The morning light filtering through the ornate windows of the mansion was a stark contrast to the dim, dusty sunlight I was used to. I lay in a soft, comfortable bed, the linens smelling of lavender and fresh air. This was so different from the itchy hay of the stable or the cramped mat on Eliza's floor. A wave of guilt washed over me. I was a runaway, a fugitive, and now I was enjoying luxury while my family was gone and my brother was a slave.
I sat up, my head throbbing from the bruise I got when I was hit with the bat. The bandage felt tight against my skin. I looked over and saw Eliza sleeping soundly on the bed beside mine, her face peaceful for the first time in weeks. It was a good thing Amelia gave us separate beds.
I got up quietly and went to the large, luxurious bathroom. I stared at my reflection in the gilded mirror. The bruises on my face were still there, a constant reminder of everything I had lost. I looked haggard and exhausted. I splashed cold water on my face, but it didn't wash away the shame or the grief. I had failed my family.
After getting dressed in one of the beautiful nightgowns Amelia had given us, I went to the kitchen. Amelia was already there, humming a soft tune while a maid prepared breakfast. The aroma of freshly baked bread, sizzling bacon, and brewing tea filled the air.
"Good morning, dear," Amelia said, turning to me with a warm smile. "You're up early. You should rest. You look like you need it."
"I can't just rest, Madam," I replied, my voice stiff. "I… I can't stay here for free. I want to work. Please, let me help with the chores."
Amelia paused, her expression gentle. "My dear, you are my guest. You don't need to work. Just focus on recovering."
"No," I insisted, my voice firm. "I have to. I have to do something. Please."
Amelia saw the desperation in my eyes. The girl she remembered was feisty, yes, but this one was haunted. The fire was still there, but it was now a cold, burning ember of pain. She sighed.
"Very well," she said. "But only if it makes you feel better. You can help the maids with dusting the books in the study. Is that alright?"
"Yes. Thank you so much," I said, a hint of relief in my voice. A task was a distraction. It was a way to feel useful.
As I went to the study, I heard Eliza's footsteps behind me. Eliza had woken up and was now beside me, fully dressed.
"I want to help too," Eliza said, her eyes determined. "We can't just be a burden on her. After all she's done for us."
I nodded, grateful for her support. We found the maid, a kind-faced woman named Clara, and told her we wanted to help. Clara was initially hesitant, but after seeing our earnestness, she handed us dust cloths and pointed to the shelves.
The study was immense, lined with floor-to-ceiling bookshelves that smelled of old paper and leather. As I moved from shelf to shelf, running the cloth over countless spines, my mind was a whirlwind of thoughts. I replayed the terrible events of the past week: my mother's quiet suffering, my father's desperate gambling, and Leon's terrified scream as he was taken. The raw pain was still fresh, a wound that wouldn't heal. And then there was Eliza, who had almost been sold herself.
I thought about the men who had taken my brother and hunted us down. The tattooed brute, the disgusting bar owner, and the magician in the stables. I had a clear image of their faces etched into my memory. They were all connected somehow. I clenched my fist around the dust cloth, a silent promise. I couldn't get a job now, not with those men looking for us. But I would find a way to get stronger. Strong enough to take them all down. I had to.
Eliza noticed my scowl. "What are you thinking about?" she asked softly.
I swallowed hard, forcing my face to relax. "Nothing," I lied, but I knew she didn't believe me. The guilt of dragging her into this mess weighed on me, even as she stood by my side. I just wanted to find my brother. I had to. It was the only thing left.