Page 137 of Caging Darling

“We’re in need of more governesses,” she says. “Especially those with experience with this population. Patience. A genuine love for them. I imagine you will be of help during your time here.”

“And when my time runs out?” I ask.

“Should you work well and your master still want you back, I would be willing to find a sum to appease him to keep you here. But if he will not be dissuaded, I won’t risk him poking around and exposing the children for your sake.”

I nod.

“I will make sure your child is well taken care of, though,” says the woman. “And should we be able to work out a means for you to stay, your child would be welcome to remain with you, obviously.”

Tears well at my eyes. There’s no baby growing within my belly, but there’s a kindness about the woman I find refreshing. She’s by no means warm or gentle, but there’s a fierce protectiveness about her I admire.

Just then, a door to the side of the library opens.

And in walks a faerie with cropped blonde hair.

Holding her hand, singing a tune I don’t recognize, is my brother.

He’s tall.

There’s so much pain, so much pride, wedged in the several inches he’s grown since I last saw him on the beach in Neverland.

His typically unruly hair is cut shorter on the sides, longer on the top and combed back. I don’t know how they got him to allow that. Michael’s never been one to let anyone style his hair daily, much less sit for a haircut without a fidget. Meaning his hair has always been unkempt, cut unevenly.

Tink leads my brother to a center table, where there’s a little girl playing with a governess. Michael takes the seat across from her. I watch, tears in my eyes, as he takes the train car in his hand, and without looking at her or addressing her, places it in the hand of the little girl across from him.

I wait for him to snatch it back, but he doesn’t. He watches the toy carefully as she runs it back and forth across the table. My brother fidgets in his seat, and from down below, I hear him say, “Michael’s turn.”

The girl pays him no attention, and he begins to rock more intensely, but the other governess leans over and whispers something into the little girl’s ear. After a moment of appearing to ignore her governess, the little girl pushes the train car across the table and toward Michael, who snatches it up and hugs it to his chest.

I let out a small laugh, then quickly wipe the tear from my cheek when Lady Whittaker says, proudly, “He’s been with us for six months now. He and his governess came together. She took him in after his parents died. She herself has difficulties speaking verbally, though she’s a beautiful writer. Writes the old language of the fae, if you can believe it. Why her governess chose to teach her that, but not how to write Estellian, I’ve no idea. But it’s certainly kept my mind fresh—our conversations at night when she writes to me.”

My heart skips in my chest at the idea that Tink has found someone who can read her language.

“I’m teaching her to write Estellian, too,” says Lady Whittaker. “Not nearly as sophisticated as the old language of the fae, but certainly more practical in the modern era. I want her to be able to communicate effectively once I’m gone.”

I’m still watching Michael, speechless, as he scoots closer to the girl playing next to him.

“Would you like to meet them?” asks Lady Whittaker.

Yes, yes, please take me to them, my heart sings. But even if Tink can mask her shock at seeing me, there’s always the risk that Michael will run up to me and call my name, exposing my identity.

I can’t imagine Lady Whittaker will take well to having been lied to.

“Actually, I’m feeling ill,” I say, placing my hand on my belly. “Perhaps I could have a lie down before meeting them?”

“Of course,” says Lady Whittaker. “And a small meal, too. An empty stomach is the enemy of the expecting.”

“Thank you,” I say, turning my head back to get one last look at Michael before Lady Whittaker leads me back into the hall and locks the door behind her.

He looks up at me. Just once. And points.

Tink glances up, shock overcoming her face as soon as she recognizes me, and then Lady Whittaker locks the door behind her.

CHAPTER 49

Ipace back and forth in the cozy room Lady Whittaker dropped me off in. It’s dark as the rest of the manor, but full of knit blankets. Embers glow faintly in the fireplace on the other side of the room.

And a window.

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