Amelia

by Siobhán Parkinson

  Just before the Meeting for Worship began, the Jacob family entered the Meeting Room. Amelia heard loud whispering from Dorothea, her old classmate, whom she hadn’t seen since Mama’s arrest, and she thought Dorothea must be urging her parents to avoid the Pims. She knew Dorothea mustn’t like her, because she had been avoiding her at school since the birthday party. Amelia concentrated on the sunny patterns on the floor and looked neither right nor left. But then, quite unexpectedly, Dorothea clunked into the bench next to Amelia, followed by the rest of her family. ‘Hello,’ breathed Dorothea in Amelia’s ear. Amelia turned and smiled politely, and wondered what was going on.

  Amelia amazed herself. She sat still for the whole Meeting and she hardly even noticed. She couldn’t in all honesty say that she had been thinking the right kind of Christian thoughts all the time, but she never once fidgeted. When the Meeting drew to a close, the Jacob family stood up to leave immediately. They must have a roast in the oven, thought Amelia enviously. Just as they left, Dorothea seemed to lurch against Amelia, and something small but heavy fell into Amelia’s lap.

  ‘Dorothea!’ Amelia hissed at her schoolmate’s back, as she felt in the folds of her skirt for whatever it was Dorothea had let fall.

  Dorothea turned and put her finger to her lips and shook her head rather too fiercely for somebody who had just attended Meeting. Amelia was puzzled, but didn’t say any more. As Dorothea’s plump figure disappeared through the door, Amelia’s fingers closed over a small, heavy package. It felt somehow familiar as she held it in her hands. Quickly she tugged at the wrapping paper, and out fell a gold watch on a slender gold neck-chain onto her lap. Amelia picked it up. It was the very watch Papa had given Amelia on her birthday and she had lost in the school-yard. Amazed, Amelia stared at the watch. The adult Pims were making low conversation in the aisle with a family they had met, and only Edmund saw as Amelia slipped the watch chain over her head and the watch settled against the front of her dress, as if it had always been there. Edmund looked quizzically at his sister, but Amelia smiled a don’t-breathe-a-word signal at him, shaking her head and putting her finger over her lips. Edmund shrugged his shoulders as if to say that older people were very odd and turned away, losing interest already.

  All the way home, Amelia felt the weight of the watch around her neck, and every few moments she fingered it, to make sure it was still there. How very odd the episode with Dorothea had been, to be sure.

  After lunch, Papa went off to fetch Mama home. He said he would hail a hansom cab on Berkeley Road and bring her home in style. Amelia worried about the cost of the cab, but she said nothing, as of course Mama must come home by carriage. She couldn’t be expected to walk, or even to wait for a tram.

  While Papa was gone, Amelia and Edmund put the finishing touches to their preparations. Once Edmund had recovered, Amelia and Grandmama had undertaken a big spring-cleaning, dusting and polishing and shining up every corner of the house, room by room. Together they had cleaned all the windows, till they twinkled in the sunlight, and they’d washed down all the paintwork – doors, architraves, skirting boards and dado rails. It was only when they did this that Amelia noticed how handsomely the woodwork was made, and how straight and neat all the little grooves and notches were. Really it wasn’t such a bad little house after all, not elegant, but certainly not ugly either.

  The copper pipes leading to the kitchen sink hadn’t been properly boxed in and hidden from view, the way they would be in a more prosperous house, but when Amelia polished them with Brasso and a soft cloth, they gleamed with a pinkish glow that made her heart glad, and when she lit the oil-lamps in the evenings after that, the shining pipes winked at her, as if to thank her for making them so handsome.

  She had taken the only rug in the house, the one on the parlour floor, out to the yard and had beaten it mercilessly on the line with a brush handle. That was a filthy job, and when she blew her nose afterwards, her handkerchief was streaked with black dust, and she even had to dig gritty dust from the carpet fibres out of her ears, but it was worth it, because when she laid the carpet down and sponged it over with a mild solution of soap and water, all the reds and blues came gleaming up at her, and the rug positively glowed on the floor after that.

