Jane smiled then, and Amelia could sense genuine affection in her expression. "He told me he'd loved me since we were children, and looked forward to our marriage." Now she sounded uncertain of herself and her plans, and Amelia seized the moment.
"And Robert?"
Jane seemed to glow with emotion. "He loves me; I know he does. I can't describe to you the way I feel when I'm with him; it's as if I burn with a rare fever-"
Amelia wondered if anyone had ever bothered to tell this young woman the difference between sexual desire and love, for it was clear she'd confused the two. She did remember reading about Jane's upbringing. Her parents had died, and she'd been shipped off to live with two maiden aunts for the remainder of her childhood.
Not the best way to receive any instruction in life.
They'd probably been relieved to be rid of her, glad of the arranged marriage. Unmarried women without means had to struggle to stay alive, and Jane would have been perceived as just another mouth to feed. The young woman was woefully unprepared for what her future held.
Amelia decided to try. She couldn't live with herself if she didn't. Perhaps if she could make Jane come to the decision by herself, think it was her own, it wouldn't technically be changing the past by much.
"You're sure you don't love Jonathan?"
Jane almost faltered, but Amelia could see the young woman pull herself together. It was a heartbreaking picture, that stubborn little chin rising to the challenge.
"Quite sure."
"Where did you meet Robert?"
"We met at the-"
The sound of booted feet could be heard on the stairs, and Jane hurriedly smoothed her hair, then the front of her skirts.
"Emma, how do I look?"
"Splendid."
The door swung open, and Amelia's heart sank as she got her first glimpse of Jane's Robert. She felt as a mother might feel, with her darling daughter caught in the clutches of a truly bad boy.
"Emma?" Jane indicated the door with a little nod of her head.
Amelia knew she was to sleep outside the door, as was the custom. But how could she leave Jane alone with this man? He looked exactly like Dickens's description of Bill Sikes in Oliver Twist-big, bad, and coarse. A brute. How could Jane not see it?
"You wish to be alone with him?" she whispered, not liking the look Robert was giving her from beneath his heavy-lidded eyes.
"Yes. Robert won't hurt me. We're to be married in the morning." Jane turned toward the man, and the look on her face, shining innocence and anticipation, tore at Amelia's heart.
"I'll be right outside the door," she offered, but neither of them was listening to her.
Once outside, she curled up into a small ball on the hard wooden floor. Her cloak served as both pillow and blanket, part of it bunched beneath her head, the rest covering her from the chill night air.
It was quite cold, away from the warmth of the fire.
A noise like a kitten crying drew her out of a deep sleep. Half awake, she listened, almost relaxed again, then heard it. Louder. Then a deeper, masculine murmur.
A sharp cry. A slap. Amelia sat up, completely awake. All thoughts of sleep flew from her mind. She stood, arms and limbs protesting, then approached the thick wooden door.
The sounds of a scuffle. Another slap. A deep, cruelly amused masculine laugh. Then a howl of pain, and then a scream
Enough. Amelia didn't care what century she was in. If she didn't have a whole lot of time left in Emma's body, she'd give the stout little maid a new consciousness before the end of the night. It was about time eighteenth-century England heard of women's rights.
"Stop it!" Her voice sounded loud and authoritative in the low-ceilinged hallway. "Let go of her."
Another scream, then Amelia was pounding at the door.
"Quiet down!" someone called.
"Give it to her, mate!" another voice called from another room.
Jane was screaming, fighting; the sounds of the fight seemed to go on forever. Amelia pounded on the heavy wood, clawed at it, not even noticing the splinters that gouged her broad, freckled hands. Her only thought was to get to Jane before the bastard murdered her.
It seemed forever before he finally opened the door.
"Little bitch," he said, looking down at her. "Making that kind of noise. Who do you think you are?'' With that, he slammed his fist into her face.
Blood spurted from her nose, filled her mouth. She fell like a stone, heard Robert's laugh, felt the bite of his boot in her ribs; then he was clattering down the stairs and away.
She couldn't breathe, the pain in her side was so bad. But she thought of Jane, and crawled toward the room she'd shared with Robert. She didn't want to see, couldn't bear to see; she'd have to cut her down; what if Robert had-
The small feminine figure was huddled beneath the bed linen. Shaking. Crying. Sobbing as if her heart had been broken, as indeed it had.
"Jane," she whispered, wiping her split lip with the cuff of her dress as she made her way to the bed. She winced as the rough wool abraded the tender flesh. "Oh, Jane."
That beautiful face was bruised; the life was gone from those vibrant green eyes. Instead she stared at the shadows the fire threw on the slanted ceiling, her expression lifeless. Except for the tears. They kept running down her face.
"Jane." Not knowing what else to do, she gathered the weeping girl in her arms and simply held her while she sobbed. And thought, irreverently, that Emma's broad, cobby little body was perfect for this type of nurturing.
Jane's dress was torn, her face bruised, her lip split. Her eye would be black by morning; it was swelling shut. What should have been the happiest day of her life had turned to a nightmare.
A white-hot rage burned in Amelia's heart as she rocked the girl, back and forth, whispering words of comfort, remembering what her father had said when she'd skinned both knees trying to learn to ride her first bike. Only this was so much worse.
By the time Jane let her peel the covers back, Amelia already knew what she would find. Blood was flecked on the linen, Jane's chemise, her thighs. Blood that signified her virginity. Robert had taken that, as well.
Perhaps it was more of Emma's consciousness coming through her, but Amelia knew what they had to do.
"We're going back to Lindsey House, Jane-"
"No! Oh, no!"
"Come on. Let me make the decisions for now. You're in no condition."
In the end, their decision was made for them by the innkeeper and his wife. Rushing upstairs after the commotion was safely over, they both demanded to know who was going to be responsible for settling up the bill.
Jane just stared at the two of them, her lifeless green eyes dull and uncomprehending.
Amelia decided to bluff it out. Neither of them looked that tough, and what could they do that would be any worse than what Jane had been through? Throw them out?
"He took base advantage of the lady," Amelia said quietly as she gathered up Jane's bag, her few possessions. "We'll both be leaving now, and not troubling you further."
"But what about the money?" the innkeeper's wife demanded. Jane started to sob again, and Amelia realized that the innkeeper was cowed by his overbearing wife.
She addressed her comments toward the wife. "As God is my witness, you should be ashamed of yourselves for what you allowed to transpire beneath this roof tonight." Before she was halfway through her statement, she was pushing Jane out the door and toward the stairs.
Something happened when the young woman started to move. It was as if part of her came back to life. Her pace quickened, and even though Amelia realized she was barefoot, she didn't dare try to go back for her shoes.
"I want my money!" the innkeeper's wife demanded. "Filthy little whores!" Her face was turning an ugly mottled color, and Amelia hoped they could get out the door of the inn without her trying to pull their hair out by the roots.