Scarlett Meadows, March 1899
Both Amelia and Bertha had arrived back from Saint Denis earlier than expected.
After everything that had gone on in the past few weeks, Amelia craved for an escape away from the Meadows, away from the house, away from it all.
In the time since the robbery, it hadn't gone without noticing that Bertha had taken charge of caring for Luke. His wounds, food, just simply to sit and read to him. Amelia supposed the girl had grown quite sweet on him, but regardless, she had worked tirelessly to nurse the man back to health.
As Luke was doing somewhat better, although not moving around without assistance, Amelia seized the opportunity to take Bertha out with her.
Of course, the excursion was not entirely selfless and although Amelia more often than not took it upon herself to gift her staff with the occasional flight of fancy; she presumed she would throw up if she spent another day taking care of the business.
So off gallivanting they went, catching the morning train, spending the journey gossiping, laughing and discussing what they hoped to buy. Whilst Amelia was certain to find a little trinket or two for each of the staff, Bertha was dead set on purchasing a new petticoat she had been saving up for.
A hair pin, brooch, books, a men's leather belt as well as a few other small gifts later, the two women had a spot of afternoon tea and made their way back to the estate.
They both arrived back in high cheer, even if Amelia was slightly tired from the morning. In her mind, as they crossed the bricks towards the entrance, she planned to briefly retire for an hour or two before distributing the favours and returning to whatever errands called for her.
'Thank you for today, ma'am,' Bertha chimed and gave Amelia's hand a slight squeeze. 'I didn't realise how much I needed today!' The maid laughed as the door opened before them, with Mr Yates on the other side.
'Honestly, I think I feel the same,' Amelia sighed, readjusting the paper bags in her hand.
Walking into the foyer, Mr Jameson stood at the bottom of the staircase in his usual pose and Amelia's heart sank. It seemed that, after all, she was not going to get that afternoon's sleep.
Bertha took the cue, looking between the two as she dismissed herself to the rooms on the left, no doubt to try on her new petticoat.
'Dare I ask, Mr Jameson?' Amelia quipped despondently, as she walked up to the man.
'My apologies, ma'am, but you have a guest waiting for you in the parlour,' he replied, clearly equally displeased with the situation.
Mr Jameson was a collected man by all measures, but his eyes were always utterly readable. The look he held, as much as he tried to hide it, caused her tea to turn in her stomach.
'Who is it?' Amelia asked curtly.
'One of Cornwall's men,' he nodded.
Lord give me strength, Amelia thought to herself as she closed her eyes and drew in a sharp breath. Not only was the man uncalled for, but it was the last thing she wanted to deal with right now. Another worry on top of her already overflowing plate.
'Very well,' she placed the bags on the floor, another thing that would have to wait whilst she dealt with whatever cockroach Leviticus Cornwall had sent her way. 'Did he mention what it was this time?'
She felt the tension in her head, a slow dull thud at her temples.
'No, ma'am. But he did say it was urgent, felt it was best to let him wait for you to return,' Mr Jameson noted, looking towards the floor.
She was irked with her advisor, why he let the so-called guest in was beyond her, but she was sure that he would not have done so without good reason.
'Please ask for one of the girls to put my belongings in the study. I will tend to our guest,' Amelia said, chewing at the inside of her lip. She doubted it was anything promising, as she felt herself gearing up with yet another confrontation about her production.
'Would you like any company, ma'am?' he asked, as she turned towards the parlour.
'No, thank you. I think I can handle this alone,' she said under her breath as her heels clipped across the marble flooring.
Opening the door with little courtesy, the man had already taken a seat, a cigar in hand. She had little hopes for his chivalry as he remained seated, his foot balancing on his knee like he owned the damn place.
'I would apologise for keeping you waiting,' Amelia said as she strode towards him, her chin high and eyes filled with contempt. 'However, as you can imagine, I was not aware you would be calling.'
The man laughed. It was not a representative she had spoken with before, and he made little effort to get up to introduce himself.
So be it, she thought. Manners were a two-way avenue, and if he was to be impertinent, then Amelia would gladly return the kindness.
He looked at her with shrewd eyes and a mean mouth, nothing she didn't expect, but there was something about him that was different from the others. Although he was dressed in refinery, he did not look quite like the others. They were often businessmen, accountants and such sent with facts and figures to try and convince Amelia into selling whichever southern asset Cornwall fancied. This guest, however, did not have the same air. He had the air of a bully.