  In a tin trunk of Mama’s, Amelia had found some lace tablecloths, with patterns of flowers and leaves, hearts and stars, diamonds and birds-of-paradise. She washed them and bleached them and starched them, and she spread some of them on the more disreputable tables that stood about the house looking the worse for wear, and one large one she hung as a drape at the parlour window.

  The last lace tablecloth she spread on her parents’ bed, over the moth-eaten pink quilt, and it fell gracefully to the floor, the pink of the quilt glowing through its lacy pattern and looking quite unlike its stained and battered self.

  She found an old brass cache-pot with round handles like miniature door-knockers in the lean-to shed, all green with age and thick with grime, and she polished that up too and bought a small house plant for it, and stood it on one of her newly washed lace cloths. Now the parlour looked homely and welcoming, especially in the evenings, when the fire was crackling and the lamps were lit and the rug’s colours flickered in the firelight. All it needed now was Mama at its centre, reading a book or writing a letter, to make it into a proper family living room.

  When at last they heard the key in the door, Edmund and Amelia could hardly contain their excitement. Grandmama didn’t seem in the least excited. She sat quietly reading her Bible, not sewing, because it was Sunday.

  Edmund and Amelia ran into the little hall to greet Mama, as she came in on Papa’s arm. The hall was decked with paper chains and chinese lanterns Edmund had made using coloured crêpe paper and cowgum, just as he had done for Amelia’s birthday party, and there was a large banner facing the hall door, saying: ‘Well Come Home Mama’. Amelia hadn’t corrected the spelling, as she wanted Mama to know Edmund had done it all by himself.

  Edmund threw himself at Mama’s knees, and she bent down and picked him up, though he was far too big for such babying. As she hugged him close, she looked over his head into Amelia’s eyes, and Amelia was shocked at what she saw. Mama had got terribly thin, her eyes were drawn and bloodshot, and her hair, hanging down endearingly on one side as usual was streaked with grey. Had there been grey in it before? Amelia couldn’t remember for certain, but she thought not.

  At last Mama put Edmund down. He clung to her skirt, but Mama opened her arms to Amelia, and gave her a long, wordless hug. At last she spoke, and her first words were: ‘I’m sorry, darling.’

  Amelia couldn’t speak, but if she could have she would have told Mama not to say that, that she wasn’t cross or hurt but proud of her. Instead she just hugged her again.

  ‘Mama! Mama!’ Edmund kept squawking. ‘Where were you?’

  ‘I was away, Edmund,’ said Mama.

  ‘But where, Mama? Where?’

  Mama sighed. How could she tell a six-year-old where she had been?

  Then Papa spoke up: ‘Mama was a guest of the king’s, Edmund.’

  ‘Oooh!’ squeaked Edmund excitedly. ‘Does the king live in a very large house, Mama?’

  ‘Very large,’ agreed Mama.

  ‘And has he got a golden crown, Mama?’

  ‘Very golden,’ smiled Mama, stroking Edmund’s head. ‘But not as golden as my little boy’s hair.’

  And then the family moved together, jostling in the confined space of the tiny hallway, but all holding hands or linking arms, forming an affectionate knot, into their welcoming, smiling little front parlour, and shut the door.

  A Misunderstanding

  The very next day, Amelia went back to school, for the first time in over a month. Her wardrobe was in a sorry state by now. Most of her dresses were simply too short or too tight or both. All they were good for now was cutting up for patches for other dresses, or making into dusters and polishing cloths. The few things that did fit her were patched and worn.
<
br />   The last time Amelia had gone back to school after a family disaster, she had been able to pretend, at least for a while, that nothing very dramatic had happened, but this time, it was clear from just looking at her that there had been a change for the worse in the Pim family fortunes. In any case, Amelia knew from the way people had spoken at Meeting on Sunday that the story of Mama’s imprisonment was well known among the Quaker families. So Amelia didn’t even try to pretend. When Lucinda Goodbody asked loudly, so everyone could hear, ‘And where have you been, Amelia Pim?’ as if she didn’t know quite well where she had been, Amelia answered quietly: ‘I was needed at home, Lucinda. Hadn’t you heard?’

  That took the wind out of Lucinda’s sails. She had been expecting Amelia to try to bluff her way with some story or other, and Lucinda had been determined to call her bluff. But she didn’t quite know how to react when Amelia simply spoke the truth.

