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“I’d no earthly clue, until recently, that he’d staged my death. Though, at long last, that does explain his behaviors. I would spend the next twenty years worried about Maxine, but with my Satrine. We did not have much. He kept us in a secluded cottage, well away from any populace, and disallowed us to have contact with anyone but each other. Now, I know this was because he did not wish for anyone to see me. And, perhaps, Satrine.”
Holy wow.
We hadn’t come up with that.
It was a stroke of brilliance!
“He had someone watching us, and if we should try to reach out to another, or attempt escape, something I gathered my daughter with me to do, we’d be punished by being brought back and having something we needed dearly taken away. Satrine getting new clothing when she was growing, our allotted flour for the month so we had no bread, no oil for our lamps so we had no light, fuel for our fires, that sort of thing.”
She sniffed, like the next memory overwhelmed her.
“We had a kind husband and wife who provided us provisions. They did not hide they felt most sorry for our plight. They spoke the language of the Vale, and we could often convince them to sit for some tea, a quick game of tuble or enjoy an afternoon dram.”
Dram?
“But they were sent to us by him, and those were the only interactions for which we did not earn a harsh rebuke.” Her voice changed like she was uttering an afterthought. “And we did make friends with a few lonely roamers.”
She came back to herself, thankfully didn’t wander down the “lonely roamers” path, and her tone turned downcast.
“And regrettably, Edgar felt it was his duty to visit on a rare occasion. However, it had been veritable years since we’d seen him. We suspected that perhaps our confinement was over. He had forgotten us, and we could make moves to be free. We’d begun devising plans to sally forth and find our way on our own, without his meagre support. However, with his usual dastardly timing, he arrived some months past and demanded Satrine stand in Maxine’s stead for her betrothal. Obviously”—she lifted her nose—“we declined.” She then turned to Loren and murmured, “No offense, your grace.”
“None taken, my lady,” Loren murmured back.
I returned to pressing my lips together.
Mom returned to the inspector.
“I hope you don’t need me to share in detail the indignities we suffered as Edgar made clear he did not accept our declination, and all that came after. I will just say, right here and now, regardless of the trauma, it was worth every moment to finally have both my girls. Do what you must to him. We’re together. So we have everything we need.”
She sat back, eyes still set on the inspector, and I fought the need to jump to my feet and shout “Brava!”
The unknown-until-now twin thing, check.
The mom-fake-death thing, (kinda) check.
Dad-not-Dad being a total asshole, check.
Us not knowing how to speak Fleuridian, check.
Us possibly not behaving like your average ladies, check.
Playing the weak, defenseless female card without any real weakness, check.
I shouldn’t have worried.
Mom always had it going on.
I didn’t get those As for nothing, that’s all I was saying.
The inspector opened his mouth to speak.
And the door flew open, slamming against the wall.
We all jumped, and I felt the heat of Loren’s body suddenly at my back.
But Carling swooped in, followed by two men in rough clothing, one well-built and rather good-looking, one slender and tall, with a kind face.
They were followed by a red-faced, angry constable.
“We will be heard!” Carling declared.
“Carling, what on earth?” Mom asked, and hopefully it was only me who heard the nervousness threading her tone.
Carling took a step forward, bowed to her, straightened, and said, “My lady, allow me.”
“I sense you two know each other,” the inspector noted.
“Indeed!” Carling cried. “I am Rutherford Carling! Eighth generation houseman, with the running of the Derryman House!”
“My guess is, you have something to say,” the inspector drawled.
“I will allow no quarter to offend my lady with further grief and tragedy,” Carling proclaimed.
Whoa.
Carling had some pluck.
“Will you not?” the inspector asked.
“No,” Carling snapped. “I will not.”
And the man was not backing down.
He turned to Mom and his face gentled.
“I’m sorry, but it must be said,” he decreed softly.
“I’m afraid it must,” Mom muttered.
Carling looked at me.
“My lady,” he whispered.
“Carling,” I whispered back, having no clue what he was about to say.
He shifted his attention to the inspector.
“What you see on my younger lady’s face is not the first mark my employer made on one of the females who should have had his loving devotion and care.”
Mom’s fingers tightened around mine.
This was not good.
The real Lady Corliss…
And maybe even Maxine?
I stared at Carling, who was fit to be tied, and I knew.
