Page 31 of Kept 3
Waking, I lay for a while, watching the dappled sunlight from the wall-length windows play across the pretty fabric of my bed, making the cherubs look as though they are dancing through the flowers. I smile, but then grimace as I remember the night before.
How am I going to face him?
Groaning, I rise, shower, and dress in the least fancy black gown I can find. A short-sleeved floor-length number with a sweetheart neckline, and prepare to head down to the kitchens for my lesson with Monsieur Contell. But as I exit my room, I see a note pinned to the outside of my door.
My Josephine,
I apologise for my inexcusable behaviour last night. It will not happen again.
Enjoy the sunshine.
Yours,
Nicholas.
I frown and re-read the note. Part of me is high-fiving myself over the fact that I’ve succeeded in gaining access to the grounds and can finally meet James. The other part of me, the dark and painfully growing part, is unhappy that I won’t feel his body on mine again. If I’m honest, it was incredible, I wanted him, and I’m angry that we didn’t finish what we started.
“Get a grip, girl,” I whisper, “and get the hell out of here before you let him suck you.”
I grimace at my double entendre and shake my head, returning to my room to load my recipe books into my makeshift backpack and hack up another ball dress, long sleeve, because it is cold out. I take nothing else. If I’m leaving today, I want to ensure I travel light.
I nod to the gamekeeper as I make my way across the front lawn, and slow down, grimacing, as he and his stupid dog approach.
“Hello, Ms Bailey,” he smiles, “are you feeling better?”
“You mean, am I still brain-damaged?” I sneer, watching him wince at the venom in my tone and instantly feeling gratified.
“Well, have a nice day,” he nods his head and turns to go.
“Wait.”
He spins back, his face wary.
“Have you been told to shoot me if I try to leave?” I motion to the ever-present gun hanging from his shoulder, its long timber handle shiny from obvious use.
“His lordship would never ask anything like that,” he says gently, frowning at me and, I’m sure, thinking I’m obviously still tapped.
“So, what are his orders if I run?”
“Bring you home,” he shrugs.
“Would you shoot me if he asked?”
He pauses, considering the question quite seriously.
“Well, that would depend,” he says, eventually.
I nod. The staff here, and even the villagers, to an extent, are obedient and obsequious to this ruling family. It was something to bear in mind and to remind James of when we escape; we have to be careful who we trust.
“Thank you for your honesty,” I shake my head and snort, “you have a great day too.”
He nods again and turns away, and I continue my hike to Constance’s house, which I anticipate should take about 40 minutes if take the quick way through the wooded path.
Pushing open the door to Constance’s former home, which strangely opens easily, as though it is regularly used despite the building’s abandonment, I peer inside the small manor, looking down a short, straight corridor, and call his name.
“James?”
Not hearing a response, I enter gingerly and walk down the hall, the floorboards creaking with every step, and peer left into what I can only assume was once a small parlour. The thought comes to me, as I look at the bare walls and the crumbling fireplace that this was where Constance’s body was laid out. A wave of sadness sweeps over me for Nicholas and his loss, as I picture him on his knees beside her, sobbing. But hearing a creak of a floorboard behind me, my empathy is replaced by fear as a knot forms in my throat and I spin to see James behind me, just closing the front door.
