Dread stirred in Amiya’s chest.
“What happened to the last mistress?” Amiya asked.
“She was disobedient,” Miss Lula said. Her eyes gleamed. “He turned her over to the Overseer for punishment. We never saw her again.”
Amiya shuddered. Miss Lula shuffled to the doorway, putting her back toward Amiya.
“Go on and get dressed, lady.”
Fortunately, the clothing fit reasonably well, including the shoes, and all of the clothes were clean, smelling of a pleasant soap. On the dresser, Amiya noticed a comb, brush, and faded containers of makeup, all of the items clustered at the base of a dusty oval mirror. Leaning forward, she rubbed clean a spot on the glass with the heel of her hand. She picked up the brush and stared at her reflection.
All dressed up and nowhere to go . . .
A sob swelled in her throat. She tried to choke it down, but it burst out of her, rocked her like an earthquake tremor, bringing forth scalding hot tears that slid down her face and spattered on the top of the dresser.
I can’t do this. I can’t pretend that I’m accepting this life. This is ridiculous! I won’t?—
“Get it together, lady!” Miss Lula said from the doorway. “Crying’s not gonna change a thing.”
It was a reprimand that her mother had often lobbed at her when Amiya was a young girl, and the familiarity of it had the odd effect of calming Amiya’s abraded nerves. Her mother had despised tears, though she had no compunctions about letting them flow in abundance whenever it suited her manipulative aims. If Amiya had ever wanted to cry, she had to do so in secret.
It would be the same here in Westbrook, she realized.
Amiya sniffled, sucked in a shaky breath. She found a silk handkerchief tucked on the corner of the dresser. She used it to blot her eyes and dry her nose.
As best she could, she brushed her damp hair. She thought of asking Miss Lula if they had a blow dryer but doubted the woman would have found her little joke amusing.
The makeup kit was old, but she was able to work with it. She applied blush and a small amount of the ruby-red lipstick.
“Put on that perfume, too,” Miss Lula said. “It’s the master’s favorite.”
Amiya picked up the glass bottle of what looked like an old French perfume, based on the faded letters on the front. It had a sweet, woodsy odor.
“When do I get to meet the master?” Amiya asked.
“Soon as it’s dark,” Miss Lula said. “He likes to have some alone time with a new mistress before she gets marked, to get acquainted.”
He sounds like a swell guy, Amiya thought, and had to suppress a giggle.How gentlemanly of him to want to meet before I get branded like a prize steer.
“Where is the master now?” Amiya asked.
“You said you were hungry. Do you want me to stand here answering questions that will answer themselves in time, or do you want to eat?”
Chastened, Amiya applied perfume to both of her wrists and dabbed a bit on her neck. The only time she really worefragrance these days was when she was going out with Nick. Thinking about Nick, wondering when she would see him again, provoked another tremor at the base of her throat, and she had to set those thoughts aside.
She checked herself in the mirror one final time, liked what she saw, and approached Miss Lula at the doorway.
“Ready,” Amiya said.
Miss Lula assessed her from head to toe. Amiya caught a brief sparkle of desire in her eyes, but Miss Lula quickly looked away and gave only a curt nod.
She would not fool the woman again.
She followed Miss Lula downstairs. Navigating the damaged hardwood floor in heels was like walking a tightrope. While going down the staircase, she nearly lost her balance, and Miss Lula grabbed her arm and scooped her upright.
“You’ll get used to it,” Miss Lula said.
On the first floor, she guided Amiya into the dining room. It was a large chamber, dominated by a long, round table that could have accommodated a party of twenty, and surrounded by chairs carved of mahogany. A white tablecloth, tattered and browned at the edges, covered the surface, topped by a cracked vase from which bristled fresh petunias. A chandelier wearing a garland of cobwebs swung from a chain above the center of the table. Candles flickered on a pair of side tables.
