Amaryllis, Chapter 1 (incomplete)

[lostsheep_inprogress]

 Chapter 1

As soon as Amaryllis opened her eyes, she knew they had lost the house.

"Get out of bed this instant, both of you!" her mother said, her voice irritable with panic. She was shaking Amaryllis's sister in the other bed, pulling the blankets off as Emerald groaned in confusion. "Take whatever you can carry. We must get in the carriage post-haste."

Amaryllis was already sitting up, rubbing at her eyes as if it might clear her head faster. The windows were dark, the room lit only by her mother's candle. "Why must we hurry, Mama? Who is coming?"

"Never you mind," her mother said. "Only hurry!"

"But what about our things? The things we can't carry?" Emerald was out of bed now, clumsy with sleep as she began gathering books and bonnets and her sewing bag.

"I'm sure we can have someone send them along later," her mother said, and rushed out of the room, leaving them in darkness.

Amaryllis lit her bedside candle. "No one's going to send anything along later," she said softly, "so make certain you take everything you want most."

"But what's happening?" Emerald sounded frightened. Only twelve years of age now, she would have been nine—no, eight—the last time. Old enough to remember, Amaryllis would have thought, but perhaps she had hurried to forget it. It was easy to forget, after such a long time of peace and security. Apparent security.

I should not have let myself be lulled, Amaryllis thought angrily. I should not have let this catch me off my guard.

"What's happening," she said, "is that Father has gotten himself into trouble again, perhaps with dangerous people. They are hot on his heels, and we must leave before we are prevented."

Emerald's eyes were wide and shining with tears. She looked even younger than twelve, in her nightgown with her golden hair hanging loose and disarrayed. "Rilly, I don't want to leave," she said. "I am supposed to go to tea with the Becketts tomorrow. And next week is the church picnic—"

"I know." Amaryllis, in the process of tying her pockets round her waist and filling them with everything she could, paused long enough to embrace her sister. "I'm sorry, Emmie. But it is as good to say, 'I do not want this book to fall' when you have already dropped it. There is no other way for things to be. Now pack everything you can into your sewing bag, and your pockets, and this basket—that will be as much as you can carry. Put several layers of clothes upon your body. And do it quickly."

Rilly turned back to packing her own things, and dashed irritably at the tears she had not meant to allow.

--

She felt very heavy and inelegant as she descended the stairs, weighed down with clothes and bags. Her pockets held not only the sketchbook, sturdy scissors and secret bit of money she always carried, but everything else that came to hand and would fit, from handkerchiefs and hair-ribbons to cheese and a small looking-glass. The clock at the foot of the stairs called the hour; a quarter past one in the morning.

"Go on out to the carriage, Emmie," Amaryllis said, and went to the kitchen, where she could hear her mother crying.

"This was our first teapot, Rilly," she said, wiping her nose as Amaryllis entered the room. "One of the first things we bought when your father and I married. It won't fit in the trunk. There's no way to carry the teacups but I thought perhaps the pot—"

"I'll carry it, Mama." Part of Rilly wanted to scream at her mother, but that was unfair. Mrs. Wickham didn't want to leave Bath any more than the rest of them did, that was certain, and this time—this time—she probably had nothing to do with why they had to go. Amaryllis picked up the teapot, a beautiful thing painted with roses. "I'll carry it on my lap. Come along, now."

The clock that had chimed, that must be left; a shawl on a hook by the door; the rug on the floor; a charming collection of knick-knacks on the mantle; most likely all of their dishes but the teapot. Rilly's mother wept into a handkerchief, but let Rilly lead her outside. She was, Rilly thought, taking this departure rather harder than usual, but perhaps she, too, had thought that this time they might be settled for good.

Outside, they descended a steep, narrow stair from their little townhouse to the street, and the carriage that waited there.

"At last!" called her father, hanging impatiently out the carriage window. "You women will take all day about these things, and never mind if we end up in the jailhouse because of it!" Beyond him, Amaryllis could see Emmie, her hair already falling from its hurried bun, crying into her hands.

They managed to crush everyone into the carriage, their laden clothes making each of them take up more room than ordinarily—all but Papa, who looked much as he usually did, his clothes very fine at first glance and very cheap beneath. Rilly squeezed herself in next to her mother, and settled the teapot on her lap along with the two small bags she had filled to bursting.

"Off we go, then, and do put some spirit in it!" her father called to the coachman, and with a lurch they were off.

Looking back at the house was not very comfortable, so Rilly did not do it very long. There was little to see, in any case, in the darkness of one in the morning—only the candle in the window of the bedroom that she had forgotten to blow out, merrily lighting a room she would never see again.

--

"But where are we to go?" Emerald asked as their carriage passed out of Bath, chased by only a very few grey hints of dawn.

"Your mother and I shall go to London," said Rilly's father, smiling and bright as if they were riding to a picnic. "It is the very best place for avoiding notice while turbulent events settle themselves. And you does so enjoy London, don't you, my pet?" He reached over to chuck his wife's chin; she blew her nose, and appeared only very slightly mollified—but perhaps willing to be more so.

