“Immorality has no place in books!” Mr. Leonard flungJane Eyreinto the fire.
Another piece of her burst into flames. “Blasphemy has no place in books!” He picked upFrankensteinand tossed it into the flames. She began to shake.
“No, Papa! Please! Stop!”
“Vulgarity!” He roared, feedingThe Tenant of Wildfell Hallto the flaming beast.
“And debauchery!” He picked upMoll Flandersin one hand,Madame Bovaryin the other, and flung both into the fire.
Annabel sank to her knees, watching her beloved books burn.
“Burn them all!” he ordered the footmen before striding past Annabel and out of the room. She knew then, without a doubt, that her Papa didn’t care what happened to her. After all, he’d willingly destroyed her heart.
Chapter Five
Either, said she, the Lady must be thought to have very violentinclinations
(and what nice young creature would have thatsupposed?)
which she could not give up; or a very stubborn will, which she wouldnot;
or, thirdly, have parents she was indifferent aboutobliging.
—Samuel Richardson,Clarissa
Annabel sat ather dressing table and pulled the pins from her hair. With each tug, her locks uncoiled until finally, waves of dark tresses tumbled down her back. Wasting no time, she picked up the scissors from her dresser and grabbed a fistful of hair. Then, taking a deep breath, she squeezed her eyes shut and snipped.
The blades were sharp and efficient. With each cut, the strands separated, and soon Annabel clutched a sizable chunk in her fist. She opened her eyes and stared at her reflection in the oval mirror that sat above her dressing table. For a moment, the world felt surreal. The chopped hair, hanging above her shoulder, looked like a wound.
The sight immobilized her, but only for a second. Then she blinked and told her mirrored self, “Get the ribbon, Annabel. We must tie this up prettily, so it can fetch a good amount.” Having given herself this task, she came to life again, and taking one of the precut velvet ribbons from her dresser, secured the hair and placed it into a cloth sack. “Now,” Annabel faced the mirror again, “you must be more efficient.” She got to work dividing her hair into sections and securing each piece with a ribbon. Then she picked up the scissors again. Minutes later, bundles of thick, glossy locks lay securely tied in the cloth sack, ready for the wig makers.These will fetch a tidy sum.
Turning back to the mirror, she inspected her image. Her hair hung in choppy strands above her shoulders. She’d left it long enough to secure it back with pins so no one would notice the difference. And if they did, she didn’t care. It didn’t matter. They’d already done the worst to her that they could; anything else would be superfluous.
Her bedroom door creaked open, and Stella slipped inside, carrying a black cape. “Il mia cara!” She dropped the cape and covered her mouth with her hand, staring wide-eyed at Annabel.
“Don’t be sentimental, Stella. I need the money. It’s only hair, and it will grow back.”
Stella picked up the cape and set it down on Annabel’s bed. Then she ran a hand over Annabel’s chopped hair. “Let me pin it up for you. I’ll arrange it so you’ll hardly know the difference.”
“No, I’ll do it. If I am to be my own woman, I must learn to take care of myself.”
“You will never be alone. I promised your mama that I would watch over you until the day I die, and that is what I will do. You might be in Canterbury and I, far away in Italy, but we will never truly be apart—” Stella choked back her words.
Annabel’s stomach lurched. She clasped Stella’s hand, suddenly losing courage. “Must you go to Italy?”
“Only until the storm passes. Your papa will never leave me in peace if he thinks I know your whereabouts.”
Annabel nodded and took a few calming breaths. Tomorrow, after discovering she was gone, Papa would gather an army to search for her, but what would he do when he found no trace of her? He’d search for Stella. “Are you certain you’ll be safe in Italy?”
“You needn’t worry about me.” Stella planted a kiss on Annabel’s head. “And you will be quite safe too. Tomorrow, you will have a new name and a new home. Nate, my dear departed Alfonso’s nephew, has arranged for you to lodge with a kind and decent family in Canterbury. The wife is a seamstress, and the husband a sailor, away at sea. They have one child—a little boy, I think. Nate will introduce you as Mrs. Anne Crawford, the widow of his dear friend. You’ll use the money from your dresses to pay the first three months’ rent, which includes two daily meals. They are not rich, mind you, so I’m afraid the food will be quite different from what you are used to, but you won’t go hungry. And Nate has promised to deliver fresh fish from his catches at Whitstable whenever he can. He will get a good price for your hair too—” She broke off speaking and let out a muffled sob.
“Dear Stella,” Annabel squeezed her hand. “Don’t be sad. I’m not afraid of hard work or plain food. I’d rather be a free bird, weathering storms and dodging danger than locked in a gilded cage with clipped wings at the mercy of a cruel master.”
Stella picked up the cloth sack containing Annabel’s hair. “So beautiful.” She took out a ribboned lock and kissed it. “It breaks my heart that your papa has put you in such a desperate situation. If he only knew that you’d rather sell your hair and live like a peasant than marry that monster, then I am sure he would change his mind.”
“He wouldn’t, and you mustn’t think of reasoning with him. Mrs. Leonard has hardened his heart against me, and there is nothing you or I can do to change that.”
Stella shook her head and closed her fist around the hair. “If only your mother were alive…”
