Mrs Ealing – Rosie as she had asked me to call her – started to remove the stacks of paper from three chairs.

I took a seat at the one closest to the door so I had a quick get-away had I needed one, but I did not think I would need one. This did not seem like a situation I needed to escape one, and I had seen plenty of those in the past. Although William had taken the time to partially explain why we had come to see her, I knew I would have to explain a little more and ask a few questions that I had never asked anyone before. He might have had good intentions, but I wished he had spoken to me about it first.

Once all the chairs had been cleared of paper, everyone sat down but no one wanted to say anything. I sat there and just looked around the room, taking in the scraps of paper and the piles that appeared to be never-ending. There were shelves with more paper but also little trinkets and what appeared to be a photograph in a wooden frame. On the wall behind the desk hung a painting of a small cottage alongside a stream. It looked like such a calming place, but I did not know if it was even real.

Rosie offered around a stack of shortbread biscuits with William taking a handful of them – how he could eat so many after that the amount of bacon he consumed remained a mystery – whilst I took one and only nibbled on the corner of it rather than eating it. I did not know what to expect from this impromptu meeting with Rosie, but I did not like the idea of having so tell a stranger everything about my life, even if William said it may help.

When Rosie moved to put the plate of biscuits back on the table, her dress sleeve moved and for the first time, I noticed the burn that wrapped around her left arm. It had scarred, like William's, but stood out a lot more and appeared to be larger, wrapping around her fingers and moving up past her wrist. She did not make a move to try and cover it when she saw me looking and instead just sat back in her chair and looked between William and me.

"If I am to know exactly how I can help, either one of you or both of you will have to speak. I cannot read minds, although don't go telling my niece and nephew that," she said.

"Since this was my idea, I guess I should explain it," William said. "We were wondering how you managed to move on from the fire and everything."

"That's a loaded question." Rosie sighed and pressed the palm of her hands. "Well, it wasn't easy. After Isabel died it was hard to adjust and even harder once I met Matthew for the first time in seven years. If it weren't for Robert or my brothers, I doubt I would have been able to move past it at all. Sometimes, having people who are there for you, even if you don't feel like you need them, is the best thing."

"That's easier said than done," I muttered.

"Perhaps, especially if the thing you are trying to move past was caused by someone you were supposed to trust. I know trying to rebuild that trust can be difficult, especially if you don't know who to trust and whether or not trusting someone is the right thing to do. But, despite that, you have William who, despite being a pain most of the time, will probably be the most helpful and Mr and Mrs Atkinson who I know would want to help you. You just have to be willing to let them help you."

"What if I don't want any help? What if I'm content with the way everything is now?"

"Then that is your choice, but you have to be sure it's the one you want. I changed my mind constantly after the fire. I went from being a servant to living at home with my brother to being trained as a nurse and now I do both that and help those who are in a similar position to the one I was in just a few years ago. The truth is, Lizzie, people can tell you what's best, they can try and convince you to their way of thinking, but you're the only one who can make your mind up. The decision about your future is yours alone."

"Really?"

She nods. "It's your future, you're the only one who knows what is right for you. Be it the adoption, or going into service, the choice is yours and I am more than certain that your decision will be respect whatever it is you decide."

I glanced down at my lap and spun the shortbread biscuit around in my fingers. Small crumbs broke off and dusted my lap, but I did not make a move to shift them and just watched the biscuit spin. For most of my life, I had been under the assumption that no one really cared about what happened to me. To them, I was just a nameless face, another victim to unfortunate circumstances that dictated how my life would turn out. Rosie had made me see things differently.

She went from a factory worker to a servant, to living with her brother and then a nurse despite the fact that everything had been stacked against her. Rosie had made her own decisions, chosen her own path to follow and had not let what had happened to define where she went or what she did. Somehow, she managed to figure it out all and discover just what she wanted to do but I just did not know. I knew it had to be my decision, that no one could tell me which option would be better, but I did not know.

Although talking to William about what happened with my foster family made it all a little easier to process, I still did not know whether adoption would be what I wanted. All those plans I had made with Charity of the years would mean nothing and I did not want to let her down when she had been the only one who ever really understood where I was coming from. I could not leave the orphanage without her, but I did not think the Atkinsons would adopt two children, especially since Charity had always been more stubborn than me and had never wanted to be adopted either.

"I should check on James, if he's left alone to deal with people for too long, he might start biting," Rosie said, laughing.

