I cannot stay.
Two days later, Eliza hovered over Minney and tucked the counterpane closer to her neck. She smoothed back the damp, frizzy hair. She reached for the hand and squeezed the cold fingers. How strange it was. That a face, once so unpleasant and ghastly, could seem so lovely now.
Minney was the injured daughter of the dreaded monster of the sea. All were frightened by her, for she bore the gruesome traits of the monster.
But Eliza had found her half drowned in the waves. When all the fish and birds and seafaring men had left her alone, Eliza had taken her into her own vessel and nursed her back to health.
She found something unexpected beneath the terrible face. She found a young and frightened and sweet and innocent child, who only needed a friend, who lacked only the kindness and compassion of others.
Eliza settled back into her chair and drew Merrylad into her lap. She banished the silly dream. Back in the forest, such a story would have comforted her—because the monster’s daughter would have been strong again, and Eliza would have set her back to sea, happy and healed.
But dreams were not real. No good came from imagining them. This was not the forest, and no one was truly happy, and endings were never as lovely as Captain had always read them to be.
The attic chamber door came open, and Leah’s head poked in. “Can I sit with her meself, Miss Gillingham? So tired, you look. You ought to rest.”
“No, I am not tired.” Indeed, the lack of sleep had been a solace. For two nights, she had evaded the beast. “But perhaps you might take Merrylad out of doors. I fear he may need out for a bit.”
“Of course I will. Come along, boy.”
Merrylad trotted after Leah, who had already won his trust with her small treats of food, and the room returned to silence when they were gone.
Minney stirred.
Eliza stood and grabbed the hand again. For the first time, the girl’s thin fingers returned the squeeze. “Minney, sweet, can you hear me?”
She batted her eyes open, wide and frantic, then jerked up her head. “Papa?”
“Shhh, now. It is only Miss Gillingham.” She brought a cup of water to Minney’s lips, waited until the girl sipped it down, then helped ease her head back to the pillow. “Can you speak at all? Do you remember what happened?”
“It hurts.” Tears streamed loose. “It hurts, hurts, hurts.”
“I know, but try not to think of it. You shall feel better soon.”
“Someone shot me.”
“Yes.”
“They thought I was you. I know they did. I was wearing one of your dresses. I didn’t think it’d hurt…just to wear them, so pretty…I’m sorry. I’m sorry. I’m sorry.”
“It was not your fault. You could not have known. And as soon as you are well, you may have any of my dresses you wish. Do you hear?”
The girl’s eyes closed again and her breathing turned heavy.
Eliza returned to her chair. Exhaustion threatened her own eyes, but she forced them to focus on the ribbons above Minney’s bed—not the tapestry.
She would not fall asleep.
Not in here.
Not with the beast staring her down from the old, frayed fabric hanging on the other wall.
The tall dining-room walls, with all their ancient paintings glaring down on Felton, seemed different from other days. The table was longer. The air emptier. The clinks of silver and glass more alarming and discordant.
“I am glad you came.”
Felton forked a veal olive, forced a smile. “Have I ever not?”
“Very true. You have been a faithful companion to me, Northwood, though of late you seem to be absent more than you are present.”
