by A. G. Howard
“The mark that we all share?” Willow braved the question as the fabric slipped from her face.
“No, none of us have it.” Katherine stepped sideways, the silk scarf dangling from her delicate fingers in a flash of deep purple.
Willow squinted against the daylight. That wasn’t the answer she expected. “Then why does my having the tattoo matter?”
Katherine wound the silk scarf around her hand nervously. “Because another person we once knew had an identical one. And she’s—”
“She’s what?” Willow ignored the whispering sensation of her tattoo. Not receiving an answer, she changed her tactic. “What am I doing here? I demand to know what you all want of me.”
Katherine turned her back, lifted a biscuit from a tray, and curled Willow’s fingers around it. “We must avoid speaking of this … or I’ll have to give you more of that special tea.” She bent down to tuck the scarf into a portmanteau. “Let us talk of simple things. Things that can’t get us into trouble.”
Willow bit back a groan. She could do this. She could be pleasant long enough to gain Katherine’s trust. She lifted her bound hands as one, and considered taking a bite of the bread, but hesitated. She felt a bit like Alice in the rabbit hole after the experience with the tea earlier. Perhaps this bread would shrink her to bird size and they would lock her in a cage.
“You can eat it. It shan’t harm you. See?” Louisa took a piece off the biscuit and ate it.
Willow touched it with her tongue then, savoring the buttery flavor. After sinking her teeth in for a bite, she absorbed her surroundings. Just as she remembered from her brief glimpse before they blindfolded her, the private compartment was luxurious. Crimson velvet encased the three bench style seats which could convert into triple-level bunk-beds with an iron ladder secured between the ceiling and floor to aid in climbing to the top beds. A matching red velvet runner ran the length of the aisle floor, leaving it bared on either side to reveal white tiles beneath. The walls shimmered white as well, reflecting the passing scenery from the long rectangular windows as if one watched a silent film.
An ache unfurled in Willow’s chest as trees and shrubbery passed on either side. She wondered how many miles were between her and Julian now. She wondered how he’d ever find her. If only they could talk to one another mentally, as Nadia and Newton could.
Taking another bite, Willow searched for her one chance at freedom … Nadia’s shoebox. Her heart skipped a hopeful beat to find it right where she’d remembered, in the far corner, sticking out from beneath an extravagant gown and lace-up stomacher bejeweled and beaded to match the color and design of the shoes. She didn’t have time to question the similarities; instead, she concentrated on her plan. If she could somehow get the shoes out of the box and on her feet, Nadia could see and tell Newton where she was. Since the little widget had learned to communicate with Julian, he could pass on the information. Perhaps Nadia would even be willing to help Willow escape.
“They call it Blood and Pudding.”
Katherine’s observation startled Willow from her machinations. “The food?” She glanced at her dark-haired warden who had taken up residence on the bench across from her and turned up her nose at the half-eaten biscuit she held, her stomach lurching.
“No. Not your food. The décor. It is of European inspiration.” Katherine smiled, an effort which propelled her otherwise pretty features to the level of stunning. Her upper lip, much fuller than the lower one, nearly touched the tip of her nose. As if it tickled, she reached up and rubbed it, then moved her fingertip to tap the tiny bump of cartilage at the bridge of her nose which seemed to be the root of her whistling breath. “It is the theme of the train. I heard some of the passengers talking earlier. It has the nickname because of its color scheme. Only two shades are used, even on the outside. Though you missed seeing that.” Her smile faded to an apologetic frown. “Scarlet and white. Blood and pudding. You see?”
Willow nodded, setting aside the remaining biscuit then repositioning her hands on her lap to alleviate the pinch of the ropes at her wrist. Allowing silence to wreath them, Willow considered her companion’s lifestyle … how tragic to be so young and already corrupted by immoral, insatiable men.
She couldn’t help but wonder what the poor girl’s first time with a man had been like. Certainly not a gift of awe and immaculate sensation, as it should be. She remembered Julian’s selfless indulgence of her needs, his tenderness as he learned how to please her. This poor girl had probably never experienced gentle arms, or the warmth of passion in a touch motivated by love. And it was possible Willow would never again, herself. A sick roil tugged at her stomach—empathy for Katherine or terror for her own precarious situation, she couldn’t be sure.
