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“Hal, can you hand me that wrench? No, not that one…the large one.”
Lady Amanda Fitton, just eighteen years old, lay on a dolly under her beloved car, completely covered in grease. Her shoulder throbbed if she worked in one position for too long; she was still recovering from the gunshot wound she’d suffered several months ago.
With her porcelain skin liberally smeared with car grease, the young woman looked a sight, and certainly not one of high position.
"Lady Amanda." She giggled when she thought of the very idea. There certainly weren’t many highbrow ladies of Albion who bathed under a scullery pump anymore. Luckily, before he departed, their good friend Campion had offered to help bankroll some proper indoor plumbing and electrifying the rest of the house for the family. It would take some time for the paperwork to go through properly, and the Fittons still needed to take in P.G.s in the meantime. Adventures aside, Amanda relished the idea of a long, luxurious bath in a warm room.
She twisted the wrench and switched out a rusty bolt.
Campion. The name drifted through her head like music.
Since dear Albert had risked life and limb to help the family reclaim their ancient title, Amanda’s head still swam with a strange new feeling that overwhelmed her. Perhaps this is what those women in novels were always going all swoony over; she couldn’t tell. She had certainly never felt this sort of wave over Steve the delivery boy, or any of the Pontisbright fellows who hung about the garage. She had always dreamed about being swept away by some dashing Mr. Darcy type – hard to find in the village, to be sure.
She dreamily remembered how strong Albert Campion’s hands felt around hers, and wondered just how experienced they were. She was brought back to boring reality by a small spray of oil hitting her face. Wheeling herself out from under the car, Hal took one look at his sister and howled with laughter. She tossed her hankerchief at him and made a face.
“Finally! I think that’s done it. Will you do the honours, dear brother?”
Hal grinned and jumped into the car. It turned over without a problem.
“Purrs like a kitten!” he shouted.
“Nothing like a job well done, if I don’t say so myself,” she beamed. “I daresay that gaping old heap will last another twenty years.”
“I’m still aghast that the sister of an earl fixes cars like a greasemonkey. For shame, Lady Amanda.”
“I certainly don’t intend to waste my days moping about a great old house, rattling my jewellery around and barking orders at people. Albert says I’ll be a fine engineer.”
“Albert this, Albert that,” teased Hal. “Don’t tell me you’re next on the wedding list.”
“And why not?” she laughed. Of course the idea was absurd, but it didn’t stop her from asking Albert to wait for her to catch up.
“You’re half his age at least,” he replied.
“He’s just thirty-two,” she said. “Anyway, Mrs. Watson is twenty-five years younger than her husband.”
“They’re BOTH old.”
Amanda laughed and threw her grease rag toward Hal, who ran off toward the village.
-o0o-
Amanda’s thoughts started to drift toward pleasant memories of Mr. Campion’s amiable face. What cheek she’d had, asking him to wait for her! A flush grew over her cheeks. Hal was probably right. Surely he’d marry someone else, someone refined; a lady - probably not so handy with a monkey wrench. Her face fell. She felt a strain of concern that the family hadn’t heard from him in weeks, and they were still unsure if he would be attending Mary and Guffy’s wedding.
The postman rode past on his bicycle and rang the bell.
“Hullo, Miss Amanda,” he said cheerfully. “I have something for yeh. On nice paper, too.”
Amanda smiled and lunged for the prized envelope. She recognized the spidery script.
“Owww-ww!” she shrieked as she moved her shoulder forward too quickly. Although mostly healed, the gunshot wound she took from Savanake was still tender sometimes. She rubbed her shoulder. The postman smiled and pedaled down the lane.
She ran inside and grabbed a currant bun from the plate. Mary saw the letter in her hand and a suspicious smile crept over her face.
“What’s that, then? Love letters from your secret admirer? Amanda! Why, your face is scarlet!”
“Oh, please. I’ve just been running.” Mary tickled her until Amanda relinquished the letter. Mary beamed when she saw the return address of Mr. Campion.
“It IS your secret admirer,” she laughed. Since her engagement to Guffy Randall, Mary had become a little less insufferable and much more lighthearted.
“Mr. Campion is merely my…commander in chief,” scoffed Amanda, shoving the bun in her mouth and taking a massive bite. She continued with her mouth half full, to Mary’s disgust. “and I’m sure this is regarding your wedding.”
“Then why isn’t he responding to me?” chuckled Mary. “Go on, I’ve teased you enough.”
