A Lost Gods series alternate universe inspired by del Toro’s Frankenstein (2025) and Penny Dreadful (2014–2016).
Death of Yet Another Girl
Content notice for death of a lover and unborn child, abusive relationships, off-page grooming, references to a life of relative poverty, the looming weight of a spouse wanting their significant other to get pregnant, off-page mutilation that led to amputation, dehumanization of the working class by a non-POV character, violence, and cursing.
The coach bounced violently over a change in the road, jostling the book out of Mallory Whitcliff Morris’s grasp.
“Leave it,” her husband, Earl Paul Morris, sighed as she fumbled to retrieve it from where it had slid over to his side of the cramped space. He absent-mindedly fiddled with the latch of his cane, flicking the handle up and down. A sliver of the sword hidden within caught the light sifting through the trees, nearly blinding her from the flashing reflection. “We’re nearly there.”
She leaned over and reached for her book. Couldn’t have it getting dirty from the grass and muddy spots on the floor that they both had dragged in.
Paul kicked it away from her with his shoe, which was somehow still shiny despite their trek—probably because he wiped his shoes off inside of the carriage instead of outside—when her gloved fingers grazed the spine. “I’ll have someone fetch it and bring it up to you if you’re so keen on finishing that drivel.”
Drivel? You’re the one who got it for me. Mal glared at him through her thin veil, which not only served as protection against the sun and elements but also, in her mind, was another barrier between her and Paul. Which was definitely a good thing, as he was increasingly insufferable to her. Especially since the start of their engagement, and very likely always would be.
Until one of them died.
Hopefully, that would be him, and preferably sooner rather than later.
He raised one of his wispy gray eyebrows, which curled upward at the ends, as she adjusted her skirts and the crinoline cage underneath, crouched on the narrow floor space between them, and snatched the book up before he could stop her.
Clutching the book to her chest, she eased herself back up and into her seat. She was incredibly stiff from the journey, and her body screamed from the sudden movement she’d just made it do. But she wouldn’t complain about that right now. Not in front of her husband.
He would call her weak, and in a way, he was right.
Paul scoffed, his curled mustache twitched, and he muttered something under his breath about reading making insolent wives.
Oh, piss off, old man. She smiled so sweetly that she was certain even he knew it was fake and a weak attempt to disguise her general and always present frustration with him. She turned to look outside. You’re the one who wanted to marry, not me.
The scenery changed from trees, with their crunchy golden-yellow, burnt-orange, and brown leaves swirling on the earth below their branches, to a cleared-out swath of land, speckled with crumbling wildflowers. She listened to the horses’ hooves making clip-clopping sounds as the ground shifted from beaten-down grass and pebbles to a smooth dirt and brick mixture. They broke free of the dancing shadows of the foliage overhead and passed through an open iron gate and twin gate houses that marked the beginning of the main section of the estate.
The coach rattled down for a few more minutes, and Mal sat in a stewing silence across from the unbothered Paul.
A massive shadow blocked out the dying afternoon light.
Mal squinted, trying to see what was causing this, but couldn’t see from her angle.
The driver sitting on his seat outside and above them turned the coach.
She could see it through the window now.
A massive three-story building that spread out even farther than her family’s own whole property, stretched with jutting peaks that seemed to pierce the sky, loomed before her. She could already see herself getting lost in this place based on its sheer mass, and she hadn’t even seen the inside yet. All faded red brick and sharp angles and shadows for anything and anyone to hide in. And so many windows looked out at her and onto the massive bubbling fountain that lay on her other side in the center of the pristine front lawn.
The weight of it all made her feel like it was watching her and saw all of her flaws.
Judging her.
Elsworth Hall.
My new home. She nearly screamed out loud at that thought, but settled for doing that internally.
