Almost Gone. Ophelia Night

with white wine before she could refuse. Perhaps this was protocol, too.

      The wine was fragrant and fruity, and after just a few sips she felt the alcohol suffuse her bloodstream, filling her with a sense of well-being and a dangerous relaxation. She put her glass down hurriedly, knowing she couldn’t afford any slip-ups.

      “Ella, what are you doing?” Pierre asked, exasperated.

      “I’m scratching my knee,” Ella explained.

      “Why are you using a spoon?”

      “My nails are too short to reach the itch. We walked through nettles,” Ella said proudly. “Antoinette showed Cassie a shortcut. I got stung on my knee. Cassie got stung all over her face and arms. She was crying.”

      Margot banged her wineglass down.

      “Antoinette! You did that again?”

      Cassie blinked, surprised to learn that she’d done it before.

      “I…” Antoinette began defiantly, but Margot was unstoppable.

      “You are a vicious little beast. All you want to do is cause trouble. You think you are being clever, but you are just a stupid, mean, childish girl.”

      Antoinette bit her lip. Margot’s words had cracked her cool shell of composure.

      “It’s not her fault,” Cassie found herself saying loudly, wondering too late if the wine had been a bad idea.

      “It must be really difficult for her dealing with—” She stopped herself hurriedly, because she’d been about to mention their mother’s death, but Ella believed a different version and she had no idea what the true story was. Now was not the time to ask.

      “Dealing with so much change,” she said. “In any case, Antoinette didn’t tell me to take that path. I chose it myself. Ella and I were tired and it looked like a good shortcut.”

      She didn’t dare look at Antoinette while she spoke, in case Margot suspected collusion, but she managed to catch Ella’s eye. She gave her a conspiratorial glance, hoping she would understand why Cassie was siding with her sister, and was rewarded with a tiny nod.

      Cassie feared that her defense would leave her on even shakier ground, but she had to say something. After all, she knew what it was like growing up in a fractured family where war could erupt at any moment. She understood the importance of an older role model who could offer shelter from the storms. How would she have coped without Jacqui’s strength during the bad times? Antoinette had nobody to stand with her.

      “So you are choosing to take her side?” Margot hissed. “Trust me, you will regret doing that, just as I have done. You do not know her like I do.” She pointed a crimson-manicured finger at Antoinette, who started sobbing. “She is just the same as her—”

      “Stop it!” Pierre roared. “I will not have arguments at the dinner table—Margot, shut up now, you have said enough.”

      Margot leaped to her feet so suddenly her chair overturned with a crash.

      “You are telling me to shut up? Then I will go. But don’t think I have not tried to warn you. You will get what you deserve, Pierre.” She marched to the door but then turned back, staring at Cassie with undisguised hatred.

      “You will all get what you deserve.”

      CHAPTER EIGHT

      Cassie held her breath as Margot’s angry footsteps retreated down the passage. Glancing around the table, she saw she wasn’t the only one shocked into silence by the blonde woman’s vicious outburst. Marc’s eyes were saucer-wide and his mouth was tightly closed. Ella was sucking her thumb. Antoinette was scowling in wordless fury.

      With a muttered oath, Pierre pushed back his chair.

      “I’ll deal with it,” he said, striding to the door. “Put the children to bed.”

      Relieved to have a job to do, Cassie stood up, glancing at the plates and dishes littering the table. Should she clear the table, or ask the children to help? Tension hung in the air as thick as smoke. She wished for a normal, everyday family activity like washing up to help dissolve it.

      Antoinette saw the direction of her gaze.

      “Leave everything,” she snapped. “Someone clears up later.”

      Forcing cheerfulness into her tone, Cassie said, “Well, then, it’s bedtime.”

      “I don’t want to go to bed,” Marc protested, swinging his chair back. As the chair overbalanced he screamed in mock fright, grabbing at the tablecloth. Cassie leaped to his rescue. She was fast enough to stop the chair from falling over, but too late to prevent Marc upsetting two of the glasses and sending a plate crashing to the floor.

      “Upstairs,” she ordered, trying to sound stern, but her voice was high and unsteady with exhaustion.

      “I want to go outside,” Marc announced, sprinting toward the French doors. Remembering how he’d outrun her in the forest, Cassie dove after him. He’d already unlocked the door by the time she caught up, but she was able to grab him and stop him from opening it. She saw their reflections in the dark glass. The young boy with his rebellious hair and unrepentant expression—and herself. Her fingers clutching his shoulders, eyes wide and anxious, face sheet-white.

      Seeing herself in that unexpected moment made her realize how badly she’d failed in her duties so far. It had been a full day since she’d arrived, and not for one minute had she been in charge. She was fooling herself if she thought otherwise. Her expectations of fitting in with the family and being loved, or at least liked, by the children could not have been more unrealistic. They didn’t have a shred of respect for her, and she had no idea how she could change things.

      “Bedtime,” she repeated wearily. Keeping her left hand firmly on Marc’s shoulder, she removed the key from the lock. Noticing a hook high on the wall, she reached up and hung it there. She marched Marc upstairs without letting go. Ella trotted alongside and Antoinette trailed despondently behind, slamming her bedroom door without so much as a good night.

      “Do you want me to read you a story?” she asked Marc, but he shook his head.

      “All right. Into bed, then. You can get up early tomorrow and play with your soldiers if you go to sleep now.”

      It was the only incentive she could think of but it seemed to work; or maybe tiredness had finally caught up with the young boy. At any rate, to her relief, he did as she asked. She pulled the duvet up, noticing her hands were trembling from sheer exhaustion. If he made another break for freedom she knew she would burst into tears. She wasn’t convinced that he would stay in bed, but for now, at least, her job was done.

      “I want a story.” Ella tugged her arm. “Will you read me one?”

      “Of course.” Cassie walked to her bedroom and chose a book from the small selection on the shelf. Ella jumped into bed, bouncing on the mattress with excitement, and Cassie wondered how often she’d been read to in the past, because it didn’t seem to be a customary part of her routine. Although, she supposed, there wasn’t much about Ella’s childhood that had been normal so far.

      She read the shortest story she could find, only to have Ella insist on a second one. The words were swimming in front of her eyes by the time she reached the end and closed the book. Looking up, Cassie saw to her relief that the reading had soothed Ella, and she was finally asleep.

      She turned off the lamp and closed the door. Walking back down the corridor, she checked on Marc, keeping as quiet as she could. Thankfully, the room was still dark and she could hear soft breathing.

      When she opened Antoinette’s door, the light was on. Antoinette was sitting up in bed scribbling notes in a pink-covered book.

      “You knock before coming in,” she chastised Cassie. “It is a rule.”

      “I’m sorry. I promise I’ll do that from now on,” Cassie apologized. She dreaded that Antoinette would escalate the broken rule into an argument, but instead she turned back to her notebook, writing