Jean Genie
Copyright© 2026 by Rachael Jane
Chapter 77: Journey to the Past
Isabel wakes before dawn, as she always does. She moves through the servants’ quarters quietly, tying her hair back, washing her face with cold water, folding her shawl neatly. She touches the bracelet once ... hesitant and with reverence ... then pulls her sleeve down to hide it.
She is still afraid of being seen. I feel her nerves fluttering like trapped birds. She isn’t used to being watched with kindness. She isn’t used to having anyone inside her thoughts. She isn’t used to being protected. I remain quiet to allow her time to adjust.
But today, she will need me.
The crisis begins in the kitchen. Doña Remedios stands holding a basket of tablecloths and serviettes, her face pinched with fury. Isabel enters carrying a jug of water, and the housekeeper turns on her immediately.
“¡Tú!” Remedios snaps. “Where is the silver spoon?”
Isabel freezes. “What spoon?”
“The one missing from the dining room,” Remedios says, stepping closer. “You cleaned in there yesterday. You were the last one in the room.”
Isabel’s breath catches. “I didn’t take anything.”
Remedios scoffs. “Of course you didn’t. Thieves never admit it.”
Fear spikes through Isabel ... sharp, cold, and overwhelming. Her hands tremble around the jug. She looks at the floor, unable to meet Remedios’s eyes.
I whisper into her thoughts.
‘Breathe.’
She inhales shakily.
Remedios continues, her voice rising. “Doña Elvira will hear of this. You will be dismissed.”
Isabel flinches. “Please, señora, I didn’t...”
“Enough,” Remedios snaps. “Find the spoon. Or pack your things.”
She storms out with her basket of linen, leaving Isabel shaking. I feel her panic like a pulse through the bracelet.
Isabel is terrified. She is innocent but she is about to break.
Isabel sets the jug down with trembling hands. She looks around the kitchen, her breath uneven, her thoughts spiralling.
I whisper again. ‘Isabel.’
She closes her eyes, tears gathering. “I didn’t take it,” she whispers under her breath. “I didn’t.”
‘I know.’
She presses her hand to her mouth, trying to steady herself. “Jeannia. What do I do?”
‘Look for the spoon.’
She opens her eyes, confused. “Look where?”
I guide her gently ... creating an impression, not a command. A tug of awareness toward the courtyard door.
She follows it.
The courtyard is quiet, the morning light soft and pale. A basket of linen sits near the fountain ... the one Remedios carried earlier. Isabel approaches it slowly, her heart pounding.
Inside the basket, beneath a folded tablecloth, something glints.
She lifts the tablecloth with trembling fingers. The silver spoon.
Her breath catches. “She ... she dropped it.”
‘Yes.’
Isabel stares at the spoon, relief and anger mixing in her chest. “She blamed me.”
‘Yes.’
She closes her eyes, steadying herself. “What do I do?”
‘Show them.’
She hesitates. “I’m afraid. What if they still claim that I took it?”
I soften my voice. ‘I am with you.’
Isabel carries the spoon into the main hall, her hands still shaking. Doña Elvira is speaking with Remedios near the staircase. Isabel approaches slowly, her heart pounding so loudly I can feel it through the bracelet.
“Señora,” Isabel says, her voice small but steady. “I found this.”
Remedios turns, her face draining of colour. Her accusation that Isabel is lying, and that she is only returning the spoon because she was accused, dies on her lips. The bracelet’s nudge on her mind stalls her words.
Doña Elvira takes the spoon, examining it. “Where?”
“In the courtyard,” Isabel says. “Under a cloth. In the basket Doña Remedios carried this morning.”
Remedios stiffens. “That’s impossible. I...”
Doña Elvira raises a hand. “Enough.”
Remedios falls silent.
Doña Elvira looks at Isabel, a nudge on her mind encourages her to accept Isabel’s words. “You did not take it?”
“No, señora.”
Doña Elvira nods once. “You may return to your work.”
Isabel bows her head, relief flooding through her so strongly I feel it like warmth through the bracelet.
Remedios tries to speak, but Doña Elvira cuts her off sharply. “We will discuss your carelessness later.”
Remedios pales. Isabel steps back, clutching her hands together, her breath trembling. She turns and walks quickly toward the courtyard, away from the confrontation, away from Remedios’s glare.
When she reaches the fountain, she sinks onto the stone edge, covering her face with her hands.
I whisper. ‘You were brave.’
She exhales shakily. “I didn’t feel brave.”
‘You were.’
She lowers her hands, tears slipping down her cheeks. “Thank you.”
I feel her gratitude like a soft pulse ... warm, fragile, sincere.
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