by Blake Pierce
“No,” Marc argued. “I want to explore.”
“This is not a safe place for exploring. There’s not even a proper path. And it’s too dark. You should put your jacket on now or you’ll catch a cold.”
“Catch a cold, catch me!” With a mischievous expression, the boy darted away, weaving swiftly through the trees.
“Damn it!” Cassie plunged after him, gritting her teeth as sharp twigs tore at her inflamed skin. He was smaller and faster than her, and his laughter taunted her as he dove through the undergrowth.
“Marc, come back!” she called.
But her words only seemed to spur him on. She followed doggedly, hoping he would either get tired or decide to abandon the game.
She finally caught up when he stopped to catch his breath, kicking at pine cones. She grasped his arm firmly before he could run again.
“This is not a game. See, there’s a ravine ahead.” The ground sloped steeply down and she could hear flowing water.
“Let’s go back now. It’s time to go home.”
“I don’t want to go home,” Marc grumbled, dragging his feet as he followed her.
Nor do I, Cassie thought, feeling sudden sympathy for him.
But when they arrived back in the clearing, Antoinette was the only one there. She was sitting on a folded jacket, braiding her hair over her shoulder.
“Where’s your sister?” Cassie asked.
Antoinette glanced up, seemingly unconcerned.
“She saw a bird just after you left, and wanted to have a closer look. I don’t know where she went after that.”
Cassie stared at Antoinette in horror.
“Why didn’t you go with her?”
“You didn’t tell me to,” Antoinette said, with a cool smile.
Cassie breathed deeply, controlling another surge of rage. Antoinette was right. She should not have abandoned the children without warning them to stay where they were.
“Where did she go? Show me where exactly you last saw her.”
Antoinette pointed. “She went that way.”
“I’m going to look for her.” Cassie kept her voice deliberately calm. “Stay here with Marc. Do not—do not—step out of this clearing or let your brother out of your sight. Understand?”
Antoinette nodded absently, combing her fingers through her hair. Cassie could only hope that she would do as she was told. She walked over to where Antoinette had indicated, and cupped her hands around her mouth.
“Ella?” she shouted as loud as she could. “Ella?”
She waited, hoping to hear an answer or approaching footsteps, but there was no response. All she could hear was the faint rustle of leaves in the strengthening wind.
Could Ella really have gone out of earshot in the time she’d been away? Or had something happened to her?
Panic surged inside her as she headed into the woods at a run.
CHAPTER SEVEN
Cassie ran deeper into the forest, weaving through the trees. She yelled Ella’s name, praying that she would hear an answer. Ella could be anywhere; there was no clear path for her to have followed. The woods were dark and creepy, the wind was gusting harder, and the trees seemed to muffle her cries. Ella might have fallen into a ravine, or tripped and knocked her head. She could have been snatched by a vagrant. Anything could have happened to her.
Cassie skidded down mossy tracks and stumbled over roots. Her face was scratched in a hundred places and her throat was raw from shouting.
Eventually, she stopped, gasping for breath. Her sweat felt cold and clammy in the breeze. What should she do now? It was starting to get dark. She couldn’t spend any more time searching or she’d put them all in danger. The nursery was her closest port of call, if it was still open. She could stop there, tell the shopkeeper what had happened, and ask him to phone the police.
It took her ages, and a few wrong turns, to retrace her steps. She prayed that the others would be waiting safe and sound. And she hoped beyond hope that Ella might have found her way back.
But when she reached the clearing, Antoinette was stringing leaves together in a chain, and Marc was curled up on the jackets, fast asleep.
No Ella.
She imagined the storm of anger on their return. Pierre would be justifiably furious. Margot might simply be vicious. Flashlights would shine into the night as the community hunted for a girl who was lost, injured, or worse, as a result of her own negligence. It was her fault and her failure.
The horror of the situation overwhelmed her. She collapsed against a tree and buried her face in her hands, trying desperately to control her sobs.
And then Antoinette said, in a silvery voice, “Ella? You can come out now!”
