Chapter Text
"But why her?"
She'd tried to say it gently, but he still roughly shrugged off her hand where she'd trailed it over his shoulder. This was at least the 15th time she'd tried to bring it up and get some answers.
"I only mean that it went against our plan. We had decided on Eunice, I thought. She was richer, after all."
"She was riskier," Thomas bit out. "Edith had only her father to deal with. Eunice had a mother, sister, brother... Too many prying relatives desperate to come and visit this place. God only knows what they'd think if they actually saw the state of it."
Lucille tried not to be hurt. She knew he secretly blamed her for their forced, separate exodus from their home. If only they had waited until they were older. If only they had... Well, they would had been ripped apart. It had been survival, Mother or them. She'd made that decision so he hadn't had to. But still, this was their home. An attack on the house might as well be an attack on her, on her inability to keep it safe from the rising clay and in a fit, habitable state, how she struggled to keep it clean and how it was always filthy no matter how hard she tried to sweep away the crawling, twitching dead things.
And now there was Edith. In their home, the lady of the house, so soft and beautiful. Her golden hair in perfect waves, her porcelain skin, her lips...
It sickened her to know those lips had tasted Thomas.
But never mind. She would soon be a twitching dead thing herself.
"It just seems like you saw Edith and decided all of a sudden that you could have none but her."
She was prodding at the wound in her heart, viciously tearing at it to see how deep the sting would reach. Thomas rubbed at his eyes, like he was wiping away tears.
"I'll admit, she intrigued me. She is clever. She writes. She has interests."
"And as forfeit for catching your eye, she dies. Poor little thing, lured to your side. I almost feel sorry for her."
The way he looked at her, half-turned away, over his shoulder, somehow made her stomach clench in fear, worry, fluttering like an anxious bird.
"Sister," he breathed, face softening a moment too late for her to believe it. "You are jealous. Please, don't be. She is nothing to you. An interesting bauble, a pretty distraction. My love, you know my devotion is true."
He'd caught her hand and pressed his lips to her knuckles in supplication before turning to kiss her wrist where the silken blue ribbons of her veins nestled just beneath the skin.
"It is your bed that I share," Thomas murmured, eyes cast down. "Our future that I treasure."
She leant back, letting him crawl up her body, so serpentine. As he had always been. Even when they were young and unsure, he had been so, instinctive and striking.
It would have been so easy. She could have just let go. But such ease was not in her nature.
"Wait," she whispered as his hand slid up her thigh.
"What is it?"
She swallowed hard.
"Did you sleep with her? That night in the depot, did you fuck her, Thomas?"
He couldn't meet her gaze. She didn't need to hear the answer to know it. She gripped his forearm viciously, trying to draw blood.
"And have you bathed since?" she hissed.
"What?"
"Do not touch me with these soiled hands, brother. Don't you dare. I know you did it. I knew it the moment you came home. She smelled of you. She glowed with it. No doubt there is a bastard swelling in her belly even now."
"She is my wife."
"But you belong to me!"
He stared at her, clear eyes flickering between hers, something close to rage burning in them.
And they heard Edith's screams. Already the poison appeared to be making her delirious, delusional. She was suspicious, for certain. She knew far too much. And she was seeing things, visions haunting her constantly it seemed.
"Go," Lucille said shortly, bringing her knees up to her chest. "See to your wife."
He left without another word. Her thigh burned where he'd touched her, like his hand had been red hot.
Edith... The golden viper in the nest. The halo'd devil.
She had... They had...
Lucille's chest heaved with sobs, the kind she hadn't cried since she was 14 and they had locked her away. So many years. So much love. Such crimes... And for what? For Thomas to waltz off like they were nothing, like she had done nothing for him, had not dedicated her life to him and his wretched inventions, living without even a roof so he could build and build and build...
And yet her heart still clung to him, like a child at the skirts of its mother.
She could feel him slipping from her grasp.
It was obvious. She would have to take Edith from him somehow, separate them. But it would have to be subtle. A gentle poisoning of her mind along with her body.
Yes... She would sow the seeds of doubt in Edith's mind, drive them apart, make Thomas glad when she breathed her last.
It was a case of survival. Edith or her.
Thomas did not come back to bed, but there was evidence of him on the chaise longue in the parlour the next morning, so at least he had not shared his marriage bed either. He could not be outside, for it was yet dark, the pitiful winter sun yet to rise. No doubt he was up in the attic with his machines. Once upon a time, it had been their place, the two of them together, but he had claimed it as his own domain now.
She hesitated over whether to visit him, to see if he would apologise for what he'd done or if he would pretend they had not argued. He did so hate conflict after all, never keen to quarrel. But she couldn't bear to, not yet. She spent her time downstairs, sweeping the leaves from the hallway until she heard Edith moving around, heard her gasp from the landing when she saw who was below her.
"Good morning, Edith. Did you sleep well?"
Dark circles marred her pretty face, her hair loose and beautiful but already showing signs of thinning. She was unwell. Her lips were pale with the lack of blood in them, turned to white petals in place of red. She might faint at any moment and tumble down the stairs.
But no. Somehow it was not enough. Lucille's envy boiled under her skin at the very sight of her. Death was not sufficient for Edith, not her, not this rival to her brother's heart. No, she had to be corrupted first. She had to deserve her death.
"I thought I might take Thomas some tea," Edith said. "It is cold this morning."
Lucille forced a smile.
"No, I don't think we should disturb him just yet. The days grow short and he has to work. Come and sit with me for a while. You are always hidden away in your room to read and write. We can save on coal and be warmer if we are together."
