Previously: Amy Dorrit, youngest daughter of imprisoned William Dorrit loses one job, but gains another as Mrs Clennam seeks a housekeeper.
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Rose Clennam prided herself on being right. Even prior to her stroke, she did as she saw fit, and if the ends justified the means, then there was neither harm nor evil to fight against. When she learned of a young woman seeking employment, she was unmoved. When she learned the young woman's last name, she was intrigued. When she met the young woman, she was roused into action. Rose Clennam knew whose family this young girl came from, "Amy" carried no weight, but "Dorrit" was a name that carried itself as no small burden.
The young woman's youthful, friendly appearance did nothing to melt Rose's heart, but her humility and clear work ethic made Rose feel the quiet nudges of guilt, long buried and long forgotten. Hiring Amy Dorrit as her housekeeper was no great stretch, but once the girl had followed the live-in nurse, Affery, out of the room Rose had swivelled to Jeremy and unleashed her concerns.
"She must never find out."
Jeremy Flintwinch narrowed his beady eyes and stared at her, "Find out what, exactly?"
"How our families are," she paused all but spat out the last, "tied together."
Flintwinch snorted, and then turned it into a hacking cough when Rose glared at him. "Alrigh', alrigh', she'll never hear it from me. But if you ain't going to give her that money, then you ought to be paying her generously in recompense. The accountant seems to think that little gold mine has grown to be quite large over the years, and now Richard's dead, the money is hers. Lawyers might take a year or two to figure it out though. All that paperwork you two did back and forth over the years is a shambles enough for them to lose themselves in for a bit."
Rose sniffed delicately and turned away, eager for the topic to dissolve itself into friendlier business. She spared only a moment's thought for her now dead, estranged husband. Richard Clennam, the great business mogul, dead at 55. He'd probably been too busy shacking up with heiresses to remember to get his heart medication prescription refilled. Only another moment of thought was spared for Arthur, who at that moment was flying to Heathrow International, the ashes of his father in his arms.
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The Clennam kitchen was remodelled after Rose's stroke, to accommodate for wheelchair access, with the lady of the house so confined to such degradation of appearance. Amy had never seen a kitchen so large; she could easily unfold her couch bed in the middle, and still have space aplenty to cook around it. Affery French, who had been Rose's live-in nurse for nigh on a decade, was Amy's tour guide for her first day in the large house. She showed her where everything was, from the cutlery to the spare linen, from the cleaning supplies to garden shed.
Affery observed Amy in the moments when she was taking stock of everything. Rose had never been one for charity, and usually put the house tasks on her, even though cleaning windows was not part of the purview of a nurse. When they reached the bedrooms, Affery showed her them all, from the tidy and clean rooms clearly used by Mrs Clennam, to the dusty spare rooms, finally arriving at what appeared to be a forgotten corner of the house. Affery opened the door to show Amy the time capsule that was clearly a teenager's bedroom.
When Amy turned to Affery with her silent question, Affery needed no prompting. "This is Arthur's room. He's her son, been living with Mr Clennam in China since he was 19. Rose and Mr Clennam don't get along too well. Arthur's a good kid, always was a well-behaved young man. He was 16 when Rose had her stroke, and only went to China with his dad to get his degree. Rose thinks Mr Clennam made him stay afterwards to keep him away from her. Moot point now, though, Mr Clennam's dead and Arthur's bringing home his ashes. He's supposed to arrive on the weekend."
Amy's eyes widened at the family history Affery had found so easy to tell her. Affery noticed nothing and moved on to the next task.
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For the remainder of the week, Amy worked from 8 in the morning, until 5 in the evening. The house itself was in want of a proper cleaning, and although Affery had done her best, she was better suited to providing Rose Clennam the level of assistance she needed. Amy washed, dusted, vacuumed, tidied, weeded, mowed lawns, sprayed for bugs, and removed the cobwebs from the long unused garage and workshop. She was exhausted, dirty and could barely lift her teacup to her lips on the Friday. For all her work though, she was also exhilarated, pleased to be of genuine use, and making good money with her energy and time.
Rose was also pleased to see her leap of faith pay off. The windows shone from being cleaned from the outside too, enabling Rose to see Amy's efforts in the garden, the trimmed hedges, the revived garden beds and the mown lawns. Affery reported back to her that Amy's work throughout the house was exemplary; she had even stayed later than her work time to help Affery make their dinner, and cleaned up the dishes afterward. Rose usually kept herself buried in business all day, paperwork and invoices were never ending, and she was the one with business smarts, leaving Jeremy with the clients and meetings. On Amy's third day of work, she locked her laptop at lunchtime and wheeled herself to the kitchen, finding Amy's sandwich untouched as she had instead been repairing a leg of a buffet chair, one that had been wobbling for years and always stood untouched at the furthest end of the counter.
Amy hadn't noticed her audience, and Rose spent a few moments regarding her appearance. That day Amy had worn her favourite shoes, a faded and old pair of black Converse shoes, the black rubber banding on the white soles peeling off in places, the laces had once been white. Faded jeans whose silhouette was a decade out of fashion and a dark grey t-shirt that she seemed to swim in. Her hair up in a scraggy ponytail completed the look, but rather than look like the poverty-stricken woman she was, she carried it with a certain dignity and grace that made it impossible for Rose to condemn her for it.
As Amy succeeded in her task, she uprighted the stool and replaced it to its home, turned and jolted with a shock to see her employer looking bemusedly up at her.
"Oh, I am sorry I hadn't noticed you were there!" she rushed.
