A Dreadful Splendor (97)

I frowned at her, unconvinced. “I don’t see what this has to do with us.”

Maman clutched my shoulders. “You are best to stay invisible and give her what she asks.”

“And what if she asks me to be her next girl, Maman? What then?”

She flinched as if my words had struck her. “You will never be one of her girls.” She slunk back, her body slouched with hurt. “I do this to protect you. Please, why can’t you understand?”

Time halted. I saw myself, clutching the doorknob, shivering in my wet boots and eager for an escape. Trapped in a room where death and despair still lingered on the sheets. Captive in a house supported by thin crooked walls, and full of dark secrets. Standing in front of a woman who I couldn’t bear to look at a second longer because all I could see was my future self.

“No.” I opened the door and ran, but Maman was faster than I realized. Her grip on my elbow was like iron. I would not give in as I pulled away from her, half dragging us both. The chestnuts I had dropped scattered and bounced down the stairs. A door at the end of the hallway creaked open, and a head peeked out.

Maman was an anchor, in every sense, and I craved to be free. All my resentment rushed to the surface. Her actions and choices had brought us both to this battleground. “You can’t take care of me properly anymore,” I screamed. “You’re a horrible mother.” A few more doors opened, more faces peering out to watch us.

Then I said the thing I thought about late at night, when my eyes were shut tight, and the pillow was pushed against my ears. “I wish I’d never been born. I wish you’d jumped into the harbour the day my father died.”

I knew I’d said the one thing that would break her heart. But a part of me felt relief, a warped victory. I steadied myself for her to finally pull away, to give up trying to convince me.

Instead, she pulled me into a hug. “You saved me that day,” she whimpered. “And have been keeping me alive ever since. Please don’t hate me. You were meant to live, ma petite chérie.”

I didn’t hear the plea in her voice; I only heard anguish. I had taken her word as the perfect truth for as long as I’d been breathing—until then.

“No!” I ripped myself from her embrace. I wanted her to disappear; I couldn’t stand to be next to her. I wanted her to know she couldn’t solve everything with a simple hug.

When she reached out for me again, I recoiled. I edged closer to the top of the stairs, clutching my book in front of me like a shield.

She snatched it from my grip. “This is not real,” she said. Her tone was firm, more controlled than how I felt. “It’s a story about people who never existed. Why do you care so much for them?”

I grabbed the book and tried to tug it out of her grip, but she had decided she would not lose. She stepped backward, yanking fiercely. The spine was fragile from years of being reread. Our struggle was enough to rip it in half. I watched my only treasure in the world come apart. Pages erupted. The momentum made Maman fall back. She slipped on a chestnut and her feet came out from under her.

Instinctively, I reached forward, but I only caught her shawl. It took just seconds. Then she was at the bottom of the stairs, motionless. I thought I saw her chest rise. I prayed for her to lift her head.

The girls rushed around me, some descending the stairs to reach Maman. Miss Crane appeared from the parlour. Her eyes swept over my mother’s limp form. She knelt over her, calling her name. Book pages lazily drifted down from above like large snowflakes. I started to clamber down the stairs, but someone ordered Drusilla to hold me in place. Miss Crane’s back blocked my view. I couldn’t see my mother.

Someone went to fetch an ambulance, but instead they returned with a constable. His black beard matched his beady eyes as he looked me up and down. Maman’s shawl was pulled from my grip as handcuffs encircled my wrists.

They didn’t let me look at Maman, but it didn’t matter. I already knew the truth. I knew she was dead because half of my heart had suddenly gone dark.

At the police station, someone kind put a blanket around me, but I couldn’t stop shaking. Several of the girls had attested that I’d pushed Maman.

Miss Crane took an officer to the side. Money exchanged hands. Then she was in front of me, helping me stand. “Come home, Jenny. Your room is waiting for you.” I could tell from her tone that I had no choice. She owned me now.

Maman was dead, and I would never be the same.





Chapter Fifty-Seven




I woke with a pounding headache, shivering and slumped against something hard. I blinked, trying to focus through the dimness, but there were only vague shadows. Nothing looked familiar. Then I realized my dress was floating around my waist.

I screamed and flailed in the water until my feet found purchase and I could stand. Heavy cuffs encircled my wrists; their rusted chains were attached to the rock wall behind me. I tugged sharply, but the chains held. Hot pain inflamed both arms where the skin was already rubbed raw. Another wave came in, reaching my knees. The air reeked of seaweed and rot. There was a single torch attached to the wall. I tried to focus on its flame as my heart pounded a panicked rhythm.

The water ebbed and flowed like the very sea was breathing. My foot slipped on the rocks, and I felt a crush of glass under my shoe. Squinting down at the water, I could make out the glint of a shattered lamp, the very one I had dropped the last time I came here.