She had known that this moment was coming. It was inevitable, especially since her father had hinted at the earl’s interest in her since she had her first bleeding. And, despite the massive difference in their ages—Paul could easily be Mal’s grandfather—he was a great financial asset to her father, his parish’s longevity, and, ultimately, he was Father Whitcliff’s closest friend.
How could he have refused?
“It’s a good match,” her mother had said when she’d found Mal shoving basic clothing and what jewelry and books her father had allowed her into a small suitcase. “Think of it as an opportunity to grow and succeed.”
Mal was halfway out of her cramped, second-floor bedroom window, having been sat down earlier on in the day by her parents and told of her fate, when she’d made the mistake of looking back and snapping at the older woman. “You mean to always have that geriatric pervert’s babies growing in my womb? And to succeed as… what?”
“As a wife and lady of high society.” Mother Whitcliff’s delicate, bird-like features were tired. As if she was worn by this display of defiance from her only daughter. “There will be extravagant parties, better clothes, and more books than you could ever imagine—”
“Paul doesn’t seem like the sort who reads anything more than account ledgers and gossip rags.”
Her mother huffed. “You love gossip.”
“Not the kind he partakes in.” Mal lifted her skirts and swung a leg over the windowsill. It’s not such a long jump. I used to fall from trees taller than this, and I survived. A few scrapes are worth not having to wait for his death to be free, and even then, I’d have his damn children to take care of. “I would ask you to excuse me, but I’m getting the feeling that you’d rather I live a lifetime of misery, tied down by raising and supporting that wrinkled cock’s spawn until I die filled with regret, than wish me any sort of luck.”
“Children aren’t the end of the world.” The floorboards creaked when Mother Whitcliff took a step away from Mal and the window. “But go fall and break your neck then. You’ll be doing us all a favor, including the earl who would’ve been your ticket to a better, more elegant lifestyle. You could have access to knowledge. You could travel and really see the world. More of the world than any of us here have or ever will.”
“In exchange for my freedom?” Not that I have had much here, but it has still meant something.
“Freedom.” The other woman sighed and shook her head. “You call living in a dark alleyway, selling bits of your body and soul to survive freedom? Not knowing when you’ll get your next meal, a warm bed, or heaven forbid, a bath… You think that’s freedom? I promise you that in a fortnight, you’ll have nothing. No books, no art. Nothing but the rags on your back, if that. You’ll be nothing but a warm hole for anyone who would pay for access to you. And within a few months… No one will want you. Not even for what pleasure you used to be able to offer them.”
“I could make a career out of being a cold hole, then. I’m sure that I could find a few pricks to suck off in exchange for some food. Even if that food is my fellow whores, I’m sure I could learn to live with that.”
“Mallory.” Her mother’s sleeves swished as she quickly crossed herself thricely, a habit she hadn’t been able to shake and had learned from her own mother and her upbringing in the Eastern Orthodox church.
“Mother.” Mal sighed over-dramatically, tossed her clasped suitcase into the bushes below, and brought her other leg over the ledge. It was hard, and splinters dug into her palms. “Goodbye.”
“If you don’t owe it to yourself to create a better life for yourself, you owe this to us. To your family. Your brothers.”
“Ansel has tried to kill me on more than one occasion.” Mal hissed, no longer trying to look at the woman who let her get brutalized by the cruelty. The homicide attempts. The constant reminder that she was less for being a woman she’d endured since childhood.
That there was and always had been something wrong with her.
“What about Stephen then? You’ve always loved bonding with him while telling each other stories. Declan? Little Declan that you helped bring into this world… Doesn’t he deserve more? The opportunity to go to university? Get married to whom he pleases, be who he desires, not constrained by his position in society anymore?” Her mother let out the first sob she had heard from her since she’d given birth to her younger brother with just ten-year-old Mal for help. “You taught him more than I ever could with nothing but our old books, broken sticks, and your imaginations.”