Katherine chewed her lower lip and picked up a large oak shadowbox. It slanted slightly in her grasp, and Willow regarded its contents: vivid butterflies displayed on a cork background. Katherine had the glass lid set aside already on the bench, and proceeded to ease a new specimen into place, piercing its lifeless thorax with a silver pin as she pouted in concentration.
Willow watched, intrigued by the girl’s meticulous handling of the dead creature, as if she feared to hurt it. Julian’s sister would be sickened to see this display of corpses. Emilia believed in letting the insects live so the wind held up their wings … in letting foliage and flora be their shadowbox. This thought made Willow even more homesick, and she wrestled a wave of panic, worried she might never see the manor again.
“They are New Guinea Bird-Wing Butterflies.” Katherine’s long dark lashes fluttered up, showcasing sad eyes—glistening and gold, like autumn leaves wet with rain. “I know it seems a cruel sport.” She frowned again. “But I simply adore butterflies. And as I’m never where I can admire them in their natural habitat … we travel so much you see … I must settle for this substitute, to enjoy their beauty at all.” She slipped the glass lid back into place, setting the display aside. “I should one day like to have enough money saved up, so I might buy some land and have a … well … a butterfly zoo, or whatever they are called.” With that, she smoothed her lilac-colored dressing gown, looking no older or any less innocent than Emilia herself.
Her confidence in any future surprised Willow. Even in such a demoralizing situation, chained to a man who made her perform illicit favors for money, she still had aspirations for an honorable life. She hadn’t lost her spirit, her hope. Willow respected that. And liked Katherine all the more for it. “Conservatory,” she offered, licking some crumbs from her lips.
Katherine looked up from running her fingers along the shadowbox’s polished sides. “Pardon?”
“Butterfly conservatory. That is what they’re called. My dear friend back home … her father is building her one.”
Katherine beamed and clapped her hands together, leaning forward. “Oh, do tell! What a wonderful father!”
“He is.”
“So … does she have any butterflies yet?”
Willow paused. It felt odd to be having this cordial conversation with her hands and feet tied. But she bit back her rising anxiety and attempted to play along. “Not yet. She’s been corresponding with a duchess. A caterpillar breeder. She sends my friend information about what foliage appeals to what species of butterfly.”
Katherine studied her collection. “Huh. Here I thought they all liked the same things. I’ve much to learn.” She curled her legs up on the bench, thrusting her small feet out from beneath her lacy hem. The littlest toe on her right foot poked through a hole in her knitted wool stockings. “So each species likes to eat different flowers. They have their own unique tastes. Like people. I shall have to tell Carmelo this. We’ve always given him such a tuzzle over eating desserts for breakfast.” She smiled again, but the dazzling result couldn’t distract Willow from the shock of the words.
Katherine spoke fondly of Sala. How could she harbor anything but hatred for that monster? And the fact that he had anything in common with Willow, even something
so trivial as breakfast preferences, made Willow’s tongue too brittle for a response.
“Your friend,” Katherine continued. “She must like the insects as much as me.”
Willow refocused, remembering her objective. She had to make nice with this poor deluded girl, if she had any chance of getting free of the ropes. Her goal was to get those shoes out of the box and on her feet before any of the others returned.
“Yes,” Willow said, “she does like them. So much so she’s writing a novel about swallowtail butterflies. Oh, and a ghost.” She awaited Katherine’s response, thrilled when she saw excitement flush her companion’s skin. Just the reaction Willow had hoped for.
“A ghost! How delightful! I’ve always been very intrigued by the … inexplicable.” Katherine’s gaze slid to the corner of the room where Nadia’s shoes waited, hidden and secure.
Willow took her cue. “You know, we had the shoes for a time. And I saw some things, experienced some things … well, I don’t wish you to think me daft.”
Katherine stood. “No, no. Do tell … oh please. I’ve not even been allowed a glimpse of them since—” She stopped herself short.
Shrugging off the unfinished statement, Willow squirmed on her bench. “I would rather show you than tell you. It is much more exciting that way. Just slip them on my feet for a moment. You won’t believe your eyes.”
