Chapter Thirty-Three – continued
Her eyes scanned over the document, her lips pressed into a thin line. After hours of poring over them, she was certain.
Madeline was Muriel’s younger sister.
Slowly, Camille put the documentation of birth naming both girls as the daughters of the merchant Dedrick Hendy and his wife back on her desk. Muriel was five years older, another girl sandwiched between them, but her death had been noted just three days after her birth.
No wonder Muriel always powdered her hair. Being just a few years older than Camille, her hair would be just as dark as Madeline’s. Unlike in the linked world, here only the fae had colored hair. The only way Muriel would have been able to hide her hair’s age was to powder it white.
It was brilliant, really. Lawrence was rarely home and, when he was, he was too inattentive to his wife to notice anything odd. It had likely been a risk the sisters had taken for Muriel to be around Camille and Abigail so much, but perhaps it explained why Muriel was so scathing to them; it kept them away.
“Scoundrels,” Camille hissed, tossing the document.
She threw herself out of her chair and across the room to her door. Throwing it open, she stalked down the hall until she found a boy watering some flowers in a window. With very little sun, the winter blossoms were wilting, but it was still nice to see the light purple color brightening the dull walls.
The boy started and his eyes darted around as she approached. She could see the trembling terror, but didn’t have the time or patience to instruct him on proper behavior to the family.
“Are the Countess Olidan and Lady Madeline in their rooms?” she demanded, her lips spitting out the titles with a great deal of distaste.
Nervously, the boy nodded and lowered his head, his hands shaking as he clasped the watering jug. “Y-yes, my Lady. In Lady Olidan’s rooms.”
“Excellent, thank you,” she said as she swept by.
Camille didn’t know what she was going to do or say when she reached Madeline’s rooms; thinking of those things was more in Abigail’s purview than hers. But she had all the information she needed, and her father had made it clear Muriel would never inherit the Olidan title and property.
She barely paused in front of Madeline’s door. The door handle turned easily in her hand and she pushed the door open, startling the two women sitting at their supper.
Muriel rose from her seat, outrage painted across her face, her dark hair hanging over her shoulder in a heavy braid. Madeline, on the other hand, had drawn back in her chair, fear clear as her eyes darted between Camille and Muriel’s hair.
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