Chapter Seven: The Locket and the Lion’s Den
888 Words
I had just begun to empty the contents of my bin bag, ready to trade plastic for mahogany, when a soft, hesitant knock came from the door.
I opened it to find Mia. Her dark hair was a bird's nest of tangles, and smudges of chocolate cake still clung to her cheeks like war paint.
"Hi, Freya. I wanted to come and meet you properly." She beamed, blinking thick, doll-like eyelashes at me.
"Oh, how lovely. Come on in, Mia – I was just unpacking."
She skipped through to the bedroom, completely unfazed by the grandeur of the suite. As I began folding my few modest cardigans, she plonked herself down on the plush rug beside me.
"Beatrix says she’s going to get rid of you, just like she did the others," she blurted out, her voice matter-of-fact.
"Oh, really?" I looked at her, eyebrows arched. "And how exactly is she planning to do that?"
"She wouldn't tell me." Mia shook her head, and her last remaining hair bobble gave up the ghost, falling onto the rug. I reached for my brush and a spray bottle, beckoning her over.
"May I?" I held up the brush. Her eyes lit up, and she shuffled forward to sit between my knees. As I began to gently work through the knots, she whispered, "She said I’d tell on her if she told me the plan."
"I’m a tough cookie, Mia. I’m sure I can handle whatever she throws at me," I reassured her. I worked quickly, plaiting her hair into a neat, sturdy Dutch braid. She scrambled up and ran to the full-length mirror, admiring her tidy reflection.
"She did some really mean things to the other nannies," Mia said, her face suddenly turning as serious as her father’s. "She put live worms in Maria’s spaghetti."
I stifled a laugh, imagining the scene. "Did she now? What else?"
"She put pins in Stephanie’s mattress, hair removal cream in Ida’s conditioner, laxatives in Gemma’s coffee..."
I had to admire the girl’s dedication to psychological warfare. "Impressive. I wonder what she has in store for me?"
"Dad has warned her. He said you’re having babies and she’d best not do anything that could harm you. Where did you get babies from?"
I opened my mouth, then closed it, struggling to explain the birds and the bees to a four-year-old. Fortunately, she spotted the locket resting against my collarbone and was instantly distracted.
"Oooh, this is pretty!" she chirped. "Can I look inside?"
I carefully clicked the silver latch open. Inside was a faded photograph of a regal-looking woman - I’d always assumed she was the mother I’d never known – and a small, delicate lock of dark hair.
"That looks like the lady in the big painting in the gallery," Mia said, squinting at the tiny face. "Where did you get it?"
"I don't know, darling. I’ve always had it. I was found as a baby, and the only thing I had with me was this."
"You don't have parents?" Her eyes widened in genuine shock.
"I honestly don't know," I admitted. "I grew up in an orphanage."
"What’s an orphanage?"
"It’s a place where children who don't have any family live together," I explained softly.
Tears welled in her eyes as she stared into my soul with a depth only a child possesses. "You don't have a family?" she gasped.
"No. I nearly did. But it turned out to be a lie." Jacob was supposed to be my family, but he had traded me in for a ghost the moment the opportunity arose.
A tear escaped and rolled down Mia’s cheek. "Well... you can be our family." She threw her small arms around my neck, squeezing with surprising strength.
The door creaked open, and Sophie walked in, her expression pinched.
"Mia, you’re supposed to be getting ready for bed, not fraternising with the help," she said snarkily. For a seven-year-old, she spoke with a frightening amount of eloquence.
"I was just helping her with her hair," I said, keeping my voice level. Sophie shot me a look of pure, unadulterated coldness – a look that said I was an intruder in her home.
"You don't start until tomorrow," she almost growled. "Come on, Mia!" She snatched Mia’s wrist and dragged her from the room.
"Bye, Freya!" Mia called out before the door clicked shut.
I stood there for a moment, shaken by the whirlwind of emotions. I decided I couldn't stay in the room a second longer. I needed to find Trevor and take him up on that tour.
After getting lost twice in the maze of corridors, I finally found the heavy oak doors of the study. I knocked gently and pushed it open. Trevor was sat behind a massive mahogany desk, lit only by a green shaded lamp. He was engrossed in a thick file.
He looked up, his eyes snapping to mine, and immediately attempted to slide the file under a stack of papers - but he wasn't fast enough. I had already seen the bold, black lettering on the cover.
Jacob Miller.
- Writer
- chap_listContents
- likeADD