Chapter 23: Summary and Analysis
⚠️ Spoiler Warning: This guide contains detailed spoilers for the entire novel. Proceed only if you've finished reading or are comfortable knowing the plot.
Summary
Two weeks after Cecelia's abrupt annulment, Marion sits in the bleeding parlor with Mae perched on her knee. The girl has grown noticeably clingier since Cecelia's departure, following Marion through the halls and pestering her to play fox and hound. Marion suspects Mae's neediness stems from a latent fear that the remaining bloodmaids will also disappear.
The bleeding servant takes more blood than usual—both because Cecelia is gone and because Lisavet's illness has worsened considerably. Several nights recently, Lisavet has been too weak to lift her head when Marion enters her chamber, and the two have slept huddled together while Marion counts her breaths.
Evie, drawn and pale, complains that the bloodmaids are being overworked. She reveals she fainted in the hall after yesterday's bleed and nearly bruised her face. She insists they need a replacement for Cecelia or they will all be drained dry by springtime. Marion, though equally exhausted and bruised from repeated punctures, fiercely opposes the idea. She dreads the thought of Lisavet taking on a new bloodmaid—a new potential favorite—who might unseat her as First Bloodmaid the way she herself unseated Cecelia.
When the bleeding bowl is full, Marion stands and her knees buckle. Her vision and hearing fail momentarily, and only Mae's tiny arms encircling her waist keep her from collapsing. Evie smirks and asks if she is certain they don't need more girls; Marion ignores her and leaves hand-in-hand with Mae.
Marion agrees to one round of fox and hound, though she privately admits she lacks the strength for more. Mae, always the hound, begins counting silently while Marion runs to hide. Following the rules Irene created—western wing, fourth floor only—Marion scrambles into an empty guest bedchamber and climbs into an armoire against the far wall.
The armoire door jams shut. As Marion struggles, she notices the back panel gives slightly. Pressing both palms against it, she pushes until the panel falls backward and she tumbles into what appears to be a rarely used servants' passage. The walls are moist and fuzzy with blooming fungi; cobwebs brush her cheeks, and water drips somewhere unseen. Then a horrible rattling groan carries down the hall—a sound that seems almost human, and one Marion believes she has heard before. She hears faint scraping of metal on stone, then a soft whimper, then silence.
Spurred by dark curiosity, Marion ventures deeper into the labyrinth. The corridors wind into bricked-off archways and dead ends, including a twisted staircase leading to a lower level. Panicked that she cannot find her way back, she eventually feels the mold-furred plaster give way to splintered wood paneling—a door. She heaves it open and stumbles into blinding light.
She has emerged through a half-ajar bookshelf into the library, where Tutor Geoffrey sits reading the history book Marion was meant to study. He remarks that she has found a passage; they run throughout the House, though most are sealed off. When Marion asks what they were used for, Geoffrey reluctantly explains that rumors speak of secret chambers called