Page 24 of Retribution
‘Where is John?’ I ask Stephens quietly.
‘A business trip. He’ll be back on Friday?’
‘He seems to go on a lot of those,’ I murmur.
‘Indeed, Miss Marguerite.’
Once we’re inside, I let go of Stephens and he bows slightly at me.
‘Is there anything you’d like for luncheon, Miss Marguerite?’
I shake my head, my stomach a little upset from all the changes and surprises this morning.
‘Nurse Smith, in her infinite wisdom, will be choosing your meals for you.’
My spirits fall further. ‘Oh.’
‘But if there is anything specific that you would enjoy, please do let me know via a note placed in your wastepaper basket, and I shall ensure that it is brought.’
‘Thanks, Stephens,’ I murmur, giving his arm a slight squeeze. ‘Has my… Has Jack been here? Does he know they took my phone?’
My voice breaks on the last word and I swallow hard. I don’t want to cry here, but I miss him and the others already. I feel so alone.
‘Yes,’ he says quietly and then tenses a little as the nurse, huffing and puffing, begins to follow us up the gray marble stairs. ‘Samantha will be cleaning your room. Hoovering. Dusting. Taking the rubbish fromthe wastepaper bindaily.’
I wonder why he’s telling me this. He doesn’t usually go on about the minutiae of the house staff’s tasks, but he’s said wastepaper bin twice now, so maybe it’s some kind of code.
‘Very good, Stephens,’ I say airily, channeling my inner Ms. Tremaine, the snooty deportment teacher who instructed me on social etiquette at The Heath. ‘I’ll have tea in my room, and then I should like to take to my bed until supper.’
Stephens coughs, and he seems to smile a little. I frown athim, wondering if he’s okay, but then thinking that maybe I laid it on too thick and he’s trying not to laugh.
Behind us, the nurse finally catches up. She’s abandoned the wheelchair in the foyer below, I realize as we get to the top, and Stephens helps me to my room.
And it ismyroom. Well, the room that was once mine. All my pink wallpaper and stuffed animals are gone, of course. The room was completely sanitized of me at some point while I was at The Heath, but as I sit on the queen-sized bed, it feels the same beneath me, so I guess they kept the mattress. Knowing that at least some things are familiar makes this seem less awful. At least I’ll be able to sleep. That’s something.
My eyes flick to my closet and then to the nurse as Stephens steps back.
‘Will there be anything else, Miss Marguerite?’ he asks.
‘No, thank you, Stephens,’ I reply, and he bows.
‘Then I shall take my leave,’ he murmurs formally, his eyes flitting to the nurse and then to me. ‘Good afternoon.’
He leaves the room, leaving the door ajar.
The nurse looks me over with her ice-blue eyes. ‘So, you’re Marguerite Novelle,’ she says.
Evans.
Is that disdain in her voice? I’m not sure. But whatever it is, it isn’t friendly.
‘I am,’ I say.
‘My name is Agatha Smith. Your fiancé, Mr. Banderville, has hired me to be your nurse.’ She flicks her blonde hair a little, like this is something amazing.
I regard her with a blank expression. ‘I don’t need a nurse.’
‘That’s not up to you.’ Her eyes narrow and she steps closer. ‘Just so you know, I worked as a nurse ata facilityin Pennsylvania for a few years. I’m told it was similar to the one you were a resident of up until a few months ago.’
