She frowned. “You’ll do what?”
“If I’m to be dismissed, it’s best to be done with it.”
She shook her head. “No one is dismissing you, child.” She mustered a weak smile, but something weighed on her.
“Then why am I here?”
She turned to Mr. MacDougall. He only shrugged. In denial or acquiescence, I hardly knew.
The woman shot him a nasty look before facing me again. “Do sit, Jane. This may take some time.”
Baffled but curious, I took a chair.
She squeezed herself into the one beside it, her usually serene eyes flaring with strange intensity. “Let’s discuss your visions.”
Her words sucked the air from the room. I’d never spoken of my visions here. Not ever. Windsor was supposed to be my chance for a fresh start. I shifted and tried to swallow. “I’m sorry, my what?”
“Your visions.” Again, she looked at Mr. MacDougall.
Again, he looked away.
She sighed and leaned toward me. “My dear, we’ve asked you here because we need your help.”
CHAPTER TWO
“My help?” The words slipped out with an unfortunate squeak.
The House Steward took his seat and leaned across his monolith of a desk. “As we improve our household efficiency and adjust our staff to align with His Royal Highness’s expectations, we find ourselves… shall we say, shifting responsibilities, which, uh, traditionally…” He tugged at his starched collar and cleared his throat.
“That isn’t helping, Mr. MacDougall.”
I frowned at Mrs. Crossey’s blunt assessment, but she wasn’t wrong.
The House Steward pulled back and stared down at his steepled fingertips.
Mrs. Crossey stared at me. “Jane, I believe your visions make you uniquely qualified to help us with a particular problem. A serious problem.”
She spoke with such certainty. But how could she know? It made no sense. Since words failed me, I stared at my hands. My gloves! Had they betrayed me? The soft, white leather that protected me from the images and the voices and all the emotions that had struck only sporadically throughout my life but now occurred without fail at the merest touch. There had been a few curious glances when I began wearing the gloves, but no one said anything. Most hardly seemed to notice at all. Mrs. Crossey had only pondered them a moment the first time I wore them to the kitchen.
“Those are new,” she’d said as I tightened my grip on a cleaver and sliced leaves off celery stalks.
“They are,” I replied, staring hard at my hands and wishing I could melt into the floor. “It’s so cold in here, don’t you think?”
At that she had quirked an eyebrow and offered one of her half smiles. “No, but if you’re more comfortable that way.” Then she’d turned back to whatever she had simmering on the stove and never said another word about my gloves. That had been two weeks ago now.
“How long have you had them?” she demanded now. Her eyes still fixed on me, taking in every twitch and fidget.
“The gloves?” I asked.
“The visions.”
“I don’t know what you mean.” My fingers burned beneath the usually cool leather. Blood pounded against my ears. I wanted to leave this room. Get away from her and Mr. MacDougall and everyone. I wanted to be alone.
“It’s all right, dear,” she said. “There’s no need to be afraid.”
Her usually comforting manner only heightened my panic. I knew what happened when people learned my secret. It was one of my first memories at Chadwick Hollow. A lesson I’d never forgotten, and I suspect I never would.
She cocked her head to the side. “If it makes you feel any better, I have known for quite some time.”
Why should that make me feel better? I tensed and shook my head. She was lying. She had to be.
Mrs. Crossey’s silence taunted me.
“I… I… I don’t know what you’ve been told,” I said, “but—”
Mr. MacDougall scoffed. “You see, Mrs. Crossey? This is all a mistake. Just as I said.”
Mrs. Crossey rocked back and pinned him with a menacing look. “I will continue, Geoffrey.”
The House Steward’s bushy brows pulled low. “I hardly think that’s wise. If certain people were here, I’m sure they would agree.”
“Noted. However, certain people are not here, which leaves the matter to my discretion.”
I stared, amazed and puzzled as he looked away with an almost imperceptible shake of his head.
I hoped that would be the end of it, but instead she leaned forward and addressed me with even greater intensity.
“This is all rather complicated,” she said, “but you should know we are aware of your visions because you are one of us, dear.”
“Of course I am.” I winced at the desperation in my voice. I took a deep breath and tried again. “I’ve worked here six months already.”
She waved me off. “I’m not referring to your service. Not exactly.”
Mr. MacDougall groaned and dropped his head into his hands.
Mrs. Crossey’s eyes remained on me. I shifted under the weight of that stare.
“I’m speaking,” she said, “of those within the castle who understand the purpose of your gift.”
“My what?” I had never considered my visions a gift. An affliction was more like it. Perhaps a curse.
“Don’t play coy, dear.” Her fingers flexed into fists. “As I said, I have known about your circumstances for quite some time. You see, I’m acquainted with your former headmistress. More than acquainted, actually. Miss Trindle is my sister.”
That grim woman was Mrs. Crossey’s sibling? I fell back against the chair’s wooden spindles. The two were so different. Miss Trindle’s whisker-thin frame towered over Mrs. Crossey’s shorter, stouter stature, and I could count on one hand the number of times I’d seen her smile. How could they possibly share a mother?
But then, what did I know of mothers? I didn’t know how to respond, so I simply