Amanda bumbled upstairs and flopped on her bed. She opened the letter hastily, taking in Albert’s neat, tidy script with a tiny flip of her stomach.
Hullo-ullo Lieut,
Apologies for the beastly lateness in my missive. I was most unfortunately held up in an entanglement with an artist colony. Adventures galore - listen to nothing you may hear about my acute intoxication and escapades around Londontown. All true. Amanda, promise me you won’t take up spiritualism unless, of course, it brings in a hefty side income. Most tiresome hobby. I shall explain further when I see you next. Am not entirely sure if I can make the wedding, but I will do all I can if nothing pops up. I trust all is well with the modernisation of Fitton House? Tell me the details and if I can be of assistance. Old Lugg sends his regards and I send my
Warmest affections-
A.“Orph” C.
Amanda felt her face get hot. She realized, with some embarrassment, that her heart was pounding as if she had been running, and she felt a thrill course through her body unlike anything she’d ever felt.
She took up her pen and promptly wrote back to him. She got out her good stationery, the paper Aunt Hatt had bought her last Christmas. She finally had someone worthy of its use.
Amanda placed the letter in the envelope and smiled. Despite his language, Albert was likely coming to the wedding. She still had to get a dress for the occasion. Guffy’s family was terribly rich – she still couldn’t quite believe the Fittons were, too, but she still looked like a ragamuffin in those coveralls, and her long hair was still straight out of the pre-Raphaelite period. She still didn’t know the first thing about fashion, and had little interest, but she knew she was going to have to wear something memorable for this event. She still had quite a sum left over from the money Campion had wired her during the escapade. She wasn’t keen on wearing her mother’s old leg o’ mutton sleeves, so she decided now was a good a time as any to get a dress.
She popped her letter in the postal box, hopped in her car and drove up to Norwich.
-o0o-
“Bills, bills, official correspondence…and a letter, on fancy stationery no less,” said Lugg. “Postmarked Pontisbright.” He handed it to Mr. Campion with his breakfast, with a little gleam in his eye.
Campion tried to disguise the grin that spontaneously overtook his mouth, but Lugg’s unwavering eyes caught it.
“Thank you, Lugg.” Lugg hovered around, hoping to read what the letter said, much to Campion’s consternation. “Thank you, Lugg. I’ll not have you read my private business, no matter how much it interests you.”
“If you ask me, Cock, I think you’re a li’l bit sweet on young Miss Fitton.”
“I didn’t ask, and don’t be absurd. No one can accuse me of spotless living, but I’ll not be accused of cradle-robbing. …Oh, alright. If you must know the sordid details, she did ask me to wait six years for her hand in marriage.”
Lugg laughed so hard he nearly dropped the tray. “Cheeky little monkey! Ah, g’wan. What’s six more years, then? You’ve been goopin’ about for much longer than ‘at. She ain’t no birdbrain like the rest of ‘em. Never anything boring about those ginger wimmen. Mark my words.”
“I shall let you know in six years. If you’re still working for me. Which, at the moment, is looking less and less likely. Now let me read my letter in peace.”
Lugg laughed, waved him off and waddled back to the kitchen.
Campion opened the stationery and tried to ignore the quick little flutter of his heart as he pored over Amanda’s letter.
Hullo Orph,
Apologies heartily accepted and understood. I have heard nothing about your tales of mischief, but it sounds awfully sordid! Look here, old thing, I’m advising you to lay off the firewater. Can’t chance you gallivanting about Pontisbright in a drunken stupor, can I?
We are nearly completely modernised and last week I took my first bath indoors, in my own home. I’ll never forget it as long as I live. Much nicer than those round things.
We all eagerly await your return to Pontisbright, and hope for your attendance at the wedding. I’ve loads of gossip and good news!
Yours ever,
Lady Amanda Fitton, 1st Lieutenant
Campion put down the letter and took a bite of bacon. He’d planned to avoid the Guffy Nuptials like the plague, because of the probability of running into Biddy Lobbett or any number of his former unrequited loves. Weddings always felt like a slap in the face to “Uncle Albert.” He sipped his tea and stared into space.
Lugg’s round face peeked around the corner. “So shall I be gettin’ your morning suit ready, then?”
-o0o-
Three weeks later, Guffy and Mary’s wedding day finally arrived. Amanda was nervous, as this would mark her true dèbut into “polite society,” since the earldom was granted to Hal. She had no idea what to expect out of Guffy’s family – he was from gobs of money and went to public school and all that. Guffy was alright, certainly. Amanda was quite fond of him and very happy that he’d decided to marry Mary. She wasn’t thrilled with the prospect of hobnobbing with the elite, however.
