The Sign of Fear by R.L. Stine

dull red.
    â€œAnd you’ve brought our servant to us,” Emily went on, her blue eyes taking in and then dismissing Christina.
    I can never compare with her. What must Matthew be thinking now that he sees us side by side? Christina wondered.
    â€œMy mother will be coming in a moment to give you some instructions,” Emily said to Christina. “You may wait here until then. But move over there, so you do not disturb us.”
    Tears stinging the back of her eyelids, Christina rose and walked to the far side of the room. She has no right to treat me like this! she thought. But she knew she was wrong. Emily Peterson could treat her however she liked. Christina was nothing but a slave in the Peterson house.
    â€œNow, Matthew,” Emily said, as she urged him back onto his chair. “You must tell me all about your travels. What have you been doing since you last left us?”
    With a rustle of skirts, Emily sat down next to Matthew—leaning so close her body brushed against his arm.
    Christina stared at the two of them, so close together. Get away from him, she thought. He wants me. He doesn’t want you.
    â€œChristina!” Mistress Peterson called loudly. “Come this way. I will show you to your room.”
    Christina could feel Matthew’s eyes upon her as she followed Mistress Peterson. But she didn’t dare return his gaze. If she did, she feared she wouldn’t be able to maintain her composure. And she didn’t want to give Emily Peterson the satisfaction of seeing her break down.
    Mrs. Peterson led Christina up a flight of stairs. Thesecond floor appeared even more dismal than the first. Christina had not thought it possible.
    â€œThis is my room,” Mistress Peterson said, as they passed the first door. “And this is Emily’s room. You are not to go inside them unless we give you permission.”
    At the far end of the hall Mistress Peterson threw open a door. “This will be your room.”
    Reluctantly, Christina passed through the doorway. It was so low, she had to duck her head to step inside.
    The room was small and narrow. It held little furniture. Only a narrow bed with a thin quilt and a basin and pitcher sat on the floor. A single candle gave the only light.
    â€œClean yourself,” Mistress Peterson said shortly. “It offends me to see you so untidy. When you are finished, come downstairs.”
    She stepped back out into the passageway and slammed the door. Christina took another look around. It’s not a room, Christina thought. It is a prison cell.
    But this would be her only place of refuge. Until the day that Matthew Fier completed his mission. Until he came to rescue her.
    A sob rose in Christina. She pressed her hands against her throat to hold it down. If I give way now, I will never recover. I’ll do nothing but sit in this room and sob and sob.
    I must learn to be strong. Matthew is strong—and I can be too.
    Filled with new determination, Christina crossed to the basin and knelt beside it. She seized the pitcher and poured some water into the basin. Then she plunged her hands into it. The water felt icy cold.
    Christina splashed the cold water on her face. Thenshe dried herself with a rough towel. She unbound and then repinned her hair.
    I feel better, she thought as she stood up. But I don’t look fresh and beautiful. Not like Emily Peterson.
    Emily Peterson laughed.
    Christina spun around. She snatched up the pitcher and clutched it to her chest.
    No one there. The sound came from below, she realized. Where Emily entertained Matthew.
    Christina stood motionless, listening. Emily laughed again.
    The sound cut through Christina. It cut straight through to her heart.
    What is happening downstairs in the sitting room? she wondered. A thousand painful images crowded through her mind.
    Matthew and Emily sitting together. Matthew holding Emily’s hands as tightly as he’d held hers.
    Christina’s hands