Baxstresse's oddities suddenly made sense. Cate's extra bruises and disappearances were clearly explained. But what could I do? Who could save her? Not Lady Kingsclere, who was out of her senses, but perhaps Belladonna. Would she even believe me if I told her? I had once considered her a friend, but would she side with Luciana as before? Mam was the only other person I could think of that held some sway with Luciana. I turned in the middle of the hallway and ran to the kitchen for help.
She was there in her faded apron as I ran past the stove, waiting. I half collapsed in front of her and she gathered me in her arms, wiping away tears I did not remember crying. “You never listen, child,” she fretted, smoothing back my hair.
“But Cate, we have to...”
“Cate can take care of herself. She's a strong girl, that one.”
“You knew? You knew and you let it happen?” The nausea was gone, dissolving into a furious energy. I was sure my grip would leave bruises on Mam's tired arms, but I did not care. How could she let something so ugly happen right above us? But…I had not stepped in to stop it immediately, either.
Mam did not pull away. “You'd rather Cate was dead? Because that's what she'll be if anyone tries, her and whichever fool got in the way.”
She let me cry myself out, not even leaving me to stir her precious vegetables or check the bread in the stove. Pain clawed at my chest and throat. My eyes stung when I finally pulled away from her, and my face and neck were covered with bright red blotches. I could not hate Mam. Luciana was the one I hated. I thought I had hated her before, when she had forced me to become a servant, when she had spilled the lentils, when she had beaten Cate, but that hatred was nothing compared to the rage and disgust I felt now.
“Cate was crying. I never learned...about things like that...” Mam's rough hands made soothing circles on my back as she helped me into a chair. I was silent again for several moments, but finally had to ask, “Is it...always so horrible?”
Mam kept a firm hand on my shoulder, her touch drawing out all of my emotions and leaving me empty and exhausted. “No, Ellie, it's not always horrible. If you're in love, it can be one of the most beautiful things in the world.”
But I could not imagine it. I only saw Cate crying. I tasted the pain. “If she ever touches me like that, I'll kill her. And then I'll kill myself.”
“You won't. You'll find you've got more to live for than you think.” Mam lifted her hand and hurried over to a wooden corner drawer I had never seen her open before. Her large, bent back hid what she removed until she turned and placed the familiar large healing basket on the table in front of me. “Cate will be needing a friend soon. Now that you know, you might as well help me take care of her bruises. You'll do a better job of it than any of us. She'll take comfort from you.”
“I…I can't bear it.” I sobbed, pushing the basket away. “Not me...”
“If Cate can bear the pain, you can certainly bear to take it away,” Mam said, although her words were not without sympathy. I was silent for a long time, staring at the woven basket. My anger was drowned in a wave of helplessness. I could not protect Cate. I could not even protect myself. That stupid bet was the only reason I had escaped the same fate.
“I'll help her.”
“She won't be down for a while more. Go and see to the bread, and be taking care not to burn yourself.”
I was grateful that Mam had given my hands something to do, but they fidgeted anyway as I fetched the bread and set it on the counter to cool. The seconds stretched by until Cate shuffled in through the door, tugging at her skirts uncomfortably with her left hand, her face and neck freshly marked. When she saw I was still in the kitchen, her eyes took on their familiar dead glaze. Now I knew why she had needed to learn it. I walked over to the basket and pulled out bandages while Mam went to boil water. None of us spoke.
After Cate had been bandaged and kissed, washed and soothed back to us, Mam left, sensing that we needed time. I knew that Cate, who was never fond of speaking, would be too frightened to start. “You should have told me. I thought we were friends.” I had not, until that moment, realized how betrayed I felt. We had only known each other for a short time, but Cate was dear to me.
“I never told anyone. The others just knew.”
My eyes itched again, blurring at the corners. “I would have helped you. I could have found a way…”
“There isn't a way.” Cate's expression was vacant, but her words were bitter and cold. It was the first time I had seen her angry, and I was so surprised that I nearly knocked five of the extra bandage strips from the kitchen table. “She first took me when I was fourteen. She'll have me again and again until she gets bored or she kills me.”