'Miss Amelia Edwards, although I'm sure you already know that,' she mentioned, sticking out her hand.
He stood slowly, not once taking his eyes off of her, and he did it in such a way that Amelia did not like it in the slightest. However, this was not the first time one of these men tried to make her feel uncomfortable.
She held her ground. As he took her hand, he gave it more than a firm squeeze around her bones. It caused a sharp pain, but not one she pulled away from. His eyes remained firmly on him as she gave him a sickly sweet smile.
'Mr Cooper,' the man said with an accent she did not recognise either. He certainly wasn't from the south nor the east coast, 'a pleasure to meet you.'
His voice was like acid, corrosive and lingering as everything about him repulsed her.
'So, what is it this time?' Amelia asked as she took to the seat opposite him, 'what exactly is it that Cornwall is after now?'
Mr Cooper laughed, a low chortle, as he took another drag from his cigar.
'They said you were spirited,' he said, blowing the thick smoke out the side of his mouth.
'Mr Cooper, I do believe you are here to ask me something on behalf of your employer, not to comment on my demeanour.' Amelia was running out of what little patience she had as she continued to eye him.
'Not asking,' he said hoarsely, his eyes as narrow as a mole as his gaze traced up and down at her.
She nearly wretched at the sight. How dare he come into her home and attempt to make her feel uneasy in the weakest of ways. The only way men know how to deal with women half of the time. She kept quiet. She wasn't about to let him intimidate her now she was prepared to show off just why she had built such a reputation over the years.
'Miss, you've got two options, way I see it,' he said, leaning forward, 'sell your assets, or the north will be acquire through some legal means, then we take the south, your wool, your lumber, your darkies and savages, then your maids, your home - until you have nothing left.'
She felt the anger rising so quickly inside of her, she nearly went blind. Amelia could feel herself shaking as she grit her teeth together. Every part of her felt hot as her body screamed at her to lash forward to this godforsaken animal, but she remained impassive, waiting until he had run out of words.
'Now, which would you prefer?' he asked again, as if she had not heard him. 'Mr Cornwall has a lot more resources, more money, and he's running out of patience,' he smiled, his smug grin reaching from ear to ear, 'don't be silly now, girl, sell before it's too late.'
She wondered if he would dare speak to her in the same manner if Mr Jameson had accompanied her, but clearly the man gave little inclination towards any sort of respect.
'Mr Cooper, it's clear you are not here for negotiations.' She would not be threatened, nor would she back down. Amelia shuffled back in her seat, resuming a much more casual position. If he was to try and torment her, then any sort of gesture that it was working would not work in her favour. 'I will tell you what I told the gentleman before you, and before him. I am not selling, not to Mr Cornwall or anyone else, for that matter.'
He brought his thumb to his lips, flicking his tongue across it as the fat end of the cigar remained nestled.
'Well, you seem very set against it,' he said with a snide chuckle.
'I am, Mr Cooper, but I would assume that means that you have some sort of proof that Cornwall has a legitimate claim to my assets,' Amelia said sharply, 'You have no legal claim to any of my land, production or anything else. If you wish to come into my home and act like a thug, I assure you, this will not go as well as you and your employer hope it will.'
He laughed again; the drawl dripping heavily through the air.
'Well, ain't you a little firecracker,' his snide mouth twisted, 'we will wipe your business off of the map. Mr Cornwall is a determined man, a man who gets what he wants, you see.' He removed his gaze from her, looking around the room paying a bit too much attention to anything his eyes landed on.
'What exactly do you want, Mr Cooper? Are you here to threaten me? To frighten me? Or are you simply here to make me feel inferior? Because if it's the latter, then I can guarantee that won't work, not with me.'
She knew it was an intimidation tactic, much like everything else he was doing. His eyes lazily travelled back towards her.
'Mr Cornwall is a family man, a strong American business much like the other characters of the south. You are and have been an unsavoury presence here. Mr Cornwall wants to restore the values of the south - of America.' His voice was thick with contempt, even though he paid her as much mind as a fly.
'If Mr Cornwall feels so strongly about this matter,' Amelia said as she stood, 'I suggest that you pass onto him I would like to meet with him directly. Let us get this matter sorted once and for all, shall we?' Amelia tried to remain as polite as humanly possible in the circumstance and though she was not exactly skilled in manipulation, she hoped it was enough to keep Mr Cooper and anyone else from Cornwall Industries interested in easy profits.
