Southampton

“Time for bed,” her mother repeated for at least the third time. Meggy continued to pretend that she could not hear her. She had been playing at reading for nearly half an hour now, not budging from her chair in the parlor, despite the fact that she knew her mother didn’t like her to be downstairs. Meggy didn’t like her room anymore.

“Mary Margaret!” she shouted this time. “Get upstairs and change this instant or else I shall fetch Ms. Strickland from her chambers and have her put you to bed!”

Meggy took a deep breath, realizing she would have to go now, despite the fact that she would have done almost anything to work her way around it. But without a word of back-talk (which would have gotten her a fat lip at the least) she gathered up her book, dragged herself out of the room, and began her slow ascent up the stairs.

She took her time washing up as well. No longer would Patsy come in and help her count brush strokes or make sure she said her prayers. Most nights, she didn’t bother to say them. No one was listening anyway—she was certain of that. Eventually, her mother would come in, or she would send Ms. Strickland by to check on her. Either one was bad, but she would not willingly climb into her bed and attempt to go to sleep because she knew, in a few hours, once the taverns closed, the monster would come. Nothing her mother or Ms. Strickland did to her could equal what the monster would do.

It didn’t happen every single night. Sometimes, he was too drunk and would pass out downstairs. Other times, she would hear his heavy footsteps pass by her door and trip their way on down the hallway. But frequently enough, the monster would make his way into her room. Then—well, all she could do was squeeze her eyes shut and wait for him to leave. He said that it wasn’t bad, that she was a good girl for being silent. She didn’t think that could possibly be true; it certainly felt like a bad thing, a very bad thing.

She had thought about telling her mother, but every time she approached her, she was waved away or told to be silent—that little girls were for being seen, not heard. Once, she had spoken up to Ms. Strickland. She had even gotten the worst part of the story out before she realized that the governess was about to strike her with that awful ruler. She knew immediately that Ms. Strickland was not on her side.

Patsy would have helped her; she was almost certain. But she had taken ill recently and was on leave. She hoped that, once she recovered, her mother would have her back, and then she would tell her everything. She knew that Patsy would help her. The other ladies were all strict and rude, just like the aptly named Ms. Strickland. It would do no good to try to tell them. So Meggy cried herself to sleep each night, hoping to be lucky and not to be awoken in a few hours by the sound of the monster creeping up the stairs. This night, she tucked herself in tightly, hoping perhaps if the blankets were taut enough, he’d give up and go away. That had never worked before, but it was always worth a try. Anything was worth a try—three nightgowns, leaving her school knickers on. Anything. Even begging her father to come back as a ghost and whisk her away. Nothing seemed to work though, and this night she climbed into bed like so many others, hopeful that it would be a good night with no visitors.

She was not feeling particularly lucky, especially since her mother came in and rapped her on the head with her ring to hurry her off, putting the lights out and pulling the curtains tight so that not even the tiniest bit of light could creep in from the street below or the stars in the sky.

She’d slammed the door behind her, leaving the seven-year-old to linger in the dark and await her fate, her eyes shut tight, her pleas sent out to all four corners of the universe should anyone care to hear and save her.

That night, the universe’s answer was, “No.”

* * *

“Meggy?” a familiar voice called from behind the tree. “Meggy, what are you doing out here?”

She didn’t bother to glance over her shoulder at Ezra. She knew if Ms. Strickland realized she had snuck out of the study and was out on the swing, and she found Ezra was with her, they would both be punished. Without turning she said, “Go away, Ezra.”

“But, Meggy, if she finds you, you’ll get a thrashing.”

She sighed. “I know that, nitwit,” she replied. “But she’s gone off to rest and left me to practice my Latin. Unless you wake her. Now, go away.”

“Pardon me,” Ezra said, his tone indicating that she had certainly hurt his feelings. “I was only concerned for you, Meggy.”

“Well, don’t be,” she said, finally turning to look at him now. “I don’t need your help. I don’t need anyone’s help.

“You’ve changed,” Ezra said, stepping out from behind the tree. “I don’t think I like you anymore. Ever since your Da died, you’ve gone mean.”

The words stung, there was no denying that. But she wasn’t about to let him see that. Instead, Meggy stood, turning to face him. She balled up her fists and placed them on her hips. “Well, how should you know? Your father’s practically a ditch digger! You don’t even know how to read, Ezra! Now, leave me be or else I’ll tell my mother you sneak into the sugar jar when her lady’s not looking!”

Ezra’s eyes were wide as saucers as he kicked dirt in her general direction and took off toward the carriage house. Meggy considered chasing after him, wanting vengeance for the filth in her hair and sprinkled across the front of her frock, but she heard her proper name being shouted from the house and knew she was already in enough trouble without running after him and soiling herself more. She realized she’d meet the business end of the ruler as soon as she returned to the study. It was odd how facing the monster had made her so strong that the ruler no longer hurt. It didn’t seem like there was much else that the universe could throw at Meggy to hurt her now.