Chapter 2
Alice was now the only resident left in the West Wing, which had its own gardens and separate living quarters.
The East Wing, however, remained off-limits.
Alice had long imagined that women in the East Wing were dangerous murderesses, due to the strict house rules, the locked doors, the dividing halls, and the way the staff moved between the wings, while Alice could not.
It had always been maddening. But now, with no one left, she would settle for the company of a murderess.
But why did no new women come in? Had the city been cured of the affliction of wayward women?
The once-bustling establishment of Pastoria House had seemingly met a silent demise, abandoned and forgotten by the outside world.
Miss Marker pushed the heavy bronze key into the door.
Alice remained submissive, but once inside she would dash to Miss Molloy’s office and tell her of the foul treatment she had suffered at Marker’s hand.
Stepping over the threshold, Alice wanted to sprint, but knew Marker would suspect her plan.
She breathed in the musty scent of the grand first floor with its polished coffered ceilings and crystal chandeliers that sparkled warmly over the grand acorn piano, which no one ever played, bistro tables with tea settings where no one ever sat or drank, and the stuffy paintings of the grounds’ gardens, which, apart from her, no one ever saw.
The loud clicking of footsteps came from down the hall, startling in the empty space, followed by Miss Molloy’s shout: “Good day, Abigail!”
Alice tensed; she had hoped Molloy would be in her office, so she could go in and shut the door behind her. Marker began walking swiftly toward Molloy as Alice, too, picked up her pace.
“Abigail, is everything all right?” Miss Molloy asked, no doubt befuddled by the clip at which she and Alice approached.
“Of course,” Marker said, even as she fell slightly behind Alice. Alice was nearly jogging to take advantage of the lead, though Marker’s steps echoed at the same rhythm. Alice reached Molloy first and quickly embraced her.
“My dear girl! Was it that bad?” Molloy cooed. Alice simply held on. If she told Molloy how terrible the cold-water therapy had been, the newly cruel Miss Marker would surely say that it was Alice’s actions that had caused the mess.
“I must speak with you privately,” she said, glancing over as Marker met them where they stood. The woman’s glowering face was entirely unfamiliar; this was most definitely not the Miss Marker that Alice knew. Surely Molloy would recognize this.
“Oh dear, I’m afraid I’m a bit pressed today!” Molloy said, pulling back and patting Alice’s arm. “I’m off for holiday today, remember? Not that it will be much of one,” she mumbled under breath, then her spark of joy came back. “And I expect you to not give Miss Marker your usual trouble.”
Molloy seemed to go on holiday nearly every other month.
The benefits of being Headmistress, Alice supposed.
Her heart sank, but she smirked, a show to keep Marker’s trap shut.
The smirk cost her. The split in her lip opened, and she tasted copper behind her teeth.
“I haven’t been any trouble for years. I’m a proper woman—ready for society,” she joked, as cheekily as she could, though tears fought to escape her eyes.
At times, Alice felt aged well beyond her eighteen years, but in certain moments like this one: too much like a girl.
“Well, society isn’t all it’s cracked up to be.” Molloy’s bright grin faltered. “Dear, whatever is the matter?” she asked, putting her warm soft hands on Alice’s cheeks, while Marker scowled over her shoulder.
There was no way to speak candidly with Marker observing. “I will miss you,” Alice managed, a suitable excuse for tears. “Don’t be away too long.”
“Oh, you can’t know how much this fills my heart.
My sweet girl.” Molloy embraced Alice, then, with one final squeeze, said, “Right then, much to do,” and turned and stomped like a locomotive toward her office.
Alice yearned to chase after her, but glanced up to see Miss Marker standing stiffly, as though she were a statue, glaring, still, at Alice. She had not blinked in some time.
Alice shuddered before hastily turning to the stairs.
Unable to shake Marker’s strange behavior, Alice paced in her room.
Her fingertips were still the lilac color of early evening, hours out of the water.
She blew on them as she walked. The cold of the tub had settled in somewhere behind her ribs, and stayed.