Edith hesitated, her knuckles white against the bannister. She was still in her voluminous robe, her little frame almost drowned by the folds of fabric.
"Of course. I will just dress."
"Let me help you. Your fingers must be frozen standing there. I fear you will not be able to manage the laces."
"There is no need. I can do it."
"It's no hassle."
She climbed the creaking stairs and steered Edith back towards her room, feeling her tremble.
"Poor thing, you are shivering."
And breathing hard, eyes darting left and right like a rabbit caught in a trap.
It would be kinder just to snap her neck, but there was no room for kindness in this house. Not anymore.
How was it? she wanted to ask as she eased the robe from Edith's shoulders and pulled off her nightgown. Did you enjoy it? Did you cry out when he entered you and feel as though your body would simply burst? Was he gentle? Did he run his fingers through your hair and over this skin? Did he treat you as a delicate and precious thing? And did you like that? Or do you wish that he'd been rough and forceful, one hand around your throat and the other digging into your flesh?
Had you felt such pleasures before, Edith? Alone in your bed, did you learn your body? Or were you an innocent, unaware that such sensations lie at your very fingertips? Did he give you your first climax? Did you fancy that you gave him his? That, at least, you cannot take from me.
They used to whip me when I cried out Thomas's name when I made myself come. But I knew he was doing the very same thing a hundred miles away and so I couldn't stop. Even apart, we had to share it. When it was cold, I would let my fingers chill to numbness and pretend that it was really him touching me...
Do you think your connection is deeper now that he has spilled within you?
"We are very similar, you and I," she said instead. "Both left motherless so young."
She watched the shivers move across Edith's back as she tried to cover herself quickly. No scars. No evidence of cruelty or pain. She was perfect, the gentle curve of her waist, the dip of her spine before the line of her frilled undergarments. Lucille almost wanted to tear them off, to examine whether she was perfect everywhere, to spin her and see her bared breasts. Was she so pale all over? Would she be embarrassed or brave? There was something achingly lovely about her, something close to tragic in her bearing.
No wonder Thomas wanted her.
"Yes," Edith said. "I imagine we both had to learn to be adults quickly."
"Not merely adults, but women."
A shy smile as Edith got into her corset and tightened her own laces but obediently allowed them to be tied for her.
"Do you think men and women are so different, Lucille?"
She cinched Edith's waist a little more.
"The world seems to think so. Certainly it seems unfair to me that I am forced to rely on Thomas's ventures to survive. I feel that I could have secured capital for the mining engine far better than him if I had been a man. But they would not have listened to me. No doubt he has given you his little speech about the terrible privilege of the baronetcy? He wishes he could have been an engineer instead of a sir."
"Yes," Edith said, raising her arms to allow the golden silk of her gown to conceal her body even further and turning as they shared the buttoning of it, fingers brushing together. "Though I thought it strange. You live so simply, it's sometimes easy to forget that you are aristocrats."
"And yet we are. And now you are as well, Lady Sharpe."
She looked away, embarrassed, and Lucille reached out to touch her face, tilting her chin back, forcing eye contact.
"I fear the cold does not agree with you, sister," she said. "You seem quite exhausted by it. We should arrange your hair and retreat to somewhere warmer."
"Sister?" Edith breathed.
"Well, yes. By law. Would you prefer I didn't call you that?"
She'd pushed Edith down into the chair before the mirror and took up the brush, easing out the tangles of the night.
"I... I just didn't expect it, that's all. I've never had siblings before."
A few moments passed without speaking, only the soft sounds of the brush and their breathing breaking the silence.
"Are you afraid of me, Edith?"
The girl jerked forward in shock, almost hitting her head on the glass, frightened eyes darting once more.
"Why would I be afraid of you?"
Lucille resumed brushing, as though she was trying to soothe a spooked horse, before separating sections of hair to braid.
"I sometimes fear that you are a little intimidated. That you are not entirely comfortable in my presence. And I confess, it worries me."
She visibly relaxed, the tension in her shoulders and brow lessening.
"It's... It's just quite an adjustment, that's all. You do things differently here. I'm afraid of... of offending you, I suppose. It must be hard to have someone new come into your home."
"Well, I'm sure we will get used to one another in time. I would so dearly like us to be friends."
The smile was clearly forced. Edith was not a good liar. That was a useful thing to know.
"I would like that too."
The door opened behind them as she was putting the finishing touches to the braids, piling them high and pinning them into place.
"What are you doing?"
Thomas was stood in the doorway, his fists clenched and face worried. Lucille spun the final hairpin between her fingers before bringing it down.
"Ow!" Edith cried.
"Did I scratch you? I'm so sorry. Good morning, Thomas. I was just helping Edith with her hair and dress, that's all."
"Are you hurt?" Thomas asked as Edith gingerly pressed a finger to her scalp.
"No," she said. "Not even bleeding. It was just a slip, a little accident. It's nothing."
"Doesn't your wife look well today, Thomas?" Lucille asked. "We were just agreeing that we ought to spend more time in one another's company and get to know each other better, weren't we, Edith?"
"Yes. After all, we are sisters now."
Triumph rolled through Lucille's heart. It turned out Edith was rather simple despite her books and learning. A pretty little doll needing to be broken down and remoulded. The only question was what to do with this new power. What could she make Edith think and do and believe? What would be the easiest... No, the cruelest way to make her cause her own demise? To make her crush Thomas's heart, to shatter her own innocence, to mar her own perfection? How exactly would she ensure her fall?
Lucille had tasted bitterness for far too long. Surely she deserved a little of the honey of revenge.