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She looks down at her mortar again, grinding the herbs half-heartedly. Her voice is flatter when she continues. “When Carson first came along, it became unacceptable for Bryn and I to be friends. He didn’t want me to associate with anyone from Spruce, let alone a beta servant.”
She pauses, releasing a caustic laugh. “So, she and I grew apart. But I never forgot her, and when Tansy told me she had a daughter, I vowed that I would help raise you. I promised I’d always keep you safe. And I have, haven’t I?”
I nod quickly. “Of course.”
“Good. I’m glad you think so.” Her flinty eyes narrow on me. “Because now that you’re grown, I need you to begin taking some accountability for yourself.”
My mouth falls open. I don’t know if it’s because of what happened with Noah or because I’ve been locked downstairs for days on end, drowning in dianthus tea. But that word—accountability—triggers something in me.
An ugly, annoyed pressure squeezes my chest until something gives and explodes inside me. Haven’t I always done everything they’ve asked of me? I drank their tea. I slept in the moldy basement. I pushed down my instincts—my ghost—when all I ever wanted was freedom.
When all I ever wanted was him.
But he doesn’t want me.
“Ugh!” I yell out a loud, savage sound as I shove the mortar and pestle away violently. The stone tools bang into the glass wall loudly, the petals spilling around them. Whipping around, I glare at Isolde, my face hot and my heart pounding. “Accountability for what?”
She steps closer, her green eyes snapping with fury.
“For yourself,” she replies viciously, unperturbed by my sudden burst of aggression. “Don’t be stupid, Henrietta. Your mother was stupid, and now she’s dead. Do you understand?”
As quickly as it appeared, my ghost and all its anger shrivels into a sad shadow.
No. I don’t understand any of this.
But that’s not what she wants to hear.
“Sure, I understand,” I bite out blankly.
“Good,” she murmurs, thrusting her mortar toward me. “It’s very important that you be smart. Your grandmother won’t be here to protect you forever.”
I hold perfectly still as the dianthus’ familiar, musty scent clouds around me, calming me.
“Yes, ma’am.”
“Now go drink your tea,” she snaps before turning away, dismissing me.
I nod and walk away, ready to escape this room and conversation. But just as I lay my hand on the doorknob, I hear her call out one last order, her voice thick with emotion.
“And cover your hair.”
12
Punishing
Hetty
Over the next few days, I’m exiled to the kitchen. Gran doesn’t mention how she found me outside Noah’s study, and she never explicitly says I’m being punished for anything. But as she doled out work every day, there was no mistaking it.
In the afternoons, when it was time to bring Noah his coffee, she’d turn to Cleo, her eyes skating over me like I was invisible.
Every morning, she sent Beth to clean the downstairs rooms and Nancy, the upstairs bedrooms.
And yesterday, when she noticed that we were running low on sugar, much to Cleo’s glee, she sent her down the hill to visit the sundry store.
Meanwhile, she told me to make the bread, stir the soup, or scrub the countertops. Anything that kept my feet firmly planted on the kitchen floor.
I didn’t complain, though. No, much to my ghost’s irritation, I did what I was told without a single peep. My ghost is weakened, anyway, its screams rising within me in an insolent whisper rather than any type of overwhelming urge.
