Eleanor lay on her side, her hands pressed together under her cheek. “You forget. As I grow older, so do you.” She smirked. “You’ll always look old enough to be my mother.”
Netta pinched her sister’s side. Netta was not quite ten years her elder, hardly a dotard. But ever since they’d decided to flee England as mother and daughter, Eleanor had teased her about her age mercilessly.
“It is only through my extensive knowledge of face paint that any one will believe it.” Netta rolled to face her sister and propped her head in her hand. “And even so, people will still remark how unfortunate it is that such a homely child was borne to such a beautiful, entrancing young woman.”
Eleanor’s snort was cut off by a wide yawn. “We only”—she yawned again—“let you believe you’re the handsome sister. We didn’t want to suffer your lamentations if you realized the truth.”
Netta rolled her eyes. “Go back to sleep, goose. You’re dreaming in any case.” She kissed her forehead. “I’ll come back soon.”
Eleanor nodded and soon was puffing out small, even breaths.
Netta watched her several minutes more. They had been speaking in jest, but Eleanor wasn’t wrong. Her sister was developing into a beautiful woman. She swallowed, the back of her throat burning. And fine looks were a currency their father traded upon.
She pressed a kiss to her sister’s forehead then rolled from the bed. Soon it would be just her and Eleanor. They’d have the rest of their days to tease and share confidences. But now she needed to return to her job, the one that would make all of their dreams come true.
She closed the window behind her and crouched down on the porch roof, scouring for a pebble of appropriate size. Her fingers closed upon one and she stood and took aim. She winced at the slightplinkas the stone hit the window above Eleanor’s and then sounded again as it plopped back down to the porch roof.
A figure came to the third-story window and nodded before disappearing.
Netta scrambled down the lattice and met Dollie in the darkest part of the yard.
The older woman grasped her shoulders. “How are you, child?”
Netta pressed her lips into a rueful smile. Dollie would always see her as a child, no matter how old she became. The woman had been both her and Eleanor’s nursemaid before transitioning into their lady’s maid. She’d kissed all of their scraped knees and bruised elbows. Cooed over them when they’d learned a lesson well. Doted over them as a mother would.
“I’m well.” Netta squeezed the woman’s arm. “Better than well. I have new employment.” She reached into her reticule and pulled a small pouch from its depths. She pressed it into Dollie’s hands. “Take it. Put it with the rest of your savings.”
Dollie pulled open the drawstring, a coarse, grey strand of hair escaping her cap. “Lawks alive. Wherever did you get this, child?”
Along with the coin she could spare, Netta had included something else for Dollie, and the woman pulled out a platinum cravat pin. The diamonds encrusted on it shimmered in the moonlight.
A twinge of shame pinched her heart, but Netta ignored it. “I lifted it from a man who can well afford another. He has at least three more, just as gawdy.” She hadn’t been able to resist the temptation when she’d found his silk cravat, pin stuck through the fabric, abandoned in his study. Did he tug off the restraining garment late at night as he read by the fire? Did the frills he loved so much start to choke even him?
“You’ll need it more than its previous owner,” Netta said firmly. “When I take Eleanor, you’ll be out of a position. I want to be sure you’re provided for.”
Dollie nodded and replaced the pin in the pouch. “When do you think that will be? Soon, I hope.”
“Why?” Netta darted a look at her sister’s window. It remained dark, her room unmolested by any visitors, but a chill rolled down her spine. “What’s happened?”
“Nothing that I know for certain.” A breeze rose, and she chaffed her arm with her free hand. “But I’ve heard your mother and father arguing again. About Eleanor. I think…”
Netta clenched her hand. She remembered those arguments. Arguments where Netta had prayed her mother would prevail.
She never had. “Think what?”
Dollie shifted on her feet. “He’s had that man back for dinner. You know his wife passed two years ago. I think he’s looking for another.”
A vise clamped around Netta’s lungs. Black spots danced before her eyes. “But she’s only fourteen,” she rasped out.
No. Not him. She’d known her father would want to marry Eleanor off to a man of means, but she hadn’t thought it would be tohim. Not after how things had ended the last time. And not now. Netta had thought she had at least two more years before she and Eleanor needed to flee the country.
“Women have been married younger.”
Netta shook her head, not wanting it to be true. Yes, women had been married younger, but not anymore. Not in this modern age.
The peeling paint on the house mocked her. The rotted wood on the back porch making her face the horrifying truth.
Her father needed money. Eleanor was the only asset he had left to sell.