  ‘Well,’ said Lucinda loudly, regaining her poise after a moment, ‘I suppose somebody had to keep house while your mama was IN PRISON!’ She spoke the last words extra loudly, in case anyone might miss them.

  A communal gasp ran around the classroom. Everyone knew, but no-one thought anyone would actually say it out loud. An excited little buzz followed the gasp, and a few people muttered encouraging remarks to Lucinda.

  ‘Exactly, Lucinda,’ said Amelia very coolly, though she didn’t feel cool at all, but on the contrary very turbulent and warm inside. ‘You’ve put your finger on it. That is exactly the case. When you have a heroine in the family, like my mama, you just have to make some sacrifices. That’s the way it is.’ And she went on unpacking books from her satchel and not meeting Lucinda’s eye. Another little buzz followed this reply of Amelia’s. The girls had gathered around now, in a wide circle, to observe the sparring match.

  Again, Lucinda was taken aback by Amelia’s very simple strategy of agreeing with her. She cast about for something more hurtful to say, to see if she could goad Amelia into a row.

  After a moment, she said, to the assembled class: ‘Well, girls, I suppose we shall have to welcome her back to the bosom of the class, Miss Amelia Pim. Poor thing, her father is a bankrupt, her mother is a jailbird, and she was seen one Sunday afternoon on Sackville Street in intimate conversation with a fallen woman!’

  The gasp that flew around the classroom at this last remark was much bigger and more dramatic than the first gasp. All eyes were upon Amelia now, to see how she would react to this.

  Perhaps fortunately for Amelia, she had no idea what Lucinda was talking about, so she was able to look her in the eye and say: ‘I don’t know any fallen women, Lucinda.’

  ‘You most certainly do, Amelia Pim. You told me yourself your maid was in the family way.’

  Amelia looked at Lucinda in great puzzlement. Lucinda must be talking about Mary Ann, but Mary Ann wasn’t a fallen woman. As far as Amelia was aware, Mary Ann had never worked in a laundry in her life, and even if she had, what was that to Lucinda? And what had her family got to do with it? Could Lucinda have heard that Mary Ann was pinching food from the Shackletons to feed her starving brothers and sisters? Well, even if she had, Amelia was going to stand up for her friend.

  ‘What’s wrong with having a family, Lucinda?’ she asked.

  Lucinda replied: ‘Nothing at all, if you’re married.’

  There she went again, obsessed with the idea of Mary Ann getting married. The last time Lucinda had brought this subject up, there had been something about Mary Ann not being able to get married because her brother was in gaol. Was Lucinda trying to bring the conversation around to people with family members in prison again?

  ‘Lucinda, you seem to be terribly interested in the marrying habits of other people,’ said Amelia grandly. ‘Really, one wonders if you aren’t a little young to be so interested in that sort of thing.’

  This time it was a gasp of admiration that flew around the classroom, followed by a few mild titters.

  Lucinda got pink in the face. ‘Well,’ she said, ‘I’m certainly old enough to know that it is not the thing to consort with a servant in the street, especially not a servant in disgrace.’

  ‘Mary Ann is not in disgrace!’ exclaimed Amelia.

  ‘Well, she ought to be. She ought to be ashamed of herself, expecting a baby and not even old enough to be married.’

  What followed this remark was more than a gasp or a buzz or a titter, it was a positive roar. Lucinda had gone too far this time. As the excitement died down a little, Dorothea Jacob piped up: ‘Really, Lucinda, I don’t see that it’s any business of yours what people’s servants do or don’t do, and if Amelia chooses to help out a poor girl in trouble, then I think we should all admire her. Good for you, Amelia!’

  ‘That’s right,’ murmured another brave soul.

  ‘Well done, Amelia,’ said a third.

  ‘Good egg, Amelia!’ said someone loudly, and in a moment the girls were crowding around Amelia, smacking her on the back and smiling and welcoming her back.

  Amelia didn’t really understand what Lucinda had been saying. She didn’t know where Lucinda had got the idea that Mary Ann was going to have a baby from, but obviously it was some misunderstanding. Anyway, she wasn’t interested in pursuing the silly conversation any further, so she let it drop and she turned a smiling face to the girls who were saying kind things and she replied to their enquiries about Edmund and her mother, and ignored Lucinda for the rest of the morning.

