Chapter 2
I took Milo inside before anything else.
He ate in my private sitting room.
Bread first.
Then soup.
Then half a piece of chicken before sleep started winning.
I did not ask questions while he ate.
Hungry children do not owe adults testimony.
When he was safe with his nanny, I went upstairs.
My mother lived in the east sunroom now because morning light reached it first.
Beatrice sat near the windows wearing a cream cardigan, silver hair pinned neatly back.
She looked at me.
Then at Claribel behind me.
Her expression changed instantly.
There.
Fear.
Not confusion.
I walked to her.
“Mother.”
She took my hand with her left one.
Strong squeeze.
“Did you approve Milo being locked inside the pavilion cage?”
One squeeze meant no.
She squeezed once.
Hard.
Claribel said:
“She doesn’t understand the question.”
My mother looked at her.
Then at me.
One squeeze again.
No.
I almost smiled.
“Did Claribel tell you Milo needed discipline?”
Two squeezes.
Yes.
“Did you agree?”
One.
No.
Claribel stepped forward.
“This is absurd. Her signals change when she’s tired.”
My mother’s eyes sharpened.
Then she pointed toward the small table beside her chair.
Empty.
“What?” I asked.
She pointed again.
Leonora whispered:
“Her letter board.”
“Where is it?”
Nobody answered.
Mother tapped the table repeatedly.
Then pointed at Claribel.
I looked at my fiancée.
“You took it?”
Claribel exhaled.
“She became obsessive with it.”
My mother struck the table with her palm.
The loudest sound I had heard from her in months.
Then she dragged one finger across the tabletop.
Slowly.
Three letters.
L.
I.
E.
Claribel stopped breathing.
My mother looked directly at me.
Then pointed toward the door.
Not asking me to leave.
Claribel.
For six months, I thought my mother had lost her voice.
May you like
She had.
What I had failed to notice was that someone had also taken away everything she used instead.