"Would he actually?" William asked.

Rosie shrugged. "With him, anything is possible."

She laughed and stood up, brushing crumbs from her skirt and heading towards the door. Before the stepped out into the main shop, she turned back around to face us, her hand leaning on the doorframe.

"Last piece of advice. Don't let that scar dictate your life. It's proof of the things you can overcome and don't let anyone tell you otherwise," she said.

With that, she walked through the door and disappeared from sight, but I could still hear her voice as she spoke to her brother and the other person working in the shop that I had yet to meet. William looked at me and tried to stuff his handful of biscuits into his mouth at one time, choking a little and ending up spraying the floor, and me, in crumbs. I pulled a face and brushed the crumbs off me before continuing to nibble on the corner of the biscuit.

Rosie's words swirled through my head as I tried to make sense of all of it. Perhaps this next week would help me to understand more of what I would be getting myself into if I decided to agree with adoption. All I needed to do was learn to relax a little more and enjoy myself. The Atkinsons could have sent me straight back to the orphanage after I fainted but instead agreed to allow me to stay for longer than necessary and did not find me out of place when I just turned up to breakfast.

The only thing I had to figure out was Charity and how she would react if I left her alone after so many years of being adamant that adoption would never happen. I know Rosie said to think for myself and what I want, but I could not see myself agreeing to something if Charity would not be there with me. Perhaps I needed to talk to her about it, find out a way we could both go together if I agreed. Until then, I intended to enjoy myself and get the most out of my time away from the orphanage.

"Come on, let's go and see if we can really get up to mischief," William said with a mouthful of biscuit.

"You're disgusting."

"Thank you."

William grinned at me and brushed the crumbs off his trousers, but he did not succeed and there were still small spots of crumbs. I ate the last of my biscuit and followed him out into the shop. The crowd of people had thinned considerably and the woman I had yet to speak to hand a mug of tea to Rosie's brother and one to Rosie as well. I found myself fascinated by the bolts of fabric that covered the walls, the different colours and types of fabric that seemed never-ending.

Matron always said that the clothing we had would be enough until we left, and it would be up to us to ensure we looked presentable wherever possible. My Sunday best had been made when I was seven and had to be mended and extended several times over the years. I am not sure it even fulfilled the criteria of being presentable, but Matron never said anything about it and she would not go out of her way to give us the material we needed to make something new.

I would have loved to have had the opportunity to have a new bolt of fabric, to make myself a brand-new dress or just something new. It had been so long since I owned anything new or had been given the chance to create something else. I ran my hand along the rows of fabric, feeling the different textures under my fingertips and marvelling at all the different colours that were on offer. My favourite one had to be a deep blue colour that matched the colour of the stream in the painting above the desk in the office. I grabbed onto a piece of the fabric and ran my fingers over it.

"Someone has a good eye," the owner of the shop said, I did not know what his name was.

"James, this is Lizzie Hayworth," Rosie said.

"Nice to meet you, Lizzie. That's is a lovely colour."

"It's beautiful."

"Lizzie made her dress herself," William said, hanging off the back of a chair.

"Really?"

"Six years ago. It's been mended and extended a fair few times since so it's not exactly the same dress."

"Hm. The stitching is really neat, far neater than Rosie and she has to suture people up." James laughed. "How long are you staying with the Atkinsons?"

"Until the end of the week."

"This fabric isn't the fabric of choice for most people so there is a lot there. Why don't we cut you some and you can go away and make yourself a brand-new dress?"

"I couldn't do that; I don't have the money to pay for it."

"Consider it a gift. I want to see it, though. Who knows, maybe you'll have a job with us."

Before I can protest, I watched James grab the bolt of fabric from the shelf and start to unravel it on a table and cutting off a rather large section of it. I wanted to be able to pay him for it, but I had no money to my name and nothing else to offer. Perhaps he was just being nice for the sake of it, but I did not understand why someone would just hand out something that must have cost a fortune. I did not deserve the gift.

With the fabric in hand, William and I left the shop with me feeling guilty over having accepted something that I could not say no to. James had also handed over some thread and other embellishments that I could add even though I had been adamant that it was all too much. I wanted to turn around, walk back into the shop and hand it over but I knew that would seem rude, so I had no choice but to accept it and follow through with his request.

What was the worst that could happen?

~~~

First Published - December 16th, 2020