"What could possibly be all the way out here?" Robert laughed, calling to me from the outside of the carriage. Due to the scandalous nature of us being about without one of my relatives coming along as a chaperone, he was driving the horses himself, so there was no footman or driver to bear witness and begin a rumor.
"You shall see," I teased, leaning just slightly towards the window to be heard. Really, there was no reason to hide any longer- we were well past any civilization, and the warm summer day had melted into a humid rain that had no doubt forced people indoors. I looked out at the crumbling businesses and shops of Old-London that had been abandoned, vendors and merchants and storekeepers choosing to move closer to the center of the city as it expanded. "Stop just here."
Robert tugged on the reigns and climbed down from the drivers seat. As he came to open the door, he had shrugged off his cloak, and held it out to offer to me in the most dramatic of fashions. "For your reputation, Miss."
I laughed aloud at that, and despite the incredibly low chance of us being spotted so close to the very edge of the city, I pulled the hood over my head and face. "Follow me."
Leading the way up to one of the buildings, I stepped gently on the stone steps- they were old and falling apart, and I was surprised that they did not crumble entirely under my weight as I felt them shift uneasily beneath me.
Feeling almost as if I was floating through a dream, I knelt down, pushing away the loose board which had been shoved against the bottom part of the door that had been kicked out. "Follow me."
Crawling through the little hole in the door, I stood on the other side, brushing the dirt off my dress from where it had rubbed against the ground. In childhood, I had not needed to crawl like that- I had been short enough to simply duck down. But I made it through, and with a bit of a struggle, Robert did, as well. He did not bother to wipe his knees clean, and came to stand beside me, glancing about the old and crumbling building.
His turned to gaze at me. "Amelia, where are we?"
Tears built in my eyes as nostalgia hit hard . "My home."
I saw his confusion mingle with intrigue as I stepped forward, running my hands over the fraying rope that hung in the center of the room, suspended from one of the support beams above us. "This was the swing. Me and all of the other street-children loved to take turns on it. They would push me so high that it felt like I was flying."
The memories were flooding back to me now, though I had not been in the old and abandoned factory in almost a full decade. Once my Father had opened the charity school, all of the children I had once stolen with and starved with and survived with had flocked there, in search of the promised shelter and food and education.
Even now, I could so vividly recall the commotion of my childhood within these walls that it was as though it was taking place all around me. I could hear the chatter of young voices, the laughter and banter echoing off the walls. I could smell the stolen bread warming over the fire, see the phantom shadows cast across the floorboards by children whom had long-since grown up, I could picture their small faces so clearly in my mind.
They had been my first family. This place had been my first home.
I ran my hand across a block of wood that Eli had drug in himself once when he was scarcely seven years old, so proud of his find, which had been abandoned down by the river. "This was our bench. The children who were crippled and had a hard time getting up from the ground would sit on it rather than on the floor. Sometimes we even used it as a table, and we would pretend that the stolen bread we had was a feast fit for a King. John loved to play pretend, especially."
Robert came to stand next to me, running his own hand over the wood, as if he could just imagine the world I had grown up in- as if he could picture a smaller version of myself, along with all of the other children born into various misfortunes, doing what we could to imagine our lives meant something. "You were a thief?"
I smiled at the irony of his question, turning to look at him. "I was the best thief. Until the day I was caught with my hand in Father's pocket. I was sentenced and sent to a reformatory school, but Father took pity on me and made the long ride to locate me. He adopted me out of the school, and when he came to understand my situation well enough, he opened the charity school. He wanted to create a better world. I just had the fortune of being around to see it made."
Robert went quiet again, and I made my way over to the stairs, gliding my hands over the familiar railings as I made my way up the creaky steps. I heard the Earl making his way up just behind me.
"This is the fire pit," I noted, gesturing to the scattered rocks laying about. They had once been stacked neatly atop one another, keeping the wooden floors safe from the heat, and creating a barrier for the flames to be kept in. "When we took shelter here in the Winter, it would be cold enough to kill. The chimney was ripped away and the bricks sold as scrap, but the hole left over proved well enough to filter the smoke out. A stroke of luck, I suppose, and we are lucky that the lot of us never died. A group of children as young as us likely should not have been playing with fire. And just beside it, that circle scratched into the wood- that is where I learned to play marbles. We only ever had the clay ones- never the glass marbles."
Robert's sharp eyes took in every detail, seeming captivated by the story of my childhood that I was playing out for him. Perhaps I should have been embarrassed as all of my secrets were revealed, all of the rough patches of my life laid out for him.
But I was not embarrassed. I wanted him to know me, to understand me. And, undeniably, this building and the wonderful, thin, dirty, hungry children whom had once taken shelter in it with me had helped shape me into the person I was.
"This was the bed I always tucked John into," I said quietly, finding it strange how tiny the mattress looked to me now that I was grown. It was in far worse shape than it had been even back then, flattened and hard, all of the hay that had once been stuffed inside of it gone. "I would sleep on the floor just beside the bed. He used to squeeze in with two other boys at a time- he always wanted this specific corner-bed, because it was so close to our spot."
"Your spot?" Robert's voice was gentle, and I was pleased to find he did not come across as judgemental in the least.
I nodded. "Yes. Come."
Turning, I reached for the metal ladder, which now had a strange copper-color to it. I began to climb, reaching up to loosen the wedged board that locked closed the flapdoor in the ceiling. We made our way to the roof, coming to stand and look out at the city.
