“Oh! There you are,” Julia greeted her as if she was actually looking for her and wanted to speak to her. Veronika was finishing in her bathroom and watched as the American approached.
“Look at these… can you believe? I told Sam I needed a mobile phone and a computer, what… two hours ago? And look.”
Veronika shrank back as Miss Julia showed her a sheaf of papers, all of which had tiny writing and pictures of phones or computers on them.
“‘Pick one,’ Sam said, ‘and I’ll have it delivered to you this afternoon.’ This afternoon!” Miss Julia shook her head and Veronika watched the shining, fair hair move around the woman’s tired face. Unlike Lord Ashton and his mother, this one, Veronika could tell from her own awful experiences, was in mourning.
In Russia, when you lost a loved one, you wore black and you beat your chest and you cried and screamed and followed the coffins throwing yourself on the ground while you cursed God. Veronika knew this, she’d done it three times in her short life.
Not here, not in England.
Here, one day Lady Tamsin and Mister Gavin were alive, the next day, they were not and it was business as usual.
Veronika had walked in on Mrs. K snuffling into her handkerchief and Carter hadn’t spoken for a week, walking around tight-lipped and pale.
But, the family had showed no signs that the slightest thing was amiss.
But Miss Julia looked like she could use a black shawl around her head and good scream and beating of the chest. Her grief was etched in every line of her body.
In her short, sad life, Veronika had lost her mother, father and sister. She knew grief and the look behind Miss Julia’s eyes was a look Veronika had seen in the mirror many a morning (and sometimes she still saw it in the mirror). She could try to hide it but it showed.
“Which one should I pick?” Miss Julia asked, sounding genuinely like she wanted an answer.
Veronika stared at the papers, not understanding the words written on them.
“I do not know,” she answered in her heavily-accented English.
“I don’t know either,” Miss Julia sighed and walked down the hallway. Little Ruby was laying on her back on the bed, arms and legs splayed out like she was arrested in the act of making a snow angel. Julia jumped on the bed and pulled the child’s t-shirt up and blew a raspberry so loud on her belly that the child shrieked with laughter. It made Veronika want to smile. She hadn’t heard laughter in this house in… well, she’d never heard it.
Though, of the three children, Veronika knew Ruby would one day find it the hardest. She didn’t know what she felt now, just loss and bewilderment. To her, Mummy and Daddy could come back any day.
But one day, without the precious memories the others enjoyed, Ruby would have the hardest time of all.
“So, you’re coming with us to London?” It took a moment to register that Julia was speaking to her she was so used to being ignored. Veronika stood there, carrying the towels Julia had used the night before.
“I… yes. To look after children,” Veronika answered.
“Have you ever been to London?”
Veronika shook her head.
“Then you’ll go with us on Saturday,” she decided and Veronika just stared. “We’re going to Kensington Palace to see Diana’s gowns and to Madame Tussaud’s to see all the waxworks.”
“And the Tower of London where they chopped off people’s heads!” Ruby shouted, even though both women were close enough to hear.
Julia turned and looked at Veronika, her tired, sad eyes kind.
“Would you like that, Veronika? To see Diana’s dresses?” she asked.
“And the place they chop off heads!” Ruby shouted again and Julia smiled indulgently at the child.
Veronika didn’t know what to say. She was paid to do what she did. Would she get sacked if she went sightseeing in London? Mrs. K said the American was now a member of the Ashton family and should be treated thus. If Miss Julia told her she must go then she couldn’t refuse.
She’d always wanted to go to London, she’d always wanted to go anywhere and everywhere, to travel and have adventures, see things, meet people, eat different food and hear different music. But those were dreams and even though she was only seventeen she knew that her life was this. Work and loneliness, not sightseeing in London. Any dreams Veronika had were long since dead.
“Don’t worry, Veronika, we’ll take care of you,” Miss Julia assured her in her soft, throaty voice, watching Veronika closely.
“Yes! Auntie Jewel takes care of everyone. That’s what Daddy always says.”