Mal froze, as if stuck in the marshland that surrounded her childhood home. The points that her mother was raising, the ones about how constricted by their family’s financial situation her brother was, were ones that kept her up in the dead of night. Am I really the only one who can help him gain the life he deserves?
Before now, she had no idea that their mother shared the same beliefs, the same desires, the same dreams for her youngest brother. He’ll end up in the mines somewhere in a few years, if not this year, if our father doesn’t get us out of debt. And he had no way to do that… except for…
Even though he’d never made a big deal out of it, she knew that Paul was the sole reason that her family had a house at all. All of the money raised by the local community for her family and the church’s upkeep went right back to the parish. Mal had snooped and seen the ledgers. Her father, ever the overbearing saint, ruthless in his pursuit for everyone’s eternal salvation, had kept not a single cent for himself or his children. Not even for what he was owed for his work. For the whole family’s work.
Our Lord will provide.
Or rather, a certain earl.
It had always been Paul supporting them, lending them enough to keep them decently clothed and fed often enough that they had no real opportunity to complain of hunger pains. Not one of the four Whitcliff siblings would have been able to afford an education of any kind, or even been able to indulge in their hobbies and interests, without his money.
Paul had bought one-on-one time with her as she grew from a gangly youth into a well-developed young woman with special gifts—gifts only for her—of confectionery treats and just enough books to keep her mind entertained. He’d kept her curious. Curious for more of what he could offer.
Paul and his resources were the only reason she wasn’t stuck reciting prayers in a nunnery somewhere, like her father had always told her she would end up in.
Or battered and in an asylum like Ansel had always threatened to make them send her to.
Reality hit Mal like the brick that her oldest brother had thrown at her, which had almost crushed her face a few years ago.
If she didn’t give Paul what he wanted by marrying him and bearing him a son…
The sound of Mother Whitcliff crumbling to the floor into a pile of her rustling skirts behind her back was not missed by Mal. “He might not be from your womb, but Declan is your son as well as mine.”
He’d cut them off. The truth of it all settled onto Mal like a sheet of icy rain off the sea during a storm. And another, worse thought wrapped itself around her mind, choking her. Even if she did run, she couldn’t get very far. He had so many connections within society. If he really wanted to, he could find me and take me anyway.
Would she condemn her family to poverty and ultimately death just for a few days—that was if she was even able to get very far—of freedom?
Mal was abruptly jostled out of the memory of the rest of that horrible night of soothing her mother and promising her she’d marry the geezer, when the coach trembled to a halt.
But a few moments had passed when Paul tapped the end of his cane on the floor of the coach. “I’ve only been gone a fortnight, and service falls apart around here.”
A deep frown curled her lips downward. Before she could say anything in response to his rudeness, a tall, strong-looking man around her age in a well-fitted waistcoat unlatched and opened the coach’s door.
With a deep bow, the footman held the door open for Paul to exit first.
Paul existed with about as much grace as a newborn fawn, his legs obviously as stiff as hers, and was barely able to catch himself on the side of the coach before falling to the ground.
To perhaps avoid looking a little less like a fool, Mal stretched her legs a bit under her skirts. Despite having a few breaks when they’d stopped at various inns for a few miserable nights, the cramped coach had been her prison for the past several days. She was glad to be nearly free of it.
One cell for another. Even though she could very easily get down by herself, she knew that Paul would hate it if she did. He just about yelled at her when she’d hopped out at the first inn. He’d spent the rest of the evening and a portion of the night lecturing her on proper manners and what she wasn’t supposed to do. Which, apparently, was a lot of things that were second nature to her. Things about her that never had seemed to anger him before when he was courting her for all those years.
Mal begrudgingly accepted Paul’s offer of his gloved hand as she descended the tiny, portable stairs. The ground seemed to be wobbling when the soles of her black leather ankle boots hit the earth. Once she was certain that she wouldn’t fall over, she looked up.
