I laid across the sofa in the drawing room, trying to read as Elizabeth did her best to write a letter to Count Robert. Eli and John had stopped by for a visit, and as such, they were in the room, as well. Michael was sat on the window seat beside John, as Eli leaned over Elizabeth's shoulder to see what she was writing.
"Felix, why are you reading my sister's love letter?" Michael asked, glancing up from where him and Michael were fiddling with a globe- they were debating the places one simply must visit before they die. I thought it was all silly- I wanted a little property outside the hustle and bustle of the city, and I wanted to stay there.
Elizabeth sighed, dropping her quill. The steel nib clacked against the wood of the table.
"Love letter!" She scoffed, throwing her hair over her shoulder to get it out of the way. "I am only writing it because Mother demands it- Count Robert has already sent two bouquets this week, so I must send something in return. This letter though... ugh! I have written poems more romantic than this."
Michael made a face, theatrically covering his ears and quickly turning back to the globe as John turned it. "I want to know nothing of your poems," He muttered, disgusted.
My sister just groaned. "What is one to say to a man you are arranged to marry but do not know at all?"
"Tell him that you like his eyes," I suggested, trying to hide my smile at the way he had been charmed by little Charlotte's compliment. "Or send him some bluebells. I bet he would like that."
Elizabeth glared at me, assuming that I was teasing her. "Amelia, do not be ridiculous. Men do not care for flowers. And his eyes- what an awkward thing to say! I do not even know what color his eyes are- do you?"
"Green." It was only after everyone turned to stare at me that I realized it had been a rhetorical question, and that it was strange for me to know such a thing. Looking down at my book to hide my blush, I tried to keep my voice relaxed. "Did you not notice? I did immediately- I suppose he is of Irish or Scottish descent. That is always important to note when courting- it means any children you have will likely burn easily in the sun."
Elizabeth choked, despite not having reached for the glass of water just beside her letter. "Amelia! Do not talk of children! Are you mad?"
I breathed a sigh of relief, glad that I had somehow avoided an interrogation. "I'm sorry, you're right. It was just what came to mind. Perhaps ask him if he prefers strolls or tea- that will give you some idea as to what the two of you should do."
She nodded, exhaling and wringing one of her curls around her finger. "Yes. I should ask about him- show that I am interested. Good idea, Amelia."
I thought it best not to mention that I was genuinely interested in what his answer to that question might be.
As Elizabeth set back to work, Mother came in, setting the vase of roses that Count Robert had sent to my sister on the desk just beside her. Then she turned to Michael, John and I. "Elizabeth needs to focus- why don't you lot go on out to the garden?"
Though I had already spent a good part of my day reading, drawing, and working on my French lessons out in the garden, I could hear in my Mother's tone that it was not truly a request. So I stood, following the boys outside.
My brother hurried ahead of us- likely to find a rugby ball, so him and John could play. While Michael was generally very liberal about the boy-activities that I could partake in with him, I knew that he would draw the line at rugby- it was too physical, and both him and John outweighed me by too much. They had played more roughly with me in childhood, before they had come of age and suddenly outgrown me in size seemingly overnight.
Eli did not care much for sports, but I assumed he would play out of etiquette since he was here.
As Michael hurried to find the rugby ball, John slowed his pace to match mine. He walked beside me, and I felt his eyes on me. When I turned to face him, he was smirking. "So, the Earl has green eyes, does he?"
I quickly glanced away, feeling my face heat. Of course John had caught that- he had known me longer than anyone. He knew how out of place it was for me to take note of such a thing. "Shut it, you toad."
John laughed, but said no more of it. Soon enough, Michael arrived with the rugby ball, and I was cast off to the sidelines, once more stuck watching as the boys partook in an activity which I could not, simply because of the sex I was born as.
What a world it was I lived in.
****************************
Just after church that next Sunday, I accompanied Father to the charity school. Elizabeth had been pressured by Mother to accompany her out to the Earl's home, stating that it was rude to allow him to make all the journeys himself.
I had not been invited. Instead, I had decided to dedicate my afternoon to getting to know some of the children who were now attending the charity school. With all of the children I had known in attendance now grown and living their own lives, I had no real connection to the school or the children within. Even most of the teachers, and the Headmaster, were all fairly new. I was eager to return to the deep connection I had once felt- after all, I had been a street child, myself, once. Nobody could sympathize or guide these children better than I could.
As always, Father had sent word that we would be coming for an inspection. And, as always, the Headmaster was waiting by the door. Lord Bentley looked particularly gray-haired that day. He was certainly a strange looking man, I realized as I approached him, always seeming to have an expression that lay somewhere between confused and suspicious.
Why was he a Lord, anyway? He owned no real land, and held no real title. The only conclusion I could come to was that he had some distant relatives that I was unaware of, or he had simply given himself the title. I assumed it had to be the latter, seeing as I had never heard of a Lord reigning over a school.
Lord of the Charity School, perhaps. That had a ring to it.