Katherine’s head tilted in consideration, her fear of retribution so palpable and binding Willow could almost picture rope burns on the girl’s neck.
Rope. Willow suppressed a grin as she realized her own bindings could be the key to her freedom.
“What could happen?” she asked her warden. “I’m tied up. It isn’t as if I can escape. I simply want to show you what I saw. I need someone else to experience it with me. Otherwise, how am I to know I’m not daft?”
Katherine gazed at Willow. The passing scenery danced in shadows across her ivory skin. Curiosity overcame her reservations, and Katherine strolled to the other corner of the room to get the box. She returned and crouched next to Willow’s feet, working the lid off. Within moments, Willow’s boots had been replaced by the latchet shoes, and Nadia appeared, hovering silent and cautious behind Katherine.
Hearing the water drip from Nadia’s hem, Katherine spun on her heels and saw the puddle in the floor. “Oh!” She threw a glance over her shoulder at Willow then dragged a fingertip through the puddle, gasping when it disappeared like a mirage. “I smell something. Perfume.” She held a finger to her nose and turned around to glance at Willow again. “I know this perfume … she’s truly here!”
Stunned, Willow locked gazes with the ghost floating behind the girl’s head.
Footsteps sounded on the other side of the compartment door and the knob began to rattle.
“Oh!” Growing pale, Katherine began to try to take off the shoes. “You must tell no one we did this. If Louisa were to find out—”
“She would stick your head with a pin and hang you in the box alongside your butterflies.” Louisa stood in the now-open doorway, shaking the glassy green beads which fringed her orchid day-dress like a swirl of glistening ivy. “Go have some breakfast, little fool. I’ll deal with you later.”
Willow’s hope plummeted as Louisa slid the door shut behind Katherine’s swift retreat.
Skirt rustling angrily, Louisa knelt beside Willow and tried to take off the shoes, grinding her fingernails into Willow’s skin with the effort. Nadia hovered in one corner of the room, hands on her hips and mouth in a tight line. Willow smirked. Just as she’d hoped, Nadia held the shoes in place by sheer force of will. Since Newton wasn’t here to remove them, no one would get them off now.
Glowering, Louisa sat upon the bench across from Willow. “I don’t know how you’re doing that, or what you are hoping to accomplish, but you’ve just cost your new friend her most valued possession.” Her blue eyes pierced into Willow’s as she raked the butterfly display to the floor. The glass shattered and sliced several wings and bodies, crumbling them.
Willow’s stomach clenched in sympathy for poor Katherine.
Louisa leaned forward, elbows on knees, the sun gleaming off of her blonde hair in blinding flashes. “First, you lost my pin brooch and cost me the completion of my most prized possession.” She indicated the expensive yellow gown that matched Nadia’s shoes. “Now you’ve ruined Katherine’s collection as well. You will compensate for our losses.”
Willow snorted. “As if I have the means.”
“Oh, you will. By doing this job for us, you will.”
Willow spat at her.
Louisa wiped the spittle from her brow. “How charming. I suppose a lesson in etiquette will be our first order of business today.”
Willow struggled against the ropes, tugging until they ground into her flesh. She only stopped when she felt warm wetness seep from the edges and saw driblets of blood. “I’ll not sell my body for you. Not for anyone.”
Louisa laughed and caught Willow’s chin, holding her still. “Surely you don’t believe those rumors. Do you truly think we’d lower ourselves to servicing men, the lesser of the sexes?”
“But—”
“You have been misled.” She stroked Willow’s bangs from her face. “Now, before you meet Carmelo for dinner tonight … we need to get our story straight. And you should be preened and made presentable, Nadia.”
The ghost stiffened at the mention of her name, appearing as confused as Willow felt.
“You can see her?” Willow asked Louisa, feeling the train jostle through her veins again.
“See who?” Louisa slanted a puzzled gaze around the room before settling her attention on Willow again.
“Nadia,” Willow answered.
Louisa smiled, the curl of her lips as venomous as a nightshade opening its deadly blooms. “Of course I see her. She’s sitting right in front of me. You are Nadia. Your father will be so pleased to know, after all these years, that you finally found your way back home.”
