As he turns to leave, something panicked flutters in my chest. “Last night,” I blurt. “The man who drove me here. Was that you?”
He pauses, his slight smile returning. The pulse in my throat throbs.
“No. Fairfax handles all our transportation.”
My gaze darts to the door where Mrs. Fairfax disappeared, but it’s still shut. I want to ask if the chauffeur is her husband, brother, or son. But it doesn’t matter because there’s still the question about why the hell I was brought into a house to look after a little girl with a contagious disease.
I want to ask, but I can’t afford to give him a chance to change his mind. Still, I find myself saying, “If Adele is quarantined, then what exactly am I here to do?”
His smile widens, and for a moment, his eyes flicker with something predatory. “Why, make yourself at home.”
Then he’s gone, leaving only the faint scent of expensive cologne and the echo of his footsteps in the hallway.
I stare at the door he left through, my heart beating faster than it should. The silence feels weighted, expectant. Like I’ve just passed some kind of test. I’m not sure if I succeeded as myself, or as whoever Annalisa Burlington is supposed to be.
SIX
THE KEYHOLE
I enjoyed watching you wrestle with the dress this morning. It made me think of how you would writhe beneath me as you took your last breath.
Apologies for the odor, Annalisa, darling. The last girl’s scent was particularly stubborn. I promise not to spill a drop of your blood on the dress.
Did you enjoy your breakfast, my little pet? I left a salty treat for you in the butter.
You ate with such vigor, I wonder how you will swallow it from the source.
Enjoy your time at the manor. Make it your home. You may even play at being its new mistress.
Because there is nowhere to run.
SEVEN
Breakfast leaves me feeling unsettled. Maybe it’s the contagious fever. Or the rancid butter. But I’m in desperate need of a walk. I exit the house through the kitchen door and step out into a stone patio.
The morning sun cuts through the fog, revealing formal gardens that stretch toward a line of trees. But a distant roar draws me forward, making my chest vibrate. I can’t see any signs of the ocean, but it calls like a siren song.
I follow a path through the gardens, past hedges trimmed into perfect geometric shapes that remind me of prison bars. With each step, the air grows saltier, and the roar gets louder until it drowns out my thoughts.
The path leads me through a gap in the hedges, and before I know it, I’m standing at the edge of the world.
I had no idea Rochester Manor had its own cliff. Black rock drops away beneath my feet, plunging down to an impossible drop. At the bottom, white foam crashes against jagged stones, making my insides lurch. The windwhips my hair across my face, carrying the taste of salt and something wilder. It almost reminds me of freedom.
Inhaling the sea breeze, I inch closer to the ledge until my toes hang over empty air. One step. That’s all it would take.
The waves below are relentless, smashing against the rocks with a pulse-quickening violence. They pound the stone over and over, never stopping, never giving up. Like they’re trying to tear the island apart.
Who would have thought I’d end up on the edge of the world? Who would have thought I’d have to run a second time?
The thought lands with a sting. When I was sixteen, I thought escaping Brother Matthew’s house would lead me to true happiness. The kind Mom and Dad said was full of sin. Back then, it didn’t matter that I was leaving everyone behind. Or that certain death awaited me if I ever returned. I pictured freedom, adventure, even love.
My first few months in Beaumont City were magical. Sure, I had to entertain a bunch of men, but being a sugar baby was a thousand times better than being a wife. I thought I’d made a fresh start.
But I’m back where I started. Hiding in a stranger’s house, jumping at shadows, with yet another identity.
The wind gusts harder, and I wrap my arms around my middle to stave off the chill. Down below, something dark bobs in the foam, getting thrashed back and forth by the waves. It could be driftwood. Could be seaweed.
Could be a body, like the one I left behind.
