asks briskly. “We didn’t really get on, you know. Well,” she adds with a smirk, her speech slowing, “if I’m honest, it’s not entirely true to say I don’t care. I do, but not in the usual way. I care that she’s gone because it makes my life so much easier. Looking for two wealthy husbands to take on the business will be much easier for my father than looking for three. And as you can see, I’m the older and I’m very pretty, so I should have the best chance.” She smiles a little more broadly and wrinkles her brow. “What are you looking at me like that for?”
I am not aware of looking at her in any particular way, but I know I am in shock, and have been, perhaps, since the moment ofmy awakening. I never thought I could come across a young woman more arrogant or cruel than Sara Rose. But here is such another before me, in a form even more angelic, the candlelight playing on her golden curls, her green eyes like a calm sea at sunset.
“I know what you’re thinking. What a little monster! Everyone thinks that about me, except for Mother and Father, of course. They adore me. But it’s just as well I am a little monster, isn’t it? If I weren’t, I’d have already told everyone about Sara going to see you last night.”
“You don’t know that,” I venture. She seemed to imply as much earlier, and I don’t want to be at this girl’s mercy.
“Not absolutely conclusively, no. I know she intended to come and see you. And I know she’s missing now. I would be worried about that if I were you.”
“And how will you explain your own silence up to now?”
“Oh, when your name is mentioned, Sheila, you may be sure my father will forget every other detail.”
“Why?”
Already I wished I had not spoken.
“Oh, you’ve no idea! He’s terrified of you! He has nightmares about you.”
Something in my chest rolls like a battle drum.
“What kind of man is terrified of an old woman?” I say. Mary cowers into her sister. Emma merely smiles as before. “What have I ever done to him?”
“Pathetic, isn’t it?” says Emma. “A grown man!” Then she laughs out loud. “And him so holy, so respected … There you go, staring at me again! I’m supposed to live in this place with nothing but rock and ocean and uncouth boys with broken teeth, yet I’msupposed to be sorry when my chances of escape suddenly increase twofold or more. And I’ve got a father who wails in the night of the witch who will destroy him, and I’m supposed to honour him like it says in the Bible. Even you expect me to do so—the witch herself wants me to respect such a man!”
Emma lets go of her sister and collapses onto my bed in laughter, the candle wavering in her hand. Mary comes close to the bed and her sister’s side; she throws me terrified glances.
“You see,” says Emma, noticing this, “Mary’s frightened of you too!” She tugs her little sister’s shawl until Mary sits down beside her on the bed.
“What do you want from me?” I ask, repeating the only question that may get this girl out of my cabin.
Emma stops laughing at last. She clears her throat and stares at me hard. “I want to know about Mary and me.”
“What about you?”
“My father is convinced the Roses are cursed, that they will never have male children.”
“Yes,” I say wearily, throwing my eyes to the ceiling.
And as subtle as a twitch of a bird’s feather, Emma catches it.
“You’ve heard this story before,” she says, her gaze steady in the candlelight, her face fixed like marble. “I wondered about that.”
“How could I have done?” I say, but my cheeks are burning and I know it is too late.
“My mother is very nervous, isn’t she? You’d think that would make her more careful to make sure she isn’t followed.”
“What are you talking about?”
“Don’t lie about Mother coming to visit you or I’ll know for certain you’re lying about Sara too.”
I take in a slow breath.
“Well, what about
I am not aware of looking at her in any particular way, but I know I am in shock, and have been, perhaps, since the moment ofmy awakening. I never thought I could come across a young woman more arrogant or cruel than Sara Rose. But here is such another before me, in a form even more angelic, the candlelight playing on her golden curls, her green eyes like a calm sea at sunset.
“I know what you’re thinking. What a little monster! Everyone thinks that about me, except for Mother and Father, of course. They adore me. But it’s just as well I am a little monster, isn’t it? If I weren’t, I’d have already told everyone about Sara going to see you last night.”
“You don’t know that,” I venture. She seemed to imply as much earlier, and I don’t want to be at this girl’s mercy.
“Not absolutely conclusively, no. I know she intended to come and see you. And I know she’s missing now. I would be worried about that if I were you.”
“And how will you explain your own silence up to now?”
“Oh, when your name is mentioned, Sheila, you may be sure my father will forget every other detail.”
“Why?”
Already I wished I had not spoken.
“Oh, you’ve no idea! He’s terrified of you! He has nightmares about you.”
Something in my chest rolls like a battle drum.
“What kind of man is terrified of an old woman?” I say. Mary cowers into her sister. Emma merely smiles as before. “What have I ever done to him?”
“Pathetic, isn’t it?” says Emma. “A grown man!” Then she laughs out loud. “And him so holy, so respected … There you go, staring at me again! I’m supposed to live in this place with nothing but rock and ocean and uncouth boys with broken teeth, yet I’msupposed to be sorry when my chances of escape suddenly increase twofold or more. And I’ve got a father who wails in the night of the witch who will destroy him, and I’m supposed to honour him like it says in the Bible. Even you expect me to do so—the witch herself wants me to respect such a man!”
Emma lets go of her sister and collapses onto my bed in laughter, the candle wavering in her hand. Mary comes close to the bed and her sister’s side; she throws me terrified glances.
“You see,” says Emma, noticing this, “Mary’s frightened of you too!” She tugs her little sister’s shawl until Mary sits down beside her on the bed.
“What do you want from me?” I ask, repeating the only question that may get this girl out of my cabin.
Emma stops laughing at last. She clears her throat and stares at me hard. “I want to know about Mary and me.”
“What about you?”
“My father is convinced the Roses are cursed, that they will never have male children.”
“Yes,” I say wearily, throwing my eyes to the ceiling.
And as subtle as a twitch of a bird’s feather, Emma catches it.
“You’ve heard this story before,” she says, her gaze steady in the candlelight, her face fixed like marble. “I wondered about that.”
“How could I have done?” I say, but my cheeks are burning and I know it is too late.
“My mother is very nervous, isn’t she? You’d think that would make her more careful to make sure she isn’t followed.”
“What are you talking about?”
“Don’t lie about Mother coming to visit you or I’ll know for certain you’re lying about Sara too.”
I take in a slow breath.
“Well, what about
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