The man stood, stubbing out his cigar in the silver ashtray on the coffee table as Amelia gestured towards the door. Taking his time, he strode past her, opening the parlour doors into the foyer.
She saw Mr Jameson remaining where she was before. She gave him a swift nod over her shoulder.
'I will be sure to pass on your message,' he commented as Amelia signalled to Mr Yates to open the entrance door.
'Thank you, Mr Cooper,' Amelia said, following her guest out onto the porch.
The sun still remained nestled behind the wispy clouds above as two pigeons fought in the treeline. Mr Cooper turned to her, tipping his derby bowler towards her.
'And to you,' he took a step closer to her, his eyes directly meeting with hers, 'Miss Fairfax.'
Her heart stopped. Or at least she thought it did before it started to pump ferociously in her ears. It was a name she had not been called for many, many years. A name, which there was no way he could have known, and yet he did. How?
It was not a pleasant feeling. The urge to turn around and ignore his existence was almost overpowering. Yet, the resolve within her wouldn't allow it.
Perhaps she misheard him. She was tired, after all, but the look he gave her, like a cat with a dying mouse, told her otherwise.
'You must have mistaken me for someone else,' she tried to compose herself as calmly and as evenly paced as possible. She could feel bile in her gut and everything seemed to crash around her. The past ten years of her life had dissipated into a shallow nothingness.
The man merely chuckled, as if she was making a joke. He cocked his eyebrow as he reached into the inside of his jacket, pulling out a small card.
'Perhaps,' he drawled, flicking the card in his hand, 'write to us when you're fit and ready. Don't leave it too long, though.' He gave her a wink as he handed her the card and stepped off of the porch and to what she assumed was his horse on the hitching post. 'One more thing,' he turned as Amelia wanted nothing more than to shoot him where he stood, 'your father. He sends his regards.'
He had won. She knew it, and so did he. He gave her another smarmy smile as Mr Cooper climbed onto his horse as rode off.
Amelia felt as though her entire throat had closed up and that she would feint. Her hand rose to her chest as she leaned against the railing, watching the man disappear from her view.
'Miss Edwards! Miss Edwards, are you alright?!' Mr Yates appeared beside her, his concern evident.
She nodded, but her head felt as if it were going to burst as she swallowed back the nausea building in her stomach. Her hands shook as she put them on the railings, allowing her a moment to gather herself before she turned to face him.
'I... Of course,' she tried to smile at the elderly man, as he clutched at her shoulders, 'it's just been a frightfully long day.'
Swallowing back the thick saliva that had formed at the back of her gums, she stood, composing herself.
'Come along, Miss Edwards, we'll be having dinner soon.' He guided her back into the house as Mr Jameson came rushing to her.
'Please, gentleman, don't fuss,' she waved her hand dismissively as her vision returned to a more stable state.
'Ma'am, what happened? What -' Mr Jameson enquired, taking her arm and hiding her back inside with the help of Mr Yates.
That last thing Amelia wanted right now was a commotion, especially when her mind was still reeling. She was so sure that her uncle had been careful.
It had been ten years and not so much as a sniff or a whisper to allude to the fact that, in another lifetime, Amelia was someone else. Why now, after all this time, did her father even care?
Had he been looking for her all this time? What had changed?
Amelia took a deep breath, trying to calm her nerves as her stomach twisted inside of her.
'I think I'm going to retire to the study,' Amelia said, shaking off the two men. 'I just took a bit of a turn was all.'
She nodded towards both of them as she made her way upstairs, practically running through the corridor to get to her study.
Closing the door abruptly behind her, she went to the shelving on her side, pouring herself a large drink as her fingers gripped around the edge.
Swallowing in hard, deep gulps, the scotch stung her throat as it burned all the way down, her stomach almost rejecting it as the liquor hit it.
Wiping her mouth with shaking hands, she poured another, retreating weakly to her desk.
She knew it was only a matter of time before Mr Jameson would be held off with vague excuses and she was never fond of lying, but this was something entirely different.
She had built a new life for herself, away from the clutches of everything she left behind. Everything now was back on the line, on a single, delicate thread that promised to snag and break.
If there was anything she knew of her father, aside from his cruelty, it was that he was nothing but determined.