Standing as stiff as statues on either side of the walkway up to the grand front doors was a small army of servants. At first glance, everyone looked put together, well-fed, and their hair was shiny and styled to a modest perfection. But when Mal looked, really looked, she could see the dark circles around their eyes, and their skin rough, reddened, and peeling off their wrists where their gloves didn’t hide. As she went down the line of staff, past the ones that Paul carelessly told her were “of little importance,” she caught glimpses of bloodstains on their sleeves that they’d tried to tuck away out of sight. Barely dried bloodstains and… was that a peg leg poking out from under that girl’s skirts?
Mal stopped abruptly, released Paul’s arm, and took several steps back.
The more she looked, the more she realized that most of these people… they weren’t whole. Not anymore. False eyes, bones healed wrong, and huge scars and puckered, healing gashes that were desperately trying to stay hidden behind hair swooping across their faces and peeking out from under fresh bandages.
Should I say something? Ask what happened? Mal met the eyes of the staff member with the wooden leg.
She was a small thing, shorter than Mal was, and couldn’t be much older. Probably younger, even, if her stature was any indication. Judging by the way she struggled to stay upright, it was likely that whatever event had taken her limb from her had happened recently. And when she looked over Mal’s shoulder to where Mal hazarded a guess that Paul was looming behind her, she looked terrified.
No, not like she was scared of him making her life hell if she spoke up. A fearful resignation. Like she was staring her death in the eyes and knew she couldn’t escape. Like she didn’t care anymore and was only scared of how painful her demise would be if Mal brought any more attention to her.
Mal could feel Paul’s gaze on her now, an itchy sensation that made her want to claw his eyes out.
Fuck. Mal offered her most convincing soft smile of greeting and pretended to brush something very carefully off the girl’s shoulder, hoping not to unbalance her in the process. What’s happening to these people? What is Paul doing or letting happen to them? Mal highly doubted that he’d hired them out of the goodness in his heart. If he had any that wasn’t selfishly motivated. “Beetle.”
“Thank you, m’lady.” The girl started to curtsy, from what Mal guessed was out of habit, only to teeter backwards.
“No need.” Mal caught her by her shoulder and helped her right herself. I’m so incredibly sorry for drawing attention to you. Remembering that Paul was right there, she quickly released her and added. “Until you get better, a nod will do.”
“Apologies, m’lady.” The girl’s throat bobbed as she nodded. “Thank you, m’lady.”
“Can we go inside now? Or do you intend to knock over all of my things like a stack of playing cards?”
They’re not objects, she wanted to snap, but looked up at the sky instead. What have I married?
Paul made a dissatisfied humph.
She turned back to Paul and hoped that it wasn’t obvious that she was about to throw up by his obvious disregard and casual dehumanization of the people working for him. People who were in the same social class as she was. Or rather, had been.
Her new husband looked around at all of the faces of the people still standing in two rows on either side of them. “Where’s Désirée? Masters, why is this useless child standing in her place?”
Mal raised an eyebrow at his familiarity, keeping an eye on Paul’s confused, wobbling expression. Was she a lover? Has to be a lover. Not that she cared if she fucked someone on the side. Maybe that would keep him away from touching her. Or at the very least, minimize it.
A man likely a decade younger than Paul’s sixty-odd years, with slicked back salt and pepper hair and dressed smartly in a formal black suit with shiny buttons that seemed to be ready to blind her just as much as the glint from Paul’s hidden sword had through their trip, took a step forward.
“Apologies, my lord. Miss Woodward… Désirée…” The butler eyed Mal out of the corner of his eye, clearly measuring his next words. “She became busy in the family way, and had to be… let go. Abruptly.”
Drat. Mal paused, taking in how he said that last bit. It had come across so sinister and final. Please, let her not be dead.
“What do you mean by that?” She asked. If Paul wanted a baby so badly, why did it have to be hers? She glanced back at Paul. “Certainly, since she was such a valuable member of the house, exceptions could’ve been made, and her more strenuous duties distributed among the rest of the staff until after she had the child.”
