Read Online Awakening Amelia by Kate Pearce - Free Book Online Page B

quality of horseflesh and humankind improved dramatically. He had a vague sense that he knew these streets quite well. He turned onto Clifford Street and walked along it, aware that the fashionable gentleman were giving him a wide berth and eying him suspiciously.
    It seemed that a badly dressed soldier no longer received the respect one might have imagined after defeating a French emperor. In truth, half the men he’d seen on the streets begging had the look of ex-military men, which in his somewhat biased opinion, was shameful.
    He located Stultz’s place of business and, taking off his borrowed hat, stepped into the shop. The bell on the door rang, and an immaculately dressed young man came toward him.
    “Deliveries are round the back.”
    “I’m not delivering anything.”
    The salesman sneered. “We’re not giving the likes of you work, either, so get out.”
    Marco held his ground and stared into the man’s eyes. “I wish to speak to Mr. Brown, Mr. Stultz’s assistant. I have a letter from him.”
    “Give it here.”
    “I would prefer to give it to him myself.”
    Something about Marco’s cool tone finally seemed to unsettle the salesman. “Stay by the door and keep your thieving hands to yourself, you hear me?”
    Marco took a step back and smiled. “Thank you.”
    He waited patiently, aware of voices in the back of the shop until an older man emerged and came toward him, his expression incredulous.
    “Who did you say you were?”
    “I didn’t.” Marco shrugged and held out the letter. “I’m not sure who I am. That’s why I’m here.”
    The man read the letter through and looked up at Marco again. “You don’t remember who you are, sir?”
    “No. Why, do you know me?”
    Mr. Brown swallowed hard. “I’m not entirely certain, but I believe I do. We all thought you were dead!”
    “Who did you think was dead?”
    “Major Marcus Stortford.”
    A roaring sensation filled Marco’s ears, and he grabbed hold of the countertop to steady himself. Marco, Marcus… was that really him. Could it be?
    “Sit down, sir, please,”
    A chair was hastily shoved behind his knees, and he collapsed into it, his head in his hands as a thousand images cascaded through his mind like the release of a dam full of water. He caught the smell of brandy as a glass was thrust into his hand and he brought it to his lips.
    “Dear God, dear God…” He realized he was speaking out loud and carefully shut his mouth.
    “Shall I fetch a doctor, Mr. Brown?” The obnoxious salesman sounded rather frightened and young now.
    “No,” Marcus managed to force out the word. If he didn’t gain control of himself they’d be packing him off to Bedlam. “I’ll be fine. Just give me a moment.”
    A while later, after Mr. Brown had pressed a new set of clothing on him to make him look “more like a gentleman”, Marcus was ready to set off again. His new path took him past Fletcher Square onto fashionable Oxford Street and into Mayfair. He seemed to know his way around quite easily, but no one seemed to recognize him, which was a blessing. There were still huge gaps in his memory, but he was fairly certain that Marcus Stortford was his true name.
    He found his way into one of the lending libraries and booksellers and spent a few moments looking up the Stortford family in Debretts. Strange that he couldn’t remember where he lived, or how many siblings he had… After a few moments, he had to close the book against the beginnings of one of his black headaches. A clock chimed four times. He needed to get back to the brewery to help Jem load the cart.
    Gripping his parcel of new clothes under his arm, he started back down toward the Thames and the less salubrious area of the docks where the brewery was situated. Part of him didn’t want to go back, but he’d promised Mrs. Smith he would at least return.
    He found Jem easily enough and enjoyed the physical effort of loading the barrels simply because it stopped him having to