“Then we’ll change it. We’ll add embellishments of pink velvet and jewels on the bodice.” That perked Isabelle up. Westie continued in hopes of sealing the deal. “And you can wear my gold-and-diamond earrings you love so much.”
“I don’t know . . . ,” Isabelle said again, twisting a strand of her hair. “I think the bronze owls will go better with a dress like that.”
Westie seethed. Nigel had made the bronze owl earrings for her thirteenth birthday. They were her favorite.
“Fine. You can borrow the bronze owls.”
Isabelle’s face lit up. She crawled into their cramped space and somehow managed to keep from touching Alistair. Westie hadn’t tried so hard. She could feel his heartbeat tapping her shoulder. His hand touched the skin of her arm, raising gooseflesh despite the heat. She looked into his kind, open eyes. He stared back.
“The little girl is coming our way,” Isabelle nearly shrieked.
Westie shook herself out of the trance his gaze held her in.
Olive walked across the room. She had a new doll tucked under her arm and a lollipop in her hand, lips candy red from the dye. Her blond ringlets bounced with each step. She walked past a row of white kid gloves, touching each pair with sugar-sticky hands. Westie thought the girl would skip right by them, but with a sudden turn, Olive bent and poked her head behind the fabric bolts. Westie jerked in surprise. Alistair held her firm against him.
“You thought I wouldn’t see you?” Olive said. She was hell with the hide off and had an obnoxious way about her: taunting voice, pinched eyes, and a puckered mouth caught somewhere between smugness and accusation.
Westie struggled to smile. “You’re too clever for us.”
The girl stuck her rainbow tongue out to lick her lollipop.
“Is this a game you’re playing?” the girl asked.
“Sure is,” Westie said. She could feel Isabelle stiffen beside her, but not for the same reason Westie was. For Isabelle it was the fear of humiliation in front of a distinguished family. “We’re hiding from grown-ups.”
The girl’s face hatched open with a grin. “Can I play?”
The thought of being in such cramped quarters with the girl had Westie looking for an alternative way out. But there wasn’t one, not without Lavina seeing her.
“Yes, of course,” Westie said. Olive began to crawl into their hiding spot. Westie stopped her. “Wait. We need someone to be our lookout. Stand in front of the bolts and give us a signal when a grown-up is coming, and let us know when they pass.”
The girl, with her doe eyes and her Cupid’s bow mouth, gave her a chilling look, reminding Westie of a demented doll in the scary stories the boys used to pass around when she was in school. Olive knew she was being played for a fool.
This girl really is clever, Westie thought.
“All right then, I’ll give you a signal,” Olive said with an angry jut of her hip that made Westie think she would do just the opposite.
Westie tried to make it right. “Good. You have the most important job of the game.”
It was clear by the harsh line of the girl’s lips that she didn’t believe her.
Olive stood vigil as she was directed. Westie could hear footsteps coming toward them. Through the diamond-shaped spaces between the bolts of fabric, she saw Lavina heading their way and wondered what signal Olive would give them—if any—and if it would be too subtle for her to notice.
“Olivia, what are you doing over here? There’s no time to be fooling around,” Lavina said. “You should be picking out the fabric for your ball gown.”
Westie waited for a signal. She thought she must’ve missed it until Olive turned and kicked her in the shin. Westie gasped and clutched her leg. Alistair covered her mouth with his hand before she could cry out.
Well, Westie thought with her teeth bared, we don’t have to worry about missing the signal. Little pissant.
Every one of Westie’s muscles turned to iron when Lavina stepped toward them. Alistair brushed his thumb soothingly against the skin of Westie’s arm as Lavina Fairfield studied the fabric. If Lavina peered through the cracks, she would see them—
Their eyes met, for a brief, horrifying moment. Lavina looked at Westie like she was trying to figure out exactly what she was seeing.
“Westie, is that you?” Lavina said. She walked behind the bolts where the three of them were crouched. “What are you doing back here?”
Westie planted her back firmly against Alistair’s chest and let his steady heartbeat help pace her own.
“They’re playing a game,” Olive answered for her. “They’re hiding from grown-ups.” She lifted her head proudly. “I’m the lookout.”
“Doesn’t look like you’ve done a very good job now, does it?”
The proud angles of Olive’s face formed angry curves. The look on her face had potential to become a fit, but it was quickly snuffed out when Hubbard appeared from around the corner and lifted Olive onto his mighty shoulders. Olive’s laughter was like a knife being dragged down Westie’s skin.
Cain and James rounded the corner next.
Jesus, Westie thought, they’re like a pack of wild dogs.
“What’s all this?” Hubbard asked in his dull way when he noticed Westie’s group.
Lavina said, “A game, it seems.”