Chapter 3
DAISY
Acar picks me up from the hospital the next day, just as John said it would.
My stepfather doesn’t come himself, of course.
He sends minions. A nurse from Richmond Memorial takes me down in a wheelchair to the front of the hospital.
She tells me that my guardian has been sent the prescriptions for the painkillers I can take, and he’s also been given the details of my post-hospital care.
When I ask her about it, she just smiles and pats my arm, as if it’s too much for my feeble little mind to take in.
Ever since John turned up at the hospital, even the friendlier nurses have turned quiet, barely speaking to me, or talking very slowly like I’m not all there.
Even now, I’m seething at how quickly they took John at his word.
I don’t know what he said to them, but I can imagine.
John’s new driver doesn’t speak to me, which is fine by me. He’s probably been told not to, or that I’m too stupid to understand. By the way he keeps worriedly glancing at me in the rearview mirror, it’s probably the latter.
I snort softly. He probably thinks I’m going to start screaming, or throwing myself around in the backseat, maybe lunging for the latch and hurling myself out onto the road.
He locked the doors as soon as I was in the car, so there’s no chance of that.
We pull up to the house and I note with a sinking feeling that a woman in a white uniform, complete with matching skirt and heels is waiting at the top of the steps.
My devoted stepfather has clearly employed a nurse from 1953 and she’s standing with a wheelchair.
I roll my eyes. There are steps all over the place. How the hell is that going to work?
When the car stops, the doors aren’t unlocked, so I have to sit there and wait for Stephens to walk down with the wheelchair while the nurse barks orders at him.
I finally hear the click of the lock just as they get to the car, and Stephens opens it.
‘Miss Marguerite,’ he greets.
I find I can’t muster a smile, but I do incline my head as I swing my legs out of the car.
‘Please sit in the chair, Marguerite,’ the nurse says slowly.
I’m sure my eye tics and I see Stephens frown at her.
‘I can walk, Stephens,’ I say, ignoring the nurse completely. ‘Please escort me inside. I’ll go straight to my room unless my stepfather has prior directives.’
I see Stephens’ lips twitch. ‘He did not specify, Miss, and he’s not at home.’
I get to my feet and take his proffered arm. He helps me up the front steps and into the foyer. I sense the nurse behind us, pulling the heavy wheelchair up slowly, step by step.
‘Where is John?’ I ask Stephens quietly.
‘A business trip. He’ll be back on Friday?’
‘He seems to go on a lot of those,’ I murmur.
‘Indeed, Miss Marguerite.’
Once we’re inside, I let go of Stephens and he bows slightly at me.
‘Is there anything you’d like for luncheon, Miss Marguerite?’
I shake my head, my stomach a little upset from all the changes and surprises this morning.
‘Nurse Smith, in her infinite wisdom, will be choosing your meals for you.’
My spirits fall further. ‘Oh.’
‘But if there is anything specific that you would enjoy, please do let me know via a note placed in your wastepaper basket, and I shall ensure that it is brought.’
‘Thanks, Stephens,’ I murmur, giving his arm a slight squeeze. ‘Has my… Has Jack been here? Does he know they took my phone?’
My voice breaks on the last word and I swallow hard. I don’t want to cry here, but I miss him and the others already. I feel so alone.
‘Yes,’ he says quietly and then tenses a little as the nurse, huffing and puffing, begins to follow us up the gray marble stairs. ‘Samantha will be cleaning your room. Hoovering. Dusting. Taking the rubbish from the wastepaper bin daily.’
I wonder why he’s telling me this. He doesn’t usually go on about the minutiae of the house staff’s tasks, but he’s said wastepaper bin twice now, so maybe it’s some kind of code.
‘Very good, Stephens,’ I say airily, channeling my inner Ms. Tremaine, the snooty deportment teacher who instructed me on social etiquette at The Heath. ‘I’ll have tea in my room, and then I should like to take to my bed until supper.’
Stephens coughs, and he seems to smile a little. I frown at him, wondering if he’s okay, but then thinking that maybe I laid it on too thick and he’s trying not to laugh.
Behind us, the nurse finally catches up. She’s abandoned the wheelchair in the foyer below, I realize as we get to the top, and Stephens helps me to my room.
And it is my room. Well, the room that was once mine.
All my pink wallpaper and stuffed animals are gone, of course.
The room was completely sanitized of me at some point while I was at The Heath, but as I sit on the queen-sized bed, it feels the same beneath me, so I guess they kept the mattress.
Knowing that at least some things are familiar makes this seem less awful.