Rose waved away her concern with a brief wave of her hand and replied that she had come by and hadn't wished to disturb the girl so focussed on her task. Amy, clearly still flustered, rushed to bring over Rose's lunch, and was deeply honoured when Rose had her join for their meal at the dining room table. Affery ambled in a few moments later, a half eaten sandwich in hand, announcing she would have to out shortly to get a prescription refilled for Rose before shuffling out of the room again.
"Tell me a bit about you Amy dear," Rose began after they had eaten, "you are full young to be so inclined to a good work ethic."
Amy fiddled with the edge of a napkin, pressing a crease with her thumbnail, unsure of where, or how, to begin, "well, I'm 22, I have two older siblings, a brother and sister who have always taken such good care of me. My mum died when I was 10, and dad is," she paused, trying to find the words that would not prematurely end her employment, or cause Rose to look at her differently, "otherwise employed with the majority of his time, so I learnt how to be self-sufficient from a young age, and taking care of a home was a natural part of that. It hasn't always been an easy task, but I imagine that others are always worse off, and I suppose I stop feeling sorry for myself and get on with things."
Amy looked down in shame, realising how that sounded to her own ears, looking back up again when Rose let out huff of air, which Amy supposed she meant as an approval as there was no look of disgust or revulsion on the older woman's face.
"I think you are a good girl, Amy. I do not say this lightly, but you appear to be the kind of woman who is worthy of having the trust to which she is bestowed. Many people of your generation are lazy, ignorant, even malicious and self-serving in their business dealings with others, but you are a rare diamond which is always worth the sparkle."
Amy blushed at the praise, and found herself unable to answer except for a quiet thank you.
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Arthur Clennam was never a fan of flying in airplanes. Give him stuffy taxis in a smog-ridden Chinese city or the nausea-inducing wobbling of a boat in the rubbish-filled harbour any day over 11.5 hours of flights. There was something about being confined to a single seat, usually seated next to a person of questionable hygiene, or drastically expanded girth made the trips unpleasant and almost pushed him past the point of endurance. For his flight home to England, however, he had a stroke of genius that left his nearest fellow passenger begging the stewardess for any other seat, anywhere on the plane.
His stroke of genius was to simply buy two tickets, side by side, and sit the urn containing his father's ashes on the one that also sat next to a stranger. This left Arthur with two, three seats with which to spread out and not suffer for 12 hours of his life in a confined, airless space. The other passenger who moved initially raised a concern about the ashes of a dead person being allotted a plane seat, but backed off quickly when Arthur returned the volley with having respect for the deceased, and reminding him that he had purchased a second seat to be respectful to his father, who would have otherwise been stowed away in the overhead compartment.
Arthur arrived at Heathrow International at 11am Saturday morning. Dreary and dismal, virtually the same weather as the day he left 6 years prior. His father in his arms, he waited for his luggage to come around the carousel and spent the interim thinking over his last few days with his father.
Richard Clennam had always been a loving father, but that was at odds as to how he treated his wife, and Arthur could never figure out what the wedge was between them. When Arthur was looking at universities to study at, his father encouraged him to apply internationally, inviting him to come with him to China to complete his engineering degree. Arthur hadn't realised for a year or two that his father's move to China would be a permanent move and that his parents, although not divorcing, would be irrevocably estranged.
Richard made no secret of his extramarital affairs when they lived together in China. One month his father's girlfriend would be a Hong Kong heiress, the next season he would be besotted with an actress, or a "social media influencer" who posted their whole life online. Whilst Arthur didn't approve of his father's activities, he never vocalised them, even when heart failure rushed his father to a hospital.
"Your mother," his father had spluttered, his breath rattling in his chest as he died, "your mother, Arthur, she-"
Arthur never learned what his father intended to say.
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A knock on the door, mid afternoon on a Saturday roused Amy from the depths of a baking dish that had something baked on that she just couldn't get off. Affery had gone out to do the groceries and Amy assumed it was her returning with arms laden with bags. She dried her hands and flipped the towel over her shoulder, before going to the door and opening it.
Needless to include, but it was not Affery, laden with groceries at the door. Instead Amy came face to face with perhaps the most handsome man she had ever seen. She struggled for words, mirroring his actions as they both floundered for speech.
"I'm… Arthur,-" he eventually was able to say, "-Clennam. Is my mother here?"
Amy's eyes widened, suddenly connecting the handsome face to the singular picture of a young boy framed in one of the upstairs hallways. "Yes, sorry! She's in her study; I'll take you to her."
With that she ushered him in and led him to Rose's study. Mrs Clennam didn't even look up from her computer when Arthur entered the room, in fact she didn't acknowledge that anyone was there until Arthur cleared his throat, and to abide by the rules of decorum, she could not even pretend that she had not heard.
"Well, you're here then," she drawled unenthusiastically, "I take it you had a survivable journey."
Arthur stoically stood in the doorway, half in, half out. He was unsure what had caused the censure in her tone, but wasn't willing to discount that it was his mere presence back in this house. By that stage, the young woman who had let him into the house had disappeared, Arthur hazarding she would be doing something domestic, based on the tea towel that had been over her shoulder.
He nodded in response to the unasked question, for his mother hadn't actually asked after his trip.
He drew his mother's attention to the silver vase nestled in the crook of his arm, "Where are we putting dad?"
Rose let her glare settle on the ashes of her husband, wishing that they, like the man they had once been, would disappear once more to the farthest corner of the earth. Her marriage to Richard had not been a good one, even though they were quite happy in their earliest days together. He had never been a forceful man, but his behaviour once upon a time had made a reunion between them impossible.
She turned back to her laptop and with a sniff, suggested that he might put his father in the garage.
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End of Chapter Two. Please review. :)