She tested the floor – it was stone. She beat the walls, but there was no weak spot. She piled furniture to reach the ceiling, but her thumping fist made no more sound than a palm slapping rock.
Panting with exertion, she dropped back to the floor. As she took a step, her foot hit a kitchen bucket next to the largest cabinet. Horror climbed into her throat. The bucket had been left for her. Proof of her father’s cold planning.
She thought of the family upstairs. She was at the door again calling out ‘Tom! Tom!’ even as she could tell from the muffled quality of the sound that her voice would not be heard unless someone was right outside. When she cast about the room, the objects in it seemed suddenly menacing. Dark shapes loomed, outlines as if of fellow prisoners, a wall full of faces.
Her groping hands found a painted vase, and she purposefully smashed it so that she could grip one of the shards like a knife. If she couldn’t get out, she could be ready when her father came in.
It would be her father, and not Tom. She told herself that. She clung to Tom’s words that she’d overheard, defending her to Devon. Tom wouldn’t hurt her. Not of his own free will.
How would her father make Tom kill her? Would he be forced to do it? She couldn’t envisage it, an involuntary sacrifice out of a storybook, with her and Tom both resisting. Whatever happened, she would go down fighting.
She dropped to her knees by the door, sharp shard of porcelain at the ready, and waited for the door to open, still believing that her brother would come to help her.
A sound from the other side of the door.
‘Tom?’ she said, scrabbling up.
Footsteps; they seemed to stop right outside the door.
‘Tom, please, I’m in here.’
She put her palms flat against the door and pressed her mouth as close to the seam as she could get.
‘Tom, can you hear me? Tom, I’m locked in!’
‘It isn’t Tom,’ came the cold reply.
‘Louisa.’ Violet’s stomach plummeted. She let her forehead rest against the door, eyes closed. But she tried in a casual voice: ‘I’ve locked myself in. Can you let me out?’
‘You haven’t locked yourself in,’ said Louisa. ‘Your father shut you in there, and I’m certain you deserve it.’
What could she say? If Louisa had already heard a story from Violet’s father, nothing that Violet could say would be believed. Especially not the truth. I’m Blood of the Lion. This room was built to hold me. He’s been waiting until I was old enough so that Tom could kill me and take my power.
‘It’s just a misunderstanding,’ said Violet. ‘If you open the door, I’ll explain.’
‘Explain?’ said Louisa. ‘If it were up to me, you’d stay in there. You’re a selfish creature who causes nothing but harm to this family.’
She could feel the cold door under her palms and where her forehead leaned against it. She had been in here for hours, and was already feeling weak. Louisa hated her. Her father thought of her emotionlessly as a sacrifice. Her one ally in the house had been her brother, but Tom’s friendly obliviousness could not help her now. Violet drew in a breath.
‘You’re right.’ Violet made herself say it. ‘You’re right. I’m selfish. I came back thinking this was my home. But it isn’t.’
The silence was deafening. She made herself keep talking.
‘I don’t belong here. That’s what you’ve always said, isn’t it? I’m not wanted except as a kind of—’ She couldn’t say it. ‘It was all just pretend. I was never really a part of this family. And Tom—’ She thought of him holding her in the hallway, the way she’d felt safe in his arms. ‘Tom’s better off without me.’
The silence continued. She forced out each painful word.
‘So I’ll go. I’ll go and I’ll never come back. It won’t be like last time. I’ll stay away. You’ll never have to see me again. None of you will. I’ll leave, I swear.’ She drew in a shallow breath. ‘If you just open the door.’
This time the silence went on for so long that she realised there was no one on the other side of the door. Louisa had gone. She’d left Violet here, in this dark room, talking to herself. Violet stood back from the door and just stared at it, feeling the dark loneliness of the room sink into her.
And then the door opened.
‘He should have left you in the dirt in Calcutta.’ Louisa’s cold eyes staring at her were full of dislike. Violet felt the clawing desire to laugh, but it probably would have been a croak. Instead, a bitter, transactional silence passed between them. It was the closest they had ever come to understanding each other. Violet ducked her head and hurried out.