She leaned against the closed door, breathing heavily; closing her eyes, she tried to block the hurt in her father’s face. A small clearing of a throat startled Amanda’s eyes open. Molly. Dear Molly, who despite being ill-used, awaited her with a hot bath. Amanda rushed toward her and enveloped her in a desperate and tight embrace.
“I’m so sorry, Molly!” Amanda cried on her shoulder; she was sorry for hurting her maid, sorry for disappointing her parents, but more than anything, she was sorry she could not help those poor people in the cage. Were they in the Marshalsea even now? Did the young boy have anyone to care for him?
Molly patted her shoulder. “My lady, there is no need to carry on so. We will get you dressed and comfortable soon enough. Come now, let’s get you into the bath, and you can tell me all about it.”
“Oh, thank you.”
After the dirt from London’s streets had been thoroughly scrubbed from her body, Amanda sat in the soothing water and recounted all that had happened.
Molly gasped at her description of the crowd. “You could have been seriously hurt, or worse.”
When Amanda described the people in the cage and their refusal to leave, Molly wiped her eyes. “Those poor souls.”
Amanda squeezed water from her hair. “Why were they so without hope, so devastated that they wouldn’t even budge from their prison?” After a moment of reflection, her thoughts took a different direction. She turned in the tub, chin resting on the side of it. “You’ll not believe who rescued me. Lord Nathaniel.”
Molly gathered her things in a small pile as she talked. “He saw you run out the door, miss. He left faster than anyone else, even without a proper cloak.”
Amanda considered this information against his claim of having other business in the area.
The two discussed all the events of the day, especially Henry Hunt and his great speech.
“He said so many wonderful things.” Amanda stood up, reaching for the offered towel. “I am going to write them down before I forget.”
“I would like to read them if you wouldn’t mind sharing.” Molly busied herself, gathering Amanda’s clean clothing.
After Molly helped her dress in her nightclothes and left her, Amanda sat with a candle late into the night at the small table in her room. Her pen scratched on the paper as she wrote line after line, dipping again and again into the ink, recounting all the words she could remember coming out of Henry Hunt’s mouth. And as she wrote, the fire of their message burned ever brighter in her heart.
She couldn’t wait for Molly to read them. She was certain everyone in England should read these powerful words. As she wrote the last few lines about his message, a plan began forming in her mind, beginning with a copy made of her notes and sent to The Times. Surely the newspaper would want to print it as soon as possible.
Sleep far from her mind, she felt an old urge to sketch. As Amanda looked through her sketchbooks, she came across the drawings of her sparrows. She had drawn them frequently in her youth: in their cage, taking baths, eating food, singing. She smiled at the happy memories.
She shuffled through the drawings, seeking one in particular. There, at the bottom of the stack. Her heart sped up at the sight of it. She had captured the moment the birds broke free, their heads pushing forward outside the cage door, wings behind them, about to unfold in the wind. On that day long ago when the world did not seem to have a place for her free spirit, she had finally set her sparrows free. With their freedom, she found exhilaration and peace, even acceptance of the new direction her life would take.
Amanda found her charcoal and a blank sheet of paper. She began sketching, starting with the boy’s eyes: haunting, desperately hollow. The longer she sketched, the greater the peace that enveloped her. She began to hum, drawing the mother and infant. Eyes furrowed in concentration, the unkempt hair and soulless eyes transferred from mind to page. Each image became more and more clear.
She put all her effort into the emotion of the faces. She tried to understand, to piece together a puzzle. As she drew the lines on the mother’s face from memory, she studied her haggard expression. She saw love, but not joyful and hopeful—more of a despairing kind of love. It was as if this mother had no indication that her life could ever be different from what it was. Everyone in the cage must have felt the same.
This realization, that they had no escape from their situations, brought such an immense amount of sadness to Lady Amanda that she didn’t think she could bear it. Her heart ached for the people she did not know, and she vowed then and there to make it the duty of her life to help in some way.
How would she ever be of any help to these people? Could she be of much influence? Perhaps—she still wielded quite a bit of power, and from now on, she would use it to help people.
Molly came back into the room and Amanda said, “Oh good. Could you take a look at this?” She showed her the new sketches. Molly gently touched the eyes of the little boy. When she finally looked up at Amanda, there were tears in Molly’s eyes.
“Fliers, Molly! I’ll draw fliers, satires. The ton is fascinated with them.” They were mostly fascinated with gossip, but people were always talking about the next flier.
“This is a right good thing you aim to do, my lady. If I could, I’d like to help you. I don’t know how we will do it, what with two men trying to win your hand and all the ton watching your every step, but heaven help us, I want to try.”
Amanda let out a great breath of relief. “Oh! Thank you, Molly. I could never do this without you.” And then she smiled a pleased, secretive smile. “I do believe we are going to have a bit of fun with this. To begin, I wonder if you could find a way to commission the creation of my own signet ring.” She held up one of her drawings of the birds. “And on it, I would like the image of a sparrow.”