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“You do not like him?”
Sloane’s steps hiccupped and her eyebrows drew together.
Did she like him? Regard him as anything other than an ogre holding her captive? She walked a few more steps, her head tilting to the side.
“Miss Sloane, you do not care for my uncle?” Worry wrinkled Vicky’s brow.
She grabbed the girl’s hand. “Do not fret. I apologize for my words. I absolutely despise his actions. But as for the actual man…” She shook her head and then looked down to Vicky. “It is just that your uncle is entirely aggravating.”
“Oh yes.” Vicky nodded her head, her eyes going wide. “I know all about it.”
“You do?”
“Yes. My mama left me a letter speaking to that very regard.”
“She did?”
“She died, but she left me a letter first.” Vicky tugged her hand from Sloane’s grip and she pulled up the small rectangular metal box that she always had strung about her waist. She opened the top flap and tucked inside was a neatly folded paper—it looked like two sheets with ink covering every free speck of white space. “See? I keep it in here.”
Sloane had thought the delicately painted metal box an odd adornment, but this made sense. No wonder Vicky wore it every day dangling from her waist.
Vicky snapped the top of the box closed, flipping the wire down over the tiny nub to latch it. “Uncle Reiner is arrogant, bossy, and aggravating in how he has to control everything about him—a duke to his bones, my mama said. That he is prickly and will not regard me with much favor at times. But she also told me he is kind to his core, he likes to laugh, and he is terribly lonely.”
“Lonely?” Sloane frowned. “But you said he has parties all the time.”
“Yes, but I do not think the people that come are his friends. They are not nice people. They treat the servants horribly when they are not in front of him and I do not care for it.” The edges of her eyes crinkled in indignation. “Reiner always demands I treat them with respect—he says my station calls for it—but he apparently cannot control his guests.”
“That is…interesting.”
Vicky reached out and plucked a sprig of green leaves from the tall, sculpted boxwoods they passed and she spun it in her fingers. “Yes. And my mama also said Uncle Reiner would love me dearly. But I think she was wrong about that.”
“Why do you say that?”
Her wide blue eyes lifted to Sloane. “He does not pay me any mind—not much at all. It has been quite lonely here.”
“But your life had more joy in it four years ago?”
“Before Mrs. Kean died, yes. Mrs. Kean was my mama’s maid and closest friend, I think. She was happy and she spent all her time with me. She taught me all the songs that my mama used to sing.” Vicky’s chin tilted up oddly in an attempt to not let sadness take hold. Sloane knew that look. Knew it well.
“Do you have your mother’s voice?”
Vicky shrugged. “Possibly—I am not sure. Mrs. Kean always said she could hear my mama in me. And whenever Miss Gregory has me practice songs and Uncle Reiner hears, he gets a sad look on his face and leaves the room. I think it’s because I sound like her.” She shrugged. “Or I am dreadful at singing and the screech of it brings tears to his eyes—that is the other possibility.”
Sloane wrapped her arm around the girl’s shoulders and squeezed her. “I would venture that is not the case, as your voice is very sweet. You must sing for me tonight after dinner. And if we can get your uncle into the room, I will watch him very closely to see if he is cringing or merely melancholy.”
Vicky giggled. “Maybe he will join us. He never bothers with me much, but with you here…” Her shoulders lifted under Sloane’s arm. “He’s been different ever since he sent me in to you.”
Sloane jerked to a stop. “What do you mean he sent you in to me?”
Vicky took two more steps, but Sloane caught her arm, twisting Vicky to face her. The girl’s cheeks turned red, her eyes darting about, squirrelly to escape Sloane.
Sloane grabbed her other arm, bending at the waist so she was eye level with the girl. “Tell me, Vicky.”
“Into your room—when you were locked in there. He wanted me to ask you who you were.” Vicky hopped from one foot to the other, her arms squirming under Sloane’s grip. “He didn’t know and he couldn’t get you to tell him.”
Sloane’s eyes went wide, stunned, and then her head snapped back. “He used you? He sent you into my room to ask me questions?”
Vicky’s lips pulled inward, her mouth clamping shut.
