I sweep up Mrs. Sloane’s clothes, thinking of my parents. “It feels like you’ve been gulled when they’re taken early like that.”

His eyes go bright. “That’s exactly how it feels.” He sets the trunk properly on the rack. “If I hadn’t found my Jennie, well, I’d be hiding behind a veil, too.”

“I am not hiding,” I say a little too strenuously.

The cuttlefish turns red again. “O-of course not. I only meant, I understand how you feel.”

Baxter returns with a silver platter. On it, candied fruit glitters like the queen’s jewels. There’s also a dish of buttery cheese and a basket of bread rolls so airy looking you could probably toss them up and not worry about catching them again until the next day. Baxter sets the tray on a table, then slips out of the room again.

“If there’s something else you’d like, please do not hesitate to ring this bell for service.” Steward Latimer points to a gold button above my bed. At last, he gives me a kind smile, then backs into the hallway. “I’ll be sure to inform the staff about missing your entrance and giving away your room.”

“Please do not trouble yourself. All’s well that ends well.”

“Oh, but I must. Someone’s head will roll, believe it.”

I grimace. May the head in question not be the one on my shoulders.

8

After closing the door and locking it, I whip off my hat, glancing around in disbelief at the kingdom I’ve inherited. I nibble a gold coin of orange, cherries that glitter like rubies, and a slice of silvery pear.

The rhythmic hiss of the ocean sounds vaguely like the tsk of a tongue. Don’t you start, too.

After washing down everything, including the bread and cheese, with a glass of lemon-flavored water, I wish I could do it all over again but slower.

At the bottom of the trunk, I find my belongings: two plain dresses that I wore as a maid, a flannel nightgown, a knit cap, wool stockings, and Mum’s Bible.

I haven’t gone to church since Ba died and Reverend Prigg told me it was God’s will I join the convent before my feet led me down Jezebel’s path. I told him that if God had such a lack of imagination, then I wanted no part of His religion.

Opening to the book of Ruth, which Mum had read often, as Ruth had married outside of her tribe, I pull out the only photograph I have of my parents. Ba, in his wedding suit, sits on a chair, grinning as wide as a crescent moon. Mum, with her curly hair puffed around her head, stands patiently beside him, her hand on his shoulder. Her big eyes, which always magnified her emotions, today look troubled.