Twenty-One
Father … father.
No. Her father had been murdered years ago. Killed by the beast she was being prepped to meet. “My father is dead.”
Louisa’s lips tightened. “No. The man who stole you from Carmelo and renamed you is dead.”
Willow’s world tilted. Her captor’s words frayed into syllables as fine as gossamer threads, each one spinning around Willow’s mind; she felt drained of her very existence … snagged inside the filaments and captured within a web of anonymity.
“You were too young to remember,” Louisa continued matter-of-factly, unconcerned as to how life-altering her confession was. “Carmelo loved his wife; so much so that when she left him for another man, taking their two-year-old daughter with her, he searched for them for three years; sent people to find them. Things went wrong; got out of control. Carmelo never intended for anyone to die. His motives were sincere … he simply wanted his family back.” She stood and ran a comb through Willow’s tangles, pinching her scalp.
“Lies!” Tears searing her cheeks, Willow lifted her bound legs in one sharp motion, kicking Louisa’s shin. “He abducted you, just as he did me! Why are you lying for him? Why do you all defend him so?”
Wincing, Louisa shoved Willow’s ankles back into place with her foot then crammed the comb’s metal prongs against Willow’s windpipe. “He never abducted any of us. We were orphans. Gwenaviere, Josephine, and myself were adolescents living in Rotten Row. The sewer rats had a brighter future than us. And Katherine … he found her in the Indies, about to be sold at a slave auction. If not for his intervention, she indeed would’ve been servicing men …by the age of seven. He saved all of us, taught us unique talents which have amassed us great wealth. Why would we not defend him?”
Willow swallowed against the press of the comb’s twines. “I don’t believe you.”
“Believe what you will. I cannot imagine how you and Newton found one another. Perhaps there is something to fate after all. You obviously don’t
want Carmelo to know that the boy is still alive. That, my sweet, is kidnapping. Whether you are the boy’s half-sister or no.”
Sister …
Willow’s logic struggled to stay afloat as she drowned in the memory of her talks with Nadia. Was it possible that the little widget was Willow’s brother, her blood relative?
The comb dug deeper into Willow’s throat, distracting from this one shimmering pin-light of beauty buried in the depths of Louisa’s dark and ugly revelations.
“You are fortunate I have been aiding you all this time.” Louisa’s rant continued. “Did you truly think Carmelo hadn’t seen the lad? He even saw you. I had to convince him he was seeing ghosts, play upon his grief. But I never thought he would believe it to the point he’d imagine his hair floating across the room.”
“If you care so much for him”—Willow asked on a wisp of air—“why did you lie about his son?”
Louisa shrugged. “That is none of your concern. From this moment on, you shall do as I say. No questions. Or I will go to Carmelo about Newton’s livelihood, and he will stop at nothing to get his son back, including killing the man who’s helping you hide him. You choose. Will you sacrifice the child’s freedom for your own? Sacrifice your lover’s life?”
Willow gulped. The puncturing sensation at her windpipe eased away as Louisa dropped the comb to rummage through a trunk.
Desperately clinging to her identity, Willow sought out Nadia only to find her in the corner—a trace of astonishment dawning within her glowing gaze.
“Willomena?” Nadia asked the question on a frequency only Willow could hear. She had never told the ghost her full name. None of these girls knew it. Even Newton only knew her as Willow. So how did Nadia know the name of that little orphaned circus girl?
“Let us see.” Louisa dug through the trunk’s contents, pushing aside laces, chintz, crepes, and Damasks. “You appear to be closest to Katherine’s size.” She fished out an extraordinary gown of delicate silver lace overlaid on black crepe. A black braided trim accented the waistline and bodice seams. Ruffled French lace of the same black shade embellished the dipped neckline. “Here is our story. I met you on this train. You were dressed as an adolescent boy trying to steal from our car last evening while we were out at supper. I caught you, wrestled with you … accidentally exposing the mark on your back. When I realized who you were, I took you under my wing. We got to know one another over the long hours of the night and I arranged for you to meet your father. I have already told him I’ve a surprise for him.”