Mary didn’t have many young female friends and Guffy was an only child, so Amanda served as the only bridesmaid. Aunt Hatt’s best velvet certainly wouldn’t do for the aristocrats that would be descending upon them, so Amanda had visited a seamstress cousin in Norwich.
Although not exactly the high fashion of Paris, the bright blue color and becoming Grecian shape of the dress made the young Amanda look even more ethereal than ever, rather like a Maxfield Parrish painting. She looked decidedly out of her time, as usual. And as usual, she had no concept of this.
She’d seen it in a fairy story book her mother used to read her, and, bringing it along to Norwich, naïvely asked Gertrude if she could “make something a bit like that.” Gertrude, who had been expecting a more modern request with flutter sleeves and a bias cut, stifled her laughter. She was getting paid either way, so whatever Amanda wanted, she would get. Luckily, Gertrude was a skilled enough seamstress to make the garment look somewhat less out of the Art Nouveau period.
Amanda cheerfully hummed to herself whilst arranging some flowers on the fencepole outside the church. Mary was going to be a lucky bride: the weather was perfect. Sunny, warm, and full of tweeting birds. She cheerfully waved at the villagers, and looked upon the caravan of expensive cars that were beginning to parade up the lane toward the church. She saved a small bouquet of flowers and took them over to her parents’ grave. The gravestone was small; the villagers had kindly taken up a collection to pay for it when they respectively died. Amanda smiled and gently placed the flowers next to it. She got up and walked back through to the path to finish decorating.
Suddenly behind her, a she heard a pleasant tenor wafting from somewhere behind her.
Happy days are here again
The skies above are clear again
Let us sing a song of cheer again
Happy days are here again!
Amanda yelped, partly from being startled; partly in joy. The man came out from behind a tree, dressed snappily. He tipped his hat at her.
“Good lord, IS that you, Lieut? I shouldn’t have recognized you if it weren’t for your hair.” Campion’s face belied pleasant shock at the exquisite sight of his sweet little friend. "Sorry if I gave you a start, old thing."
Forgetting what she was wearing, her hair, her title, what the stuffy people passing by might think, the girl threw herself into Campion’s arms with careless abandon, ensnaring him in a bear hug. He was delighted to oblige. To anyone passing them, the pair looked utterly ridiculous, like a top-hatted owl hugging a woodland dryad. He kissed her exuberantly on the cheek.
“Oh, Albert! I’m ever so glad you’re here,” she whispered in his ear. “It seems the jewellery rattlers have arrived, and I was getting bloody desperate for someone I could really talk to.”
“A compliment, indeed. Deserved? Unsure. Remind me later to speak sternly to Scatty about teaching you such filthy language. Or congratulate him, I can’t decide yet.”
Campion laughed as he let her go and tenderly adjusted the cluster of white flowers that had fallen askew in her hair. Campion flowers, he realised with a smile.
Amanda laughed, took the arm he offered, and walked with him into the church. They parted ways in the church so Amanda could help her sister.
During the ceremony, Campion’s eyes never once left Amanda. He felt his heart stop when the light in the window hit her hair in a halo of fire. She transfixed him with her unusual beauty. She looked nothing like the piles of women in the church, with their marceled hair and makeup; Amanda seemed to have stepped straight out of childhood fairy stories he’d read. He mentally scolded himself for thinking improper thoughts about her. In a church, no less. If prompted to describe anything else that happened during the ceremony, he would have been unable to comply. He would, however, have given great detail in regard to Lady Amanda's bouquet, her pearl drop earrings, and how badly she fidgeted throughout the whole thing.
Afterwards, the reception was held at Guffy’s family home. The couple had decided not to honeymoon right away, in order to hold a reception party. They had organized a dance band. The village boys and aristocratic gentlemen alike showed little interest in Amanda, per usual. No matter. She had eyes only for a gentleman with round spectacles.
After Albert gave his regards to the happy couple and other acquaintances he saw in the midst. With Eager-Wright unable to come, Albert soon realized that his initial instinct to avoid the wedding was the right one. Guffy's friends were intolerably proper. He desperately wanted someone normal to speak with. His eyes searched around the room for Amanda, who was, at that moment, perched on a table next to the sideboard, cheerfully stuffing herself with biscuits and punch. His gaze accidentally landed on Biddy Lobbett and her Yankee husband. The old pain flared up in his heart as he saw his lost love dancing closely with her dearest Marlowe. Biddy looked utterly radiant. Campion remembered how shaken up he’d been when they married - he'd never felt anything so strongly for any woman as he did for Elizabeth. The normally-vacant, foolish face fell and he moved to the side of the room to avoid having to talk with them.
