Page 33 of Daughter of a Monster

The only thing that isn’t lessening is my obsession with him.

Discarding the pen, I decide to head down for lunch. I missed breakfast this morning, choosing instead to return to bed after my swim and listen to the birdsong.

The kitchen is a bustle of activity. Mrs Bellamy has her hands in the sink, furiously washing the dishes that Alma creates. Miss Jones has her head stuffed in a book, as usual, but she looks up when I walk in.

“You look like shit today,” she says. She diverts her attention back to her book without waiting to see my response.

She’s so different when she’s not around Ette. Around Ette and Jericho, she’s a proper lady. Around everyone else, she’s a bitch.

Alma is in a fluster. There are pots and pans on every available space. The ovens are hot. Baked goods sit cooling on racks.

“Just sandwiches today, Berkley. Haven’t got time to cook a proper meal, I’m afraid.”

“Sandwiches sound perfect. But what’s all this for?” I wave my hand over the mess before starting to assemble my meal.

“Mr Priest is hosting some guests tonight. I’ve been cooking up a storm of food like they will have never seen before.”

“I can tell.”

There’s such a stark difference in the bustle of eating in the kitchen versus the tension of eating in the dining room. As soon as my sandwich is eaten, my plate is swiftly scooped up, ready to be washed and placed back away. Mrs Bellamy’s face is flushed, her hands scorched red by the hotness of the water.

“I was thinking of walking up that hill to see if I could make a phone call. Anyone care to come with me?” I ask.

“Any other day and I’d say yes,” Mrs Bellamy says. “But I’m afraid I have my hands full. Can’t spare even a minute off. Neither can Alma.” She shoots the girl a warning glare.

“Do you need any help?” I ask.

“No, no. You go get some fresh air. It will be good for you.” She flashes me a tight smile. And then pauses. “Actually, there is something you could help with, but it’s not until later.”

“Anything. Just name it.”

“We need someone to keep Ette occupied until bedtime so she doesn’t go poking her head into the party.”

“Of course. I’d be happy to do that.”

“Wonderful.” She makes a shooing motion with her hands. “Now get away with you.”

Alma pulls away from the bench, rubbing her hands down the front of her apron. “I’ll point you in the right direction. I need a break anyway.” She avoids Mrs Bellamy’s eye. “Follow me.”

She leads me through the Sanctuary and down passageways I’ve never been before. There are so many rooms, so many nooks, and crevices, you could easily get lost. No wonder Jericho was so annoyed to find me casually strolling around in the dark.

I still think of what I saw through the crack in the door that night. The way the man cowered. Jericho’s bruised knuckles. The scratches on his cheek. Maybe I should have asked him about it. But there was something in his eyes that stopped me. Something that said I didn’t actually want to know. Something that acknowledged I am content in oblivion.

“Now that you’ve been here a while, how are you enjoying it?” Alma asks once we’re outside. Her long blonde hair lies in a braid down her back, wisps of it escaping to tease her face. She seems happier outside. When you look at her it’s like looking at the sunshine.

“I’m loving it, actually. Ette is the perfect student. We have fun together.”

“Have you seen much of the gardens?”

I shake my head, struggling to keep up with her.

“It’s my favorite place. Come on, I’ll show you around a bit. I need a break from Mrs Bellamy anyway.”

I’ve wandered around the gardens a little, but never far. The ground is wet, the storm of a few nights ago causing so much rain there are still puddles in the lower dips of the landscape.

Alma takes me on a tour. She has worked with the old structures that lay about the place, taming the ivy which creeps over the stones and turning them into something magical. We visit the pond, scattered with water lilies and graced by black and white swans. There’s goldfish, large and fat that swim between the lily pads. A circular gazebo juts out over the surface of the water.

Parts of the garden are still left untended; water features which are yet to work again, statues in need of repair. The rose garden is where she’s spent most of her time. The hedges are perfectly manicured. The roses are in full bloom, some of them creeping their way over crumbling stone walls.

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