Surprise crossed Paul’s face, as if he wasn’t expecting her to advocate for his lover, who was probably carrying his illegitimate child.
A child who might be a boy.
He looked at her for a long moment with something akin to respect in his gaze, as if he thought he had an ally in her, then back at his butler, Masters. “Yes, indeed. When was she let go?”
Masters’s Adam’s apple bobbed. “Last night.”
“Well, then, go fetch her.” It wasn’t hard to see the excitement in Paul’s watery blue eyes. It was like light filtering through stained glass windows. In that moment, he reminded her exactly of her father whenever he’d get energized during a sermon. Right down to the way both of their mouths held dimples only on their right cheeks.
Mal struggled to fight the ill sensation twisting her stomach up at that comparison. Before she could privately contemplate what it meant that she had very reluctantly agreed to be married to someone who reminded her of one of her parents, she first had to find out if this woman was dead, with her body decomposing in the woods somewhere, or had just been fired for getting pregnant. For everyone’s sake, she hoped for the latter.
“The coach is all ready. Hook up some fresh horses and get on with it.”
“My lord—”
“She can’t have gotten very far.” Paul’s grip around the handle of his ornate cane tightened. “Her family lives close. In the next town over. Get on with it.” Paul straightened his back, no longer hunched over from the long ride. He turned on his heels and made his way back toward the coach. “If you won’t move your sorry self faster… Oh hell, I’ll go myself.”
Masters opened and closed his mouth, as if to say something, but he kept looking over at Mal.
Mal took a step toward the man, ready to hit him across the head with her book for being so damn vague. With as much grace as she could summon, given her bubbling frustration, she realized that the answer, if it was bad, would definitely affect Paul’s suddenly energetic and driven mood and that it wouldn’t be good for anyone.
She firmed and dropped her voice. “Sir…. Masters… Is she dead?”
The crunch of Paul’s shoes on the ground faltered.
Shit. She hadn’t been quiet enough.
Masters stiffened, noticing just as she had that Paul was no longer on the move. His soft brown eyes locked with hers. “It’s not for a lady to have to hear or to carry the burden of—”
“Oh fuck off,” Mal raised her voice and seized the butler by his lapels with her free hand with as much strength as she could, which was clearly far more than he clearly was expecting. If the situation was different, she would’ve laughed at his shocked expression. I had to evade my brother trying to kill me on a regular basis. I might not be able to do any lasting harm, but I will take you down with me. “If you don’t tell me the truth outright right now, I swear to God, I’ll smash your balls in.”
“Alright, alright.” Hands in the air, he was careful not to put his hands on her, even though she was the one to have made the first move. “She’s dead.”
Moving faster than she’d ever seen him move, Paul was next to her again, and wrenching Masters out of Mal’s grasp.
She teetered back a few steps before regaining her footing.
Paul shoved the man onto the ground and whipped out his hidden sword’s blade, and the sheath went flying past Mal’s face. “Speak.”
“My lord,” Masters’s bottom lip trembled, eyes on the pointed end of the weapon dangerously close to his throat. “The guards. They were torn to pieces. The creature got out of the cellar in the dead of the night and took her. Ate her. Her and the child.”
Mal’s eyes widened.
The blade in Paul’s grasp wavered. “And her body?”
“We buried what was left of her in the flowerbeds that she tended to.” Masters wet his lips. “We thought that was what she would want. What you would want.”
Paul slowly guided the sword away from his butler, ducked his head for a moment, then inhaled. “Get yourself put back together, Masters. You’ll not be dying today. And you call yourself a man, yet you got frightened by a mere girl?” Paul scoffed and snapped his fingers.
Masters scrambled to his feet and fetched the sheath from behind where Mal stood.The earl sheathed his cane sword’s blade once it was returned to him. He looked around at the rest of his staff. “What are you looking at? Get back to work, or else you’ll be fed next to the beast.”