At least I’ll be able to sleep. That’s something.
My eyes flick to my closet and then to the nurse as Stephens steps back.
‘Will there be anything else, Miss Marguerite?’ he asks.
‘No, thank you, Stephens,’ I reply, and he bows.
‘Then I shall take my leave,’ he murmurs formally, his eyes flitting to the nurse and then to me. ‘Good afternoon.’
He leaves the room, leaving the door ajar.
The nurse looks me over with her ice-blue eyes. ‘So, you’re Marguerite Novelle,’ she says.
Evans.
Is that disdain in her voice? I’m not sure. But whatever it is, it isn’t friendly.
‘I am,’ I say.
‘My name is Agatha Smith. Your fiancé, Mr. Banderville, has hired me to be your nurse.’ She flicks her blonde hair a little, like this is something amazing.
I regard her with a blank expression. ‘I don’t need a nurse.’
‘That’s not up to you.’ Her eyes narrow and she steps closer. ‘Just so you know, I worked as a nurse at a facility in Pennsylvania for a few years. I’m told it was similar to the one you were a resident of up until a few months ago.’
I look at this woman with new eyes. So, not only is she a spy for the Bandervilles, but she’s pretty much a Blank, too. She’ll keep me here and make sure I follow Joe’s rules and — I don’t let myself shudder outwardly — she’ll likely correct me in some way if I don’t.
Now that I take her in properly, she reminds me of Sue, the nurse who always pretended to be so nice, but would turn into a vicious bitch whenever you found yourself alone with her.
‘So, if you play games with me, sweetheart, I’ll make sure you pay.’ She gives me a saccharine smile.
I give her nothing back, no words, no expression. Nothing.
‘Now, I think we understand each other. You’re having seabass for dinner tonight,’ she says sweetly.
Now, I return the smile. ‘Great.’
She frowns and I get the impression that she was hoping I was going to get upset. She says nothing more, and I wonder what she’s been told about me. If tonight's dinner is any indication, she knows more about me than I do about her.
She walks from the room quickly and closes the door behind her.
And then I hear her locking it.
I sit on the bed, staring into space for several minutes to try to wrap my head around all this before I consider that I might be being watched.
I glance around for a camera, but don’t notice anything.
That hardly means anything though. The guys were watching me for weeks and I never knew. The stalker, too.
Shivering, I get up and go into the bathroom. There’s a bottle of 2-in-1 shampoo and conditioner inside the cubicle and a bar of soap. No razor. I snort quietly. My cutlery at dinner will probably be thin plastic, too.
I open the drawers of my bureau and find utilitarian white underwear and bras as well as about ten of the same outfit–gray t-shirts and sweatpants.
My uniform, I realize, dread creeping in no matter how hard I force it back.
I’m surprised it doesn’t say ‘PROPERTY OF JOE BANDERVILLE’ in block letters on the back, honestly.
I go to the French doors that open out onto a tiny balcony, but they won’t budge when I pull on the handles. They’ve been locked. The window, too.
I go into my closet, looking around it to see if there’s anything in there that could be watching me. Again, I don’t see anything, but, when I come out, my eyes fall on the bin trashcan by the wall next to the bathroom door. There’s something in it and it’s bigger than a note.
Breath quickening, I pretend to drop something by the bin in case anyone is watching me. When I bend down to grab the non-existent thing, my hand delves into the trash quickly and I pull out what’s inside.
A phone wrapped in loosely in paper.
I clench it hard, letting it dig into my hand so that I know it’s real. I take it into the bathroom. The Heath never had cameras in the bathroom, so, hopefully, it’s the same here even if there are devices in my room.
I turn on the phone. It’s the same as my last one, so I don’t have to figure out how to work it. I belatedly notice a note stuck to the back.
They wouldn’t let us see you. This has all your numbers in it. Keep on silent and hide it. When battery gets low, put it in the trash can in your room. Someone will charge it and return it. I’m going to fix this. Promise.
~ S
I almost sob in relief as a message from Mav comes up instantly.
Call me
Leaving the phone in the bathroom, I go out into my bedroom and listen at the locked door. I hear nothing, so I go back into the bathroom and call Mav.
It only rings once.
‘Hello?’
‘Mav?’ I whimper.
I find I can’t keep my tears in anymore. I’m terrified.
‘Oh, sweetheart,’ he whispers. ‘Don’t cry. We’re going to figure something out.’
‘Okay,’ I whisper, letting the words calm my thudding heart.
They won’t just leave me here, abandon me like I was abandoned in The Heath. They wouldn’t do that.