The Belles (The Belles #1)(32)

The servant scoots out. The Belle? I panic, wondering if Madam Claire is in my room right now, looking for me. I turn to leave, but hear Madam Claire’s high-pitched voice.

“We’re here. We’re here to the rescue,” she screeches.

I return to my hiding spot at the door. Madam Claire parades a girl with a Belle-bun and veil around the room. My heart thuds. Is that Aza? Did she lie to me about my big sister being here?

I crane to see.

The woman in the red dress circles the Belle. “Why can’t I have your new Belle? Camellia, is it?”

The sound of my name knocks into my chest.

“Lady Sylvie, Camellia has just arrived. Her ledgers are chockfull of daytime appointments. She does not work after dusk. I reserve specific Belles for the night.”

Belles for the night?

“This one will suffice and is talented,” Madam Claire says.

“I want to see her before she works on me,” Sylvie demands.

The Belle whimpers and cries. The same sound I heard before. The pain of it sends a shiver across my skin.

“What’s wrong with her?” Sylvie asks.

The rest of the room bursts into laughter.

“She’s just nervous,” Madam Claire assures her. She tightens her grip on the Belle’s arm.

“Lift her veil. Let me see her,” Sylvie says. “Hurry up.”

“Perhaps we should go into one of the treatment salons. We have dozens. Anything that suits your fancy. It would be more appropriate to inspect her in one of those.”

“I don’t care what is proper. I want this over quickly so I can go back to enjoying myself. We’re headed into the Rose Quartier just before the midnight star. We’ve got a card game. I need to be fixed now.”

Madam Claire forces a smile. “Yes, yes, of course.”

I hold my breath.

“Lift your veil, Delphine,” Madam Claire orders.

Who is Delphine? I crane my neck farther. The Belle slowly uncovers her face, but her back is to me, and I can see nothing.

Sylvie leans in and frowns. “Why does she look that way?”

“They don’t all come out the same. Or as beautiful. It’s an imprecise art, is what my sister says.”

Sylvie turns the Belle around so everyone can inspect her. I press my face so close to the door it’s slick with my sweat. The left side of the Belle’s face is fused into hard wrinkles, like melted wax. I cover my mouth with one hand and step back.

What is this? What is going on?

“I don’t want her,” Sylvie says. “I demand you wake Camellia.” She removes a coin purse from the folds of her dress and jingles it. “I’m prepared to spend thousands of spintria for the trouble. And you don’t want to run me off to the Silk Teahouse, because I will go and take all my rich friends with me.”

Madam Claire trembles and clutches her hands together, almost like she’s begging. She points at a nearby servant. “Wake her. Get Camellia up and dressed.”

I race out of the room and back through the servant entrance to the staircase. I bolt through Bree’s quarters. She jumps from her seat.

“Lady Camellia, what are you doing—”

“I’ll tell you later.” I shove through the panel door into my bedroom, just as I hear the click of the lock. I open the bedcurtains and dive under the covers.

The door creaks open.

I hear the soft patter of approaching feet, the whisper of echoing voices. The bedcurtains flutter. My heart knocks against my chest, wanting out. Sweat soaks my gown.

“Lady Camellia,” a voice calls in.

I press my eyes closed.

She jostles my shoulder. I don’t move.

“She’s not waking up,” she whispers to someone else. The woman tiptoes back to the door. “Tell Madam Claire she’s fast asleep.”

I wait for them to go, trying to calm my breath. When all is silent I slide out of bed again and go back to the wall panel.

“Bree,” I whisper.

The door panel creaks open.

“Yes, Lady Camellia. What’s wrong?”

“Are there other Belles in this teahouse?”

“I don’t think so.”

“I saw one.”

“One of your sisters?”

“No, someone else.”

“A big sister?”

“I know every big sister. I’ve memorized everything about them. This was someone else. Someone I’ve never seen before. Her face was mutilated. Her name is Delphine. Can you help me find out about her?”

“Of course.”

A heavy knock pounds the door. “Camellia,” Madam Claire’s voice calls out.

“I don’t want to talk to Madam Claire until I find out what’s going on. Tell her I’m a hard sleeper. One who doesn’t wake easily once in bed. Blame it on the use of my arcana. Quick.”

I slip back into bed and cover myself completely with the covers. Bree hustles forward to the door.

Bree and Madam Claire exchange a series of frenzied whispers.

I lie frozen as Madam Claire inspects me. I hold my breath until I hear the door lock again.





15


Warm days turn chilly, and the trees around the teahouse start to blaze in brilliant shades of gold and orange and red. Madam Claire is always fussing about money, and wanting to compete with the other teahouses for the most business. Clicks from her ivory and cardinal-beaded abacus fill the main hall each morning, and the banging noises of her spintria safes fill each evening. Yet the morning and afternoon ledgers stay impossibly full. She hosts late parties every night. Laughter coils around the chandelier-lanterns, racing along each balcony, only to be undercut by the melody of sobs and cries.