♪ I, can't afford to be stuck in this, yeah
Trying not to let it show, show, show ♪
{Ashley Tisdale—Under Pressure}
Only a few days left.
Harriet's confinement had its perks, she had to admit. No one bothered or bullied her, no one reminded her she was the daughter of a foul Vidame, no one mocked her dress choices. In fact, she hadn't needed to wear much else than her night-gown or her light shifts and under-shirts. Especially with the sweltering August heat.
She had no window to open to allow air in, so most days she feared she might suffocate. But a servant or a butler would always arrive to give her reprieve. They'd escort her to the washroom, let her do her business, offer her a few moments to breathe—and then lock her up again. She felt like an ailing elderly lady whose life neared its end, and yet... the isolation benefited her more than she'd imagined it would.
Her thoughts cleared. She realized how her erratic behavior weighed on her conscious, and how the list of her offenses had grown in the past few months. Grown too much. She'd harassed Johanna, spied on her Director, lied to her teachers, gone to war with a dear friend. And all for nothing, as she still had no clue who her benefactors were. And perhaps... Miss M. was right, and she shouldn't know.
Sitting at her vanity one evening, dreaming of iced water to drizzle down the back of her neck, of a breeze to breathe in, she jumped when her door blew open.
"Oh!" She had expected no visitors, and she'd already taken her escape to the chamber-pot, so her muscles clenched as she faced the arrival—and gasped. "Esther? What are you doing here?"
Pressing a finger to her lips, Esther closed the door behind her. Harriet didn't hear it click shut. "I had to see if you were all right!"
Harriet put her fist to her mouth and feigned a cough. "But I am ill, you should not be in here with me, the contagion—"
"—is a steaming pile of horse dung!" The girl's thick eyebrows slid upwards as she meandered farther into the room. She sniffed the air—stuffy and sweaty—and her nostrils wrinkled. "What happened? The gossip is preposterous! Some stated you quit school, others claim you are dying, and a few mentioned punishment?"
There was no use pretending in front of her best friend. "Punishment is the correct answer," said Harriet, her cheeks heating. A few strands of hair stuck to her lower neck, and she winced. "Two weeks' suspension, but Miss M. promised she would make it clear I was sick..."
"Oh, she did." Esther snatched Harriet's bottle of perfume—one with only a few drops left, a precious gift from her departed mother—and spritzed the area before stepping any closer. "But you know how the girls interpret anything that woman says. They never take her seriously. Have you noticed Charlotte repenting since last time, when the Director threatened her?" She scoffed. "She has not. Continues her bullying. And with you gone, she targets the Juniors tenfold. That poor Céleste—"
Overcome with sudden sympathy for the girl she'd found to be an ally, Harriet turned in her seat to watch Esther sit on the bed. Her lips pinched as she did, as if wary of catching an infection.
"Is she all right? I worry for her."
"Oh please," Esther waved her off, peeking on either side of her as if expecting to detect bugs crawling under the sheets, "she is fine. Keeps her nose in that book of hers. Anything those girls say rolls off her as if she were a waterfall."
"Esther!" Harriet switched from her chair to the mattress, dropping next to her friend. "How did you get in? Someone watches my room at all times—Miss M. warned me she would not tolerate me trying to sneak out."
The guffaw that slithered from behind Esther's painted mouth was a bit loud for a future Graduate. And also dangerous, as it might echo under the threshold and carry out into the hallway. "Who do you think I am?" She perked up, both palms cupping her knees as she smirked. "I bribed your current jailer; a girl who loves macaroons."
"You stole pastries again? Were you not to stop doing that?"
Giggling again, Esther fastened a stray auburn curl behind her ear. "Not if it was for a good cause. I... had to check on you. After what you did—"
"—what I did?" Harriet pointed at her chest. "What did I do?" She near laughed at her comment; she should have said what have I not done?
Fingertips curling as she approached her hand to Harriet's shoulder—did she believe the contagion rumors?—Esther's eyes creased. "You covered for us. Cristina, Hillary, and I. We are aware of what transpired when the Director called you to her—she confronted you. That maid blabbered, said she saw a red-headed girl coming from the alcohol reserves, no? The card-game night... you departed first, maybe you were not discreet enough... but not surprising, with all we consumed." She snarled, retracting her palm, bunching it into a fist. "Oh, that Hillary, I could have slapped her, urging us to drink like that. Bad influence. I wish I had known."