As Father and I were guided around the school as usual, I made note of the impeccable cleanliness. There was not a speck of dirt in sight, nor a single sock discarded on the floor. There were also no toys laying about, despite the almost constant donations coming in, and the large number of children populating the school.
But then why were there no wooden blocks that I could see? No dolls, no spinning tops, no marbles or jacks or wooden horses? Had there not been children at every corner and window, mopping, dusting, and sweeping, I may not have even known that children resided here.
"Lord Bentley, why are the children doing chores at this time of day?" I asked. "The last time we visited, it was later in the day, and they were doing chores then, as well. What time exactly is allotted for such tasks?"
Lord Bentley looked over his shoulder at me- I had trailed behind them as I took in the sight of several small children doing their best to reach the higher panes of the tall window in the hallway. "Well, it can vary by day, depending on the activities we have planned. I find it best to keep children busy as much as possible- idleness isn't good for young ones."
Father nodded in agreement, no doubt remembering all of the games and studies and tasks Miss Lancing had assigned for Elizabeth and I for the same reason in childhood. But something about the Headmaster's words- this whole school, which had once felt so comforting and familiar to me- left a nauseating feeling in the pit of my stomach.
"What activity have you got planned for this afternoon?" I inquired, frowning at a little girl who was trying to clean to top of the stair railing. She looked to be about five years of age, and was trying to pull herself up high enough on the rail to dust the top of it. She was leaning too far forward, and looked as if she would topple head-first down the three flights of stairs at any moment.
As if reading my mind, the little girl suddenly tipped forward, her legs flailing as her upperbody slumped forward, over the railing. It was only by the grace of God that I was close enough to grasp her ankle, stopping her from falling several stories to the first floor.
Father was by my side immediately, helping me pull the shaken girl back over the railing and setting her on her feet. While I thought the trembling of her body was a result of the near-death experience she had just endured, she threw her hands over her head, instead, as I leaned down to check that she was alright.
"I'm sorry!" She cried. "I did not mean to, I was only trying to clean the railing, I-"
"Hush," I interjected, straightening her dress- it had been draped above her head when she had fallen head-first. "Nobody is angry with you. Are you alright?"
She lowered her arms, but kept her hands clenched into fists in front of her face, as if still expecting me to strike out at her. She nodded, her gaze focusing on me for just a few seconds before moving to Lord Bentley.
Again, she apologized. "Sir, I did not mean to, I-"
Lord Bentley held up a hand. Though he showed no outward signs of anger, I could not help but note that the vein in his forehead looked ready to pop out. "Now, Lottie, what have I told you about that railing?"
Little Lottie swallowed, looking as if she were thinking hard. She did not seem to recall the conversation, and just choked out a meek, "Sir?"
"I have told you that you are far too young to be playing near the stairs, haven't I? And to leave such chores to the older girls?"
The little girl gaped up at him. "But, Sir, I never-"
"And to behave such a way in front of visitors," Lord Bentley interrupted the little girl, shaking his head in disappointment. "You knew better Lottie, and decided to be reckless and try to show off. Go on to Mr. Phillys, now, and tell him you have earned ten demerits."
Lottie stood frozen in place, seeming petrified.
Lord Bentley raised a brow. "Shall I make it twelve?"
Tears built in the little girl's eyes. "No, Sir."
"Go on, then."
The nausea in my stomach grew stronger as Lottie rapidly blinked back tears, her shoulders shaking as she passed by us. I watched her go anxiously. Something just felt... wrong here. He had been too fast to punish, and had not at all inquired as to if the child was alright.
Turning to look at Lord Bentley, I did my best to keep my voice even. "How do the demerits work now? I only know the system that was used with the previous Headmaster."
Lord Bentley turned to head back down the stairs, and I hesitated, wondering if I should follow after Lottie. But then Father's arm was on my shoulder, guiding me down the stairs. And like the coward I was, I followed.
"It is a similar system," Lord Bentley informed me. "At the suggestion of your Father, the children here receive consequences that are related to the misbehavior. So for such a misdeed while doing chores, she will likely receive an extra hour of chores."
I looked at him. "Only extra chores?"
Lord Bentley sent me a winning smile. "Have you another suggestion? I am certainly open to ideas."
In truth, additional chores for doing chores incorrectly sounded very reasonable. But it just did not add up to me. Lottie had seemed so upset- and while I understood a girl of her age being upset by any kind of rebuke, the fear I had seen in her gaze could not be explained away by an extra hour of chores.
But Lottie was also at a charity school- at this charity school. The one that had been created specifically with the intent of getting children off of the streets of London. That meant that the little girl had undeniably come from some dark background- the flinching, the fear, the tears... surely that could all be explained by her coming from an abusive home or workhouse. Certainly such fears and reactions would take time to fade away, especially when she was still so young and small and vulnerable.
Those words kept replaying over and over in my head. Young. Small. Vulnerable. Indeed, Lottie was all of those things. All of the children whom attended this school were. That was why the school existed- to shelter them, to protect them. They were safe here. That was the entire point.
And yet, as I boarded the carriage with Father and rode away from them all, the sick feeling in my stomach only grew.