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As I wickedly considered bringing it out, a knock announced Felicity’s arrival. She looked dreadful, barely well, her time abed creating hollows in her once-round cheeks. The purple hue beneath her eyes made it clear she hadn’t slept well in the nights she’d been away, and I was immensely sorry for her. I took the tray with an exclamation of disbelief and rushed to set it down before guiding her into the room to rest.
“Felicity, you hardly look recovered! Sit.”
She didn’t fight me but sat in the chair, primly as though she were in a matron’s office.
“I’m much better, miss, honestly. It was awful, but I’m well now, just exhausted. The best thing for it is to move. I’ve been in bed far too much these past few days.” Despite her proper posture, she seemed more relaxed with me than usual, and I sat with her, pouring her tea and offering her half of the cookies she brought. She pardoned herself from both, saying her stomach wasn’t settled enough for sweets, and that Ms. Dillard had forced her to drink so much tea during her illness that she swore she’d never have it again.
“To be honest,” she said, “it’s the professor’s own blend, and I’m not very fond of it.”
“Itisdifferent,” I offered, though I’d been enjoying it.
“Ms. Dillard is bringing your dress tomorrow,” she said, changing the subject.
“Oh, for the dinner,” I said, taking a sip and expecting the same summer flavors as before. This time the sweetness bit my tongue, and I made a small face.
Felicity caught the expression.
“Have I made it too strong? Oh no, I’ve put too much sugar in it.”
“It’s all right,” I assured her and took another drink to waylay her self-consciousness. She must have been distracted by her own exhaustion. Not her fault, really.
“Miss Foxboro, I need to tell you something, and I hope you won’t get angry with me.”
“Did you put the mouse in my powder?” I asked jokingly as I bit into the shortbread, trying to alleviate the tenseness that had suddenly settled over us.
She looked affronted and I immediately backtracked.
“I was only playing with you, Felicity. You can tell me. If anyone in this place might be my friend, it’s you. Don’t worry about upsetting me. I’m sure whatever it is, we can fix.”
Her nose pinkened and it appeared she’d cry. I reached to take her hand, squeezing the slender fingers in my own to comfort her.
“Oh, please don’t worry, it can’t be that bad.”
“It’s only…please stay out of the kitchen.”
“What? Why?” Of all the things she might have said, this was the last I assumed it would be.
“The professor was angry when he found you’d been there. His moods are normally not so volatile. It must be the stress. He frightened me a little, if I’m being honest. He instructed us to turn you away if you were to come there again, as it wasn’t your job to help with the housework.”
He’d said nothing to me, made no sign he’d even known I’d been there. His harassing of Ms. Dillard and Felicity for something beyond their control rankled me. I took another drink of the too-sweet tea and fumed inwardly, my previous feelings fairly abated.
“I’m sure he didn’t mean it so harshly,” I compromised. “You’re right to mention his stress. He was in a mood tonight as well. You know him better than I do, though, so I promise to stay out of the kitchen, at least until I’ve talked to him.”
She shot up, grabbing my hands in earnest.
“Oh no! Please don’t tell him I said anything, please!”
“All right, all right,” I soothed, and as I tried to comfort her anxieties, I happened to glance to where her sleeve had risen past her wrist. A ring of fresh bruises purpled the pale skin like berries crushed against white linen. When she saw me notice, she pulled her hand away as though my touch were scalding.
“An accident,” she muttered. “I flailed while I was ill and hit my wrist on the bedpost. I bruise easily. It looks much worse than it is.” She thanked me for worrying and expressed her hope to see the dress tomorrow. To salvage our exchange, I asked if she might have time to help me do my hair again. I was rewarded with a genuine smile and happy agreement, and we said our goodnights.
I abandoned the sugary tea and, moments later, ended up at my dresser, lifting the journal from its hiding spot. There was something almost metaphysical about the way it drew me to it, its contents compelling me to disrespect the sanctity of Mrs. Hughes’s secrets and my own moral compass. I tucked into bed, flipping it open to where I’d last read. The following several pages were again filled with botany drawings of various flowers and weeds; these were more focused and precise, the inscriptions less burdened with haste. I wondered over the number of plants that could be used in such toxic ways, though judging by the notes, they each had pleasant uses as well. Some were perfect for perfumes, other flora made the pigments for makeup without the effect of their poison, and still, others would be cooked low into fragrant essences often added to candles and linen bags. The majority of these plants were dangerous only if ingested.
My body grew heavy with want of sleep, and I decided to look at only one more page—another diary entry. I sat up slightly. I’d lost a large portion of my shame about reading the personal entries, desiring to know the professor through the eyes of a woman who had loved him.
I’ve done something inexcusable, though I don’t regret it. Margaret came for a visit while Callum was on business. I found her friendly, and though she is strange and the company she keeps even stranger, I began to feel warmly toward her. It was nice to believe I’d finally found someone to confide in all the horrors of my night wakings—all of the things Callum tells me are my wild imagination and lack of sleep. He’s tried so hard to cure my insomnia, even asking Dr. Hannigan to mix a sleep serum for me. Nothing works. I only get worse.
I understand his hesitation; his mother so desperately believed in something beyond this world, and in the end, her belief harmed him. But she must have known there was something in this house. It’s why she tried so hard to show reverence with her monuments and decorations. Those same things I once loved are nefarious to me now.
