But that made her angry, and the anger tangled up with the embarrassment, leaving her further tongue-tied. From her tongue spilled the thought: “Perhaps if you were around for me to ask questions about Dorie, I wouldn’t have to come looking for you.”
“You were looking for me?” He had still not released her shoulder.
“For Dorie,” she repeated, firmly. It was true. She had been, earlier. Further, he should be around for Dorie; she shouldn’t have to hunt him down.
He glanced upward, as if he could see back to his studio. “I have someone waiting just now,” he said. “I only left her because I saw you on the lawn.”
Someone.
“A client,” he amended, as if he could hear her thoughts. “I would put her aside if I could, for you.”
“For Dorie,” she said.
“Yes.”
She suddenly thought that he meant it, that she had a momentary power that meant he would stand there until she told him yes, it was okay to go, yes, she could do without him just now, just at this moment. She looked at him and still he stood, his amber eyes studying her thoughts and waiting.
“Go,” she said.
He nodded. “We will speak later.”
And then he was gone, and she was not sure that she believed his promise, though he probably meant it as much as he could. She could not puzzle him out. He seemed to put up barriers—old walls, formal language. A man who seized every opportunity to melt away to his world of work—his masks, his clients.
But then—he had come down from his studio for her? Was that because he cared about Jane—or cared about what she might see? Did he know, all through that conversation just now, that she had been shadowing the maid? For that matter, what door had he come out of? She pulled aside a curtain from a back window, looked back toward the walk that led to the carriage house. But it was dark now, too dark to see.
Jane walked slowly through the fully lit halls, back to the foyer, brushing the dust from her skirt—sitting on Dorie’s floor did little for her dresses, old as they were. She had not even received any help from him for Dorie. All she needed was a way to reach her—
And then she saw a glint of blue-lit gold, just near the garnet curtains. She crossed the foyer and picked it up. A coin-sized sequin, no doubt fallen from one of the pretty ladies’ dresses.
Jane pulled the crystal buttons that she had tried the other day out of her pocket and considered them as she wandered down the hall and into the kitchen.
Shiny buttons. Sparkly sequins.
Rewards.
“Cook?” she said. “Do you have any aluminum foil?”
Chapter 4
THE BEAST-MAN’S PROMISE
Jane spent the next several days scouring the house for forgotten treasures: scraps of ribbon from a governess, bits of foil from Cook that she cut into stars, small gold sequins fallen from a party dress in a long-unused guest room.
She did not see Martha until by chance in the parlor—the maid cleaning the window, Jane examining a beaded lampshade and reluctantly deciding that there was no way she could declare a certain swinging bead both about to fall off and unfixable. Jane watched Martha cleaning in energetic circles, her unpinned ginger braid swinging in tempo, and could not think of a way to admit she’d been spying.
So for now she did not seek out any new mysteries, but only shiny things, until she had a full double handful, ready to go. That day after Dorie’s nap she brought all the sparkly bits to the nursery in a little bag and showed them to Dorie, whose blue eyes lit up.
Yes, thought Jane. This might work.
“One at a time,” Jane said to Dorie. “I’ll give you one pretty sparkle for every one of my games we play. Shall we start with catch?”
Jane tucked the bag of treasures in her skirt pocket and got up to get the ball.
She tossed it to Dorie, who did not put up her hands to catch it. The ball fell at Dorie’s feet, and she looked past it, at Jane’s skirt.
There was a tug on Jane’s pocket.
Jane whirled, grabbed for the bag, caught the bottom edge of it as Dorie whisked it from the pocket and up into the air. The bag untied itself and a froth of silver stars, gold sequins, and blue ribbons spilled out. They circled over Jane’s head like a planetarium display, and Jane, furious in a way she knew even in the moment that no savvy governess should be, lunged after the sparkling swirls.
The orbiting stars rose higher, out of Jane’s hands. She shouted, grabbing for them, and Dorie looked solemnly on, her arms raised and her face as blank as a porcelain doll.
The sparkly bits that Jane had so painstakingly collected rose to the ceiling. Then they swirled into one starry line, shot to the top of the wardrobe, and deposited themselves well out of Jane’s reach on top of the tall white cabinet. Well out of Jane’s reach, but she had no doubt that Dorie could now take the tinsel down at her leisure and play with it anytime Jane was gone.
She skidded to a halt and stood panting, staring down at the girl.
If, in that moment, Dorie had looked mischievously up at her and laughed, Jane might have calmed down. But Dorie merely turned from her, walked to the window, and stood, watching the forest with no expression at all.