Amanda saw the whole sad display from her position in the room, and decided to rescue her friend. She wiped the crumbs from her lap, leapt off her perch, sauntered over, and grabbed his arm.
“I say, Orph,” she said. “It appears my dance card is free, if you’d like to sweep me off my feet.” Campion looked down, brushed an errant crumb off her mouth, and smiled sadly.
“If you don’t mind, Amanda, I don’t think I’m up to dancing at the moment. I’d love a stroll around the grounds, though.”
“Tell you the truth, so would I. Watching these rich old geezers dancing is most of the fun, anyway, isn’t it? They’re so…arthritic.”
“Come on, then, take Uncle Albert’s arm and let’s get some fresh air.”
“Does that fresh air include that spin in the Lagonda you promised me once?”
-o0o-
After a jolly ride around Pontisbright and a few farms, the two went for a walk around the East Garden, chatting pleasantly about adventures and town gossip, before perching on a bench under a lovely flowering tree.
“I forgot to warn you about Mrs. Lobbett,” she said simply.
“How did you know?” replied Campion, his face reddening. This girl didn’t miss a trick, and even more maddening, she brought it up in the open. No secrets with Lieut. She was even more shameless than Lugg, and he flatly told her so.
“Oh, I saw your face go all goopy when you saw her. I’m not blind, Mrs. Lobbett looks like an angel. At least you have good taste in women. Have all your female acquaintances gone off and married by now, Albert? You needn’t worry, you’ll always have me as understudy. I’ll make a fine wife. Aunt Hatt gave me the recipe for her currant buns you love so much. I'll make them for you every day.”
"Oh! Please don't," he laughed. "I don't know where Aunt Hatt got the idea that I was so keen on them. I'd rather a muffin."
Albert tried to ignore her previous string of chipper, brutal honesty. Instead, he found himself hypnotized by her fiery hair, set ablaze by the sun’s dwindling light. Her honey-coloured eyes sparkled with that unnerving look of hers, which clearly said she knew exactly what was going through his head. It drove him mad, but never brought forth anger.
She got up and wandered around dreamily, spinning, taking in the beauty of the sky. Nighttime was falling. The air soon took on that delicious lovely warm-chilly feeling of late spring. She shivered a little as she adjusted to the slight temperature drop.
“It’s going to be a lovely night,” she mused, rubbing her arms. The material of her dress was quite thin, just enough for her to feel a little cold. She sang along in her unpractised soprano to the tune echoing in the air. Albert recognised it as one of his own favourites. Not wanting to appear wanton, he stared off at the sunset and responded flippantly.
“Yes, I do believe you’re right.”
“Let’s have that dance, Mr. Campion.” Amanda stepped over toward him and cheerfully bopped his arm..
Albert’s eyes sparkled with mischief. “Alright. Do you know how to foxtrot?”
Amanda laughed and shook her head no. Campion took her squarely in his arms. Amanda gamely positioned herself so they could move to the band music emanating from the ballroom. Albert was a fair dancer, and she an eager student, and they soon found themselves whirling around on the veranda, laughing. They did not notice Biddy Lobbett coming outside, watching them with a tender smile on her face.
“I say, Albert, you dance much better with young Amanda than you ever did with me!” cried Biddy cheerfully. “Two left feet.”
With that, Amanda howled as Campion accidentally stepped on her foot. He apologized as Amanda hobbled over to the bench. She laughed and waved him over to Biddy. She knew what was bothering him and didn’t feel like making a nuisance of herself. She knew her place.
“Hullo, Biddy,” said Campion, as cheerfully as he could.
“Hullo old thing.” They kissed each other on the cheek chastely. “How are you doing? I hear that you have become good friends with our Amanda. She speaks so very highly of you. Rightly so.”
Campion smiled, not wanting to further embarrass Amanda, responded, “Clearly, I have never lost that skill. Did you know that Miss Fitton – er, Lady Amanda, rather, has agreed to work with me one day? She’s currently training to be my first lieutenant.”
Biddy smiled. “Of course she is. Better watch, Albert, she’s a thoroughly modern woman. Might give you a run for your money.”
“Keeps me on my toes,” he smiled. “I’m only getting older.”
