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2
The next morning, before the sky had fully lightened, Winter pushed open the door and came in to help me wash and dress.
She was the one I had picked myself from the slaver's hands when I first came back to Kingsbury, the only person in this vast Henson residence I could say a true word to.
"Miss, Blanche Pruitt has brought people to move you to the other court."
"Please come out and watch over it, in case anything gets chipped or broken."
I looked at my own pale lips and shook my head.
"No need. Whatever they do is fine."
Winter's eyes reddened.
"But Blanche says if you don't oversee it, the mistress will scold them afterward for not respecting the eldest Henson daughter..."
My hand paused for a moment as I pressed the color to my lips, and I let out a low laugh.
"Dress me, then."
Outside, tea and refreshments had been set out in the courtyard, and Blanche and a whole crowd of servants bowed to me with the utmost deference.
They carried things in and out for two full hours before it all reached Pearl Court.
I had expected to walk in and find Winifred Henson breaking things in a fit of rage, but instead it was strangely quiet.
The servants were all deference, calling me eldest daughter with every other breath as they arranged my things.
Once they had let me inspect everything with their eyes lowered, they carried in what my mother and brother had sent.
Inside two gilt-lacquered camphorwood chests were bolts of cloth and hairpins, packed to the brim.
One glance was enough to tell me these were Winifred's leftovers, the ones she hadn't wanted.
She liked heavy, ornate fabrics and lively, playful jewelry.
I dug my nails into my palm and asked Blanche.
"Where are my mother and brother?"
Blanche answered.
"The mistress is unwell and resting in her court. The young master has gone to the barracks..."
"What? Mother is ill? Has a physician been sent for?"
I turned to Winter.
"Quickly, come with me—"
Blanche said quickly, "Don't worry, eldest daughter. The mistress was only in high spirits last night. She drank chilled wine and caught a chill in the wind."
"She said moving courts must have worn you out, and that you should rest well."
With that, she hurried away.
I left Winter to keep watch at the side gate, and when I spotted my mother and brother, they were slipping quietly out of the residence.
As if drawn by something I couldn't name, I followed.
Just beyond the wall from the Henson residence, at some point a house had gone up that was nine parts identical to it.
I picked the lock on the back door with a hairpin, and the instant it opened my mind went blank.
A vast, absurd sense of it, and a sourness, spread through my whole body.
Every blade of grass, every tree, even every broken stone in this house was exactly the same as the Henson residence.
The only difference was that beneath the crabapple tree stood a solid-wood swing, wound with purple flowering vines.
Above it hung a wooden tag that read, "For Peaches only."
That handwriting was my brother's.
Two months ago, I had begged him to find a carpenter to make me a swing, nothing fancy, just something plain and simple.
But he had frowned.
"Amy, you'll be having your coming-of-age ceremony in a few months. You can't keep playing like a little girl. You should carry yourself with dignity, stay in your room, read, do your embroidery."
Yet Winifred was clearly two months older than me, and he had not only agreed for her, he had made it with his own hands.
When I reached "Pearl Court," its door was hung all over with wooden dolls of every kind, each of them lifelike.
I took out the meeting gift Clive Gilbert had given me the day I returned home, a tiny little doll.
In the years before I was lost, I had spent whole days trailing after him, calling out that I wanted to marry him.
My mother and his mother had been close friends in their girlhood, and they had arranged our betrothal long ago.
They said that in all the years I was gone, he came to the residence nearly every day to ask whether I had come home yet.
In the half year since my return, he was always making little trinkets to amuse me, the kind you'd give a child.
But it was this doll I loved most, and I carried it with me every day.
Footsteps sounded all at once, and I quickly ducked behind a corridor pillar, only to see Clive Gilbert walking at Winifred's side.
"Peaches, come look, this is a doll I carved for you, half a year of work!"
I fixed my eyes on it, and that doll was no different from mine at all.
Only this one had been painted, sanded smooth and round.
Winifred tilted her head back and said in a sweet, coaxing voice, "Clive, this is the three hundredth wood carving you've made for me. There's no room left in my rooms for them!"
Clive laughed and tapped the tip of her nose.
"My dear Peaches, this one is different. I carved three of them and pricked my fingers, and this is the one I'm happiest with."
It was as though a hole had been torn in my heart, cold wind howling in through it, the ache stinging up into my eyes.
My hand trembled, and the doll rolled to the ground.
Clive's voice was gentle, his brow drawn tight, and he stepped quickly forward, met my red-rimmed eyes, and a flicker of shock crossed his face.
"Amy, why are you here?"