I opened my mouth, trying to speak, but no words came. “If I run away, she'll hunt me. If I hide, she'll find me. If I fight...Luciana has killed before. I'd rather live in pain than not live at all. Maybe a miracle will happen and she'll die or leave Baxstresse. Perhaps when she marries.”
I knew that Luciana would never leave Baxstresse for any suitor less than Seria's prince. Cate understood, but neither of us could bear to consider the alternative. “Ellie,” she whispered, all of her anger gone, “you...do you think any less of me?”
I was astonished. “Of course not. Why would I?”
“Because I'm not...” And then I understood. I forgave her a little for keeping her secret. Of course she would feel ashamed to talk about it with me. I was glaringly naïve. Belladonna had picked up on it immediately and I supposed that everyone else had done the same. Perfect virgin, innocent lamb. It all made sense.
“I would never think less of you, Cate. The only person I think less of is Luciana.” Cate's lips curved quietly, a soft smile. My right hand reached out, stroking her left cheek. “You have done nothing wrong. Will you remember?” My fingers combed through her tangled red hair as we gazed out of the window instead of at each other.
“I will remember.”
CHAPTER 9
THEY SAY THAT giants fall from great heights, and Jamison's ego hovered somewhere near the stars. We were eager to bring the purple-faced dandy crashing back down to earth. All the hatred Cate and I felt for Luciana, all the pain we had suffered, all of our helplessness and frustration was poured into our revenge. Neither of us had much experience with hatred. We hoped that by doing this one bad deed, we could purge most of our black feelings. Neither of us wanted to let them fester and become like Luciana.
Several times, Cate tried to put a stop to our plans. I pushed on for her sake. Cate needed to do this if she was ever going to heal. She had to understand that her honor was worth defending, and that Luciana and Jamison were not untouchable. I needed this victory as well to prove that I was not a silly, helpless fool.
It was easy to see what we needed to do. Jamison's formal waistcoat with the large, bright brass buttons had to go. Coming up with a way to ruin the waistcoat was more difficult. If one of us stained the waistcoat, we would surely be turned over to Luciana, but if Jamison stained it himself, perhaps with wine, we would not be punished.
“Maybe one of us could make a loud noise while Jamison drinks his evening wine in the dining hall,” I suggested. Jamison always took his wine in Baxstresse's formal dining hall. It was no secret why. He enjoyed pretending that he was the lord of the manor.
“It might work…” Despite her words, Cate’s expression was doubtful. “But what if the spill doesn't catch his coat?”
“It's worth a try, anyway. The library's right next door. One of us could push something over, and if the cup was filled to the brim...”
Finally, Cate agreed to fill the glass. Without discussing it, we both understood that I would be the one to make the loud crash. We hoped that Jamison would exclaim over his coat instead of chasing after the noise, but if he did catch me, I would take the punishment. The bet would protect me from the worst of Luciana's abuse. Cate's poor body was in no condition to take any more.
That night, I waited in the library w
hile Cate brought Jamison his wine. I listened for the large grandfather clock to strike seven as I examined the long rows of bookshelves. Most of the shelves were too heavy to push over, but there were smaller, half sized shelves at the ends of each row that I could just move. Positioning myself behind one of them and kicking aside the feather duster I had brought as my excuse, I rested my hands against the shelf.
We needed to time it perfectly. I had to push the shelf before Jamison drained his glass too low, but if I pushed too soon, Cate would still be holding the cup. We had decided that she would hand Jamison his wine at exactly seven o' clock, and I would push the shelf over three seconds later. Luckily for us, he always kept to a strict schedule.
