The Governess Game (Girl Meets Duke #2)(37)

Daisy ran her fingers over the tiny red beads. “Why aren’t they on a proper chain?”

“Governesses can’t afford gold chains.”

Nevertheless, Alex kept them as secure as possible—individually knotted, on a ribbon that she faithfully replaced every three months, lest it fray.

“They’re corales,” she told Daisy. “Red coral beads. Where I was born, mothers make a bracelet of them and tie it around their baby’s wrist.” She reached for Millicent and demonstrated, wrapping the ribbon around the doll’s arm where the carved wooden hand met the batting-stuffed arm. “Like so. It’s for protection.”

“Protection?” This skeptical inquiry came from Rosamund. Apparently, she’d been paying attention from across the room. “Protection from what?”

“From all sorts of terrible things. Sickness. The evil eye. An aswang—that’s a witch. There are all manner of fearsome creatures. Take the manananggal.”

“Magana-what?”

“Manananggal.” Alex made her voice dark and mysterious. “She’s a lady vampire who can cut herself in two. Her legs remain rooted in the ground like a tree stump, and the rest of her flies out into the night. Her intestines unwind like a string behind her, and she goes hunting for mothers and their children. She lies on the roof of a house, and uses her long, long tongue to reach her sleeping prey, probe down their throats, and suck out their blood.”

“I shan’t be frightened of those,” Daisy said. “The intestine is only twenty-six feet long, and the Philippine Islands are much farther away than that. No mana-thinggum could possibly reach us.”

“Perhaps not.”

“I have a necklace from my mother, too.” Daisy scampered to the trunk that served alternately as treasure chest and Millicent’s burial vault. Rosamund looked on, wary, as her sister sifted through the contents and retrieved a small, gilded box inlaid with French motifs painted on porcelain.

Once she’d returned to the bed, Daisy opened the box and drew out a gold pendant on a slender chain. “Here.”

“Oh, that’s lovely,” Alex said.

“It’s a locket,” Daisy said proudly. She picked open the latch to display a painted miniature. “That’s Mama.”

Alex took the pendant in her hand, holding it closer for examination. “How beautiful she was.”

“Oh, yes. She was very beautiful. She was brilliant at singing and cards. And clever, too. She always knew just how to make you feel better, if you had a stomachache or cough.”

“It would have been better if she hadn’t known,” Rosamund said.

“Why would you say that?” Alex asked.

“That’s how she caught her death. She was helping nurse the neighbor’s boy when he was ill with the putrid throat. He got better, but not before making her sick. She wasn’t so very clever after all.”

“She was,” Daisy retorted angrily.

“She ought to have never gone. Anyone could see what would come of it. It was stupid of her.”

“Rosamund,” Alexandra said gently.

Daisy jumped to her feet. “You can’t say that. Take it back.”

“I shan’t take it back.” Rosamund tossed aside her book and stood. “It’s the truth. Mama was stupid and reckless. She cared more about mending the neighbor boy than she cared about staying alive for us.”

“That isn’t so,” Daisy yelled through tears. “You’re mean and spiteful and I hate you.”

“Well, I hate her.” Rosamund tore the necklace from Daisy’s hand and threw it across the room. It bounced off the wall and clattered to the floor. She stood there for a moment, breathing hard and staring at the wall. Obviously struggling not to cry.

Alex approached her gingerly. “Rosamund.”

“Don’t.” The girl flinched, recoiling from the touch. “Don’t touch me. Leave Daisy alone, as well. Don’t pretend to mother her. You’re leaving at the end of the summer. And when you’ve gone, we won’t miss you at all.”

Rosamund ran from the room. Daisy had retreated to a corner, where she curled her knees to her chest, buried her head in her arms, and sobbed.

Alex wanted to soothe them both, but she knew well from her own youth that the loss of parents couldn’t be healed with biscuits or hugs. The girls needed time, and they needed to know they were safe. Safe to rage or shout or cry, without being told to hush. With her, they needn’t pretend they weren’t hurting inside. If nothing else, she could give them that—for a few more weeks, at least.

She found the locket and turned it back and forth in her hands. Thankfully, it appeared undamaged from its disastrous flight across the room. The hinge had been tweaked, but she was able to bend it back in place with a bit of gentle manipulation. After replacing the necklace in the French inlaid box, she returned it to the trunk at the foot of the bed. In digging for her treasure, Daisy had made quite a jumble of the playthings and blankets that filled the chest. Alex pulled it all out, planning to fold, sort, and organize the contents as she replaced them.

When she reached the bottom of the trunk, however, she found a mysterious bundle, roughly the size of a teapot. It had been tightly wrapped in oilcloth and bound with a length of twine.

Which was tied with a cat’s-paw knot.