and walked past him towards the horse pens.
'I'd like to name the stallion, Claudio,' she pointed to the dark beast in the far end. Tall and strong, as black as the midnight sky, she thought the name rather suited him.
'And the mares?'
Amelia scrunched her mouth, unable to find any inspiration.
'I'll let you take them out for their evaluations. As you'll be in charge of their care and training…' she turned to look at him, 'you can name them.'
He put his finger to his temple with a small salute and Amelia nodded her head to him in return and left the stables.
Stepping back out into the sun, the spring chill clipped at her skirt as she saw Luke, the groomsmen, hauling hay towards her.
'Miss Edwards,' he gestured, as well as he could do.
'I see Talako has put you to work already?'
'Yes, ma'am. Always does.' He replied.
Luke was slightly younger than her, but his skin was already creasing on his dark skin far beyond his years.
'Don't let him work you too hard,' she said with a grin as she continued to make her way back to the house.
The rest of the day went past rather uneventfully. She mulled over some more reports, wrote a letter to her Uncle Josiah, thanking him for the horses and, after supper, took refuge in her room with a few glasses of brandy and the latest month's edition of The Ladies Journal. Although it was expectedly uninspiring, she did spot a new Gladstone lamp that took her fancy.
The sun has long since departed and after a wash, a cigarette and a nightcap of Earl Grey, she climbed into bed.
Amelia knew it had taken only a matter of moments for her to fall asleep, for she stirred shortly thereafter. At first, she thought it was a dream, that awkward lull where voices spoke in the distance, tempting her back to the darkness. However, the more her mind awoke, the more she felt it was real.
A loud shot boomed in the distance, and Amelia shot up, heart racing. This was no dream.
Yells from both men and horses erupted whilst gunfire reigned outside her window. Throwing her legs off of the bed, she grabbed her shawl and stood, not thinking twice about her bare feet or nightgown.
Thrusting herself into the armoire, she rummaged to the back, feeling for the cool touch of metal as she pulled the shotgun out. Her hands shook. Cocking the barrel, she knew it was empty as she foraged for the bullet box. Shoving two in the iron barrel, she grabbed a handful more and pushed them into her drawers, hoping the elastic in the leg would keep them from tumbling out.
She raced from her room and across the landing.
'What's happening?' She heard the cry from downstairs as Mr Jameson sprinted into the foyer in nothing but his union suit, overcoat and rifle.
Her feet tumbled one in front of the other as she galloped down the stairs, the bullets rattling awkwardly against her leg.
Mr Jameson's face paled as he saw her standing in the hallway with her weapon.
Bertha and Millie appeared. Their faces filled with panic and worry.
'Get back inside!' Amelia commanded, the strength of her voice surprising herself. 'Lock all the doors!' She pointed at the girls, who hurried off.
Another two shots were heard in the distance.
'Ma'am, this ain't no place for you,' Mr Jameson turned, eyeing her firearm.
'I'm defending my home,' she snapped, her eyes determined as her hands gripped the gun, her finger hovering over the grip safety.
He shook his head at her but made his way to the door, unlocking it and allowing her to follow.
'Stay behind me then,' he cautioned.
She had never seen him like this, cold and informal. Amelia knew well that he fought in the war as a young man and prayed he still remembered the skills he had learnt in battle.
She hurried to close the door behind her, as Mr Jameson sprinted towards the stables.
Flashes of orange and white danced like small fireworks as she heard incoherent shouts.
She wasted no time as her bare feet skated over the dirt and twigs. She ignored the pain as she flicked the safety on the shotgun, hurrying towards the commotion.
Amelia's ears rang with the cacophony of noise. There were voices shouting orders and the sounds of horses neighing. She could smell the blood and the acrid tang of smoke, and felt the heat of it in the air, mingled with the dampness of the rain that was beginning to fall.
With every step, Amelia felt more exposed.