Biddy smiled. “Well…I’d better get in before Marlowe worries about me. He’s so concerned of late.” She leaned in and whispered in his ear. “…It’s not officially announced just yet, but in about seven months there will be a new addition to our family. Do pop round to see us one day. So good to see you, Amanda,” she waved. A cloud of French perfume wafted behind her. Albert stood there, as if his feet had turned to stone.
“So…are you still in love with her, then?” asked Amanda teasingly.
“No,” Albert replied with rare honesty. “I’m not. Really, truly.”
“She’s very kind to us,” chirped Amanda, without a trace of jealousy. “I always liked her.”
Albert sat down on the bench next to her, took off his glasses, and ran his hands over his face. Amanda nudged his arm gently.
“Albert?”
“Yes?”
“I'd like to hear more about your life.”
“Would you, really?” he asked, absently.
“Yes. After all, when we're partners, we're going to have to be brutally honest with each other, aren't we? Entertain me with your escapades. I wish to remember them so one day I will become a world-famous authoress.”
“Only if I don’t get to publishing it first, you little fiend,” he said, affectionately.
An hour or two passed quickly, as guests filtered in and out of the ballroom in various states of intoxication. Albert animatedly recounted stories of his upper-class childhood, his fall from grace with his family for working, and his never-ending troubles with the fairer sex. He even disclosed his genuine name to Amanda, explaining that it was certainly the most necessary information for anyone planning to work with him one day. For some reason, Albert felt completely at ease discussing his closest personal secrets with Amanda. Perhaps it was her youthful glee, or that when it came down to it he barely knew her, but she was lovely to sit with and have a good talk. She reciprocated with a few stories of her own. What a jolly storyteller she was, too! Finally, the two realized how late it had gotten.
“I had such a wonderful time, Orph. I’m happy that we got to spend a few moments in a setting that didn’t involve people after us with revolvers.”
“Speaking of that, how’s your shoulder?”
“Mended almost entirely.” Her face fell.
“Something’s worrying you. Say, what was the good news you planned on telling me?”
A tear formed in Amanda’s eye as the weight of the news began to feel real. “You probably won’t be hearing from me for a while,” she said, slowly. “I’ve will be leaving in a fortnight to work with a famous engineering firm, then beginning my schooling in earnest. Designing airplanes. I plan to make the most out of my title, if I'm not to be one of those old bats in there. Hal is simply aghast, of course, but as you well know, I’m not the finishing-school type.”
Albert took her small, white hand in his. “No, and neither you should be. If you’re worried about whether I’ll replace you in our contract for future partnership, fear not. The invitation is open forever. And I shall need a brilliant mechanic on my team. Lugg is useless in that capacity, and frankly, so am I.”
Amanda laughed. “I never feared that. But I will be out of the country for who knows how long. Looks like I’ll be in Sweden for a year or so, and after that – who knows. We won’t be crossing paths for a long time.”
“You’re not reneging on our personal arrangement, I hope? I assume you’ll complete your education before your six years are up. If someone young and idealistic hasn’t already snatched you up as his battery-obsessed bride.”
He tried unsuccessfully to hide the anxiousness in his voice with that glib tone. Although he was excited for his friend, the evening with her had been so spellbinding that he suddenly felt that familiar tear in his heart for losing yet another dear soul in his life. At least this one wasn’t marriage-minded.
“Not likely. As you said yourself, this dangerous line of work isn’t exactly conducive to conventional domestic bliss, is it?”
“Since when are either of us conventional people? Learn all you can. I will tell my stationer to strike the engraving plate for a set of calling cards the minute you’re fully trained. And for god’s sake, Amanda…” He stopped mid-thought, lost in her eyes, afraid to say what was really on his mind. There would be no going back if he opened his mouth, and he knew it was the worst possible timing to even think it. "Take care of yourself."
It was getting late, and Albert had a long drive back to London. He truthfully could not stay over in Pontisbright, as he needed to keep an early appointment. They walked over to the Lagonda.
She wished him a safe travel, and he pulled her in for a final embrace. As he felt her in his arms once again, smelling the sweet perfume in her abundant hair, he tried to ignore the lump in his throat at the prospect of really, truly not seeing her again. To break the gloomy cloud that had fallen upon them, Albert pulled out his small cluster of little red campion flowers from his buttonhole. He pinned them in her hair next to her own campions, and kissed her tenderly on the forehead.
“See you in the funny papers, Lieut,” he croaked, hopping into the car as she waved him good-bye.
And like that, he was gone.
They would not see each other again for a very long time.