A servant led them to rooms on the second floor of the three-story mansion. Hettie’s was located at the end of the long, carpeted hall. It was so finely furnished she was afraid to step in and dirty the floors.
A mostly silent but extremely efficient maid directed her to the bath, hastily taking her soiled clothing away to be laundered. At first Hettie wasn’t sure she wanted to bathe—it felt wrong to be luxuriating while Abby was still missing—but she was sore and needed to drown out Uncle’s betrayal. The moment she stepped into the clawfoot tub, all her reservations fled, and she sank into the hot, scented bathwater.
She soaked her head and shampooed her oily, matted hair, combing the short length until it felt like silk. The water turned brown-gray with old blood and dirt. She scrubbed