Praying enough time had passed to allow Marker to retire to her office, she made her way back down to the first-floor hallway in hopes of reporting her to Molloy.
Peeking through the rippled glass of the locked entry of Pastoria House, she felt a pang in her chest. Only one carriage remained outside. Molloy was gone.
Then, at the end of the hall, the sudden rustling of papers broke the quiet. The door to Molloy’s office was ajar. It could only be Miss Marker! What on earth was she doing in Molloy’s office?
Slipping off her worn oxfords, Alice carried them in hand, creeping forward to avoid being heard.
At the threshold, she peered cautiously through the narrow gap below the hinge.
Inside, Marker stood with her back to Alice, rifling furiously through the records of the women of Pastoria House.
Molloy’s desk drawers had been pulled open, their contents scattered, while Marker tore through the pages of a file from the cabinet.
Alice, transfixed, leaned in without realizing it.
Was this the same Miss Marker who once shared custard with her and laughed so heartily at her jokes?
The same woman Alice had quietly begun to rely on—not as a sister, exactly, but as someone who might teach her how to exist in a world she didn’t quite understand?
Could people just change overnight like this?
Alice had so little experience with people, she just didn’t know.
Then, the toe of the oxford in her hand tapped the door. Marker froze, her back straightening.
Panic surged through Alice. She tiptoed backward before breaking into a soft run, her pulse quickening. Behind her, the office door slammed shut.
Alice rounded the corner and stopped abruptly.
A man was walking through the parlor sitting area!
It had been a very long time since Alice had seen any man within the walls of Pastoria House, and this one did not see or hear Alice, for she was sock-footed and stealthy.
She took a few steps back to peer at him from the safety of the office corridor.
Still in his overcoat, he sat down at the dusty acorn piano, removed his bowler and placed it on the bench beside him.
Alice was surprised to see that his hair was nearly white, though he couldn’t have been much older than she.
Softly, he began to play. The tune was simple, whatever it was.
Alice wouldn’t have known, for she had never cared much for sitting still, so piano lessons were not fruitful in her early years.
But something in the melody stirred Alice, and a sadness came as the song descended slowly, like a feather drifting to the ground.
Then, the loud unlatching of the office door jolted her, and she scurried out of the corridor.
Alice quickly entered the lobby, and the young man shot up at the sight of her.
Alice tossed her oxfords onto the floor, which made a terribly loud clapping sound before she slipped them on.
The man stared at her; he looked excited to see her and almost expectant, and quickly his eyes seemed to soften.
He appeared to wish to speak to her, but she had no time to entertain the idea, as Marker’s clacking boots approached, sounding angry.
Alice hadn’t even known that boots could sound angry, and she hurried toward the stairwell.
“Hello,” the young man said to Alice, when she was midway up the stairs. He did wish to speak to her! “I…”
“Alice!” Miss Marker barked, and Alice jumped, still looking at the man, who straightened and stood with his hands behind his back and faced Marker.
“Who are you?” Marker spat.
“Miss Molloy assigned me to assist here,” he said, with a small, courtly-seeming bow of his head.
“That so?” Miss Marker almost smirked at him, but it looked like she snarled. “Well, I shall make use of you.” What in God’s name was happening with her? Did she have some ailment? Alice hoped not. Even in this sour state, she wished nothing but goodness and health for Marker.
“Alice!” Marker said.
Alice’s throat went dry as Marker started up the stairs toward her, eyes burning. Alice stood frozen. Was this when Marker would fulfill her promise of discipline to Dr. Lewis? And in front of this intriguing young man?
“Follow me,” Marker said at the top of the stairs, then turned down the hallway toward the East Wing. Alice hesitated. She glanced toward the young man, who still seemed to wish to speak to her.
“Alice!” Marker called, and Alice heard the fitting of an iron key into a lock. “Come!”
Even in the face of potential punishment, curiosity got the best of Alice. She shot the young man a look which she hoped would convey her regret, then ran upstairs and followed Miss Marker through the door into the East Wing.