Dread Nation (Dread Nation #1)(36)



Mr. Redfern’s eyes barely even take in the rest of us before he bows deeply to Miss Duncan. “It is a pleasure to have your company for the evening meal, ladies. If you would follow me, I would be happy to make introductions.”

Miss Duncan, for her part, smiles widely. “Thank you, sir. I’m afraid I’m at a loss, because I never got the privilege of your name.” The two of them make eyes at each other for a minute, sharing a secret.

Mr. Redfern smiles. “My apologies. I am Daniel Redfern.”

Miss Duncan gives a quick curtsy. “Pleased to make your acquaintance, Mr. Redfern. Amelia Duncan.”

I don’t know who they think they’re fooling with this act, but I’m convinced utterly that they are already well acquainted. Miss Duncan knows Mr. Redfern, but how? She catches me scowling at her and raises a questioning eyebrow. I smooth my expression and turn my attention back to the introductions.

Miss Duncan gestures at me and Katherine. “I trust you already know the girls.”

“Yes, we have met.” Mr. Redfern nods politely at Miss Anderson and Katherine before his eyes settle on me, his pleasant expression going hard. “Follow me,” he says.

I stand there, baffled, as they all file off to meet the crème de la crème of Baltimore’s elite. It might be my imagination, but I do believe this is the third time Mr. Redfern has looked at me as though he’d like nothing more than to use me as shambler bait.

I take my time following for the introductions, getting a feel for the house before making my way through the crowd. The sitting room is large, and off to the side is a massive dining room with seating for forty. The rooms here are lit by regular old gas lamps; I suppose the mayor put the electric ones outside to show off to guests and passersby. I watch as Mr. Redfern introduces Katherine and the Misses Duncan and Anderson to a group of women clustered together like a group of chattering hens, their broad chests puffed out in self-importance. One glance at their faces has me walking in the opposite direction.

Momma always said a healthy serving of scorn before dinner keeps a girl slim.

I remain posted up near the doorway while Katherine and the instructors circulate through the crowd. From here I can see right into the dining room and the majority of the sitting room while being blissfully ignored.

In the dining room servants are putting out place settings. A pasty-complexioned man barks out orders to the servants, most of them darker than me. They’re older, and they have the hangdog look I associate with the folks who came up enslaved, who never knew a taste of freedom until it was too late for them to properly embrace it. But one of the men walks with his head a little too high, as though he knows his worth. He’s lighter than the rest, his shoulders thrown back in a proud way, a sparkle of mischief in his too-light eyes.

Red Jack.

He looks out of place in a servant’s white shirt and jacket, gloves on his hands. The bruising on his face is barely noticeable, no doubt covered up by cosmetics from one of the working girls he knows. What does he think he’s doing, trying to hide in plain sight when the mayor’s boys roughed him up not two days ago? He sees me enter and pauses for a moment, raising a single eyebrow in a way that says, Look at you, all cleaned up. I give him my best glare, and he just winks at me.

Watching the preparations for dinner causes a lump to rise up in my throat. A wave of homesickness like I’ve never felt washes over me, and I place a hand on my middle. Sudden tears threaten, and I blink hard to force them away. It’s been so long since I’ve been to Rose Hill that I wonder if the whole memory ain’t some kind of fever dream.

Does my momma even miss me? All my memories of Rose Hill are filled with her—her voice, her delicate beauty. But here, so many miles from home, I have to wonder if the place even exists. For all the letters I post to her regularly, Momma hasn’t written me in over ten months.

Is she even still alive? I could be writing to a ghost. Or worse, a shambler.

It’s a question I’ve refused to ask myself. I don’t want to think about what it would do to my world if Momma is dead. The only thing that’s kept me going at Miss Preston’s is the way Momma looked at me when the truant officer pulled me away toward the waiting pony. “Be the best. Learn what you need to learn and come back to me,” she’d said. So I will.

Now, I’m almost ready to graduate from Miss Preston’s, but I have no idea if there even is a Rose Hill to return to anymore. What is my future? This, right here, standing at the edge of a room like a piece of furniture?

The dinner bell rings, jarring me out of my reverie. I slip out of the dining room and into the gathering area, falling back to where the ladies mill about, waiting for their escorts. Katherine looks over as I sidle up, wearing her lemon-eating face.

“Where have you been?” she whisper-yells at me.

“I was right there in the doorway, watching the entrances. Why’re you so out of sorts?”

Katherine just gives a quick shake of her head, and I shrug. Whatever’s amiss, she ain’t sharing.

“Well, Jackson is in the dining room, by the by, all decked out like a servant.” I glance over in the direction of the white ladies, who talk to each other behind fans and gloved hands. They cast us curious glances that ain’t the least bit friendly. I look around the room and frown. “Where are their girls?”

Katherine glances around as well. “That is an excellent question, Jane. Perhaps you would have heard how most of them were dismissed after their cowardly behavior at the lecture, if you had joined us in the sitting room.”

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