"You and Mother," Emerald repeated. "But what of me and Rilly?"

"You and Rilly, my dear sweeting, are in for a treat," said their father. "For you are to go all the way to Derbyshire, and have a long-overdue visit with your aunt and uncle Darcy."

"Aunt and uncle Darcy?" Nothing could have shocked Rilly more. She had never met most of her aunts and uncles—only Aunt Kitty, really—but she had certainly heard her parents speak of them. Elizabeth Darcy was her mother's sister, and she and her husband were both very rich and very haughty about it. There was some manner of longstanding grudge between the two families, perhaps several grudges; in any case the Wickhams had never been invited to the Darcy home, not once in twenty years, and while Rilly knew the Darcys had sent them money once or twice when they were in dire need, it was always grudgingly done and the amounts bitterly insufficient. "But why have they invited us, after all this time?"

"Oh, they haven't," Mama said gaily, and Rilly felt her stomach sink. "But I don't think it likely they will turn away a pair of lovely nieces when they turn up on the doorstep."

"Don't think it likely," Amaryllis repeated. And what on Earth were they to do if the unlikely came to pass?

"Kitty says they are to leave for London just past Easter," her mother continued, looking very satisfied with herself. "And their eldest daughter is to begin her first Season! Well, you and Anne Darcy are right of an age, Amaryllis—in fact you are a bit older—and it's a disgrace, that's what it is, for her to have a London debut and you nothing at all. My girls are as good as Lizzy's!"

"Indeed they are," their father said stoutly.

"And it's not our fault that we have not been so fortunate as Lizzy and Jane, and able to give our girls all the things they deserve! Any true aunt would be ashamed not to do everything they could to help us out."

"So you mean to drop me in their laps, and expect them to give me a Season in London, as if I were their own daughter?" Amaryllis felt a little sick, and tried to pretend it was from the motion of the carriage. "And what if they will not?"

Her mother waved this off. "Of course they will! After all, what is the expense to them? Nothing, I assure you. Mrs. Darcy spends the day wrapped in silk and eating delicacies from India, I have no doubt. Well, she can give up a tray of sweets and help her own niece without hardly missing it."

"What about me?" Emmie asked. "You can't think they will take me to London."

"Oh, you are far too young to be out, Emmie," her mother said, "more's the pity, for there's every indication of your being a great beauty, and that would serve us nicely. But even if you must stay at Pemberley for the summer, that will be no hardship! It is the richest estate in Derbyshire!"

Rilly clutched Emerald's hand. "Surely they would not separate us!"

"Oh, I'm quite sure they could," their father said grimly. "Mr. Darcy is the coldest man alive."

"But they will not know how to care for Emmie, she must stay with me! Or with you—"

Emerald jabbed Rilly with her elbow, scowling, and perhaps she was right. While their parents were familiar with Emmie's needs, that did not mean they would remember to accommodate them. Emmie was unlikely to be any worse off at a country estate with fresh food and good air.

"No, there won't be room for her with us," their mother said. "But I don't doubt she'll be just fine, Rilly. Honestly, the way you fuss over the girl, you'd think she was at death's door."

"I'm sure I shall be perfectly well, Rilly," Emerald said with great finality.

It was all very well for Emmie and their mother to be sure of it; that did not make it true. Reminded that being dragged from her bed and out into the night air was surely not to Emmie's benefit, Rilly looked her over, and felt of her forehead and hands, disregarding her impatient protests.

"Rilly, there is nothing at all the matter with me!"

"You ought to have something to eat," Rilly muttered. "Here, I have a bit of cheese."

"I could stand something to eat, too, since you mention it," her mother muttered, but Rilly only had enough for Emerald, and so she ignored her, fixing her sister with a stern glare until she took an obedient bite of the cheese.

"Amaryllis, I'm sure you understand what an important opportunity this will be, for all of us," her father said. "If you can form an advantageous attachment in London—why, it could change the fortunes of this entire family."

Amaryllis opened her mouth, but could think of nothing to say in response. She knew that what her father said was true, but she could only doubt her ability to succeed in the endeavour. She possessed none of the polish and elegance that was surely expected in a wife by gentlemen of the ton, and certainly no fortune whatsoever. Beauty could perhaps have outweighed those considerations, but she had none of that, either. Rilly's features were hard and thin, made all of sharp edges. If Emmie was a cherub, Rilly was, perhaps, a harpy.

"But if Rilly marries," Emerald said, frowning, "then she'll have to go and live with her husband, and leave us."

Their mother laughed. "That is the way of it, indeed! Any husband might be cross to find his wife refuses to live with him. But it will not be so bad, Emmie—just think, you can have a room of your own, and not have to share everything!"

"And it's not as if we shan't see her," said their father. "Depending on the size of their house, I daresay we shall see more of her than her husband might like, hm?" He smiled and nudged Rilly's shoulder.

"I'm eighteen years old, Emmie," Rilly said. "It is a perfectly normal thing that I should marry. Why, Mama was married three years, with me on her hip, by this age!"

"Yes," Emerald said, "and away she went with Papa, and has hardly seen her sisters since."