Page 24 of Daughter of a Monster

He and Ette walk hand in hand out the door. I look at the time. It’s been two hours and five minutes since Miss Jones left us.

“I’m sorry, Mr Priest,” I say, chasing after them. “We were having such fun I didn’t realize the time.”

He walks with long strides that I struggle to keep up with, although Ette seems to have no problem.

“If I am to call you Berkley, you must call me Jericho.”

It seems wrong, too informal for the imposing tower of a man before me. For some reason I cannot, even internally, say Jericho without adding the Priest. He turns his attention back to Ette.

“And did you have fun with Miss—” He shakes his head. “With Berkley?”

“Oh, it was divine. Simply divine. We listened to all sorts of music, even the sort that Miss Jones says will rot my mind, and we danced and we laughed and we twirled around the room.” She sighs. “It was supermundane.”

“Supermundane?” he repeats.

Ette nods. “It’s my word of the day. It means transcending the earthly. Basically, I’m saying it was heavenly.”

“High praise indeed.” Jericho glances back at me and I give him a hesitant smile. “Perhaps your lessons with Miss Jones this afternoon will continue in this heavenly realm.”

“They won’t,” she says sadly, unaware of the humor in Jericho’s tone. “She makes me do terrible things.”

A small knife of fear slices through me. I shake my head, trying to dislodge the vision of Miss Jones inflicting corporal punishment on the poor girl. Suddenly the coldness of the surrounding walls seems dark and foreboding.

“What sort of terrible things?” I ask hesitantly.

“Things like algebra. I’d rather face the fires of hell.”

I stifle a laugh but I do find it impressive that a child of her age is being taught algebra, even if she would rather face the fires of hell.

“Algebra is most terrible,” Jericho says, shaking his head solemnly. “I will have a talk to Miss Jones about inflicting such damnation on your soul.”

“Really?” She looks up at him hopefully. “Oh.” Her shoulders slump when she sees the smirk on his face. “You’re just teasing.”

By this stage we’ve reached Ette’s rooms on the third story of the building. There’s been more renovation done on this story than most of the rest of the house. The whole level gives off a vibe of soft luxury, decorated in pale blues and creams and golds, though the only bedroom I’ve seen is Ette’s. Through the doorway, I catch a glimpse of her school room. There’s a blackboard on the wall with neat cursive writing looped across it, a bookcase stacked to the brim and an extraordinarily tidy desk. There are no pictures on the walls, no hastily scrawled notes, no evidence of contact with the outside world. It looks lonely.

Miss Jones stands with her hands folded across her chest and glaring at me.

“Please accept my apologies, Miss Jones. I’m afraid I distracted the girls and made them late.”

She’s as surprised by his confession as I am but for different reasons. I’m surprised because it’s a complete lie. She doesn’t know that.

“You know me, Mr Priest. I like to stick to a strict schedule. Routine is consistency and consistency is next to godliness.”

“I thought that was cleanliness?” I say.

“That too,” she snaps in reply. “Come, Miss Ette. We must make a start or you’ll be late for dinner.” She holds out her hand and clicks her fingers.

But Ette, instead of taking her hand turns to Jericho Priest. “Would Berkley be able to dine with us tonight, Mr Priest?”

A small frown presses between his brows, but Miss Jones is the one to speak. “It wouldn’t be proper for the staff to eat with you. That’s not the way we do things in this household.”

Ette ignores her and looks at Jericho hopefully.

“You heard what Miss Jones said,” he says sternly. “It wouldn’t be proper.”

A laugh falls before I can stop it. I’ve lived in a world of separation. I’ve been both the servant and the master. Growing up there were times I was made to feel like part of the family, even if, at that stage, no one knew I was. But there were also times, I was reminded that I was the help. I come from both worlds.

Jericho turns to me slowly, his eyes ablaze. “Is there something you wish to add, Miss Berkley?”

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