“No.” I shook my head. “I’ll never find anyone else. Not like Henry. No one else is as handsome and funny, and looks at me in the way he does. When he’s here it’s like the sun comes out and everything bad in me, everything bad in the village, the country, the world, is not evil after all. Then it’s perfect and wonderful and heavenly.” I opened my mouth for air before howling into my hands. “And it’s not going to be heavenly anymore. He’s gone, and everything bad is always there and will never be taken away.”
Long after Mrs. Tilling went to the surgery, I remained seated at the table. But by the middle of the afternoon I decided I needed to get out, and so I set out in no particular direction. As I was walking, I found myself going home. I had a nagging need to speak to Venetia. The closer I got the more adamant I became that this was what I had to do. I needed to apologize to her.
But would she ever forgive me?
As I opened the side door, I realized that I’d been forgetting my main opponent. My father. He’d kill me if he saw me. All the pent-up rage he had for his darling Venetia would be taken out on me. After all, I’m the youngest, the least able to stand up to him, the one he habitually takes it out on. Why break the pattern of a lifetime? That hurricane of violent retribution would pound me until there was nothing left but the oozing silence of a crushed soul.
I shuddered with fear as I crept over to the back stairs. The house was still, the hallway echoing with the mismatched tocks of the grandfather clock. I slid soundlessly up the back stairs and knocked cautiously on Venetia’s door. It was opened by Mrs. Tilling, who had gone straight over after morning surgery.
“Kitty,” she whispered. “What are you doing here?”
“I have to talk to Venetia.”
“But what if your father sees you?” she said anxiously, pulling me inside the dark room.
“I have to see Venetia.” I looked around me. The curtains were drawn tight, and only a small bedside lamp—Venetia’s purple one—shed a bruised light around the room. The place was cleared of the usual debris, the discarded clothes, the spilled perfume bottles, the books and the jewelry boxes. Even the dressing table was orderly, sterilized for a new tomorrow.
Venetia stirred in the bed. Mrs. Tilling went to her side and explained that I was there, and she would make some tea for us.
“Please let her wake slowly,” she said to me. “And remember what’s happened, Kitty. You are not foremost in her mind at the moment, so don’t get upset if she’s angry with you.”
I stood where I was for a few minutes after Mrs. Tilling had left.
“Come and sit down, Kitty,” a weak voice mumbled from the bed.
I went and sat down.
“Venetia, I’m very sorry. I can’t tell you how bad I feel about it. I know how wrong it was of me. I know now, you don’t need to tell me. I know that Henry was in love with you, and I understand that you meant the best for everyone. I know it all now, but I didn’t yesterday. I’m so sorry.”
She lay still, and I wondered if she was well enough for this conversation. Her dazed eyes locked into mine, glassed over with thought or confusion or delirium. I couldn’t make out what she was thinking.
“I despised you at first for telling Henry, do you know that?” she said in a croaky voice. “But I came round to thinking it wasn’t so very bad. I know you didn’t intend it that way. In any case, now we know that Henry’s a vile person, a cruel, unkind man, despite how handsome he looks on the outside. You deserve better, Kitty.”
I didn’t say anything. I was just looking at her. Her face was emaciated. Her hair clung to her head and clumped around her shoulders. Even though someone had sprayed some lavender water around, it didn’t cover the smell of something bad, blood maybe. The bed was moist with tears and sweat. I had never seen her like this.
I began to cry.
The door opened, and Mrs. Tilling hurried in. “You need to get out, Kitty. Your father’s home, and he knows you’re here. He saw you walking up the drive as he pulled in.” She picked up my arm and yanked me up. “Go, leave now. He’s threatening to thrash you.”
She pushed me out of the room, and I ran as quietly as I could for the back stairs. My heart was pounding, and I was feeling incredibly flustered, all fingers and thumbs, as I went to grab the banister. As soon as I reached the bottom, I clung to the side to make sure the coast was clear. The most hazardous part of my journey lay before me—the dash across the back of the hall to the kitchen, passing the door to Daddy’s study.
I heard a movement in the study as the door stood ajar. I couldn’t see all the way into the room, but he was most definitely in there, looking through papers by the sound of the rustling. I decided that speed was of the essence, and counted silently one, two, three, and darted out across the bare marble floor. In my haste my foot slid off to the side, sending me crashing to the floor. I scrambled to get up and run forward but found myself barred by a violent and volatile man—my father.