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Rain pattered against the windows as Clara inspected her reflection in the mirror. Helma would have been gentle as a dove,

but her mother’s maid had plaited and wound her hair so tightly that her head was pounding. The dress, at least, was lovely,

with full sleeves slashed to reveal the fine white silk beneath, and a row of little blue bows down the bodice. If only she

had somewhere else to wear it instead of downstairs for Hendrik’s benefit.

She scowled. Why had Hendrik come? She supposed there were business matters between her father and Hendrik that must be attended

to before the wedding and the transferal of her dowry. Dragging herself downstairs, she followed the sound of voices.

Hendrik was in conversation with her father in the study. Pausing at the doorway, she watched her intended, the earnest set

of his chin, how his body was animated with excitement as he explained some scheme involving a new trade route. Clara could

just be herself, let her true feelings show, and it would be enough to sour Hendrik on her. Anything beyond that would just

be for dramatic effect.

“Ah, my love, there you are,” Hendrik said, coming to her and bowing over her hand.

He was more confident every time they met, and now he only flicked his tongue nervously at his lips once or twice as he as straightened.

“I have some business yet to discuss with your father, and then I am at your disposal. I hope that you will honor me with your company on a walk about the grounds while there is still light? A little rain shan’t bother us, shall it? ”

He was smiling at her, warm with expectation. Oh, why did he have to look so earnest, so eager to please? Clara took a deep

breath. He would be a casualty, but he would recover. He hardly knew her, really, and once he discovered how vain, how selfish

and petty she could be, he would have no choice but to distance himself from her and break off the engagement.

She yanked her hand from his light grasp. “It is always business with you! Is this how it will be when I become your wife?

Always to be ushered away into some forgotten corner while you scrape and bargain with strange men in our house?” She had

been attempting an angry tone, but now she affected an injured air. “Really, Hendrik, how can you be so cruel?”

She watched as his expression transitioned from one of surprise, to dismay, and finally, bewildered hurt. “I... Clara,

how can you say such a thing? I only want your happiness. I—”

“No, it is not just my happiness you want,” she said with a sniffle, “but my dowry as well. You play the part of the eager

suitor prettily enough, but I know that you only consider me because of my father’s connections and the fortune that will

come with my hand.”

From behind the desk, her father was watching her, sharp-eyed, trying to hear what she was saying to elicit such a response

from Hendrik.

“Well, of course your dowry was a consideration, but... Clara, you can’t think...” Hendrik was struggling for words,

all his anxieties unfolding before his eyes.

Why wouldn’t he stop groveling? Where was his backbone?

She cringed at his lack of poise, all the while increasingly disgusted with herself that she could treat him in such a manner when he had never been anything but kind and respectful toward her.

But then she pictured Maurits and his indescribable pull, and deepened her resolve.

Was it any worse than shackling Hendrik to a woman who not only didn’t love or respect him, but could never learn to do so in the future?

She would never be content unless she knew what it was to love and be loved, and so she would be doing Hendrik a greater kindness by ending this now.

Hendrik took a step toward her and she turned away, her lip twitching as if his very touch disgusted her. He dropped his hand.

“Clara, what do you want of me? Only tell me what you want and I shall do it.”

She gave a pout. “I want to feel that I am more than just another item in a long list of business meetings and transactions.

I want to be the center of your attention. Don’t I deserve as much?”

Hendrik’s mouth worked, opening and closing like a fish, his eyes darting across the room where her father was still watching

them. “But surely you understand that I must work! It is important, yes, but dear one, so are you. If I am to provide for

you and keep you comfortable, then I must attend to business. Surely you know this from your father?”

She glossed over his very reasonable points, ignoring that he was speaking far more eloquently than she had ever heard him

before. “No woman in her right mind could stand for such treatment.”

She was both startled and repulsed by the ease of the lies that slipped from her lips, and their effectiveness. While she

didn’t love Hendrik and the thought of lying with him as a wife made her stomach clench, he was a good man and didn’t deserve

to be treated with such cruelty. He kills gentle creatures at sea , Clara reminded herself . Your dowry would help him kill more, and you in turn would eat off plates bought with that money, sleep under fine silk

blankets bought with that money. She thought of the whale’s lifeless eye, the last emotion it held one of profound sadness. How would that whale look at her if it had known that she was party to its demise?

With a clammy hand, Hendrik drew her further back out of the doorway, out of her father’s line of sight. “I was going to wait

to give this to you until our wedding day, but perhaps you should have it now.” He fumbled in his coat pocket and produced

a little velvet box. When he opened it, a ruby necklace on a golden chain winked back at her.

She had thought she couldn’t feel any lower about her behavior, but she was wrong. “You oughtn’t to have done that,” she murmured,

accepting the jewel.

Hendrik cleared his throat and rubbed the back of his neck. He was back to being the shy, awkward man he had been the first

time she met him. He couldn’t meet her gaze. “Clearly,” he mumbled. “I... I hope you will keep it, regardless of your feelings

toward me. If you’ll excuse me.”

He bobbed an awkward bow, and then spun on his heel and stalked back to where her father sat, engrossed in his papers. Clara

watched him, her stomach in knots, the ruby sitting cold and heavy in her hand.

“A fine mess you’ve made of that!” Clara jumped at the sound of Nela’s hiss. “Just wait until your mother hears about this.”

Clara shrugged, trying to appear unbothered. But she couldn’t stop staring at the sad slump of Hendrik’s shoulders as he endeavored

to carry on with her father.

The nightmares came again that night.

This time there was another sound, a new sound.

Something banging, scraping at the window.

Something that was not confined to her overwrought imagination.

Sitting up, Clara gripped the edge of the blanket.

The scraping came again, harsher, like a branch caught in the wind.

But there were no trees outside her window.

Perhaps it was the magpie, come to herald another visit from Maurits.

The possibility propelled her, and she swung her legs out of bed, pushing aside the heavy bed curtain.

Padding across the floor, she crept closer to the window, where thick raindrops splattered down.

Curling her fingers around the cold stone of the casement, she slowly leaned closer to the glass, squinting to see past the heavy rain.

Nothing. No magpie, no Maurits.

Pushing down the spark of hope that she had felt, she was just turning to hurry back to bed, when there was an unmistakable

slam from the window. Spinning, she came face-to-face with the bloated visage of her childhood friend.

The scream that tore from her throat could have woken the dead. Fenna’s skin was saggy and puckered, like the white flesh

of a fungus, her eyes empty sockets. Her lips hung torn, as if her last worldly sound had been an endless wail. Clara took

a stumbling step back. Fenna rose a clawlike hand to pound on the glass, an eldritch screech piercing the night.

And then in an instant, she was gone.

Clara’s first instinct was to call for Helma, but she stopped short, cold panic spreading down her spine. Helma was gone.

Who else would believe her? Could she even believe herself? It was late and stormy, dark. It could have been anything, a trick

of the fleeting moonlight. Her heart was beating painfully, her mouth dry and sour. As she lay back down and forced herself

to close her eyes, she knew that she had seen her long-dead friend, and that Fenna, dead though she might have been, was not

at rest.