6 Years Later

I walk through the door into the main room, pushing a strand of hair back. I brush imaginary dust off my cleaner's apron, still clutching a used rag doll in my hand. I look around the empty room, frowning when I don't see my angel.

Then I hear a familiar thumping as though someone is jumping down the stairs and I break out in a smile. The hallway door flies open and a bundle of dark hair spins into my arms, it's legs wrapping themselves around me. I pick my daughter up, holding her close to me, running my hand through her dark hair.

She pulls back and asks in a sweet voice, "Mummy, did Lady Arlington send something for me?"

Lady Arlington is the woman whose house I clean. Gazing into my daughter's azure blue eyes, that remind me so much of him, I nod and put her down, kneeling in front of her and producing the rag doll.

My beautiful angel gapes with delight, squealing and snatching the rag doll, pressing it adoringly to her chest. I watch her, marvelling at how much she resembles her father. Her father, who never returned. Who never sent even one letter. Who doesn't even know he has fathered a child. Who will miss his daughter's sixth birthday tomorrow.

I look down at my ring finger, where not one ring adorns the finger, but two. Mine and his. Together forever, after all.

Emmanuel Colleton kept true to his word, those five years back. I never heard from him again. However, I have heard about him. He married six months after my husband went away and three months later, his second wife was bearing their first child. I could not have cared less, for my own belly had swelled with the angel jumping round the room before me. Today, Emmanuel has four children, a railway empire (which I find increasingly ironic, considering the fact a railway was where he ruined my life) and a humongous estate in London.

Mary walks through the door, ripping me from my pensive thoughts. Her long hair is greying and there are fine wrinkles dusting her skin. But she is still my Mary, my second mother. Mary shoots me a smile and then takes in the sight of my daughter jumping on the chaise, her long dark hair flying around her.

"What is that in your hand, honey?" Mary asks, mock-wonder resonating in her voice.

"It's a rag doll, Mamma Mary!" My angel lisps. I chuckle. 'Mamma Mary' is her way of saying 'Grandma Mary' but it is too much of a mouthful for her, which is why she abbreviated it.

"Ella," I call. "Do you know why Lady Arlington gave you the rag doll?"

As I say her name, a pang of heartache thrums through me as I remember how I decided my baby's name.

"No." I say to him, "Don't you start saying goodbye. You're not going anywhere, you're not leaving me. You're going to stay and you're going to marry me and we're going to have lots of babies and we're going to call the girl Esther and the boy Emerson..."

"Woah!" Damon steps back, "I didn't say anything... about the name Esther. Urgh! What kind of a name is that?"

"Damon!" I chide him, "Esther is a beautiful name. Why would you say something like that? That's horrible!"

"No, the name Esther is horrible! My daughter will not be called Esther. No matter what happens, I will not allow you to do that!" Damon says, his eyes wide, "The poor child will be tormented all her life."

"Fine, Esther's cancelled. Well, what about Mary-Anne?"

"Sounds like an old woman." Damon shakes his head in disgust.

"Okay. Ella?"

A slow smile creeps along Damon's face, "Ella. I like it."

As I return to the present, Ella is just finishing her sentence. "... So I'm going to be a big girl and we going to see Mamma Adeline!"

I chuckle as she jumps back in my arms. Mary shakes her head in adoration and then retreats back to the kitchen, where she is no doubt conjuring up one of Ella's favourite meals.

"We are, aren't we?" I agree. "Are you excited, Ella? It's going to be the first time you board a train."

"Mummy, I so excited!" Ella exclaims, throwing her arms out wide. "This is how excited I am, Mummy! That's a lot of excited!"

I can't help but to laugh at her mistakes and nod. "That is a lot, Ella. What does Ella want for her birthday from Mummy?"

Ella deliberates for a second. "Mummy, I want what my friends at school have."

"And what is that, honey?" I smirk, preparing myself for one of her preposterous requests.

"They all have a daddy. Can I have a daddy, Mummy?" Ella asks, innocence shining through her eyes.

My heart plummets to the ground and tears fill my eyes. "Oh, baby..." I pull Ella against my chest, rocking back and forth. Guilt streaks through me, pushing tears through my eyes, knowing that I can never give her this one gift, no matter how simple it may sound. My baby has to grow up without a father, just like I did. I think of Damon, who must have remarried by now, must have his own children by now, blissfully unaware of the one child he bore who is sitting in my arms right now, wondering where her daddy is and why she is so different from other children. "Mummy's so sorry. She is so very sorry. I'm sorry, Ella."

"Mummy, what's wrong?" Ella whines, her fingers playing with the collar of my work uniform.

"Nothing, honey. Nothing." I wipe away my tears and stand up, still cradling my daughter in my arms. "Should we go and have our dinner now, Ella?"

Ella struggles out of my arms, her birthday demand forgotten. "Yes please, Mummy! Mamma Mary said she made my favourite, chicken pie and white broath!"

She dashes into the hallway, her giggles echoing in my ear, delighted to eat her favourite food.

Her father's favourite food.

