I remembered how being a servant, it was always shoot the messenger.
“I broke it and since…”
Since…
Since…what?
I’m not allowed to speak unless spoken to.
Josephine’s words popped into my head.
“He did but it broke. I was hoping to order a new one. Fix the problem before he found out, but you know, I won’t be allowed to talk to anyone…” I tested the words on my lips, a line forming between my brow, a cavern in my chest.
I won’t be allowed to speak.
To. Speak.
I cleared my throat past the ache. “Well, the last person who was involved in something like this, he was fired…or maybe deported? I can never remember, you know how they get.”
She blanched. “Yes. I do.”
“But I guess, since I’m allowed to talk to you…when he asks, should I say you told me to wait for him?” I shrugged, while inside, fire ants were crawling on my skeleton.
She froze for a split second.
Then dove into her purse so quick a few pens fell out and clattered to the floor.
“Take—take this. It won’t work internationally but it will get you internet connection. Don’t mention me.”
I took the phone with both hands. “Thanks.”
Holy shit.
It was one step closer to Grayson.
“One more word of advice, Story. This is the most important decision you will make in your life. After you leave this place, all your decisions belong to the du Lacs. But this…” She patted her briefcase. “This will always be yours. You have until the end of your training.”
All your decisions belong to the du Lacs.
What would that even look like?
I watched her leave, waiting a few moments until I was certain she wasn’t coming back, before I turned the phone on to see if I could message Grayson.
The phone only had fifty percent power and I realized too late that I had nothing to charge it with. She said it didn’t work internationally, but I could figure something out, even if I didn’t have his email…
“Storybook Hale.”
I startled at yet another voice. I quickly shoved the phone into the nearest hiding space—a pot of fresh primroses—before turning to greet my newest mystery.
She reminded me a little of Ms. Barn, in that she had the same stern eyes and engraved frown lines, but she was petite where Ms. Barn was tall, and her voice was soft.
“Who are you?” I asked.
She scowled at my question, then said, “The du Lac head of mistresses.”
“What—they have a head for that?”
Ignoring me, she said, “You may call me Madame.”
Behind her, two women only a little older than me came into the room. Madame was dressed in the same starched blue uniform I’d grown accustomed to seeing, while the two younger girls were in matching diaphanous white gowns. Madame made a motion with her wrist, and the two girls came behind me, yanking me up.
“I—what—Hey!” I squeaked, as the girl behind me reached for my arms, pulling them above my head. The second girl dropped to her feet, reaching for the hem of my nightgown.
Madame came closer to me, eyes narrowing. I held my dress tight to my chest as the two at my feet fought with it robotically. They went for my thighs, and I shoved them off so fast I knocked over the tea. It shattered to the ground, honey liquid spilling over the antique floorboards.
I realized I’d made a grave mistake when their eyes grew like saucers.
Seconds ticked like minutes, three strangers staring at me, waiting for me to let them undress me. I wanted to take the steaming tea kettle at my back and chuck it at their faces. And then what? Run? Abandon Grayson?
A poem my uncle had read aloud to me came to mind, one by Robert Frost.
Two roads diverged in a yellow wood,
And sorry I could not travel both
I’d already made my decision on which road I would take. I told Grayson I would be Atlas, and I would shoulder the burden.
Whatever that might be…
I slowly raised my arms, eyes down, as they lifted my dress above my head.
I stood naked in the center of the room, holding my arms to my chest. Madame walked a circle around me, gray eyes sharp.
Calculating.
She eyed my rounded stomach way too long for my liking. I’d been hiding my pregnancy under shapeless dresses, but when I was naked, it was obvious. Unavoidable. Inevitable. I was a little over three months along, after all.
I worked my jaw.
Madame touched my hair. “Unruly.” She exhaled through her nostrils like Tansy did when examining the silver. “Come find me when you’re finished.”
The girls nodded. I watched the old woman leave the room out of the corner of my eye, her shadow reflecting in the spilled honey tea.
The girls dragged me into the en suite bathroom and shoved me into a clawfoot tub centered on the dark hardwood. It smelled like lavender and was filled with so many oils my skin shone like glass. They grabbed my arms, stretching to rub me raw.
Then they moved to go between my thighs.
I slapped their hands away. They shared a look, rolling their eyes.
“Miss, if you don’t behave, it will be worse for all of us,” the one with jade eyes said.
But they didn’t try again.
Floral-smelling shampoo was squeezed and lathered roughly into my hair. For a while the only sound was the splash of water.
I studied them. I was finally alone, and they seemed young. Not tough and imperious like the others I’d encountered. Maybe I could finally start getting useful information.
I closed one eye against the sting of shampoo. “Do you work for the du Lacs?”
They shrugged. “Kind of. We work for Madame.”
“So you live here?”
“Not here.” They lowered their voice. “This is Scotland.”
“So?”
“The du Lacs aren’t supposed to be—”
I heard a wet-sounding smack, and she stopped speaking.
It’s the last place he’ll look for you. He’d never think to check under his own fucking nose.
West’s cryptic words just before we left Crowne Hall popped into my head.
“They’re not supposed to be here? Here like Scotland? Or here like…” I glanced around, at the cobblestone walls and long-stemmed candles dripping black wax on to crystal votives. “Like this place?”
They didn’t respond.
After the bath, a silk blue robe was waiting for me. I slid one arm in, then the next, stretching the silk against my chest to see the du Lac fleur-de-lis symbol embroidered in white.
Next came my hair. While I sat on a soft, velvet vanity, they oiled it until the curls shone and draped down my back.
“Where is West sleeping?” I asked while they fingered more product into my curls.
They shared a look. “You mean Mr. du Lac.”
I sucked in a breath. “Where is Mr. du Lac sleeping? Is he here?”
“If he decides to sleep here, then he’ll be in your bed.”
I went rigid at the thought. I don’t care what he decided, he wasn’t sleeping in my fucking bed.
They kept looking at one another as they braided white gold into my hair. Whispering and then shoving each other. I felt like I was back at Crowne Hall, playing games with the servants as we worked together.