In her beast.
The woman in the mirror did not belong to Eliza.
Maybe to one of the illustrations in the magazines Captain always brought her. Or in one of the books she was always reading. Such ladies were born for fine gowns and perfect ringlets.
But not Eliza. She was born for the plain cotton dress whose hem was stained from roaming the dewy forest. She was born for the brown pinafore, with which she would cradle newly picked flowers or ferns or some injured bird.
“Pretty, pretty.”
Eliza jerked from the mirror and grimaced at the young woman who entered her chamber.
Minney smiled in a way that made her features less menacing. “What’ee think of such fine things? I wish I could be wearin’ them.”
Eliza ran both hands down the muslin gown with white-on-white weaves. The movement made the ringlets sway at her cheeks, made her feel like the lofty queen she’d once pretended herself to be. Maybe she shouldn’t have done this. She shouldn’t have agreed to wear such fancy things—
“Ye were made for them.” Minney circled to one side of her. “Wait ’till his lordship be seeing’ee now. Won’t be runnin’ away next time, will he?”
Is that what he’d done? Run away from her?
Minney’s eyes softened. Almost as if she understood Eliza’s discomfort and fears—and knew the fears herself. Doubtless the girl’s eighteen years had been difficult. With a face so ghastly, pain must have been her greatest companion.
But her face, upon each encounter,didseem less terrible. Perhaps Minney was slow-witted, even frightening sometimes, and very strange.
But there was a tenderness about her too, as she coddled and spoke to Merrylad, or as she entered Eliza’s chamber every now and again with simple smiles.
“What are you doing here?”
Both Eliza and Minney jumped as Mrs. Eustace marched through the open bedchamber door. “How many times do I have to order you, Minney Bradshaw, to stay in the kitchen where you belong?”
The girl sank her chin to her chest. “I was helping, I was.”
“You were doing no such thing. When are you ever a help to anyone?” Mrs. Eustace waved her hand out the door. “Back downstairs before I’m of a mind to take away your supper. You should be grateful you have a roof over your head. Most masters would have thrown you out the second your father was dismissed from here.”
Minney’s head snapped up. “Ye leave my papa alone! Ye say one word about him, one word about my papa…and I’ll…I’ll …”
“Back to the kitchen.”
“I won’t go! I won’t go. Not when’ee say things about him. My papa. No, I won’t go.”
Mrs. Eustace marched forward, seized the girl’s elbow, and jerked her toward the door. “Cook needs help,” she said in a kinder tone, as if in hopes the girl would relent. “You like to help Cook, do you not?”
Minney whimpered something, jerked free, and took off running down the hall.
With a heavy sigh, Mrs. Eustace turned back to Eliza. “The child is demented and belongs in Bedlam.”
More like hurt and alone, like the red fox who had lashed out at Eliza once when she’d tried to mend his wounds.
“Anyway, since I see the maid has helped you on with your new dress, follow me downstairs. You have a visitor.”
Captain?
But no, even as the hope sprang to her mind, she pushed it back. As if Captain would visit a place like this. As if Captain would visit her at all.
He’d already had his chance once.
He hadn’t cared enough to take it.
If she were a man, Felton could make her do anything. A few blows, a few threats, talk of duels and bloodshed, and a man would start relenting.
