A Second Chance by Shayne Parkinson

the
smile that lit up the woman’s face, and the mouth shaping her
name.
    Sarah swept onto the boat in a whirl of blue
silk, the rustling of her taffeta skirts audible above the voices
around her. A lively-looking boy of about twelve was close at her
heels. She made no visible attempt to push her way through, but
people seemed to stand back to let her pass. She reached Amy and
enfolded her in an embrace so strong that it was like being hugged
by David.
    ‘You’re here,’ Sarah said, almost breathless
with elation.
    Amy rested against her, weak from the
buffeting of emotions, and too happy to squander energy on
inadequate words.
    Sarah sent the boy to collect the baggage.
With her arm still encircling Amy, she led her towards the
gangplank, and in a shorter time than Amy would have thought
possible the boy had joined them on the wharf with her luggage
safely under his arms.
    There was a carriage waiting, close to the
top of the steps. A man tipped his hat to Amy and helped her in.
Sarah got in beside her, while the luggage was stowed away in the
back. The boy scrambled up beside the driver, so like the man that
Amy was sure they must be father and son. Sarah took Amy’s hand in
both of hers and squeezed it, then glanced forward to the
coachman.
    ‘Home, Jenson,’ she called.
     
     

3
    After what seemed only a few minutes, Amy
found herself stepping down from the carriage and standing before
Sarah’s house.
    The building was two storeys high, with a
broad, curved entrance porch and a balcony above that. Used as she
was to the unpainted wood of the cottage, the white plaster seemed
almost dazzling to Amy. Large-paned windows patterned with lace
curtains softened the rigid lines of the house.
    Their approach must have been heard by those
inside, for by the time Sarah led Amy up to the entrance the staff
had assembled below the front steps, ready to be introduced.
    Sarah’s household staff consisted of a
cook-housekeeper (the wife of Mr Jenson), two housemaids and a
kitchen maid, with the outside work being taken care of by Mr
Jenson, who acted as gardener as well as coachman, assisted by his
son.
    ‘Mrs Stewart will be staying with me for
some months,’ Sarah told the staff when they had been presented.
‘And I’d like it understood that any instructions from Mrs Stewart
are to be treated as if they had come from myself.’
    Amy was aware that she was being studied,
discreetly but carefully, and she sensed a deeper interest being
taken in her after these words. Sarah had mentioned having house
guests from time to time, but Amy suspected that the guests were
not usually accorded the status Sarah had just conferred on her.
She was grateful for the gesture, though it was difficult for her
to imagine herself giving orders to any of the staff.
    One of the maids took charge of Amy’s
luggage, while Sarah ushered her into a large entrance hall, where
the other maid helped Amy and Sarah off with their cloaks. A
chandelier hung from the ceiling, a gorgeous thing of sparkling
crystal catching the light from the open front door. Amy had little
time to take in more details before Sarah led her to the foot of
the broad staircase that dominated the hall.
    ‘I’ll show you your room straight away,’ she
told Amy. ‘You’ll want to change, I expect. And you’ll need to
freshen up after that boat trip. Alice, some hot water to Mrs
Stewart’s room, please.’
    ‘The jug’s filled and ready on the wash
stand, Miss Sarah,’ the maid who had taken the cloaks said
promptly.
    ‘Good. That will be all for the moment.’
    The staff dispersed to their various tasks,
and Sarah ushered Amy up the stairs and down a short passage to
where a door stood open.
    Amy followed her into the bedroom, then
stood stock still, staring around open-mouthed. The cottage’s
parlour and David’s room together would not have filled this room.
An ornate brass bedstead stood against one wall, with a pretty
dressing table opposite it. There was a