Mother seizes her by the wrist and drags her from the bed. "I'll not have you performing such disgusting acts under my roof. I raised you as a proper girl not as some harlot." She hurries Wendelle downstairs and then into the cellar. They continue along a dank passageway, the smell of decay becoming unbearable to Wendelle's nose. She presses a sleeve to her face to keep out the odor.
"Where are we going?" she asks.
Mother doesn't answer her. Wendelle brushes against something and reaches out to run her hand along bones. They've descended into the family crypt. "I'm sorry, Mother. It will never happen again. I swear. Please, can we go back upstairs?"
"You're becoming one of them. Just like your father. I should have known. The whiskers, your voice, and now this. I'll not have it, you hear? I'll not have my daughter becoming one of them!"
"Who? One of what? Mother, please, I don't understand."
Mother unlocks a heavy stone door and then thrusts Wendelle into a chamber with corpses scattered about. Mother grabs Wendelle's hair to force her on to her knees. "Stay here and pray for God to have mercy on your filthy soul," Mother says. "I've done all I can for you. It's up to Him now."
With that, Mother leaves Wendelle alone in the chamber, sealing the door behind her. Wendelle pounds against the door until her fists are bloody and screams until her throat is raw. Then she sags to the ground, curling up into a fetal position.
What's wrong with me? she wonders. Why does Mother hate me? She touches the hairs on her face and then the organ between her legs, recalling the barber's words. I must be some kind of monster, she thinks.
She remains in this position for hours, hoping that Mother will come back or this will all turn out to be a dream. At one point a rat comes up to her, sniffing at her face. She screams and then flings herself against the wall. The creature skitters away. She collapses into a sobbing heap, crying so loud she doesn't hear the door open.
A hand touches her shoulder. "Senorita Palmer, you must go from this place," Isabelle says. "You must hurry."
"But Mother-"
"Your mother is asleep. We do not have much time." Isabelle thrusts a white dress into Wendelle's hands. "You must dress quickly and go from here."
Wendelle puts the dress on over her nightgown and then slips on a pair of shoes Isabelle hands to her. "Come, we must go," Isabelle says. Wendelle follows her through the passageway, into the cellar. They creep up the stairs, listening at the doorway for Mother. "She is still asleep. We must go."