“Yes, my lord,” the servants muttered in unison.
Creature? Beast? What was going on here?
And whatever it was ate her husband’s lover?
Is there a giant cat in the cellar? Or is it something worse? Mal whimpered softly. The bravado she’d previously had was gone in an instant. But what could be worse?
Paul spared Mal a glance, any warmth he’d held briefly for her gone and replaced with a cold expression. “Take her inside to get freshened up and ready for dinner. And the meal better be delicious.”
Mal didn’t know what to do or how to respond as she stood as still as the staff previously were as they flew into a flurry of business around her. She watched the girl with the wooden leg stagger away, and allowed another woman, who was dressed in finer clothes than the rest of the staff, like the butler was, to guide her gently up the steps, through the doors, and into the front hall.
She was dimly aware that she was missing key details of the inside of this dark building. The paintings and portraits hanging on the walls, flowers fading away in decorated vases, the huge chandeliers dangling above… it all seemed impossibly dangerous now. She couldn’t stop her mind from slipping into a confused and increasingly terrified state.
Am I going to die here? I’m going to die here.
The front doors shut behind her with two loud creaks and thumps as she was halfway up the grand staircase.
“I’m trapped.” Mal jumped at the sound. “This is hell, and I’m trapped.”
“Well, we are all here with you.” The woman next to her, whom she assumed was to be her lady’s maid, sighed and touched her shoulder once they reached the top of the staircase. “Come now, we'd best be on our way and get you ready for dinner. Guests will be arriving before long now.”
“Guests?” Mal blinked after they walked down a hallway and stopped in front of a delicately decorated door. “A woman is dead.”
“My lady…” The woman tucked one of Mal’s stray cool brown curls behind her ear as she gently turned her to face her. “You need to learn how to breathe, or else you won’t make it here.”
I don’t want to be here at all. Mal swallowed, not able to focus on the woman’s features.
Everything was a hazy blur, and it felt like she was being lifted out of herself.
The last time she had gotten this bad, with her mind creeping out of her body, was after her father had found her with the local baker’s daughter and had beaten the other girl nearly to death before forcing her and her family out of the village. He’d raved on and on about how the girl was a harlot who’d taint Mal’s soul, barring her from any chance at participating in good society or going to Heaven. As if Mal hadn’t been the one with her face between the girl’s thighs, not the other way.
Fuck. Mal squeezed her hands into fists, allowing the pinpricks of pain to shoot through her as her nails—longer and not bitten down as they used to before her engagement—dug into her palms through her gloves. Now is not the time to be remembering things like that.
“My lady… Please, try to breathe in, yes, that’s good. Hold for a moment…”
This place is my fate. Mal forced consciousness back into her body as she followed the woman’s instructions and focused on her pretty accent. She didn’t recognize it. Mal would have to ask after she was put back together and no longer a quivering mess.
“Exhale now, please.” Her lady’s maid gently unpinned Mal’s silk bonnet and carefully lifted it off her hair. “Now try that again. Inhale…”
I can do this. I can survive this place. Mal closed her eyes for a moment as she held her breath. She allowed the woman to gently stroke her frizzy coils of hair, which were no longer restrained by her headpiece and had escaped her updo. It felt so nice and soothing compared to how her mother used to yank her fingers through Mal’s long, wild hair, constantly complaining that it was just as unmanageable as the rest of her.
I have nowhere else to go. Mal’s heart slowed to a softer, steadier beat tucked behind her ribcage. But I won’t let this place, and whatever is down below, devour me. I won’t, I won’t.
“Breathe out slowly.”
Mal opened her eyes as she exhaled.
The woman and the wallpapered, candlelit hall around her slowly came into focus.
There was warmth here, even if it was just in the light and the kindness from this woman.
Mal could survive this.