Harriet's heart sank. Try as Miss M. might to hide the truth, someone revealed the reason behind Harriet's isolation. The word suspension didn't come up, true; but it would be implied. The second she received her freedom, scandals would spill out once more, with her in the dead center of it all. "She... put me on the spot."
"Of course she did! That foul little spoiled brat. I should have known, with a name like that. Hillary! So independent and free, like those damned colonies. She claims she was born there!"
"No, Esther... I meant Miss M. She put me on the spot. Wanted me to... rat you out." She expelled a shaky breath. "And I could not. You and I rekindled our friendship mere minutes before, and I... would not stick you in that position. Your father... my father... I am so thankful she did not write them."
Esther seized her forearm. "I understand you would want to spare me, but why them? Why Cristina and Hillary? They are atrocious."
Harriet's brows flew up so fast she wondered if they grew wings and disappeared from her forehead. "Atrocious? Were you not friends with Cristina?"
Huffing, Esther crossed her arms. "I was, but the moment the Director locked you up and the tale of the depleted alcohol stores went around... she started avoiding me. Fearful our friendship would link to you, the bad girl," she used quotation marks as she sneered, "and get to her father's ears. She worried associating with me would soon lead to her being found guilty, too. And Hillary, ha! She was never a friend; a distraction. Fun, light-hearted, not a care—she misses classes all the time, that is why you never remembered her name. And no one says a thing about it because her father has so much money he swims in it—"
"—Esther!" The girl's vocabulary had expanded and worsened, and Harriet wasn't sure how to feel about it.
She will have to taper such behaviors if she wishes to find a good husband.
"Right, well, reputation is all that matters to Cristina, and Hillary could not care less about hers." Esther rubbed her stomach, smacking her lips—she was hungry. "Did you have supper?"
Harriet snatched Esther's hands, ignoring her flinching at the contact. "And you should worry about your reputation. You should not be here."
"Oh bollocks. Father is too busy at court dealing with the King and some new reform." She held her breath for a moment, then allowed her sharp blue eyes to meet Harriet's. "Something your dad is involved in, too."
Harriet drew away, her palm smacking over her heart. "My dad? Why? He... is only a court-dweller, he does not participate in meetings."
Shrugging, Esther got to her feet and brushed herself off. "He does now, according to Father."
"But... the royals hate him! I heard him discuss it with his advisors last year! The King will not trade with him, the Queen snickers in his presence, the Dowager leaves the room if he enters. And Prince Jules mocks him in his most polite tones."
Esther's cheeks turned scarlet. "Prince Jules, oh, funny you should mention him." She sank onto the mattress, forgetting how disgusted she had been moments before. "He is seventeen now, did you know?" She let out an exaggerated, lengthy sigh, fanning herself. "Some say he is gorgeous, a true royal jewel. A catch."
At least she has not lost her habit of changing subjects in a matter of seconds.
"Yes, that seems to be the rumor." Not that Harriet didn't care—meeting a Prince was high on her list, like all teenage girls—but she had other things to concern herself about. Such as dispelling gossip. "But we were talking of—"
"—would it not be dreamy? To entertain a Prince? To have one court you?" Esther's cheek-bones flushed a deeper magenta shade, and her eyes filled with stars.
Harriet wanted to say no; wanted to snap her fingers below Esther's nose, shake her, wake her up. The amount of damage control they had to prepare for was astronomical, yet all she did was think about a Prince she'd never meet.
But then a memory hit her. A time, many moons ago, before her mother's death, before her father became a criminal, when King Edouard visited Limesdale with his sons. There was a girl there, too, but she didn't know who she was. Names blurred in her mind... but she recalled him.
Prince Jules... I met him.
She was garbed in frilly silks. Mother was abed, sickened. And Father bowed before the King as he introduced his children. Crown Prince Antoine, six; Prince Sébastien, three, like Harriet; and Jules... a bouncing two-year-old who couldn't keep his hands to himself. He had bustled up to Harriet, grabbed her hair, and tugged, squealing "red... pretty red!"
She couldn't stop herself from laughing at the recollection, giving her a reprieve from Esther's fawning, and from the oncoming catastrophe awaiting her once her suspension ended.
If I ever saw him again, would he remember that?
•••