Page 43 of Wicked Games

I had to think quickly. Thinking back to all those BBC period dramas I had watched, I remembered how the ladies of the great estates did all the charity work for the poor.

Playing my part as Lady Elizabeth, I shook my head, careful to keep a placid expression on my face. “I thought I would cut up some old fabric and sew little dolls for the children of the tenants.”

There… that sounded very nineteenth century ladylike.

Parker glanced around looking uncertain; in the end she couldn’t see anything wrong with my request. Giving me a quick curtsy, she said, “I will be right back with the items you requested.”

Taking a seat by the low fire, I spoke in a flat voice as if already bored with my own idea. “Please have Cook prepare a tray for me up here. I intend to spend all afternoon finishing the dolls.”

“Very well, my lady.”

Keeping an ear out for any servants entering, I carefully began to cut the extra flounces, trim, and embellishments off the darkest dress I could find in the wardrobe. It would be better if I turned the underskirt into a pair of loose-fitting pants for better mobility but I didn’t think I had the time. The best I could do was lighten the weight of the dress by removing any extra fabric and tearing out the whalebone corseting that lined the bodice to give it extra structure. A few times Parker came in to look in on me, but each time I was sure to have some semblance of a rag doll on my lap by the time she entered.

I was able to take some of the extra fabric and sew a few extra pockets in the lining. I’m sure Cook thought it strange when I rang down for more tea sandwiches and scones but none of the servants dared question me. I carefully wrapped them in linen and secreted the food away in the inner pockets. I had no idea where I was other than judging by the trees and foliage outside my window it looked to be somewhere in the English countryside. The landscaping lacked the desolate roughness of the highland hills so I hoped I was more south, perhaps close to Wales and only a few hours from London. Either way there was no telling how long I would be wandering out in the woods till I found help. I would need all the supplies I could muster.

Going into the water closet, I emptied out a bottle of perfumed oil for the bath and rinsed it carefully with the water in the pitcher by my bed before refilling it and placing that in the other pocket I had created inside the skirt.

Just as I was wondering how I was going to face Richard before I managed to escape, I heard the rattle of carriage wheels just below my bedroom window. Carefully pulling the curtains aside, I watched as Richard appeared wearing a top hat with an expensive-looking drape coat. As he grabbed the edge of the carriage door to propel himself inside, he paused and looked up at the house. Although I was only peeking through the thin gauze of the curtain, I felt certain his eyes pierced straight to mine.

I held my breath. For the barest of moments, I thought it was possible he had somehow guessed my plan and would at any second turn back around and come charging back into the house in search of me. It was ludicrous of course, but after all that I had been through I was sure I could be forgiven for thinking this man possessed borderline supernatural powers.

How else could I explain his power over my body and almost over my mind?

An eternity later, he turned and entered the carriage. I didn’t breathe again till I saw it swallowed by the low-hanging willow branches far down the lane and the misty fog that had begun to roll in with the dusk.

After pleading a headache to Parker, I asked her to stoke the fire and then leave me alone for the rest of the night.

Putting on my altered dress, I climbed into bed and pulled the covers up high, knowing that Parker would probably check on me at least once. Listening to the tick of the mantel clock, I tried to count the minutes and hours till finally the door creaked open. There was a hazy shaft of flickering light from the stub of a candle she held. Careful not to oversell it, I let out a soft, rattling snore. It must have satisfied her because I watched from under my eyelashes as the door closed shut.

Still I waited.

With Richard not at home for dinner, I was counting on the majority of the servants being below stairs in their quarters. At least that was what happened on Downton Abbey, so I hoped it was true.

Rising from my bed, I crept across the room and listened at the door for any sound of talking or the slide of a footfall. All was quiet.

Carefully turning the knob, I crept into the hall. Keeping to the shadows, I edged my way down and to the staircase. Taking one step at a time, I listened intently for any sound of an approach. My hands felt clammy as I gripped the smooth wood of the banister. With each step it felt as though my knees were locking up in fear. Still, I willed myself to keep moving. Not knowing the house well enough, I really had no choice but to boldly go right out the front door. I couldn’t risk searching for a back door since the back of the house was where the servants would most likely be. As I neared the second landing, my heart dropped. Peering over the railing I could see a single footman keeping watch by the door. Probably waiting for Richard’s return.

Trying to quell my rapidly beating heart, I focused on the problem at hand. While I was fairly certain this whole thing was an elaborate ruse on Richard’s part and there was no reality show or cameras, I couldn’t be absolutely certain there weren’t at least some hidden cameras monitoring the entrances. If I did anything it would have to be quick and daring.

Edging along the wall, I reached out for a small Staffordshire figurine of a shepherdess with a sheep that was perched on a nearby decorative table. Raising it above my head, I flung it as hard as I could over the landing and down the hallway away from the front door.

It hit the hard marble foyer with a terrible shattering crash. The footman sprang to his feet and ran in the direction of the sound just as I flew down the stairs. Knowing he would only be distracted for the sparest of moments, I flung myself across the polished foyer floor and grasped the heavy brass handle of the door. Pushing it downward, I wrenched the door open. Just as I was about to step out into the cool, damp night air, I caught sight of two swinging carriage lanterns, no more than a hazy halo of light through the fog.

Richard was returning.

I was too late.

The carriage was being pulled by six large horses with such speed that I barely had a chance to close the door and duck into the nearby dimmed parlor before the footman came running back to his post.

Inching along the wall, I crept behind a high-backed upholstered chair and tried to calm my erratic breathing for fear it would certainly give me away.

The low flame in the fire grate across the room flickered as cold air rushed in with the opening of the front entrance.

“Good evening, Your Grace.”

“Evening, Thomas. I trust everything is quiet and secure?” asked Richard’s dark, even-toned voice. I could see the raised eyebrow expression he was so fond of in my mind’s eye as he spoke. He had a way of asking questions where you knew the only acceptable response was yes. No matter what had occurred between us, he never seemed to raise his voice or lose that calm control of his. It made me want to scream and scratch his eyes out. Maybe then I would break through his tightly leashed emotions.

I could hear the rustling of fabric and the shuffling of feet. Thomas was probably taking his coat and top hat.

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