Page 20 of The Curious Story of the Missing Lady
She did now, as she licked her fingers.
It wasThe Castle of Otranto, a book she’d heard of but had never read. It was by that Mr Walpole that her father loved. At first, she was scornful of it, as she always had been – secretly – when it came to things that Papa approved of. But, as there was nothing else to occupy her, she picked it up.
Upon opening it, she discovered a small, handwritten note, scribbled in a script like a spider’s leg.
My Lady,
So far, you have conducted yourself in a manner befitting a woman of your stature. Apart from the unfortunate business with Mr Garret – who, I should add, was checking on your well-being with no other intentions – I have no doubt that you will continue to obey the rules of the house, as it were.
Please accept this book as reward for your behaviour. I’m sure I do not need to add that further examples of such behavior will yield like rewards.
-Lady Elizabeth.
The nerve of that awful woman! To treat her as some lowly animal that deserves a treat for not soiling the carpet! She picked up the book and flung it across the room in a fit of rage that had never taken hold of her before.
It felt grand, this rage of hers. She felt as though she could burn the house down with it. She wanted to. She wanted something to break.
She paced the room like a caged beast, anger numbing her limbs, the breath in her coming in sharp hacks from her lungs.
The plate that had held the food was metal. She picked it up and hurled it. It hit the far wall, making a harsh, clanging sound that pleased her. The cup was metal as well. She picked it up and hurled it at the plate, this time with a sound of fury coming from deep inside her.
With nothing else in the room that she could pin at the target for her rage, she flung herself on the cot face-down and beat it with her fist and kicked it.
She stopped only when she realised that she was weeping, and then gave free release to her sobs.
Chapter 14
Time crawled with her captivity. She tried to keep track of it with the passage of the sun, but the sun was standing still in the heavens, or at least seemed to.
She looked over at the book, which lay open and bent in the corner of the room. She picked it up. The note from Lady Elizabeth fell to her feet. She put her foot on it and ground it nastily into the floor like the hideous insect that it was. With the tip of her toe, she slid the note off into the corner, stuffed it there with a kick for good measure, and then retreated to her cot to begin reading.
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She finished by the time the light had waned. She’d been a fool to deny herself this one, simple pleasure.
Footsteps echoed on the other side of the door. She remembered her dream and shuddered, convincing herself that it was alright – there was no meadow beyond that door.
The bolt slid back, and Garret entered with another plate. He placed it on the table, and then looked around, perplexed. She watched him, and did so without awkwardness, for he disregarded her as if she were invisible. Finally, he caught sight of the cup and plate she’d hurled into the corner of the room. With barely a huff, he went and picked up the items, placing both under one arm.
As he was about to leave, Madeline’s courage, which had grown considerably since her explosion of rage earlier, asserted itself once more.
“Garret,” she said.
He stopped, and his head turned slowly towards her.
“That is your name, is it not?” she said.
“Aye,” he said.
She got up from her cot and approached him, book in hand. She extended it to him.
“I’d like another if you please.”
He turned to the book, then back to her, then back to the book, and finally took it from her.
Fear wetted her palms. She rubbed them against her dress.
“And,” she said, pausing to moisten her lips, “I’d like one that does not frighten me so as this one did.”