My eyes rested on the smaller clock pushed in to one corner of the library. Its beautiful face was hardly aged at all behind its shining glass mask, and it was perfectly aligned with the one in the dining room. As I watched, the tall hand pointed to the twelve, and the old clock chimed the hour through the quiet room, its voice strangely muffled by the chairs and shelves crammed together. The echo of the larger, booming grandfather clock in the dining room rang in time with its smaller brother. I counted to three and shoved.
The bookshelf tipped, landing with the echoing crack of wood on stone. I had left the large library doors open, and I was sure that the noise could be heard from several rooms away. I bent over to pick up my duster, not wanting to leave any evidence, and tried to hurry deeper into the library, but I tripped over a pile of scattered books and fell to my knees.
Grudgingly, I stumbled back onto my feet, not bothering to run. It was too late to escape anyway. Too many precious seconds had been wasted. Instead, I picked up one of the books that had fallen in front of me, scanning for a title so I could reshelf it. At least I would look busy if Jamison did decide to investigate the noise. To my surprise, the book's spine was blank, and there was no title on the first page.
I ran my fingertips over the soft leather cover. The book was obviously well loved. The pages were creased, not yellow with age, but smooth with frequent use. The handwriting was varied—usually neat, but occasionally larger, smudged and frantic, as though it had been written in a moment of desperation.
It was obviously a diary of some kind. Not wanting to intrude on someone's personal thoughts, I started to close the book when a few words caught my attention. My name was written several times on one of the open pages. Setting my morals aside, I started to read. Although the page was littered with ink stains and the lines spilled out of their orderly rows, the words were clear enough.
...so beautiful, my sweet obsession. She has no idea how much I want her. I wonder how the liquid satin of her would feel around my fingers, or against my mouth.
In her innocence, she stirs me more than any other woman I have ever taken. She is a complete virgin in both body and mind. She blushes so prettily, my beautiful Ellie. I can hardly stop myself from drawing her into my arms and never letting go.
Such a tender heart should be cherished and protected and loved. I only wish I could be the lover she needs. I need her to need me. I want to be everything for her—a lover, a friend, a guardian. I desire her because she is beautiful, but I love her because she is kind and good. I have seen how protective she is of Cate and how gently she treats the horses.
I love you, my infatuation, my Ellie. I will never have you, but the softness of your mouth is tempting and I wonder at its taste. I have given my heart to you already. The guilty whole of it is yours.
Before I could read further, Cate hurried into the library, worry lines tightening her forehead. “Oh, Ellie, I heard the crash! Are you all right? Why aren't you hiding?”
I searched for my voice, but was unable to form words. The mystery writer had wiped everything else from my mind. I stood there, flushed and frightened and overjoyed all at once for reasons I could not understand, trying to remember what Cate had said to me.
“It was brilliant, though!” she continued, the worry lines easing a little. “Jamison's precious coat is ruined. I was so afraid for you...you never came out after you knocked the shelf over.” Cate looked at the book in my hand curiously, but I snapped it shut. I pressed my lips together, swallowing to loosen my throat. I had no choice. I needed to lie.
“Oh...I was...reading something. Poetry.”
“Poetry, at a time like this? It must have been good poetry,” Cate joked. I was too distracted to take pleasure in her unusually good mood. Jamison's defeat had lifted her spirits considerably. “If it's really that distracting, you'll have to read some to me later.”
“Not from this one. It's handwritten, and I can barely make it out.” I gave her a quick flash of my admirer's messy handwriting. “I was going to see if there was anything in it worth copying over before I threw it away. Mam has been after us to organize this place anyway.”
The lie was surprisingly easy to tell. Afterwards, I realized just how strange that moment had been. It was as if I knew I had to keep the diary safe, even from Cate. It was one of the only successful lies I ever told. Perhaps that was why Cate believed me so easily.
I opened the book again as soon as I had smuggled it away. Whoever had written the diary was clever. Hiding a book in a library, among hundreds of others, was a brilliant idea. Curious, I flipped the pages, looking for a name. Soon, my eyes settled on a page that caught my attention. It told me quite plainly who had poured their heart into the journal.
