Chapter 57
Summer had arrived with all the arrogance of a season that thought itself beloved. The sun blazed, birds chirped far too merrily, and the world carried on as though I had not been brutally maimed and left for dead. How rude.
I was finally eighteen, though I felt closer to eighty with the way Millicent and the ever-hovering physicians insisted on fussing over me. The bandages that had once mummified me had finally lessened, much to my relief, though Millicent still regarded me as if I might crumble into dust at any given moment. It was unbearable.
Cecilia had developed a rather unfortunate habit of avoiding me. Charlotte, bless her relentless optimism, spent every waking moment trying to coax her back into something resembling her former self. This yielded inconsistent results. Some days, Cecilia would sit with me, serene but distant, as though I were a mildly interesting painting in a dreary museum. Other days, she would outright refuse to see me. And then, on particularly charming occasions, she would come into my room only to inform me, quite seriously, that she wanted to leave.
After weeks of being pitifully bedridden, I had finally regained enough strength to move about, though walking remained a tedious affair. This meant I was condemned to a wheelchair, a contraption I loathed with the intensity of a thousand burning suns. At first, Millicent pushed me everywhere I wanted to go, which lasted exactly two days before I decided I would rather fling myself into the nearest pond than suffer her incessant hovering.
Thus began my new daily exercise. Wheeling myself. My left hand managed well enough, though my right, still recovering, suffered a bit.
Millicent had assured me that I was free, that the charges against me had been dropped, that I would not be thrown back into prison. Only a fool would believe her.
The four of us sat at the dining table, engaged in a meal that I was only half paying attention to, when Cecilia, in all her sweet, unassuming innocence, paused mid-bite and asked, "Where is Laura?"
There are moments in life when the body reacts before the mind, and this was one of them. My fork promptly slipped from my fingers, clattering against the plate with an obnoxiously loud clang.
Laura.
I had, rather inconveniently, forgotten she existed.
My gaze snapped toward Millicent.
"Cecilia," Charlotte interjected gently. "Who is Laura?"
"My friend," Cecilia replied.
I nearly choked. My mind reeled. Of all things, she could remember Laura but not me?
"I granted Laura an extended vacation," Millicent offered hastily, as though I might lunge across the table and throttle her if she did not explain herself quickly enough. "Your father ceased her salary, so I took it upon myself to employ her in my service. She has returned home to visit her family."
My lips curled into something that barely passed for a smile. "How generous of you, Your Grace."
Millicent remained silent.
"I cannot help but wonder, precisely what methods of persuasion you employed to determine her innocence."
"Laura is unharmed. I admit we questioned her thoroughly and reviewed her accounts with great scrutiny. She provided indisputable proof of her innocence."
"How fortunate for her," I bit out. "To emerge unscathed. Unlike me."
Millicent lowered her gaze, her voice hushed. "Florence…"
Whatever she intended to say, I had no interest in hearing. My appetite had soured, my patience stretched far beyond its limits. I turned away, letting the silence speak in my stead.
Sensing the suffocating weight of the moment, Charlotte hastily sought refuge in conversation. "Ah, Cecilia, would you care to accompany me for a stroll in the gardens tomorrow? You have always had an affection for flowers, have you not?"
Cecilia's face brightened, her dark eyes gleaming with enthusiasm. "Oh, yes, Charlotte! I should love nothing more! I shall weave a bracelet of blooms for you, just as I used to for My Lady. In truth, I made them for her so often that it became something of a habit! I shall show you how I craft them, though, of course, My Lady's must be made first. She is my dearest, after all. I do hope you shall not take offense."
Her spoken words with such unfiltered sincerity sent a palpable tension rippling through the room. The atmosphere that Charlotte had so desperately attempted to mend fractured.
Charlotte pressed her lips together, clearly regretting the attempt at levity.
Now, it was my turn to lower my gaze.
The meal was abandoned, and one by one, we withdrew to our separate corners of this wretched, miserable mansion, each of us retreating into our own silent, festering thoughts.
Cecilia left with Charlotte, disappearing up the staircase to their shared quarters, while Millicent, after a long pause, ascended to her own chamber in silence.
Alone in my quarters on the first floor, I sat in the stillness. If the only person I had left did not remember me, then what was the purpose of my continued existence? What cruel jest of fate kept me breathing when all that tethered me to this world had forgotten me? And beyond that, there remained the ever-looming shadow of uncertainty. How long until I was dragged back to that wretched prison?
What course of action would a true villain take, were they in my position? What depths would the most ruthless of minds descend to in the face of such betrayal and uncertainty? What would a madman, one unburdened by conscience, unshackled by morality, do?
A slow smirk curled upon my lips as a most wicked idea took shape, unfurling in my mind like a serpent coiling around its prey. The thought was intoxicating.
A knock at the door shattered my reverie, pulling me back to the present. I exhaled, smoothing the amusement from my expression.
"Enter."
The door swung open, and before I could so much as blink, I was nearly tackled.
"My Lady!"
Laura threw her arms around me with the desperation of a woman who had just found a long-lost relative. The air was promptly squeezed from my lungs as she clung to me.
She pulled back only to scan me from head to toe. "What have they done to you?" she hissed, her voice suppressed with rage. "They are cruel beyond measure."
Despite myself, a faint smile ghosted across my lips. "Still 'My Lady,' I see."
"Always," Laura declared, straightening as though she had just sworn an oath to the crown. "I only accepted Her Grace's offer to remain near you. And I must say, I have worked in a fair few noble households before, but you, My Lady, provide the most entertainment. Truly, nothing compares."
I chuckled lightly. "I am uncertain whether that is a compliment or a thinly veiled insult."
"Not at all," she said, entirely serious.
"Thank you, Laura. Your loyalty means more than you know."
My thoughts drifted back to the idea that had taken root moments before.
Ah, of course, Laura. She was perfect for the task. She would not betray me to Millicent… or would she?
And if she did?
Well, what of it?
Laura gave me a look so earnest I nearly felt bad for what I was about to ask of her.
I leaned in, lowering my voice to a conspiratorial whisper. "Laura, do you truly still consider yourself loyal to me?"
She straightened instantly. "Yes, of course. I would never betray you."
"Good," I murmured, a slow smirk tugging at my lips. "Then I need you to procure something for me."
Laura's eyes lit up with intrigue. "Anything, My Lady. What is it?"
I paused for dramatic effect, savoring the moment, before letting the words slip from my lips with quiet mischief.
"A drug."