And yet Sally no doubt dressed and undressed herself, worked at an inn, and claimed to be talented when it came to styling hair.
“Not right sure. Was my mum who knew the date, and I lost her a while back.”
“I’m sorry,” Amelia said automatically, but then, curious as to the life of the working class, asked, “Did you like her?”
Not all mothers were likeable.
“Loved her with all my heart. One day she was fine, and the next, couldn’t get out of bed. They say it was cancer. Do you like your mum, miss?” Sally lathered up a washing cloth and handed it over.
Amelia took the cloth and slowly dragged it along her arm, thoughtfully. Did she like her mother? “Not really. But I love her.” Amelia didn’t usually discuss personal matters with servants, or anyone, really. But she’d been on her own all day, and she’d faced the fact that there were some major gaps in her education.
Doses of reality, perhaps? It was a disturbing thought.
“Aye. They aren’t the same thing, really, are they?” It was an astute observation.
“They really aren’t…” Amelia loved both of her parents, but in all honesty, she couldn’t claim to like them. No, she obeyed them. And although she tolerated Miss Henrietta, she didn’t really like her either—Miss Henrietta had a tendency to treat Amelia like a child, telling her what she should wear, accompanying her almost everywhere, and reporting every last detail of any outing to Amelia’s mother.
Amelia had imagined that she’d loved Clementine, but she’d liked her as well.
“Do you have any siblings?” Amelia asked.
“Two sisters and three brothers. I’m the youngest though, all the others are married.”
Five siblings. It boggled Amelia’s mind. What would it be like to be a member of such a large family? “Do you like them?”
Sally strolled across to the window, turned and leaned back against it, and sent Amelia an ambiguous smile. “Most of the time. And they look out for me.” And then something lit the back of the young woman’s eyes, making her brown irises look almost golden. “Neal, the oldest, he’s giving my sweetheart a rough go. Won’t give his permission for us to marry until he’s finished building his cottage. But he says it’s for my own good. If Billy really wants me, Neal says, he’ll move heaven and earth to have me.” Sally practically glowed as she spoke.
“Will you work after you marry?”
None of the servants who worked for Amelia’s parents were married. It was a stipulation of their employment. She had asked her mother about it once, thinking it unfair, but her mother explained that if one of their servants were to marry, then they, meaning Amelia and her mother and father, might no longer be top priority. Servants with family, she’d said, were easily distracted from their duties.
“I’ll keep working until a babe comes along,” Sally explained, blushing a little. “After that, I’ll work from home same as Neal’swife does. I’m handy with a needle and thread. Billy does well at the mill. And we’ll farm his little holding…”
“Do you like working?” But then Amelia winced. “Is that an awful question?”
“If it was, I wouldn’t have to answer it, now would I?” Sally was nearly as easy to talk to as Clementine had been. “Actually, how I feel at work depends on the people I work with. Most of the girls are nice, which makes time pass quickly.” She grimaced. “On the other hand… Verity thinks she’s better than everyone else. I’d rather wash chamber pots than work in the pub with her. You’d think she can smell money when it walks in, and when she gets her claws into one of those fellows, she spends more time flirting than serving. Leaves me to take care of everyone else.” She walked over to the privacy screen. “I’ll give you a few minutes to finish washing up—some privacy to take care of your personal bits. Linens are warming by the heart. Call out when you’re ready and I’ll bring one in.”
“Thank you,” Amelia said to the other girl’s back.
“My pleasure,” Sally’s voice sang over the screen. “You’ll be dining in one of the private rooms, but they’ll hold supper until you’re ready. So take your time.”
Amelia blinked, a little overwhelmed.
Without exception, the Foxbourne household dined at nine—exactly one hour after the dinner bell rang. If Amelia was ever late, her father would demand a very good explanation. But Sally said dinner would be held for her.
The prisoner.
Amelia simply stared at the washcloth in her hand, feeling an unusual calm.
Privacy?
To take care of her personal bits?
Miss Henrietta never left Amelia alone in the bath. Privacy, she’d insisted, was for heathens.
Amelia bent one knee to scrub her foot, and then did the same with the other. After squeezing the cloth out and wetting it again, she scrubbed her calf… her knee, her thigh. She had washed herself before, with Miss Henrietta hovering, of course.
Feeling a flash of rebellion, she dipped the cloth between her legs. Not swift-like, as she would normally do, but leisurely. And then, glancing at the screen behind which Sally had disappeared, Amelia abandoned the cloth, touching herself with her fingers.
