do the same, instead of suffering and quailing. I have learned a great deal that we will use to our advantage. Please come and sit before your pacing wakes Jeremy.”
Molly hesitated, furious but aware of just how noisy she had been. Her heart was like a cricket captured in a hand, frantic in the dark and struggling to spring. She tiptoed back and sat before Nicholas on the floor, feeling wretchedly alone and pushing the uneaten food out of sight. He held her hand, his touch so feathery she might not have noticed it but for the coldness of his fingers.
“We know her methods now,” he said. “We know the servants fear dismissal and crave reward, yet most of them are willing to support us in revolt. I have spoken to each of them—”
“What revolt?”
“More of the same,” Nicholas said. “A great deal more. Mrs. Wickware trusts me thanks to my dutiful compliance. I will carry on complying, as will all the servants.”
“What of me?” Molly asked.
“Be yourself, far more than you have been. You must laugh at every stricture and defy every rule. You must shoulder all the blame and suffer all the penalties. I need you to be strong, but you will not be alone.” He smiled and his chipped tooth glinted in the dark. Then his grip turned firm. “Many Mollys will assist you.”
Chapter Eight
Mrs. Wickware had instituted a shut-door policy with the coming of autumn’s cold. There were few greater threats to health than icy drafts, a fact she had expected Molly to appreciate given her constant, vocal worry over Nicholas’s well-being. And yet the girl had flouted the rule from the day it was announced, not only refusing to close doors behind her but opening doors wherever she encountered them, and it was this—the long chain of household doors hanging wide—that Mrs. Wickware followed in pursuit of her devilish quarry.
Nary an hour passed anymore without Jeremy, the servants, or Nicholas coming to Mrs. Wickware with a fresh report of Molly’s misbehavior, which had unexpectedly worsened after a single, promising day of near capitulation. Mrs. Wickware had never seen the like. One evening Molly had been leeched without struggle, admitting to defeat and seeming to submit, and then the very next day she had seemed possessed. She routinely rejected her meals, fled the dining room, and hid for much of the day, emerging just long enough to steal a piece of cake or a bottle of milk from the kitchen. One day Jeremy had locked her in her room, and Molly had emptied her wardrobe onto the busy street below. As punishment for this, Mrs. Wickware had taken the clothes Molly was wearing, certain it would teach her to respect her own belongings. Instead the girl escaped and sprinted through the house, entirely naked, astonishing the staff before returning, pink and laughing, to the safety of her bed.
There had been weeks of such behavior. Mrs. Wickware had attempted all manner of common punishment, from depriving Molly of comforts to locking her in closets, and although these efforts failed at every turn, she told herself that discipline would finally win the day, as when a long-standing illness yields to steady treatment.
Yet to make matters worse, the girl was unpredictable. Some days Molly would appear at breakfast, eat whatever was placed before her, and outshine the queen in ladylike comportment. She would follow every rule for half a morning and then, just as Mrs. Wickware’s guard began to lower, she would abruptly reignite the flames of misbehavior.
This morning had been similar. Weeks of battle had left Mrs. Wickware prone to overreaction, and when Molly passed her in the third-floor hallway and failed to step aside, she was ordered to kneel and face the wall until such time as Mrs. Wickware returned. Molly had complied, saying, “Yes, ma’am,” curtsying, and kneeling like a penitent, and had remained there—or so it was believed—for more than an hour, until Jeremy reported she had vanished.
Newton the footman had seen Molly running through the downstairs study not two minutes ago. Sure enough, Mrs. Wickware discovered, the study doors were open and fresh-cut flowers had been scattered on the floor. The study led to a narrow hall, where the chambermaid, blackened in a cloud of settling ash, explained that she had just emptied one of the hearth grates when Molly grabbed the pan and threw it into the air. Mrs. Wickware stepped around the ash, ignoring the maid’s apologies, and followed the next open