Cassie looked up, staring in disbelief as Ella clambered from behind a fallen log, brushing leaves from her skirt.
“What…” Her voice was hoarse and shaky. “Where were you?”
Ella smiled happily.
“Antoinette said we were playing hide and seek, and I mustn’t come out when you called, or I would lose. I’m cold now—can I have my jacket?”
Cassie felt bludgeoned by shock. She hadn’t believed anyone could dream up such a scenario out of pure malice.
It wasn’t just the cruelty, but the calculation in her actions that chilled Cassie. What was driving Antoinette to torment her, and how could she stop it from happening in the future? She could expect no support from the parents. Being nice hadn’t worked, and anger would only play right into Antoinette’s hands. Antoinette held all the cards and she knew it.
Now they were heading home unforgivably late after telling nobody where they had gone. The children were muddied, hungry, thirsty, and exhausted. She feared that Antoinette had done more than enough for her to be instantly fired.
It was a long, cold, and uncomfortable walk back to the chateau. Ella insisted on being carried the entire way, and Cassie’s arms had just about given out by the time they reached home. Marc trailed behind, grumbling, too tired to do more than throw an occasional stone at the birds in the hedgerows. Even Antoinette seemed to be taking no pleasure in her victory and trudged along sullenly.
When Cassie knocked on the imposing front door, it was snatched open immediately. Margot faced her, flushed with rage.
“Pierre!” she shouted. “Finally they are home.”
Cassie started to tremble as she heard the angry stomping of feet.
“Where in the name of the devil have you been?” Pierre bellowed. “What irresponsibility is this?”
Cassie swallowed hard.
“Antoinette wanted to go to the woods. So we went for a walk.”
“Antoinette—what? For the whole day? Why the hell did you let her do that, and why did you not obey your instructions?”
“What instructions?” Cowering from his wrath, Cassie longed to run and hide, just as she had done when she was ten years old and her father had gotten into one of his rages. Glancing behind her, she saw the children felt exactly the same. Their stricken, terrified faces gave her the courage she needed to keep facing Pierre, even though her legs were shaking.
“I left a note on your bedroom door.” With an effort, he spoke in a more normal voice. Perhaps he’d noticed the children’s reactions too.
“I didn’t find any note.” Cassie glanced at Antoinette but her eyes were downcast and her shoulders hunched.
“Antoinette was supposed to perform at a piano recital in Paris. A bus arrived to collect her at eight-thirty but she was nowhere to be found. And Marc had soccer practice in town at twelve.”
A cold knot tightened in Cassie’s stomach as she realized how serious the consequences of her actions had been. She’d let Pierre, and others, down in the worst possible way. This day should have been a test of her capabilities in organizing the children’s schedules. Instead, they’d headed off on an unplanned jaunt into the middle of nowhere and missed important activities. If she had been Pierre, she’d have been livid, too.
“I’m so sorry,” she mut
tered.
She didn’t dare tell Pierre outright how the children had tricked her, even though she was sure he suspected it. If she did, they might end up suffering the brunt of his anger.
A gong sounded from the dining room and Pierre glanced at his watch.
“We will talk about this later. Get them ready for supper now. Quickly, or the food will get cold.”
Quickly was easier said than done. It took over half an hour, and more tears, before Marc and Ella were bathed and in their pajamas. Thankfully, Antoinette was on her best behavior, and Cassie wondered if she was feeling overwhelmed by the consequences of her actions. As for herself, she was numbed after the catastrophe the day had become. Half drenched from bathing the children, she had no time for a shower. She pulled on a dry top and the welts on her arms flared up again.
They trooped disconsolately downstairs.
Pierre and Margot were waiting in the small lounge next door to the dining room. Margot was sipping a glass of wine while Pierre refilled a brandy and soda.
“Finally we are ready to eat,” Margot observed tersely.
Supper was a fish casserole, and Pierre insisted the two older children serve themselves, although he allowed Cassie to help Ella.
