As soon as Charles walked into the room, however, my hopes were dashed.
His eyes widened at the sight of Catherine sitting to the right of the head chair, and he crossed the room briskly, never letting his eyes waver from her.
“Did Nurse Gray permit you to come down to breakfast?” he asked quietly, a hand on her shoulder.
Catherine’s cheeks heated with embarrassment, but she smiled through it. “I do not need permission to eat breakfast in my own home, Charles. I came down by my own choice. As you can see, I’m fine.”
Unlike the first day I’d arrived, Catherine had changed out of her nightgown. She wore a cotton dress that hugged her wider hips, and her long hair was twisted back into a loose bun at the nape of her neck. She didn’t look exactly like the sister I remembered, but she looked more like her than she had two days ago, and that seemed like something to celebrate.
“Indeed,” I agreed. “You look wonderful this morning, Catherine. Perhaps we should take another walk. It seemed to do you good the other day.”
Catherine gave me a warm smile in appreciation, but it faded away just as Camellia Cresswell entered the room with a gasp.
“Catherine,” she said, placing a hand over her chest in feigned shock. “I didn’t expect you to join us this morning.”
“It is my house,” Catherine reminded her coolly. “I’m not sure why everyone is so shocked.”
I couldn’t remember Catherine talking much about her feelings towards Camellia. She’d mentioned that Camellia was the one who suggested keeping Catherine from Hazel until they could be certain she wouldn’t be a danger to her own baby, but most of her frustration had seemed to be aimed at Charles and Nurse Gray. Now, however, I could see the anger.
Catherine felt threatened by Camellia, and I didn’t think her feelings were misplaced. Camellia needed to be set straight. She, like myself, was a guest in Catherine’s home, and it couldn’t hurt to remind her of that.
“Regardless, it is lovely to have you.” Camellia smiled, but it looked more like a grimace, the emotion not reaching her eyes. As she took her seat opposite Catherine—but still next to Charles—she waved to the maid.
The young woman had been going back and forth to the kitchen all morning bringing in the food one item at a time. Usually, the kitchen staff would have brought out the food all at once, but it seemed the girl was working alone. I was so uncomfortable waiting for her to pour everyone a glass of juice that I considered offering to help.
Camellia made a motion to her.
“Yes?” The maid’s eyes flicked to Catherine’s briefly as she lowered her head. Even the staff sensed the shifting of the power dynamic.
“Be sure to take something up to the nanny,” Camellia instructed, sweeping a hand across her forehead, her eyes fluttering closed dramatically. “Hazel was awake most of the night, and the poor woman could use something to revive her. I know I certainly could.”
Catherine’s brows knit together, and she turned to Charles. “Is Hazel all right? Why wasn’t I told?”
Camellia waved away Catherine’s concern with a laugh. “It is just her age. She needs to be soothed several times a night, and she is so hungry. Growing every day.”
At that, I frowned. Hazel was young enough that she should be eating only from her mother. Was Camellia feeding her something else? Since Catherine was taking medicine and spent so much of her time napping in her room, perhaps they had made other arrangements?
It looked as though Catherine wanted to ask something, as well, but doing so would be admitting that she didn’t have a say in the parenting of her own child. As much as I wanted to know the answer, I understood her silence on the subject.
“Did you drink the tea?” Camellia asked, looking up at me from beneath her dark brows.
For a moment, I didn’t know what she was referring to. Then, I remembered the Wilds. “Oh, yes. Unfortunately. Only to help me swallow the stew.”
“Oh no. They served the stew?” Camellia wrinkled her nose and grabbed her brother’s wrist. “Did you eat it, too, Charles?”
“Only the broth when they were looking directly at me. It was rabbit again.”
“You went to visit Margaret and Abigail?” Catherine asked.
Charles looked up for only a second, barely catching her eye. “Alice and I went last night.”
My sister turned to me, a look of betrayal on her face.
I would have spoken to Catherine about it directly if it hadn’t been for Nurse Gray’s rules. I hadn’t been able to see my sister the entire day before the dinner, and Charles led me to believe Catherine knew about it.
In turn, I looked at my brother-in-law with the same expression. Wisely, Charles kept his head down, avoiding my ire.
“Margaret and Abigail both had favorable things to say about you, Cat.” I forced a smile. “They told me to visit them again. Perhaps you could come with me and—”
“No.” Catherine lifted her chin and cut into the berries on her plate, bright red and purple juices spreading across the china, soaking into the bread.
I waited for more of an explanation, but none came. Finally, I pressed. “If it is because of the distance, the drive there is quite short. I’m sure Charles wouldn’t mind escorting us, and—”
“No thank you, Alice. You go on ahead.”
“Catherine,” I argued. “The tea truly is horrible, but the women are lovely, and I think it could be good for you to—”
“No!” Catherine’s fork slipped from her grip, clattering against her plate and falling to the floor.
Camellia gasped, a melodramatic hand flying over her mouth, and Charles stilled. He became an immovable statue, neither addressing his wife’s outburst or carrying on as though it hadn’t happened. Instead, he stayed fixed in that moment, staring down at his place, fork hovering over a pile of scrambled eggs.
Catherine smoothed her hands down the front of her
