“Move your feet,” Grandmama says.
Two choices fork in front of me. I can do as she says and preserve my family’s name. Or I can take another path. My fists clench and unclench, and I think of my mother.
“No,” I whisper.
Her eyes slash into me. “I beg your pardon?”
“I won’t play a part in your deceit.”
She hurtles toward me, her hand raised to slap me. “Listen to me, you —”
I block her blow. She grabs at my collar, and I realize she won’t let me out of this room until I bow to her demands. I yank the bedroom key from the desk and wrench away from her, my heart beating so quickly that I fear it might burst.
“You wretched thing!” she cries.
I reach the door and catch a flash of Grandmama’s murderous gaze before I shut the door behind me and lock it tight. She pounds her fists against the wood and spews terrible words at me, but I stuff the key into my pocket.
“Open this door at once, Elizabeth!”
I stare down the door. I quell the tremble in my voice and say, “My name is Lizzie.”
I force my legs down the hallway and stumble into my room. I’m unsure of what to do next, but I know I mustn’t tarry in the house, not with Grandmama yelling and pounding at her door. I throw a cloak over my shoulders and gather my mother’s ring and a small stack of spending money from my desk. There isn’t time for anything else. As I descend the servants’ staircase, my mind scrambles for where I should go — but I’m stopped midway by my sister.
“I heard shouting,” she says, her bottom lip quivering. Her gaze falls upon my left hand with my uncle’s letter still clutched inside it, and her face turns as white as her petticoats. “Where’s Grandmama?”
“Upstairs,” I mutter, her betrayal stabbing through me once again.
“Lizzie, please —”
“Grandmama told me everything. Everything.”
“Let me explain!” Her hands grab on to mine to anchor me next to her. “I never wanted to betray your confidence, but Grandmama said —”
“That she wouldn’t give her blessing for you to marry William.”
She nods with teary eyes. “What was I to do? I love him.”
What of me? I’m tempted to ask her. Do you possess no love for your own blood?
Sophie dabs her eyes with her sleeve. “She forced me to do it. I’ve barely eaten or slept in weeks because of the guilt. You believe me, don’t you?”
She cries harder, and I can’t muster the strength to push her away. Despite the anger flaring inside my chest, I know that Sophie acted out of fear, not malice. And for that reason alone, I place my hand on her shoulder.
She laces her fingers against mine. “I’ll write to Father. I’ll tell him what has happened.”
“There’s no need.” I pull away. Grandmama’s shouting grows louder by the second, and I need to depart.
But how can I leave without Sophie?
I take her hand. “Come with me.”
“Where are you going?” she says, baffled.
“Away from this place. Away from Grandmama. Do you wish to keep living under her thumb?”
Sophie steps back. “We . . . we mustn’t be rash. This is our home.”
It isn’t mine anymore, I think. It hasn’t been since Mother died.
“It’s Grandmama’s home,” I say.
“Not only hers. It’s ours too.” She gives me her best hostess’s smile. “Come, let me fetch you a glass of wine and a piece of cake. We’ll all feel better in an hour.” She tries to lead me down the stairs, but I shake my head sadly. It’s clear that she has made her choice.
I kiss her cheek and whisper into her ear: “Marry William. Make a new life with him, away from the city.”
That’s all I can wish for her now: a new home. A new future without Grandmama.
I wrench myself free from her and race toward the carriage house, where I saddle a gray mare and guide her into the street. I should urge her into a gallop, but I glance back toward our brownstone — the homestead of my family for so many years. Only a minute ago I was one of the mistresses there and one of the most eligible young women in our fair capital. But now here I am, with a few bills in my pocket and a workhorse to my name.
Fear thrums through me. For a moment I wonder if I should run back into the house and beg Grandmama for forgiveness. She’d likely make me grovel, but she wouldn’t turn me away. I’d have a bed to sleep on, fine food to fill my belly, new ball gowns . . . and it would all be a farce. A traitor’s sham. I shake my head and tap my heels against my horse’s sides. I can’t turn back.
I won’t turn back.
The mare trots forth, and I don’t know where to lead her. I could return to Westacre, but I’ve no money for tuition and I’m too young to be taken on as a teacher. I suppose I could seek out Father, but he’d likely send me back to Washington. Besides, we’ve become strangers these past three years. A thought strikes me then. It’s preposterous, not to mention dangerous, and I almost brush it away.