“What do we do now?”
“I think you should move rooms,” Mr. Brand replied. “And share with Lisette. Keep your dog nearby. We’ll bring in the authorities when we can get out of the house. Until then, we’ll be careful.”
Severine nodded and glanced at her brother’s room again. In this monstrous house, with an excess of oversized and glorious suites, this beautiful room had been used as an insult.
Oh, Father, Severine thought. How much better things would have been if he’d been less interested in punishing and more interested in kindness.
Chapter Fifteen
When Severine returned to her bedroom after walking the dogs with Mr. Thorne, she found that every painting had been removed from the walls, set on the floor, and turned around. Her bed had been stripped and the mattress had been spread with something red. She suspected given the coppery smell, it was blood.
“He’s playing games now,” Severine told Grayson, who cursed.
She was trembling. This overt attack was worse than the earlier one. He wanted her to be afraid, and she admitted, he’d been successful. Her body wanted to run, but there was nowhere to go. No escape for her to find. And did she always want to look over her shoulder, waiting for the man who hated her enough to do this? What had she done to him, she wanted to demand. No, she actually wanted to shout it at him.
What did I do to you? Why? Am I so awful? So worthy of hate?
“He’s going to find himself locked in the cellar.”
Severine crossed to her trunk, noticing the torn pages littering the floor. It was the books she’d brought with her. The year of sketches she’d drawn in the Austrian wood. He’d found the secret bottom in her trunk.
She slowly knelt. Her journal, her thoughts and dreams, ripped from the spine and torn to pieces. Her clothes. But no. No, this was worse. Not her clothes. Only her underthings. He’d taken a knife to them and left them in shreds.
She shuddered and realized she was crying. Her letters. Her letters from the nuns. Her goodbye tokens. The book from Sister Bernadette written by her own hand. The written recipes from Sister Sophie, so Severine could have the meals from home. The sketch of Severine near one of the graves from Sister Mary Chastity. The embroidered scarf from Sister Agnes.
Andre had bypassed everything that meant nothing and destroyed only the irreplaceable and disturbing. She found that a handkerchief had been pressed into her hand and she slowly pushed herself to her feet.
“Are you all right, Severine?”
She had to answer, but she found that she wasn’t capable of a lie.
“No.”
Grayson paused and then took her wrist, tugging her close and hugging her tightly. “It’ll be all right.”
She was shaking and the hug provided an anchor. She tried for the lie. “They’re only things.”
“No, they aren’t. Of course they aren’t.”
“It was locked,” Severine told Grayson. “The butler keys are in Mr. Brand’s care now, and he took the mistress’s keys from Grandmother this morning. Andre couldn’t have known which room I would be placed in. They didn’t know I was bringing Lisette, and I gave her the first room. How did he get in here?”
Grayson shook his head, his frown deep. “You need a different bedroom.”
Severine nodded and then turned to the mess. She took what had been destroyed and carefully put the papers in a stack. There was perhaps hope of saving some. Her hands started to shake again when she found the sketch of her face. So much love had gone into that picture. So much hatred into the deeply jabbed X-mark over her face.
She tossed the remnants of her underthings in the trash and carefully packed up her items. When she was finished, she took the small trunk and Grayson took the large. Severine led the way to her one-time bedroom in the tower. She wasn’t sure why she felt so strongly that it was where she was supposed to go, but she decided to have faith in the choice of her Father. He’d loved so little, but she was realizing he had loved her. She took a deep breath and opened the door to her room. Mr. Thorne and the dogs were with her, but she still felt as if she were stepping back into the past.
The windows had been closed and the wet mopped up. The carpets that had been under the windows had been taken away, and really, if the bedding were changed, this room would be fine. What had Grandmère intended by refusing Severine her old room?
Severine shook her head. In the corner of the room was a dollhouse that had been made to match the house. She only played with it a few times before she’d been sent away. Her old doll, Lottie, lay on a shelf, neglected and alone. Why hadn’t the doll come, Severine had wondered time and again, wishing for it. She’d sent a letter asking Grandmère to send Lottie along and been denied.
Severine opened a cupboard door and found the tiny tea set from Father. The train in the corner, he’d bought for her, ignoring mother’s objections. The tin soldiers lined up over the train tracks for when Father played with her. Her eyes burned and she turned to face Grayson. “I feel like a little girl again.”
“This was the room of a beloved child.”
She nodded, for once certain of her place in her father’s affections. Severine nibbled on her bottom lip and said, “Mr. Thorne—”
“Grayson. We’re allies now.”
“Allies, yes. My brother tried to kill me and he’s playing games with me.”
“Yes, I know,” he said. “Though, perhaps, I wouldn’t use the word games.”
“Perhaps not,” Severine agreed. “I wonder if you will stand with me when the police are called. I believe he intends to make a claim that I either did an injury to myself if he succeeds in harming me or that I may do so if I avoid any attempt. Then he’ll have me
