She spoke knowing that Annette von Arlestein had not shared her imprisonment from any love or duty, but from necessity. She was as much a prisoner as her mistress. It had been decreed that she who had shared the shame should share the punishment.
“It is too late,” said the Countess. “Twenty years ago I might have wished you would die. Twenty years ago I might have cursed you.”
The quenchless dark eyes gleamed across at her.
“You would not have stayed if you could have gone. No one else did.”
Annette von Arlestein gave a toothless smile.
“No, I should have gone–when I was younger. Life is dull here.”
Sophia gave her a ghastly look.
“Yes, it is dull.”
A storm was blowing without. The wind cast the rain in gouts on the window; it dripped from the leads and splashed down the wide chimney in heavy drops that hissed on the logs.
“Why do you not finish your sewing?” asked the Princess. “I have never seen you sit idle before.”