Chapter 14 #2
The drawing room looked the same as it had the last time I’d been summoned—beautiful, elegant, a spiderweb and I was the fly. The widow sat in her favorite chair, afternoon light painting her in shades of gold and amber.
Philippe stood beside her, his hand on the back of her chair. Possessive. Protective. The perfect son.
“Miss Carter.” Her smile was pleasant. “My son tells me you had an interesting conversation during your lesson today.”
Here it was. The web trapping me in its stickiness.
“We discussed Latin grammar, madame.”
“And other things, I understand. Family history. Personal matters.” Her amber eyes studied me like a jeweler examining a flawed gem. “Philippe is quite perceptive for his age. He notices things others might miss.”
“He’s very intelligent.”
“He also tells me you seemed... disturbed by his observations. About our household. About certain places on the plantation that are off-limits to servants.” She leaned forward slightly.
“Tell me, Miss Carter. Why would discussions of forbidden areas disturb you? Unless you’ve been thinking about that place for reasons you haven’t shared. ”
Philippe watched me with a calculating expression. This was his game. He’d told me about the murders, then reported my reaction to his mother. Testing both of us. Seeing how we’d respond.
“I’m disturbed by the idea of disobedience, madame. If a place is forbidden, I have no desire to go near it.”
“How sensible.” But her smile didn’t reach her eyes. “Though I wonder if perhaps you’re too sensible. Too careful. As if you’re constantly measuring your words, calculating what’s safe to say.”
“I’m simply trying to do my job well.”
“And yet you continue to fail.” She stood, silk rustling.
“Three times now, Miss Carter, you’ve disappointed me.
First, with your interference on behalf of a slave boy who wasn’t your concern.
Then, with your refusal to assist me in a simple matter of household management.
And now I hear from Philippe that you showed.
.. an unusual interest in matters that should not concern a governess. ”
“I showed no such—”
“Philippe doesn’t lie to me.” Her voice went flat. “He may be many things, but he is not a liar. If he says you were disturbed by talk of forbidden places, then you were disturbed. The question is why.”
Because your son just told me you murder people there.
“I apologize if I gave the wrong impression, madame. I have no interest in any forbidden area of the plantation.”
“Don’t you?” She moved closer, and I fought the urge to step back. “Because I think you’re fascinated by it. I think you’ve heard the whispers, the rumors. I think you’ve been asking questions you shouldn’t ask.”
“I haven’t—”
“Margaret says you paused there during your garden work. Stared at the gate as if you recognized it.” Her smile was terrible. “Did you recognize it, Miss Carter? Have you been there before?”
Dread coiled tight. She knew. Somehow, she knew I’d arrived through that gate. That I’d appeared near it, that something connected me to that place.
“I paused because it’s overgrown. I was considering whether it needed clearing.”
“Lies.” The word was soft, but it carried the weight of judgment. “You’re lying to me, and I’m growing tired of lies. So let me be very clear.”
She was close enough now that I could see the faint fine lines around her eyes, carefully hidden with powder. Could smell her perfume—that same cloying floral scent.
“That garden is mine. Has been mine for twenty years. What happens there, what I do there, is of no concern of yours or any other servant. But if you continue to show unusual interest in that place—if you continue to ask questions or make observations—I will assume you’re planning something.
And I deal very harshly with servants who plan things. ”
“I understand, madame.”
“I hope you do.” She stepped back, returning to her chair. “Because my patience is not infinite. And there are worse punishments than garden work or field labor. Much worse. Ask Duncan if you could find him. Ask the others who’ve disappointed me over the years.”
Philippe’s smile was sharp as broken glass.
“You may go,” the widow said. “But, Miss Carter? Consider this your final warning. One more misstep, and I’ll have no choice but to make certain... adjustments. For the safety of my household.”
Adjustments. The same word she’d used about Duncan.
Mrs. Browne appeared to escort me out. My legs trembled, but I managed to walk with my head held high, my expression neutral.
Only when I was alone in my small room did I let myself collapse onto the narrow bed.
Philippe had played us both. Told me about the garden to see my reaction, then reported that reaction to his mother. Now the widow was watching me even more closely, suspicious that I knew too much.
And somewhere in the cane fields, Brodie was suffering. His back still healing—or not healing. His body breaking down while I dealt with the widow’s games.
I thought of him collapsing in that stable quarters room, his back torn to ribbons. Thought of the way he’d looked at me and asked where I’d really come from. The truth I’d almost told him but held back because I’d been too afraid.
Daniel had died because I’d tried to help him.
Brodie had been whipped for saving a child.
And I was still here, still playing by the widow’s rules, still trying to survive by keeping my head down.
No more.
Three days until the escape plan Thomas had hinted at. Three days to survive without making another mistake before the widow decided I was more trouble than I was worth and took me to the old garden herself.
Through the window, the afternoon sun painted everything in shades of gold that felt like a lie.
Moving to my small bag of belongings, I pulled out the map I’d hidden there—the one I’d found during those library sessions with Brodie. The one showing the plantation, the gardens, the paths to the mountains and the sea.
Three days.
The widow thought she’d broken me with threats and warnings. Thought she’d taught me to be afraid. She hadn’t. No, she’d just taught me exactly how dangerous she was, and exactly how much I had to lose.
Which meant I couldn’t afford to wait for rescue anymore. Whatever Thomas was planning, whatever escape network existed—I needed to be ready when the opportunity came.
And if it didn’t come soon enough, I’d make my own opportunity.
I wasn’t going to end up in that garden, screaming until I stopped. I spread the map across my bed and began to study it by the fading daylight, tracing possible routes, memorizing distances, calculating odds.
The widow was a murderer who’d been killing for twenty years. Philippe was a child-monster who watched suffering like theater. And somehow, I had to survive long enough to make sure neither of them got the chance to destroy anyone else.
The girl who’d hidden from life in her own time was gone.
In her place was someone who’d learned that survival meant fighting back.
And I was done hiding.