“They must learn etiquette at an early age,” he said, and proceeded to instruct them on the correct protocol the whole way through dinner.
“Put your serviette in your lap, Marc. Not crumpled on the floor. And your elbows must stay in; Ella does not want to be poked in the side while you are eating.”
The stew was rich and delicious and Cassie was starving, but Pierre’s haranguing was enough to put anyone off their food. She restricted herself to small, delicate mouthfuls, glancing at Margot to check she was doing things in the correct French way. The children were exhausted, unable to comprehend what their father was saying, and Cassie found herself wishing that Margot would tell Pierre that now was not a good time for nitpicking.
She wondered if dinners had been any different when Diane was alive, and how much the dynamic had changed after Margot’s arrival. Her own mother had kept a firm lid on the conflict in her quiet way, but it had erupted uncontrollably when she had gone. Perhaps Diane had played a similar role.
“Some wine?” To her surprise, Pierre filled her glass with white wine before she could refuse. Perhaps this was protocol, too.
The wine was fragrant and fruity, and after just a few sips she felt the alcohol suffuse her bloodstream, filling her with a sense of well-being and a dangerous relaxation. She put her glass down hurriedly, knowing she couldn’t afford any slip-ups.
“Ella, what are you doing?” Pierre asked, exasperated.
“I’m scratching my knee,” Ella explained.
“Why are you using a spoon?”
“My nails are too short to reach the itch. We walked through nettles,” Ella said proudly. “Antoinette showed Cassie a shortcut. I got stung on my knee. Cassie got stung all over her face and arms. She was crying.”
Margot banged her wineglass down.
“Antoinette! You did that again?”
Cassie blinked, surprised to learn that she’d done it before.
“I…” Antoinette began defiantly, but Margot was unstoppable.
“You are a vicious little beast. All you want to do is cause trouble. You think you are being clever, but you are just a stupid, mean, childish girl.”
Antoinette bit her lip. Margot’s words had cracked her cool shell of composure.
“It’s not her fault,” Cassie found herself saying loudly, wondering too late if the wine had been a bad idea.
“It must be really difficult for her dealing with—” She stopped herself hurriedly, because she’d been about to mention their mother’s death, but Ella believed a different version and she had no idea what the true story was. Now was not the time to ask.
“Dealing with so much change,” she said. “In any case, Antoinette didn’t tell me to take that path. I chose it myself. Ella and I were tired and it looked like a good shortcut.”
She didn’t dare look at Antoinette while she spoke, in case Margot suspected collusion, but she managed to catch Ella’s eye. She gave her a conspiratorial glance, hoping she would understand why Cassie was siding with her sister, and was rewarded with a tiny nod.
Cassie feared that her defense would leave her on even shakier ground, but she had to say something. After all, she knew what it was like growing up in a fractured family where war could erupt at any moment. She understood the importance of an older role model who could offer shelter from the storms. How would she have coped without Jacqui’s strength during the bad times? Antoinette had nobody to stand with her.
“So you are choosing to take her side?” Margot hissed. “Trust me, you will regret doing that, just as I have done. You do not know her like I do.” She pointed a crimson-manicured finger at Antoinette, who started sobbing. “She is just the same as her—”
“Stop it!” Pierre roared. “I will not have arguments at the dinner table—Margot, shut up now, you have said enough.”
Margot leaped to her feet so suddenly her chair overturned with a crash.
“You are telling me to shut up? Then I will go. But don’t think I have not tried to warn you. You will get what you deserve, Pierre.” She marched to the door but then turned back, staring at Cassie with undisguised hatred.
“You will all get what you deserve.”
CHAPTER EIGHT
Cassie held her breath as Margot’s angry footsteps retreated down the passage. Glancing around the table, she saw she wasn’t the only one shocked into silence by the blonde woman’s vicious outburst. Marc’s eyes were saucer-wide and his mouth was tightly closed. Ella was sucking her thumb. Antoinette was scowling in wordless fury.
With a muttered oath, Pierre pushed back his chair.