"This view is splendid," Robert said, admiration in his tone as he looked out at the river and the outskirts of the city. This far out, it looked just the same as it had when I was little- there was little expansion taking place near the older buildings of London. We were on the very edge of the countryside.
"It is," I agreed. I moved to sit on the very edge of the roof, allowing my legs to dangle over the side as they had in my youth. "John and I would come up here sometimes, if the constant shouts and arguments from the other children in the Factor grew to be overwhelming. It was my only place of peace."
Robert came to stand on the edge of the roof, leaning over precariously to look. I gripped his leg, as if I would be able to do anything if he fell forward.
He seemed to notice this, as well, and he laughed as he glanced down at me. "You realize that if I fell forward, you would not be able to pull me up? My momentum would only drag you down, as well."
"Then perhaps do not stand on the very edge of the roof so!" I scolded, though I could not help but laugh with him. "You are not a bird perched on the edge, and you haven't wings to catch yourself!"
"How would you know what I have?" Robert asked cheekily, and I laughed again.
"Alright, Robert the Robin," I jested right back, standing to step away from the edge myself. "Let's come over here before you give me a heart attack. There is one last thing I wish to show you."
After a comedic show in which he pretended he was falling over the ledge, he obediently made his way after me, coming to sit beside me just behind the barrel near the back of the roof. I reached for a rock, and leaned in to scratch a picture into the wood of the barrel, finding room among all of the other doodles.
Robert leaned close to take in the fading drawings. "Amelia, did you draw these?"
"Yes- but I was only a child, so do not judge them too harshly," I pleaded, making a face at one of the scratched images. I supposed by the crown that my 7-year-old self had intended for it to be the Queen, though it looked more like a pie with uneven holes stabbed into the to crust. "John made some, as well."
After examining the drawings for a few minutes, and nodding approvingly at the tree I was working on scratching into the barrel, Robert laid back against the rooftop, resting his arms behind his head as he gazed up at the sky. The slight sprinkle of water had come to an end, leaving the roof below us only slightly damp. "So, what of you and John?"
I glanced towards him, not quite understanding the question. "What of him?"
"Well, you two seem quite close." There was a strange undertone to his voice- a tenseness. It made me laugh as I came to recognize the cause.
"John is like my brother," I promised. "I have known him since he was just a toddler- he could not say who his parents were or from where he hailed. I was about five when I found him, I suppose, and he was so hungry that he was near death. I did what I could to nurse him back to health, and we stayed near to each other from then on."
Robert's face no longer held any signs of jealousy. "Truly? I would never think him to come from anything but good blood."
Glancing away, I tried to hide my expression. But he saw- Robert seemed to always see. "Amelia?"
"I am not very fond of that expression," I admitted, feeling as though I were coming across as far too sensitive. I fiddled with the bow of my dress, not looking at him. "I do not believe there is good blood or bad blood. I was born into poverty, but am still loved by my noble family, whom are all supposedly born from good blood. And you can never convince me that John is of bad blood, while Molly of all people is of good blood."
He was quiet for a moment, thinking. "I have never thought of it like that. I will admit, I have never actually put much thought into the expression. But..."
"But what?" I waited tensely for him to make some comment about me, something that would reinforce in his mind that there was indeed good and bad blood. What if bringing him here was a mistake? What if he turned his back to me now, after realizing I was not of a noble past?
Robert sighed, glancing at me theatrically. "Well, are we sure that Molly is not adopted? Surely there must be something to explain that girl."
I burst into laughter, glad that I did not feel the need to put a hand over my mouth or try to censor the sound to be more ladylike in front of him. It felt so freeing. "Perhaps you are right there, Robert Robin."
"Is that what you shall call me from now on?"
Waiting a few moments for my giggles to settle down, I looked at him once more, judging his reaction. "I think I rather like the nickname. Do you take offense?"
He smiled. "On the contrary, I find that I rather like you making up nicknames for me."
Leaning back, I laid down beside him on the roof. The storm cloud in the sky had passed us over almost entirely now, but there was another approaching... more rain was yet to come.
"You know," I said, interrupting the peaceful silence between us. "When Elizabeth was trying to write that first letter to you, she could not think of what to say. I suggested she tell you that she like your eyes."
"Oh?" I could hear the amusement in his voice, and knew that he was remembering the day with with Charlotte and I out in the garden behind my home.
I nodded, already giggling at the memory. "Yes- she thought it a strange thing to say. But when she tried to make that point, she said that she had no clue what color your eyes were, and asked if I knew. I said green immediately, and everyone turned to stare at me. My sister, Michael, John, Eli- they were all there."
Robert laughed at my misfortune, and I found myself struggling to restrain my own fit as I tried to finish the story. "I- I had to play it off by saying I was worried you may be Irish. And they all simply accepted that, as if checking one's eyes to see if they are not Irish is a completely normal thing."
"Well, you may rest assured that I was born and raised here in England," Robert finally managed- it had taken us several minutes to calm ourselves. "I would never be so bold as to be Irish, of all things."
"Do not worry- I think I would still like you, even if you were." I assured him solemnly.
In a tone just as serious, he replied, "Oh, then you must like me very much indeed."
And despite the clear joke in our banter, I could not deny the intimacy that passed through our gaze as our eyes met. In that moment, I was certain that he genuinely understood how much I cared for him.
I was also certain that he cared for me in the exact same way. And, at least in that moment, that was enough for me.