Mary and I creep into Ella's room with some leftover chicken pie. I push open the curtains and stalk over to her bed, standing on it and jumping up and down.

"Happy birthday, happy birthday, happy birthday!" I yell as Ella groans and rubs her eyes, sitting up in bed, gazing sleepily up at me, her eyes gleaming with the aid of the morning light.

"It's my birthday?" She looks around excitedly and then leaps up, clasping my hands and jumping with me. "It's my birthday, it's my birthday! I'm a big girl now, Mummy!"

"Yes you are, Ella!" I chant along with her, glee coursing through my veins at her visible elation. She giggles, jumping around with me before leaping gracefully into Mary's arms.

Mary catches her with a grunt, grinning and embracing Ella before saying, "You must stop launching yourself onto me like that! You're a big girl and Mamma Mary's bones are getting brittle, my dear."

"Mamma Mary?" Ella says.

"Yes, dear?" Mary replies, sitting her down on the bed, where I am already seated.

"What does brittle mean?"

"Brittle means weak, Ella." Mary answers, handing her the chicken pie with a flourish. "Birthday breakfast in bed for the princess!"

"Yay!" Ella claps her hands, tucking her feet under her. As is our tradition, I feed Ella a spoon of chicken pie, then Mary feeds her a spoonful and then Ella feeds us both a spoonful.

As Ella chomps on her breakfast and Mary retreats to the kitchen to prepare the snacks we will eat on the train to Mother's house, I walk over to the chest that we have placed under Ella's bedroom window.

I open the lid and take out a pressed silk white dress with a lacy hem. A red ribbon cinches in the waist, with pearl detailing along the edges.

I hear Ella exclaim, "Mummy, is that mine?!"

I chuckle and turn around to look at my angel. "Yes, sweetheart, this is yours. But you can only wear it after you have bathed."

Ella frowns. "But, Mummy, I bathed yesterday! Why must I bathe again?"

"Because today is your birthday, Ella, and because Mamma Mary told me you were rolling around in the grass during the day. You do not want to smell of soil and mud when you see Mamma Adeline, do you?"

"No." Ella shakes her head. "But I do not want to bathe either, Mummy."

I sigh and stand up, placing the dress over the back of a chair and turning to Ella. "Honey, I did not give you a choice. Bathing is mandatory - it must be done. No arguing now."

"But, Mummy - " Ella whines.

"Ella." I say in a sharp tone. "It is your birthday and I do not wish to scold you, but if you proceed to be disobedient, Mummy will punish you. Understand?"

Ella nods, pouting, her little arms crossed in an act of defiance. I watch her, smirking, as she begins widening her eyes at me in what I describe as her 'lost puppy' look, her bottom lip trembling with the impending onslaught of crocodile tears.

"It is not working on me, Ella. It might work on your Mamma Mary, but not on me. Come on now, to the restroom you go." I seize Ella by her waist, picking her up and slinging her over my shoulder.

Ella shrieks, giggling as I sprint to the restroom, finally putting her down where she stumbles around dizzily, a grin painted on her face.

A grin I used to see on her father's face all the time.

There are four buckets of steaming water beside the bathtub. I empty one of these into the bathtub and then spin on my heels, bending down in front of a cabinet and taking out a pouch of rose petals. Ella loves to bathe with rose petals skimming the surface of the water. I sprinkle the rose petals over the water, watching them drift down carelessly, carressing the surface of the water.

When I turn back to Ella, she has already wriggled out of her night dress and is holding her arms out for me to hoist her into the bathtub. I laugh. "You are such a spoiled little princess, Ella." I pick her up and gently lower her into the tub. She sighs and closes her eyes, laying back against the side of the tub. I stifle the urge to remind her of how much she was protesting a bath just minutes ago and instead reach for the oil, massaging Ella's scalp, watching out of the corner of my eye as her delicate fingers fiddled with the rose petals, touching them as though they're precious gems, lining them up her arms lke ant trails, pooling them around her like a safety net.

I am standing in the kitchen with Mary, packing our snack items into my favourite wicker basket. I glance out of the kitchen to see Ella spinning around, watching her birthday dress swish around her, seemingly entranced. Chuckling, I put the last item into the wicker basket - Ella's new rag doll.

"Are we done now?" Mary asks from behind me, where she is ensuring everything is washed and put in its correct place.

"Yes, Mary. We are ready to go now." I confirm, smiling back at her.

"Wonderful." Mary claps her hands together in glee. "Has Ella told you what she wants for her birthday yet?"

The smile drops off of my face and I look down at the floor, shame and guilt riddling me once more.

"Eloise?" Mary asks. "What has happened? Is something wrong?"

"She asked me for... for a daddy, Mary. She said she wants a daddy, like the other girls have." I fight back tears, sinking into Mary when she pulls me into a silent embrace, accepting the comfort instead of giving it for once. It feels strange; I have not accepted a hug from Mary since the birth of Ella. I was determined to be strong, to be invincible so that my daughter never sees the absence of her father. However, it was inevitable. This moment was always going to come.

