“Time will not help you.” She leaned across the table and pounded it with her fist. “Do you not know who I am?”
Startled by her outburst, Mychell sat back in his chair and stared at her. She could tell the moment he recognized her, for his eyes widened with surprise—but not a trace of shame.
“Shall I leave you as much as you left two orphaned children?” she asked him.
“ ’Tis not my fault your grandfather died in poverty,” the man protested.
But she knew better. She had a gift for figures. It took her years to piece it all together, but she knew exactly how much had been stolen from them and how. They started with shorting payments and claiming goods were not delivered and moved up from there. The death knell came when they intercepted her grandfather’s huge annual payment to the weavers in Flanders, which ruined relationships he had built over a lifetime.
Even as a child of ten, she had known something was wrong with the accounts. When she shared her suspicions with her grandfather, he was too good-hearted to believe his friends would steal from him. The theft grew more and more blatant. But by then, her grandfather was far too confused to understand.
“Do not bother to deny it,” she spat at Mychell. “I heard you dividing up the spoils. You could not even wait for us to leave London to do it.”
Linnet looked around, startled to find herself on the small landing at the top of the stairs. How long had she been standing here? She shook her head to clear it of the wretched man.
On either side of her, the doors led to the matching rooms that she and Francois had slept in. She pushed open the one on the right and ducked under the low frame to enter her old bedchamber. The same narrow bed filled most of the cramped space under the sloping roof. How often had she opened that shutter to watch the stars as she made up stories of knights and princesses? Back then, she never expected to meet a princess, let alone befriend one.
She shook her head again. What was wrong with her today? She did not come up here to dream, but to find something. In their hurry to leave London that night, she had forgotten her most prized possession.
There was little chance of it still being where she hid it, but she had to look. She dropped to her knees beside the bed and slipped her hand between the mattress and the ropes. Nothing. The musty smell of the straw made her sneeze as she reached farther. Grunting, she pushed her arm in all the way to her shoulder. Still nothing.
She got down on all fours and stuck her head under the bed. It was too dark to see a thing under there. She sat up coughing—and nearly choked when she heard the sound behind her.
C-r-e-a-k.
The thin blade she kept up her sleeve was already in her hand as she jerked her head around to look. The top of the old chest at the end of the bed slowly lifted to reveal a girl with a headful of springy red curls.
“Saints above,” Linnet said, slapping her hand against her chest. “You startled the wits out of me!”
Apparently, Mychell had forgotten one of his belongings when he moved out this morning. The girl, whom Linnet guessed to be seven or eight, pushed the trunk lid all the way back and stepped out.
“Are you the one who has taken our house?” the girl asked.
What was she to say to that? Linnet sat back on the floor and wrapped her arms around her knees. Finally, she said, “This used to be my house.”
“Was this your bedchamber as well?”
Linnet nodded.
Tilting her head, the girl asked, “What are you looking for?”
“A polished steel mirror.” After a pause, she added, “It was all I had of my mother’s.” Odd, that she felt she needed to justify herself to this little girl.
The girl held her gaze and then walked around to the other side of the bed.
“I moved it,” she said as the top of her red curls disappeared from view. A moment later, she popped back up with the long-lost mirror in her hand.
“Thank you,” Linnet whispered when the girl brought it to her. She ran her finger over the familiar bumps of the flowered pattern on the back, which was black with tarnish.
She took a deep breath and gathered herself. Attempting a smile, she asked, “What is your name?”
“Lily.”
“You are a remarkable girl, Lily.”
“ ’Tis what my sister says.” The girl’s bright smile faded, and her gaze drifted to the side. “My brothers call me other names.”
“How many brothers do you have?”