He followed her, wanting to use it as an excuse to avoid the rain. As he shook it out of his long hair, he eyed her with a raised brow. "Your father didn't even bother to try to set you up ahead of time? Whether with a job or a room to stay in? I believe he really does hate you." He smirked and raised a hand to guide her towards the owner to ask for her room. "Where do you come from? Perhaps what you think is cheap is a nicer place than this." He couldn't figure out her status. A governess should have meant she had some teaching, but she clearly didn't seem like she was from even a middle class. No carriage. No preparations. She was a mess and easy to be taken in by someone if she wasn't careful.

"I barely know him," she reiterated. "I've only met him thrice. My mother died when she gave birth to my brother and me, and papa fostered me out." Amelia gave a shrug at that. She said it in such a way that it was as if it was the most ordinary circumstance in the world. She wasn't telling it like it was some sob story, there was little emotion in there. "I am from Cornwall," she said, "A vicar's daughter." As if that mattered. She pushed her wet hair from her face and gave a little bit of a smile. "Look at us, both messes. I don't have much, but I can at least offer you something to eat for your troubles with helping me."

Menachem nodded slightly. "Ah yes, that explains so much. Were you raised in humility?" He let her get her room as he hung around, but making it clear that they were not together. "As a child from a large family, I can tell you families are the absolute worst. You shouldn't be here, find a nicer town and be a governess or something else there."

"Yes," she said softly, then turned her attention to getting her room secured. When asked for coin, she hesitated only a little and counted out just enough for three nights, which should give her time to at least get her clothing laundered. At his next words, she looked up in some surprise, "I wouldn't know but I believe you. And is Whitby that bad then?"

Menachem shrugged and shook his head. "Even worse, I think. Though I'm a sort of bottom of the barrel type that no one will waste their time with. I think it's the same for most."

"I see," she said. "You don't look like the bottom of the barrel to me." With the room procured, she turned toward him and tilted her head, feeling like a drowned rat right at the moment. Even still, she was as dignified as her state would allow her to be.

Menachem chuckled joylessly, "Well it isn't obvious if you're close enough to the bottom you don't know how high the barrel is, but thanks." He gestured for her to walk so he could follow her to the room to get his belt back.

She walked to where her room was and opened the door, using her foot to kick the portal open wider, but not with force obviously, and she unceremoniously dropped the broken bag onto the floor where she would work on taking the belt off. She stood up straight and said, "I don't know, I have never cared to be classified." She gave a half-smile and held out the belt, looking and feeling quite sodden at the moment.

He shrugged slightly as he watched her patiently. "I'm used to being labelled so much, I feel like my name is an insult. Must be nice to be able to ignore it. "His hand reached out for the belt as he put it on and thanked her. "Hopefully it'll never happen to you." Menachem turned to leave her alone, he didn't want to seem like he was being weird or creepy. Besides, this girl was clearly not much better off than he was financially speaking so she couldn't help him. "I wish you luck with your job search."

"Oh, I have been called insults. I just choose not to let them bother me. They used to bother me a lot when I was younger." Then he thanked her for the belt and was turning away and wishing her luck at the same time. She watched him for a moment... "Are you sure you don't want to eat dinner?"