"She's a child." Mary croons. "She will soon forget she ever mentioned it. Trust me, you were the same."

I pull back, sniffing and wiping my eyes hurriedly when I hear the porch door opening and Ella asking, "Mamma Mary, is it time to go yet?"

"You came just in time, my dear!" Mary says excitedly. "The coach should be waiting outside, should we go and give the driver our luggage?"

"Yes, Mamma Mary, come on otherwise the train will leave without us!" Ella drags Mary out of the room.

Mary gives me one last comforting glance before allowing my daughter to lug her out to the coach. I sigh and pick the wicker basket from the work top, trudging outside to join Ella and Mary.

As I approach the coach, all our luggage has already been loaded and the driver is lifting Ella into the coach, where Mary awaits. I join them and allow the driver to help me into the coach. Mary takes the wicker basket from me, settling it in her lap, where Ella immediately attempts to rifle through it. The door of the coach closes behind me and I chide my daughter, "Ella, the snacks are for when we board the train. You have just ate breakfast, you do not need to eat more food."

"Mummy, I'm just searching for Raggy." Ella pouts.

"Who is that?" I frown.

"Raggy is my new friend, Mummy, the one Lady Arlington gifted me." Ella states blankly, regarding me as though I am insane not to already know that. "You did bring her, didn't you, Mummy?"

"Of course I did, honey." I assure. "You can take Raggy from the basket if you want to, Ella."

Ella beams and pulls out her Raggy, pressing it to her chest and then positioning herself in my lap, muttering to her doll, making it reply to her, twisting its body this way and that, having mock arguments and mock reunions, losing herself in her imagination the way only a child can.

I watch her the whole journey, spellbound by her never-ending stream of thoughts, the things that only the most innocent of minds can come up with and when she eventually sinks into a seamless sleep, I turn her so her head is against my cheek and cradle her against my body whenever the coach travels over a rough bump in the road. I occasionally kiss her soft forehead, running my fingers through the dark hair she inherited from her father, stroke her cheek whenever she mumbles in her dreams. I barely even notice when Mary falls asleep, her head against the bench, her mouth open in the most comical way.

When we arrive at the train station, I - as gently as possible - kick Mary to awaken her. Mary looks around herself, disoriented, then at Ella still sleeping in my lap, her little fist curled against the neckline of my dress, long breaths dancing from her slightly agape mouth. She exits the coach with the help of the driver and calls over a porter to carry our luggage.

I engage myself in rousing Ella, who is in a very deep sleep. I sit her up straight, watching her head droop until her chin hits her chest softly. I tap her cheek gently, "Ella? Ella? Honey, wake up now. We have arrived at the station, sweetheart."

Ella groans, rubbing her eyes adorably. She opens her eyes, gazing up at me sleepily, blinking her big blue eyes at me. "Mummy, are we there yet?"

"We certainly are, baby. Time to get out of the coach." I say softly, kissing her cheek. Ella stands up, sensibly straightening her dress out. She approaches the door and then leaps forward in the air, letting the driver catch her. Once she is safely deposited to the ground, I am lowered from the coach and watch Mary as she lifts Ella into her arms.

The porter signals to our luggage. "Is this yours, ma'am? All of it?"

"Yes, thank you." I nod, taking the wicker basket and walking forward into the station, Mary leading the way with Ella, one hand clutching Raggy. Ella rests her chin on Mary's shoulder, waving to me excitedly.

I wave back, chuckling.

"Is that your daughter, ma'am?" The porter asks.

I nod proudly. "Yes, she is my daughter."

"She's a beautiful little girl."

"Thank you." I am so entranced in watching my daughter smile and wave and make faces at me that I do not see the man walking towards me, absorbed in his conversation with a porter. I only see him too late - when he has already rammed straight into me, sending my wicker basket to the floor. Thankfully, it lannds upright, only allowing a few apples to escape.

I bend to the ground, quickly retrieving some. The man also bends down, muttering a sincere apology, scrambling to deposit the rest safely into the wicker basket. As I go to put the last apple back into the wicker basket, the man is withdrawing his hand from it and out fingers touch. A shot of electricity pounds through me.

I look up into eyes the colour of aquamarine gems, a head of tousled dark hair, chiselled cheekbones and a slack mouth.

Blood suddenly rushes to my ears. Time seems to slow. Everything else disappears. My breathing is ragged. My heart is throwing itself against my chest. My hands tremble with emotions. Tears pool in my eyes. Can I have a daddy, Mummy? Ella's voice echoes in my head. The man stares at me, his expression just as shell-shocked as mine. He reaches a shaking hand out, towards my face but a litle hand stops it.

I look up to see Ella standing there, a fierce expression on her face. "Who are you? Why are you touching my mummy? Why did you make her fall?"

The man stares at Ella, sees the unmissable resemblance between himself and her. He looks at me, speechless, his eyes wide, unblinking. "Eloise?"

He looks at Ella again, then at me, as though he needs confirmation of what he already knows.

I stand up, taking Ella's hand in mine. "Meet Ella Wilcox."

"My daughter?" Damon gapes.

***

The End.