Black Rose

needed to see. Beauty, charm, grace. She didn’t see that the red gown sagged at the breasts, bagged at the hips, and turned her pale skin a sallow yellow. The mirror reflected the tumbling tangle of curls, the overbright eyes, and the harshly rouged cheeks, but her eyes, Amelia’s eyes, saw what she had once been.
    Young and beautiful, desirable and sly.
    So she went downstairs to wait for her lover, and under her breath, she sang.
    “Lavender’s blue, dilly, dilly. Lavender’s green.”
    In the parlor a fire was burning, and the gaslight was lit. So the servants would be careful, too, she thought with a tight smile. They knew the master was expected, and the master held the purse strings.
    No matter, she would tell Reginald they needed to go, all of them, and be replaced.
    And she wanted a nursemaid hired for her son, for James, when he was returned to her. An Irish girl, she thought. They were cheerful around babies, she believed. She wanted a cheerful nursery for her James.
    Though she eyed the whiskey on the sideboard, she poured a small glass of wine instead. And settled down to wait.
    Her nerves began to fray as the hour grew late. She had a second glass of wine, then a third. And when she saw through the window his carriage pull up, she forgot to be careful and calm and flew to the door herself.
    “Reginald. Reginald.” Her grief and despair sprang out of her like snakes, hissing and coiling. She threw herself at him.
    “Control yourself, Amelia.” His hands closed over her bony shoulders, nudged her back. “What will the neighbors say?”
    He shut the door quickly, then with one steely look had a hovering servant rushing forward to take his hat and walking stick.
    “I don’t care! Oh, why haven’t you come sooner? I’ve needed you so. Did you get my letters? The servants, the servants lie. They didn’t post them. I’m a prisoner here.”
    “Don’t be ridiculous.” A momentary disgust flickered over his face as he evaded her next attempt at an embrace. “We agreed you’d never attempt to contact me at my home, Amelia.”
    “You didn’t come. I’ve been alone. I—”
    “I’ve been occupied. Come now. Sit. Compose yourself.”
    Still, she clung to his arm as he led her into the parlor. “Reginald. The baby. The baby.”
    “Yes, yes.” He disentangled himself, nudged her into a chair. “It’s unfortunate,” he said as he moved to the sideboard to pour himself a whiskey. “The doctor said there was nothing to be done, and you needed rest and quiet. I’ve heard you’ve been unwell.”
    “Lies. It’s all a lie.”
    He turned to her, his gaze taking in her face, the ill-fitting gown. “I can see for myself you’re not well, Amelia. I think perhaps some sea air. It would do you good.” His smile was cool as he leaned back against the mantel. “How would you like an ocean crossing? I think it would be just the thing to calm your nerves and bring you back to health.”
    “I want my child . He’s all I need.”
    “The child is gone.”
    “No, no, no.” She sprang up to clutch at him again. “They stole him. He lives, Reginald. Our child lives. The doctor, the midwife, they planned it. I know it all now, I understand it all. You must go to the police, Reginald. They’ll listen to you. You must pay whatever ransom they demand.”
    “This is madness, Amelia.” He pried her hand from his lapel, then brushed at the creases her fingers had caused in the material. “I’ll certainly not go to the police.”
    “Then I will. Tomorrow I’ll go to the authorities.”
    The cold smile faded until his face was hard as stone. “You will do nothing of the kind. You will have a cruise to Europe, and ten thousand dollars to assist you in settling in England. They will be my parting gifts to you.”
    “Parting?” She groped for the arm of a chair, melted into it as her legs gave way. “You—you would leave me now?”
    “There can be nothing more between us. I’ll see to it that you’re well set, and I believe you’ll regain your health with a sea voyage. In London you’re bound to find another protector.”
    “How can I go to London when my son—”
    “You will go,” he interrupted, then sipped his drink. “Or I will give you nothing. You have no son. You have nothing but what I deem to give you. This house and everything in it, the clothes on your back, the jewels you wear are mine. You’d be wise to remember how easily I can take it all away.”
    “Take it away,”