  Amelia had to concentrate hard during lessons, in order to catch up on all the schoolwork she had missed out on while she had been absent, so it wasn’t until coffee-break that she got a chance to seek Dorothea out.

  Dorothea was sitting in a corner, reading a book. Amelia sat down next to her and said quietly: ‘Thanks for sticking up for me earlier, Dorothea.’

  Dorothea turned a pair of frightened eyes on Amelia, and immediately looked away again, without saying anything.

  ‘And thanks for returning the watch,’ added Amelia.

  ‘Oh Amelia,’ said Dorothea in a small, tearful voice, still not looking up. ‘I didn’t mean to steal it. In fact, I didn’t really steal it. You dropped it when you were being bumped on your birthday. I just picked it up, and I was about to hand it to you, when something made me not do it. I was feeling so jealous of you with your lovely fair hair and your fine motor-car and your party and your expensive watch. I thought I would just punish you a little, by keeping the watch for a while.’

  Amelia nodded and said nothing. At last Dorothea looked at her.

  ‘I told my sister Elizabeth. I thought she would think it a great joke. But she was shocked at what I had done, and insisted on coming to the party with me, to make sure I gave it back. But then I fainted, and then you disappeared, and … well, then … I should have given it to you the next day at school, but then you seemed so upset about something, and I didn’t like to talk to you, so I thought I wouldn’t say anything about it for a little while yet, and then, suddenly, you stopped coming to school.’

  ‘That was when Mama was arrested,’ explained Amelia.

  Dorothea stopped, embarrassed. Then she said in a low voice: ‘Whoever put your mother in prison made a great mistake.’

  ‘Thank you, Dorothea,’ Amelia said. And she really was grateful.

  ‘Anyway,’ Dorothea went on, ‘I was afraid to post the watch, in case it broke. So I just kept it in a little package in my pocket until I saw you again. I was so pleased when you finally came to Meeting on Sunday.’

  ‘Were you?’ This was nice to hear, even if the reason was a bit peculiar.

  ‘Oh, yes. You have no idea how dreadful I have felt ever since that day when I took it. Amelia, I’m very sorry.’

  Amelia felt old and wise and kind.

  ‘Oh, Dorothea,’ she said, ‘it’s only an old watch. It doesn’t matter in the least.’

  Of course it had mattered at the time, dreadfully. But Amelia spoke the truth now when she said it didn’t matter in the least. Changed
circumstances had changed her view of what mattered.

  ‘I’ve been longing to tell you for weeks,’ said Dorothea. ‘I feel much better now. Thanks, Amelia.’

  Dorothea looked better too. At least she didn’t look like a frightened rabbit any more.

  Now that she knew the full story of what had happened to the watch, Amelia felt she could talk about it. She showed the watch to Mama that evening, as they sat companionably in the parlour, after Edmund and Grandmama had both gone to bed, and while Papa was working at some figures in the kitchen, and she told her the whole story.

  ‘Poor old Dorothea!’ said Mama.

  ‘What about poor old Amelia?’ said Amelia indignantly. How very like Mama, to say such a thing! Amelia felt especially stung, when she considered how prettily she had forgiven Dorothea that afternoon.

  ‘Oh, poor old Amelia, then, too,’ conceded Mama. ‘I know you were very upset when the watch disappeared. You never said a word, but we did all notice. But somehow I don’t think the watch matters to you so much any more.’

  And that was just like Mama too, to put into words what Amelia had been trying to think herself.

  ‘And,’ said Mama, ‘it sounds to me as if you’ve made yourself a friend in Dorothea. So perhaps losing the watch wasn’t such an ill wind after all.’

  Amelia thought about this for a while. Dorothea wasn’t as pretty or as popular as Lucinda, or as witty as Mary Ann, but she had stuck up for Amelia in a crowd, and she had been brave about the watch. She was quite nice, really, when she wasn’t being rabbitty.

  ‘Mama,’ said Amelia, after she’d been thinking for a while about what had happened in school that morning. ‘What’s a fallen woman?’