Lord Day and Lady Night

55. The Imaginary Girlfriend Strikes Again!

It took a moment until Angeline felt the eyes on her. Her gaze flicked from one of her friends to the next, only to find that they were all intently gazing at her. Angeline's eyes slowly shifted to the window, through which a long line of waiting coaches was visible. Coaches full of people which she had not noticed so far.

Realization hit.

"You...!" Raising an accusing finger, she jabbed it straight at Amy. "What do you think this place is? A bloody five-storey hotel?"

"Nah." Amy shook her head, beaming at her. "We ain't blind. We know perfectly well dis 'otel only 'as three storeys."

"Those are nine coaches full of people out there! Nine bloody coaches full!"

Amy's smile didn't waver for a second. "Told ye I'd bring ye a big surprise."

"My mother is staying here! As in here, in this house! She'll be back any minute now!"

"Ah." Amy nodded, trying her very best not to smirk. "So ye got one less free room den."

"Argh! You...you are...!"

"Da best of friends?"

On the other hand, why not smirk? It's such a fun thing to do.

"In all fairness," Patrick interjected, placing a hand on Amy's arm. "I grew up in this place. It does have a lot of rooms. But enough for seventy people? I am afraid that, Miss Amy, as difficult as it is to accomplish, you have overestimated my mother's planning for future grandchildren."

Amy frowned. She'd been pulling her friend's chain, but that didn't mean they didn't genuinely need a place for those women and children to stay. "But if we don't house them here, then where?"

They all looked at Cora.

"Huh?" She raised a hand. "Oy, I only just got into town. Sorry ta disappoint ye, but me 'ubby doesn't 'ave a place 'ere."

"And I'm a 'umble vicar's wife," Jenny added. "Not even da church back 'ome would be big enough ta squeeze everyone in."

Amy's mouth twitched humourlessly as everyone's gaze fell on her. "Don't look at me. Ye know as well as I do, my place ain't bigger dan a stamp, and much less fit ta live in."

Everyone's gazes turned to Patrick. He raised an eyebrow.

"What?"

"Well...dere are still empty rooms in yer 'ouse. And ye did take da last batch."

"Which, unlike this one, consisted entirely of underage girls." Raising a hand, Patrick pointed at Titus. "This is my best friend. He visits my home on a regular basis. Do you think I'm the right one to be entrusted with fifty traumatized, scantily dressed women?"

"He's right." Titus nodded sagely. "That would be a very bad idea."

"I know a place," Flo piped up, raising her hand. "Dere's an abandoned match factory two streets down from—"

Amy gave the girl a thump. "Ye are not gonna recruit traumatized victims as free labour!"

The girl's shoulders sank, her dreams of expansion and domination of the match market crushed in their infancy.

A few more suggestions were tossed around, but Amy didn't think that any of them were any more practical than Flo's. Her disappointment and vexation was mirrored on the others' faces.

"Tarnation!" Patrick muttered, one finger tapping the table in irritation. "If only I could think of someone! Anyone! Some older lady, maybe, someone involved in child care or—"