“My parents were…important,” Marigold said. “They are gone now, but we had a cook, and my husband—well, we’re not married anymore—he was rich as well, so I simply never had any reason to learn.”
Rosemary nodded slowly.
“Some would be jealous of you, but I would say that’s a shame. I love to cook.”
“I think it a shame as well, actually,” Marigold said. “There are so many practical things I never learned.”
“Life is made up of practical things,” Rosemary said, but without any judgement. “What were you taught to do?”
Marigold laughed.
“Be an ornament, say unprovocative things. Marry well. And I suppose I was good at that, in the end. I feared that I wouldn’t be useful to you, when you asked me to come in, but I don’t think you will object if I say you were a bit insistent.”
“You’ll be useful,” Rosemary said, “not to worry.”
Just then another woman walked into the farmhouse. She was short and slight and dressed in boy’s clothing.
“Here now, who’s this?” she said.
“Freddie, this is Marigold—Marigold, Freddie.”
“Pleased to meet you,” Freddie said. “My real name’s Winifred—but Freddie is for short. Did Rosemary rope you into all of this?”
“Well, yes,” Marigold admitted.
Freddie made a tisking noise.
“Rosemary doesn’t like to let people have their freedom.”
“You mean I don’t like to let people be lonely or scared! Not saying you were that, Marigold, but—”
“No,” Marigold said. “You were right. I was scared. I am scared.”
“Now there’s something provocative,” Rosemary said, nodding. “You’re already learning.”
Freddie smiled.
“And Rosemary does like to teach.”
Rosemary swatted at her sister.
In a moment, Freddie had taken Marigold by the arm and swept her up the stairs.
The stairs were large and a bit rickety. Inscribed in the wood of the case were many names and dates. Marigold ran her hand over the grooves as they went past a second floor and reached a third. Freddie pushed open one of the doors to reveal a twin bed, impeccably made, with fluffy pillows and an open window.
Marigold thought of the open window in her palace chambers—the one that saved her, and she thought she would almost cry.
“It’s lovely,” Marigold said.
“You can stay as long as you like,” Freddie replied.
“Oh, I won’t, but thank you. I have things to do.”
Freddie cocked her head.
“Like what?”
Marigold sat down on the bed and ran her hands over the quilt.
