Never Tell a Soul, Damon Priest

1. the princess

Geneva Withers had never told a lie, but that did not mean she had no secrets. Just like tonight.

As she toed down the dark corridors with a gaslight in hand, the floorboards creaked. But not too much. The house was in pristine condition because its mistresses would not have it any less. It was their own beautiful palace. And someday, it would be hers as well.

For as long as she could remember, Geneva was often told that she was in a fairytale. She was the poor little girl whisked away by three fairy godmothers to live in their palace, where she learned how to be a princess who would someday meet her prince.

The first part was rather true. She was poor, and she was little, and she considered her mother's three aunts as her fairy godmothers. The second part of her fairytale, however, was not quite close to reality. She never learned how to be a princess because she was not one and she would never be. And there was no prince. No. Not in Abberton, at least.

As she grew older, and as the verses of the bible were engraved into her soul by her three great-aunts, Geneva realized she was not becoming the princess the three women wanted her to be. Every day, it seemed that she was becoming more of a disappointment. Every hour, every minute. Every breath.

It was like walking on hot coals. Every day, she had to be careful with each painful step. She had to be perfect. She could not make a single mistake. Because if she did, they would send her away.

Like her grandfather.

Like her grandmother.

"It runs in the blood," her great-aunt Prudence would always say as part of her bedtime stories. "Even your mother was not spared of it."

Many years ago, her mother lost control of her emotions. She was enticed by the devil. And that man was her father. They lived a life of sin and gave birth to her.

But Geneva was saved. And for that, she was grateful. Her great-aunts were nothing but wonderful to her. Even now, they never showed their disappointment at her lack of marriage prospect at twenty-eight. Not that there was any chance, of course, because by Abberton standard, Geneva was a spinster.

Perhaps it was better. If she had the potential to be like her mother, then she was better off safe and alone. Her great-aunts would leave her everything as they promised. So long as she stayed pure and good, she would never bring evil into this world.

"They had evil within them," said great-aunt Deborah. "Our father—rest his soul. And then Adeline, our dear sister—your grandmother. And then her own daughter—your mother. Do you understand now, Geneva? You can be like them if your faith is not strong. Never stray into the devil's path."

Geneva's grandmother, her great-aunts' youngest sister, moved away when she married one of their servants. Her daughter, Geneva's mother, Constance, was raised in a private school for girls in Strait, paid for by her grandfather, the baron. Everyone expected her to be different from her mother. They were greatly disappointed, of course, because Constance met the man who brought out her disease. Pregnant and married to a nobody, she went far away. But her disease ultimately consumed her, and she died when Geneva was only two.

All of Abberton only knew that Geneva was orphaned and that the three rich and unmarried (one widowed) daughters of the rich baron took her in, as any family should. Then they changed her name from Geneva Vernon to Geneva Withers.

But one Christmas changed it all. That was fifteen years ago, when Geneva was eleven. She was hiding in one of the unused bedrooms, reading a novel she was not supposed to, one her good friend Theresa gave her in secret during church service. It was an ordinary day—quiet and calm, as it always was in the Withers household.