Before she even got to the stables, she saw three figures coming toward her. Her gun raised, she wouldn't think twice about the shooting, but as she heard the screams, she knew it was friend rather than foe.
'Ma'am… its… its... Luke!' Jim stammered, clutching a small pistol to his chest.
Thomas, her gamekeeper, awkwardly held Luke up from beneath his shoulder as the scene unravelled before her. Amelia saw the dark stain on Lukes's legs, his face contoured with pain, and she knew that he had been shot.
Torn between her injured groom and the fight in the distance, she ran to the main door.
'Quickly, get in!' She cried as she ushered the three into the house.
Thomas dragged Luke through the foyer, leaving a smear of blood on the marbled floor as they made their way to the kitchen.
Cook O'Gorman was also awake, a butcher's cleaver in hand.
'Get him on the table!' Amelia cried as Thomas and the cook lifted the injured man to the worktop.
He screamed again and Jim flinched; the terror taking over his face at the sight of his older brother.
Thomas removed his belt, strapping it over the young man's leg, just above the wound whilst Amelia hurried to one of the top cabinets in the kitchen, looking for the injury box. Often whilst cooking, burns, cuts and other accidents happened. She frantically opened door after door, only to find glassware and crockery.
'This one, ma'am,' Cook said, reaching over her head to the very upper cupboard, pulling out a wooden box with all manner of bandages.
'Gag him,' Amelia snapped sternly as Cook nodded, grabbing a dishcloth and shoving it into Luke's mouth.
'Ma'am?' Jim cried, rushing to his brother's side.
'He will be okay,' Amelia said, paying little mind to much else as she pulled out the thickest cotton pads she could find. 'It will hurt.'
She pressed the linen into the wound as Luke jolted and twitched as a muffled cry erupted. Cook held either side of the cloth in Luke's mouth, forcing his weight into the injured man.
'We'll get you a fine drink after,' the Irishman noted, wrestling with the man, who twisted and turned as Amelia pressed one palm over the other.
'Jim,' she called, nodding her head towards the injury. 'Press down, as hard as you can.'
The poor boy looked at her, wide-eyed and terrified, the pistol still shaking in his hand.
Amelia held one palm open, gesturing for the gun as Jim ambled over, not once taking his eyes from his writhing brother.
'Jim!' she beckoned, as she clicked her fingers. He held over the trembling weapon as Amelia took it, placing it on the counter behind her. Grabbing both of his hands, she could see the blood slick on her palms, even in the low-level light. She pressed Jim's hands to where hers once were, and Luke gave another jolt.
'As hard as you can,' she reminded the boy, placing a tentative hand on his shoulder.
She ran to the drinks cupboard, a place she was more familiar with than the last. Hitching her skirt and kneeling down, she pushed bottle after bottle out of the way, until she found what she prayed was still in there. At the very back, between the bottles of brown, she saw the clear liquid. A bottle of Boodles gin, ninety proof.
Amelia despised the stuff for drinking but knew firsthand that it was the best liquid for cleaning wounds. Uncorking the bottle with her teeth, she ran back over to Luke.
'Cook, hold him. Jim…'
The boy moved his hands, as Amelia grabbed the thick cotton pads, already soaked with blood, off of the groom's thigh.
She poured the liquid liberally, and as expected, Luke screamed and thrashed as the alcohol hit the wound. She poured some more as the gin and blood ran off of him. Reaching for some more pads, she shoved them back onto the gunshot wound.
'What on earth happened out there?' Amelia demanded, as she looked around at her staff.
Jim started crying, tears streaming down his cheeks as he looked at his brother.
Thomas, the gamekeeper, sighed as he grabbed the bottle of gin, took a swig and passed it to Cook, who did the same.
'Not sure, ma'am. Hung up the last of today's catch, heard a commotion, then all hell broke loose.'
She heard little from the kitchen but was unsure as to whether that was due to it being on the opposite side of the house or if the fighting had stopped.
