Cinderella Is Dead(68)
“When I saw her in the market before we left Lille, she was already being hurt. I can’t imagine what these past weeks have been like for her.”
“The king’s looking for you. You can’t just waltz into town and knock on her door.”
“I know but I have to go.” I take her hand, but she pulls away from me.
“Why?” Constance asks, her face hardening. “Why do you have to go? What has she ever done besides hurt you?”
“It’s not that simple,” I say. “You don’t understand how things are for us. The king pushes us into these roles that we don’t want.”
“You think I don’t understand what it’s like? I don’t need to be there to know. I was born in exile, lived my whole life that way. My family died out there while everyone back here was told they were monsters. All I have left of them are their letters and their stories and my memories. That’s the only place they exist for me anymore.” Tears spill over.
“And do you know who’s responsible for that?” I ask, gripping her hands and pressing them to my lips. “It’s not you or me or Lille. It’s Manford. He’s the reason Erin is in the situation she’s in, and I left her there.” My voice cracks as the tears come in an unstoppable cascade.
Constance takes my face in her hands. “I’m sorry. I didn’t want to upset you. I trust you, and even though I don’t want you to go, I can’t hold you hostage.” She looks like she might be considering it.
I glance at Amina, who snores loudly on her pile of blankets. “Do you think she will understand?”
“No. She won’t. But it’s not her decision. Please promise me you’ll be cautious. Stay out of sight and do not, under any circumstances, go home to see your parents. I’m sure the king has eyes on your house, just in case you turn back up.”
“Of course,” I say. “I need to see her, to tell her that things will be different, and, well, to say goodbye.”
“Goodbye?” Constance asks, confused.
“It feels like all I ever did was cause her pain. I never wanted that. She chose to do what was expected of her, and can I really blame her? Maybe I was selfish for trying to get her to change her mind.”
“You weren’t selfish,” Constance says. “You saw a future for yourself that she couldn’t imagine. You wanted her to believe that the two of you could find a way through all this. That’s what happens when you care about someone. And when you’re brave enough to imagine a different life.” She brings my hand to her lips and kisses it gently, letting her mouth linger there. “Be careful.”
I take a moment to look at her, to see if there is anything I haven’t already memorized about her face. If I stay another moment, I’ll change my mind, so I leave, not daring to look back.
I ride into town in the early morning hours; the lamplighters are making the rounds, snuffing out the lamps with their hooked poles. An air of melancholy hangs over the city like a gathering of storm clouds, ready to split open and wash the land in a torrent of pain and sadness.
As I make my way through town, dead set on finding Erin and telling her things are going to change even if I have to die trying, I realize I have no clue where she lives now. Probably with édouard, and not with her parents in the little house with the wide porch on Strattman Street. I decide to go to Liv’s house first to see if her parents know where Erin is.
I tether my horse and go to Havasaw Lane on foot. I hang back along the row of houses across the street from Liv’s. Her younger sisters, Mina and Cosette, are sitting in the front window. They look very much like Liv. An ache grips me so tightly I lose my breath. Nothing, not time or distance or distraction, has numbed the pain of her loss.
I cross the street and walk toward the house. As I approach the front step, I can hear the girls reading the passages of Cinderella’s tale. They spot me and disappear from the window.
“Papa! There’s a strange man outside!”
At least my disguise seems to be working. I hear footsteps barreling up to the front door, and when it swings open, Liv’s father stands there, his face ruddy, his eyes narrow.
“Who are you?” he asks, blocking the doorway. “What do you want?”
He stares at me in confusion before his eyes widen and his jaw goes slack. He looks up and down the street and motions for me to come inside. Locking the door behind us, he turns to me as he draws the curtains closed. “Were you followed?”
“No. I was very careful,” I say. “I’m so sorry to show up like this, but—” Liv’s mother appears in the living room. She seems smaller than the last time I saw her, more delicate. I take off my cap. “Oh, Mrs. Preston, I—I’m so sorry I—”
“Sophia?” She rushes forward and puts her arms around me. “You’re alive! We didn’t know where you had gone. We thought the king had taken you away or—or worse.” Tears stream down her face, and I’m miserable that she is crying for me when her own daughter lies cold in the ground.
“I’m fine, really I am.” I wipe the tears from my own eyes. “I know about Liv. I’m so sorry.”
“To your room this instant,” Liv’s father says to her sisters.
The girls scurry up the stairs, and I follow Mrs. Preston into the kitchen, where she takes a seat at the table. She’s one of those women who wears every ounce of heartache on her sleeve. Her small frame seems like it might collapse under its weight at any moment. Mr. Preston pours her a cup of tea and sits it in front of her, gently touching her shoulder.