My heart was torn in two today. I betrayed my Ellie. It was hard, so unbelievably hard, to talk Luciana into keeping her on as a servant. I saved her life, but for what? From now on, she will be treated little better than a slave. I bargained with my sister to keep her from using Ellie like the rest of her toys. It is not nearly enough, but her body, at least, is safe. I can do nothing for her heart.
I know what I did was right, but the ache in my chest remains. Luciana would have beaten her, stolen her innocence, and thrown her out of the window, unless she devised another cruel death sentence to use instead. Thankfully, Ellie is alive.
Strangely, the thought of Luciana breaking her body hurts me more than the thought of her death. My Ellie deserves to be taken willingly, worshipfully, lovingly. Any woman does. I am sure that thoughts of Luciana's sick perversions sting the worst only because I cannot imagine Ellie dead. My heart will simply not accept the idea of losing her. If Luciana had killed her, I am sure the numbness would be permanent.
My chest is heavy with guilt. I have not eaten all day. She looked at me while Luciana tormented her, asking why I had hurt her with her eyes. I had no answer to give her. I still have no answer. All I wanted to do was tell her that I loved her, let her know that I would keep her safe. Someday, perhaps she will understand that I had to do what I did. I only wish I could have spared her the pain. I gladly would have taken it myself.
My throat tightened as I realized who had written such powerful declarations of love for me. “Saints,” I whispered to myself, dropping the book onto my lap. My hands trembled as I shut the leather cover. I had never seriously thought of taking a lover before in my life, especially not another woman.
Especially not my stepsister.
***
After finding the diary, my mind was not my own. I could barely stomach food, and I spent my nights awake, except for the dreams. I must have looked a sight, because Mam, Cate, Matthew, Jessith, and even the disagreeable Rucifee asked if I was ill. Working as a servant and bearing Luciana's hatred could not ease the intensity of this sickness, whatever it was. I had a guess, although I was afraid to consider the word at first. The closest I could safely come to approaching it was infatuation.
The morning after Cate and I played our trick on Jamison, I carefully returned the diary to the scattered pile of books on the floor. When I checked the library that afternoon, the shelf had been straightened and the diary was still there. Only Trugel, the ancient library cat, watched me as I took it from the shelf, enjoying the weight of it in my hand. I just knew that Belladonna had p
ut it back herself to keep her secret safe. She must have decided that the shelf had fallen by accident and that no one had noticed the diary. Since she was not suspicious, I started to steal it whenever I could.
I was always cautious when I took the diary to read. I counted the books on either side to make sure I put it back exactly where I had found it, in between Mountaineering: An Explorer's Handbook and A Serian's Guide to Sailing. Since the nearest mountains and oceans were a week's distance away, it seemed like a good hiding place. The rest of the titles on the shelf were equally useless, most of them travel guides and maps that did not discuss the areas around Baxstresse.
Belladonna was careful in other ways, too. She added entries in the early afternoon while her sister and mother napped and the servants were cleaning the table after lunch. I took the diary at night while most of the household was in bed. I could never let Belladonna know I had learned her secret, at least not yet. As much as I wanted to confront her, something gripped at me. Perhaps fear and uncertainty, but it was probably guilt. I was afraid that Belladonna would hate me for reading her personal thoughts. Until I was certain she would forgive me, I decided I would keep quiet.
Thoughts of my stepsister and what she had written ghosted me even when the book was safe on its shelf. The seeds were rooted deep in my mind. Could this be love? I wondered fearfully as I scrubbed the dinner dishes, numb to the sting of lye against my hands. It was not the romantic warmth I had expected. Instead, it ate at me, a sweet torment, bands of it clutching tighter about my chest with every moment. For the first time, I was consumed with the idea of taking a lover, something I had never wasted my time pondering before. High society’s disapproval of such things, especially between two women, hardly registered in my mind. Being related by marriage only made it slightly more scandalous.
The Second Sister (The Amendyr Series) Page 7