“I’ll deal with it,” he said, striding to the door. “Put the children to bed.”
Relieved to have a job to do, Cassie stood up, glancing at the plates and dishes littering the table. Should she clear the table, or ask the children to help? Tension hung in the air as thick as smoke. She wished for a normal, everyday family activity like washing up to help dissolve it.
Antoinette saw the direction of her gaze.
“Leave everything,” she snapped. “Someone clears up later.”
Forcing cheerfulness into her tone, Cassie said, “Well, then, it’s bedtime.”
“I don’t want to go to bed,” Marc protested, swinging his chair back. As the chair overbalanced he screamed in mock fright, grabbing at the tablecloth. Cassie leaped to his rescue. She was fast enough to stop the chair from falling over, but too late to prevent Marc upsetting two of the glasses and sending a plate crashing to the floor.
“Upstairs,” she ordered, trying to sound stern, but her voice was high and unsteady with exhaustion.
“I want to go outside,” Marc announced, sprinting toward the French doors. Remembering how he’d outrun her in the forest, Cassie dove after him. He’d already unlocked the door by the time she caught up, but she was able to grab him and stop him from opening it. She saw their reflections in the dark glass. The young boy with his rebellious hair and unrepentant expression—and herself. Her fingers clutching his shoulders, eyes wide and anxious, face sheet-white.
Seeing herself in that unexpected moment made her realize how badly she’d failed in her duties so far. It had been a full day since she’d arrived, and not for one minute had she been in charge. She was fooling herself if she thought otherwise. Her expectations of fitting in with the family and being loved, or at least liked, by the children could not have been more unrealistic. They didn’t have a shred of respect for her, and she had no idea how she could change things.
“Bedtime,” she repeated wearily. Keeping her left hand firmly on Marc’s shoulder, she removed the key from the lock. Noticing a hook high on the wall, she reached up and hung it there. She marched Marc upstairs without letting go. Ella trotted alongside and Antoinette trai
led despondently behind, slamming her bedroom door without so much as a good night.
“Do you want me to read you a story?” she asked Marc, but he shook his head.
“All right. Into bed, then. You can get up early tomorrow and play with your soldiers if you go to sleep now.”
It was the only incentive she could think of but it seemed to work; or maybe tiredness had finally caught up with the young boy. At any rate, to her relief, he did as she asked. She pulled the duvet up, noticing her hands were trembling from sheer exhaustion. If he made another break for freedom she knew she would burst into tears. She wasn’t convinced that he would stay in bed, but for now, at least, her job was done.
“I want a story.” Ella tugged her arm. “Will you read me one?”
“Of course.” Cassie walked to her bedroom and chose a book from the small selection on the shelf. Ella jumped into bed, bouncing on the mattress with excitement, and Cassie wondered how often she’d been read to in the past, because it didn’t seem to be a customary part of her routine. Although, she supposed, there wasn’t much about Ella’s childhood that had been normal so far.
She read the shortest story she could find, only to have Ella insist on a second one. The words were swimming in front of her eyes by the time she reached the end and closed the book. Looking up, Cassie saw to her relief that the reading had soothed Ella, and she was finally asleep.
She turned off the lamp and closed the door. Walking back down the corridor, she checked on Marc, keeping as quiet as she could. Thankfully, the room was still dark and she could hear soft breathing.
When she opened Antoinette’s door, the light was on. Antoinette was sitting up in bed scribbling notes in a pink-covered book.
“You knock before coming in,” she chastised Cassie. “It is a rule.”
“I’m sorry. I promise I’ll do that from now on,” Cassie apologized. She dreaded that Antoinette would escalate the broken rule into an argument, but instead she turned back to her notebook, writing a few more words before closing it.
“Are you finishing off homework?” Cassie asked, surprised because Antoinette didn’t seem like a person who’d put things off till the last minute. Her room was immaculate. The clothes she’d taken off earlier were folded in the laundry basket, and her school bag, neatly packed, was set under a perfectly tidy white desk.