“And if I don’t?”
“Then it will be up to council to decide your fate.” He tipped his head, and with a wave of his hand, the gateway opened for him, and he passed through back into his office. The mist spiraled where the gateway had been. The owl sat upon her perch, watching him with golden eyes. She knew more than she was letting on. But being his father’s creature, she wouldn’t tell him where to begin his search.
He might not know who was behind it, but he could guess who their next target was: Lady Thornton.
8
Catherine paced the length of her dressing room. The breeze, scented with wet earth and ash wood, did little to soothe the clawing anxiety that churned in her gut. She’d left her oaken door cracked open to remind herself that should she choose, she could walk through it at any time. It was something she could never have done in Elk Grove, where they bolted the doors at night, and the windows were nailed closed. Despite these measures, the dark wood paneling closed in upon her. Had she been given a choice, she would have dressed herself. It would have been quicker. Mrs. Morgan had remarked that the former Lady Thornton had been dressed by her lady’s maid. If she were to remain here, she must adhere to all expectations, to not put a single toe out of line.
Not after she had fainted. Not after she had thought she’d seen the grisly murder of a woman, she had never met. Though she tried to put it from her mind, Miss Ashton’s sightless blue eyes, the scent of blood, and the taste of bile in her mouth continued to linger. Her fits had been distressing—ghosts of violent murders, creatures with pointed teeth, and sharp claws haunted her. But they felt pale and thin compared to this. Her throat clenched to think of it. Better to forget, to pretend it never happened. That was the only way forward. The alternative was to go back to Elk Grove and the ceaseless screaming, to Dr. Armstrong and the room.
The door creaked open, and footsteps approached. Catherine spun around wide-eyed, hands up to shield her from grasping hands.They’d come; they were going to send her back to Elk Grove.
“I’m sorry I kept you waiting, my lady,” Miss Larson said, her brow quirked. A dress was slung over her arm.
Catherine lowered her hands to her side as her face flushed. If they didn’t think her mad before, they would come to the conclusion soon enough. She had to control herself, hide her fear better. That was how she’d been able to convince Dr. Armstrong to release her. She’d fooled him; she could do it again.
“Thank you, and sorry to trouble you with fetching it for me. I’m not quite used to having others do this sort of thing for me,” Catherine said, her voice shaking, but she held onto her smile. Was that the right thing to say? Perhaps it made her look too low? No matter what she did, she looked like a madwoman or a social ladder climber. Though she’d rather be the ladder climber if she must choose.
“No need. I dreamed of playing dress-up with a life-sized doll. It’s much more fun than changing the sheets and stoking the fires.” She winked.
Miss Larson draped the dress over the top of a privacy screen in the corner. Catherine followed after her as a prisoner does to execution. The thought of a stranger’s hand touching her made her shoulders taut. In her darkest moments at Elk Grove, she had refused to eat; she wouldn’t even rise to relieve herself. After a few days, the staff had roughly grabbed her, stripped her of her clothes, and tossed buckets of ice-cold water onto her. Over and over, she endured it until she resumed eating and using the chamber pot on her own. It was then as Dr. Armstrong had stood over her, telling her in his calm voice that he did it for her, to help her get well, that she had resolved to escape that horrid place. No matter what lies she must tell. No matter how many times she had to turn away and pretend not to see. Her body trembled as Miss Larson undid the buttons of her nightgown. She tried to push away the memories, but they buffeted against her like a storm. Her stomach roiled. Miss Larson wasn’t one of those caretakers, but her body knew no way to distinguish the two. Even the barest brush of a finger against her back made her skin pimple.
“Is anything the matter, my lady? You’re shivering like a leaf,” Miss Larson said.
“I’m fine.” She tried to keep her voice steady, but the fear still seeped out.
A moment’s pause. A sharp inhalation of breath from behind her.
“If you’d prefer it, I can wait on the other side of the screen, hand you the garments, and button it once you’re done.” She said it very softly.
Catherine lowered her head. No one had offered her such a kindness before. No questions asked, no judgment. She was too ashamed to even raise her head and meet her gaze.
“Yes, thank you,” Catherine said quietly.
Miss Larson backed away. Hidden by the screen, Catherine slid down the nightgown and let it pool on the ground at her feet. She reached for the day gown and slid it on, the fabric gliding over her skin like water. Once she was clothed again to the best of her ability, the shivering stopped. She stepped around the screen to where Miss Larson waited, eyes averted.
“Could you button me? I cannot reach,” Catherine asked.
Miss Larson said not a word as she approached her slowly. “It will take just a moment,” she said. Her warm breath brushed against the nape of Catherine’s neck.
She rarely let anyone this close to her, but perhaps it was the delicate way in which she fashioned the buttons, or maybe because Catherine had invited her into her personal space, it did not scare her or make her tremble; instead, it felt not comfortable but not terrible either. It was a start, she supposed.
“Now that’s done, would you like me to see to your hair?” Miss Larson asked.
Catherine always wore her hair rather simple in a braid and out of her face. And today, all she had planned was a carriage ride with Edward. Surely she shouldn’t go to too much trouble. The wind would undo any work Miss Larson did anyway. “I don’t want to be a bother.”
“Not that it’s any of my business...” she said and then stopped.
“But?” Catherine prompted; her throat felt tight.
“It’s just I’ve overheard things Mrs. Oakheart has said about you...”
Catherine shrunk down in her seat. She didn’t need to hear any more.
“Forgive me. I shouldn’t have said that. It’s just I am grateful to serve you. And you seem a kind woman.” Her face flushed as she lowered her gaze. “This is why Mrs. Morgan wouldn’t let me be a lady’s maid and hired that girl from the city instead...”
Miss Larson’s eyes glazed over, and she stared at the distance for a moment. It was the sort of look she’d seen among the residents of Elk Grove where the mind disconnected from the body. But this wasn’t Elk Grove; those sorts of things didn’t happen to regular people.