“Now, I’m Miss Atteberry, but if it helps you feel more at home here, you can call me by my given name, Hannah or Miss Hannah, if you prefer.” The other woman said, giving a curtsy. “I’m fine with you calling me either.”
Hannah was a freckled woman with eyes that seemed to shift from various colors of the sea—blue, green, and hints of gray. Her complexion held a healthy flush, like she had seen more of the warmth of the sun than Mal had been allowed to these past several months. The crow’s feet at the corners of her eyes wrinkled as she offered a smile.
On instinct, Mal started to curtsy in return, before the memory of Paul scolding her about that stopped her in her tracks. She straightened. “Miss Hannah, I’m Miss Mallory Whitcliff—”
“Lady Morris,” Hannah softly corrected, turning the knob of the door on Mal’s left side and guiding her inside. “You’re a countess now.”
Right. I married the pig last week. The pig who has something deadly kept in the house somewhere. Mal massaged her temples. “Forgive me, I forgot for a moment.”
Hannah strode to a door at the far side of the room, leaving Mal to perch on the end of the biggest bed she’d ever seen with the most extravagantly designed ivory-hued duvet with luxurious and dark blue silk sheets folded neatly over the thicker blankets at the top. Matching pillows that looked like clouds were arranged artfully at the head of the bed.
Mal slipped off her gloves, reached out, and caught the edge of the tied-up bed curtain.
The deep blue embroidery contrasted with the heavy yet still extremely soft pale linen fabric.
Focusing on how rich the material between her thumb and index finger felt, she pulled it away from the bedpost to see the designs.
Whorls of thread intermingled with designs of what looked like depictions of monsters of biblical proportions, although some of the creatures’ designs looked to be more fairytale and folklore-inspired than anything out of her father’s bible. There was one in particular that caught Mal’s eye, but it was hidden in between the folds of fabric.
She eased herself off the bed, loosened the knot that kept the curtain pulled back, and let it open all the way.
The thread wasn’t as worn as the other parts of the tapestry before her, so this section must’ve been recent. It was partially unfinished, a strand of thread dangling from where it hadn’t yet been properly sewn into the fabric.
Mal was mesmerized by the attention to detail and the details of the grisly horror depicted with splashes of red stitching of the not-quite-human creature. It was hunched over with its gorgeous dragon-like wings spread out behind it, and was consuming the head and arm of an unfinished person, like a rendition of Saturn devouring his child.
How ironic that Paul has this where he sleeps, considering how much he says he wants a son. Mal absentmindedly tugged on the loose strings, undoing a small portion of the winged creature, as she leaned forward, marveling at how cat-like its golden-yellow eyes were. How, despite the violence portrayed, there was a very human sorrow brimming with rage reflected at her.
“My lady, your bath is ready.” Hannah’s voice broke her free of her reverie. The other woman could be heard stepping closer toward where Mal stood. “That’s Miss Woodward’s, Désirée’s, work.”
What an ill omen. Mal swallowed.
Would she have to compete for that level of compassion Hannah clearly had for Désirée? Or would that be completely negated as Mal was the so-called lady of the house, and the staff would have to treat her with a modicum of respect instead? Will Hannah freeze me out after tonight, or after she learns that I’m actually incredibly insufferable?
And oh God, Paul… Judging by his reaction to her outside after finding out about his lover’s death, he wasn’t likely to treat her very kindly. Not that, since the wedding, he’d been particularly kind to her, though. He hadn’t been kind to her during the ceremony, either. Or the wedding night.
Mal inhaled and exhaled shakily. Probably shouldn’t think about that horrible night.
“She was very skilled and intuitive, God rest her soul.” There was an unmistakable bittersweet fondness in her voice, and Mal was quite certain that she had been friends with the dead woman. “My lord is very fond of it. As am I.”
Lord Almighty. Am I jealous of the dead? How dark of me. Mal quickly released the thread and took a step back. What am I becoming? “Best not to ruin it, then.”
