“He found me when I was on the way to your room, the night of the escape.”
It sounds fake to my own ears. How do I reorient? Liney nearly interjects but must believe she’ll frighten me off. She nods for me to continue.
“You must understand that I once cared for him. I thought I could reason with him, show him an easier, better path.” I gulp, the truth harder to say. “Foolish of me. He has posters of us all over town. They sayIdid it.”
Liney’s eyes widen. Something oddly hopeful is in them.
“But you didn’t.” A sentence or a hidden accusation? Her voice is so flat, nothing like her.
My tongue moves in my mouth to spin another thread around my web of falsehoods, but I clamp my lips shut. Maybe my time with Mr. Pratterman has served me well in one way. I know when to think before I speak.
“Why would Thomas kill our parents that night and let us leave?” Liney asks, sitting back. “Wouldn’t that make him less likely to receive our inheritance? That’s why he wanted to marry you in the first place.”
“I saw him.” The words come out, confessional; I’m desperate to no longer hold the knowledge alone. “Yesterday.”
Liney straightens. The terror in her eyes makes me want to take the words back at once. Am I letting her in or distracting her?
“I swear it’s true, Caroline.” Her full name falls out of my mouth like sand, heavy and gritting. “I saw him in the inn. Do you remember Mr. Croxton?”
Liney nods, her breath shallow and the rest of her body still.
“He was there too,” I continue. “I went to the society, the one that had the keeper wages. The wages weren’t there, but his initials were in the ledger, and—”
Liney holds her hands out. “Slow down. You went where? You could’ve been found, Elle! Arrested!”Then what would happen to me?The question doesn’t leave her lips, yet it sits between us.
Heat rises in my face. I didn’t mean for this to happen, sitting at breakfast as though recounting pleasant travel stories while divulging my mistakes. I tense my gaze, an instinct slithering up from my gut. Liney isn’t acting right. Where are the tears? When did I stop knowing what my sister believes?
“This is why I don’t tell you things,” I mutter, rising from the table.
“No,” Liney protests, standing too. “Don’t shut me out, Elle. Not now. Tell me.”
What can I say until I get my bearings? “I got something.” I look back, smiling; her gaze doesn’t break through my new plan. “To protect us. If Mr. Croxton and Thomas are meeting, along with a group of men I don’t know, they may attempt to find us here. I found this.”
I hurry upstairs to the stashed bag and bring down the dagger, showing her the leather pouch. I undo the closure and slide it out carefully. Better to keep it hidden, but this fraying trust with Liney is more important to patch.
“I know I haven’t acted as I should toward you,” I admit, feigning embarrassment. I can’t be ashamed of what I’ve had to do, even if I regret it. “After this—when we’re free of all this, I’ll make it up to you.”
“You keep sayingall this.” Liney turns away from my prized possession with a scowl. “As though there’s any plan but to stay here the rest of our days. What does it matter that you have one knife or another? You shouldn’t haveanyknives, Elle!”
She pops a last forkful of fruit into her mouth and leaves the table. The wool coat flies off the hook, and she slams the front door. She didn’t ask to leave this time.
I don’t run after her. Holding the knife still, I turn it. It’s darkness, beauty, gleaming in the sunlight. I expect it to whisper secrets to me, but it remains silent. There’s no sin I’ll be forced to commit. The knife will steady my nerves and help me surpass my weakness. But everything is my choice.
I can’t rely solely on this blade. Mr. Pratterman believes I’ll swing whatever I’m given, an extension of himself to use as he pleases. But while I don’t understand his power as he does, there’s something I want to try. Beneath the lighthouse.
It’s high time I commune with the spiral directly. I won’t wait for it to reach for me. No more middleman either. If Mr. Pratterman can bleed, perhaps the control of the spiral isn’t so out of my grasp. He’d never tell me how to equal his strength. That doesn’t mean I can’t.
Wasn’t this year, this rotting in my bones, leading to this? I’m not a person of half measures. Mr. Pratterman, even Douglas, underestimated my ambition. Not marriage, not wealth. This isn’t just duty. I want this power for my own. No more limited freedom under another man’s wrath. This was always a half deal, a limbo of sacrifices just to stay afloat within Mr. Pratterman’s sphere. No more.
Liney will be distracted with Bridget now. There’s no point attempting to shackle her so tightly, and the distraction may help. It’ll take them a while to catch up and plan. The weakness of two. Bridget is under the impression that I have a way to help her avoid legal trouble. She has a reason to stay. It’s a gamble, but I must take the odds.
I finish my breakfast, eat the rest of Liney’s, sheath and pocket the knife, then push the chesterfield out of my way.
My white ribbon lies torn in two, tucked beneath the lock as though I wouldn’t notice.
Well then. So that’s why Liney had so many questions. Yet none of them were about Douglas. I’ve run out of anger against her. Knowing the root of all this rage is my own terror has removed its edge. If our positions were reversed, I’d have checked the basement long ago.
I avoid looking at the bones once below; I always do while pretending to check the oil. I must find the way deeper, into the spiral itself. There must be a way Mr. Pratterman gets access. I search the walls for a weak point.