'Who are they? What do they-'
A door slammed. Judging by the noise and the weight, it was the entrance door. She jumped as they all held their breath, staring at the doorway of the kitchen.
Amelia reached for her shotgun and pointed it at the door.
Two men burst through, panting and blood speckled across them. Luckily, it was Mr Jameson and Talako
'Just us, ma'am' Talako gestured with open palms as soon as he saw her holding the firearm.
'Situations under control, ma'am,' Mr Jameson noted, his breath still catching up with him. 'No one else was hurt. Well, none of us, anyway.'
There was a darkness to his voice and as Amelia lowered her gun, her imagination was more than capable of filling in the rest.
'What in God's name happened' she heaved through gritted teeth. She wanted to get to the bottom of this, and fast.
'They came for the horses, ma'am,' Talako began as he pulled a pistol from his waistband and threw it on the counter.
Luke gave another muffled whine through the gag.
'Eight, maybe more. All on horses stormed the stables as I was still up. Tried to take Claudio first.' Talako continued as he walked to the cupboard. His eyes took note of each of them as he pulled out seven glasses. 'That horse is damn smart. Kicked two of them so far I heard their skulls crack.'
She swallowed at hearing the grizzly details as she watched the stable master retrieve a bottle from the cupboard and filled up the crystals.
'They got Luke,' he nodded his head to the man on the table who seemed to fight with remaining conscious. 'It all happened quickly. Two or three made off, the rest are dead.'
Amelia stared at him, not entirely sure what to think or say.
'The bodies?' She asked with her voice barely more than a whisper as she took the glass Talako offered her.
'They'll be dealt with, ma'am,' Mr Jameson nodded, steadfast.
'Good. See that they're… gone by morning, please. I will write to my uncle and see the Sheriff on the morrow.' Amelia commented, more to herself than anything, as she took a large gulp.
They all stood there in silence for a moment as the adrenaline wore off. The odd sniffle from Jim or a groan from Luke were all that they heard as time seemed to have forgotten them.
'I'll let everyone know it's safe. Me and a few others will stay up in case they return,' Talako said as he finished his drink and left.
Amelia then began to work on Luke's leg, as thankfully, the bleeding seemed to have slowed. She bandaged it up and removed the belt, handing it back to Thomas, who took it back without words.
O'Gorman hurried off, bringing him back several pillows and blankets, as they each took to rearranging him so he was as comfortable as one could be with a bullet in the leg.
'I imagine you want to stay with your brother, Jim?' she asked, keeping her voice as gentle as possible. The boy looked at her, his eyes wide, strained and utterly hopeless. He gave a small nod and Amelia's heart broke from him.
She knew the siblings were incredibly close, especially with such a large age gap between them, and she only imagined the fear and uncertainty the stable boy was going through.
Cook handed over a pillow and another blanket, as he pulled a chair over to the worktop for Jim.
'If anything happens, Jim, please knock for me.' She said with a soft smile.
'I'm just on the other side of that door, lad,' Cook commented as he put his large hands on Jim's shoulder.
He nodded again as he sunk into the chair, not once taking his eyes from Luke.
Amelia sighed as she and Mr Jameson left the kitchen.
'You should go to bed, ma'am,' he suggested. 'Tomorrow will be busy enough as it is.'
'But -' Amelia argued.
'We need you rested, ma'am.,' he said with a firm nod.
She gave a heavy sigh, knowing he was right.
'Very well,' she conceded, 'but you come and wake me if you hear anything.'
He nodded and turned to leave, as she felt the tears welling up inside of her.
It was late when Amelia finally retired to bed. She knew sleep would not come easy, as her mind kept replaying the events of the day.
Her thoughts drifted to the horses, the dead men, and the young groom who had been shot. It was a lot to take in, but she was glad to see that everyone was alive and relatively well. She thought about the men who had attacked them, and how they were dead now. They had taken lives today, and she hoped they would never do so again.
The house was silent, save for the occasional door creak. She lay awake for hours before finally falling asleep.