What can be happening that going for a walk in the morning sunshine would seem odd?
“Is that what you’re wearing? Mama will not be pleased after the expense she went to for our dresses,” Francis said without waiting for an answer. “Claire! Stop hiding and produce my bonnet this instant!”
For such a delicate-seeming young woman, she had a loud and strident voice. She disappeared upstairs, leaving Charlotte to breathe a sigh of relief. She hurried after her cousin, ascending to the third floor. She proceeded along a wide hallway, counting doors and praying that she was remembering correctly. At the seventh door, she paused, hesitating before reaching for the doorknob and entering the room.
To her relief, the rooms beyond Amelia’s chambers looked much as she remembered. The first time she had set foot here was when she was thirteen. The last was before her debut when they were both seventeen. Still, the furniture looked new, and the rug seemed barely to have been stepped on at all.
It seems that Amelia is not a second-class citizen in her home as I am in mine. I do not recall that being the case before, however. From what I remember, Amelia had the worst rooms and was treated as little better than a servant, too.
She opened the wardrobe and ran her hand over the dresses that hung within. Then she held the nearest to her face, taking a deep breath. The scent reminded her of Amelia, and she felt a yearning for her sister.
For someone who remembers Mother and Father and those happy days at Carlisle when we were children. When Mother passed away, it was such a shame that twins were considered such a handful by our families. Too much for any one branch of the family to take on. So, we were separated.
As such thoughts always did, Charlotte felt a sense of intense loneliness. She closed the wardrobe door, turning and looking for the escritoire in which Amelia would usually leave instructions for her. She eventually found it in a small sitting room adjoining the bedroom. But opening the lid, she found nothing—no note from Amelia written in the code they had developed as children with which they could converse secretly.
Charlotte felt an abrupt wave of anxiety.
This was not usual.
She herself had left detailed instructions for Amelia. Usually, an extensive correspondence would precede an exchange of lives, followed by a meeting at a halfway point between Yorkshire and London. Add to that the fact that Lucy Robins and Marrie Perrin, the pair’s respective maids, were fully aware of the game.
That is the answer, of course. I shall send for Marie, and she will brief me on Amelia’s life and everything I need to know. How silly of me.
Charlotte saw the bellpull and gave it a tug before sitting on a chaise and composing herself for a few minutes. A short while later, there was a knock at the door.
“Come in!” she called out.
But the maid who entered was not Marie Perrin, Amelia’s maid. The dark-haired woman who stood attentively awaiting her mistress’s instructions was a stranger. Charlotte’s mouth went dry, and for a moment, her mind was blank.
“You rang, my lady?” the woman said.
Those were the words she spoke, but what Charlotte heard was... “You are not Mistress Amelia!”
“Yes, could I have some tea, please?” Charlotte managed at last.
“Tea, of course, mistress. Lady Prescott asked me to relay a message. She asks that you put on the new dress as soon as you may.”
“Of course. I will do that now. Remind me, what is my diary looking like today?”
The maid looked confused, and Charlotte thought she should elaborate.
“It is such a nice day. I thought I would take a stroll in Hyde Park, but I can’t quite remember if I have any appointments today.”
Still, the maid seemed confused, and Charlotte realized with despair that there must be something important happening that Amelia would not have forgotten. Hence the bustle of activity among the servants and Francis’ hunt for her best bonnet.
“I am being silly. Never mind. I will dress now, tell Lady Prescott I shall be ready.”
The maid murmured her obedience and left the room.
“Amelia, whatever are you up to? Why did you not warn me?” Charlotte wondered aloud.
She went back into the bedroom and opened the wardrobe. There were many dresses within, and she realized that she did not know which one was new. A couple looked very fine, but she could not tell if one was newer than the other. Another knock came at the door, and Charlotte took out both of the dresses and laid them on the bed, trying to decide which Aunt Phyllis wanted her to wear.
“Cousin?” came a male voice.
“Come in, Reginald,” Charlotte replied, for it could be no one else.
Cousin Reginald was the eldest child of Phyllis and the late Percival Willoughby. Francis was next, then Claire. Aunt Phyllis was the sister to Lucy Nightingale, Charlotte, and Amelia’s mother. A simple family, complicated by the hostilities of in-laws and siblings.
