Chapter 2 - THE FIRST RULE OF MRS. WHITMORE
The measuring tape fell to the floor.
Nobody moved.
Josiah stood in the doorway, his shoulders nearly filling it.
The seamstress attempted a laugh.
“Mr. Whitmore, surely you understand—”
“I understand exactly what you said.”
“I merely meant that Mrs. Whitmore has an unusual—”
“Shape?”
The woman's face reddened.
Josiah stepped inside.
“Or were you searching for a more expensive word for cruelty?”
Evelyn stared at him.
Nobody had ever defended her like this.
That should have felt wonderful.
Instead, embarrassment burned hotter.
She didn't want pity.
Especially not from her husband of four hours.
“I can defend myself.”
Josiah turned.
“I know.”
“Then let me.”
Something passed through his expression.
Respect, perhaps.
He nodded.
Evelyn faced the seamstress.
“You were hired to make clothing.”
“Yes.”
“Can you?”
“Of course.”
“Then measure me without insulting the body wearing it.”
The seamstress's mouth opened.
Evelyn continued.
“If that's beyond your professional ability, I'll find someone whose talent is larger than her manners are small.”
Josiah coughed.
Suspiciously like he was hiding a laugh.
The seamstress packed her equipment and left.
Josiah watched her go.
“You fired my seamstress.”
“I thought she was mine.”
He looked at Evelyn.
Then smiled.
It changed him completely.
“You're correct.”
That night, Evelyn learned the girls' names.
Clara was seven.
Rose was five.
They understood everything.
They simply didn't speak.
At supper, Evelyn sat beside them.
Josiah occupied the head of the enormous table.
Twenty feet of polished walnut separated him from his daughters.
Evelyn stared at the arrangement.
Then picked up her plate.
Josiah frowned.
“What are you doing?”
“Eating.”
“You're moving.”
“Also true.”
She carried her plate to the girls.
Then looked at Josiah.
“Are you coming?”
“This is where I sit.”
“Why?”
“It is my seat.”
“Does God strike you dead if you eat somewhere else?”
Clara's eyes widened.
Josiah stared at Evelyn.
Rose's shoulders moved.
A silent laugh.
Evelyn noticed.
So did Josiah.
Without another word, he moved.
That was the first family supper the Whitmores had shared in fourteen months.
The next morning, Evelyn discovered Clara drawing.
The picture showed a house.
Three figures.
A black shape near a staircase.
Evelyn pointed.
“What's that?”
Clara immediately covered the paper.
“All right.”
Evelyn didn't push.
Later, Rose refused to enter the west wing.
She screamed without sound when Evelyn approached the staircase.
Josiah heard the commotion.
“What happened?”
Evelyn told him.
His face closed.
“The west wing remains locked.”
“Why?”
“My wife died there.”
Evelyn stared.
“I thought she died of pneumonia.”
“She did.”
“On the staircase?”
Josiah's expression changed.
“I didn't say anything about a staircase.”
Evelyn slowly looked toward Clara's drawing.
That evening she found something under Rose's pillow.
A silver button.
Engraved with a crest.
Not Whitmore's.
When Josiah saw it, the color left his face.
“Where did she get this?”
“I don't know.”
He turned it over.
“Do you recognize it?”
“Yes.”
“Whose?”
Josiah's jaw tightened.
“My late wife's brother.”
“Who?”
“Edmund Carrington.”
May you like
The same Edmund Carrington trying to take Clara and Rose away.
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