Page 28 of The Curious Story of the Missing Lady
Madeline sucked at a sob. “Yes, My Lady.”
Garret left the room, throwing a glance at Madeline. He hung his head low.
“And you are to make sure you get your rest. Tomorrow, you start work as my maid. Understood?”
Madeline’s heart sank further as if it were capable of being made lower. “Yes, My Lady,” she said weakly.
“And listen very clearly, wretch. Should any idea of escape make its way into that tiny head of yours, I assure you, not only will you suffer thefullextent of my wrath, but your family will also suffer most terribly. And it will all be the result of your actions and your actions alone. You, only you, my dear, hold the decision whether or not your family is spared a most awful fate. Do you understand?”
“Yes, My Lady,” said Madeline, fighting back tears.
“I don’t believe you.”
“I will, My Lady, that is, Ipromise.”
“Look at me, wretch.” Lady Elizabeth narrowed her eyes at her. “You will need to prove it to me. Now, to bed. Follow me.”
She brought Madeline down the stairs and into a small, sparsely furnished bedroom. The house was not as big as she’d thought, nor was this room decorated in a manner much fancier than her own attic cell. An oak wardrobe stood regally in the corner of the room. Elizabeth walked her to it, opened the door – which had a key sticking out of it, and held it. An assortment of dresses and skirts, all black, hung down onto a sort of bench at the bottom that opened on a hinge.
“You’ll sleep on that,” she said, pointing to the bench.
Lady Madeline paused at the door. “I’m ...”
“You’re what? Afraid? I’ve been afraid too in my life. You don’t know fear. I sleep in this room. Nothing will happen to you. But you must learn to respect me, child.”
“Yes, My Lady,” said Madeline, climbing into the wardrobe.
The doors shut, and she heard the snap of the lock. At that sound, she began to weep afresh. The dresses smelled of rose water. She closed her eyes and imagined herself traipsing through the gardens at Aspendale, inhaling its loveliness, and was lured quickly – thankfully – into a deep sleep.
Chapter 20
This is a mere exercise in futility. She is long gone.
Lord Oliver quickly chased the thought away as he spurred his horse on, moving more speedily than ever throughout the countryside.
He tried to think wherehewould go if he were to hide a maiden away. He dared not think for what purpose. Once again, the battle in his mind was a losing one for his conscience, and he spurred his horse ever faster.
He’d assembled a team of four men, friends all, and all expert horsemen. They’d started off towards the north, where Lord Stamford had seen his daughter bound for on that terrible day. A mile into their trek, as per Oliver’s plan, they split like the spokes of a fan.
Look for anything, he’d told them. A hut, a hole, a shed, anything that might house even a single person.
Twilight had fallen. The last of the sun-bruised sky faded to dull grey striated with shadows. He should be getting back There was no use hunting the dark.
No, he had to continue. To the Devil with the dark. Black spirits frolicked in the night as it were, and those who held his Madeline were indeed the blackest.
All he stood to lose flashed before his eyes as he rode, panting, praying.
Don’t let her die ...
These same words, spoken by an eight-year-old Oliver Hartwell as his mother lay abed, stricken with consumption. It had been his first encounter with human mortality. Day upon day he visited her, watching the disease take her a little bit more as if making return trips because she was too much to carry off at once. Helplessness ravaged him as he knelt by her bed and pleaded with the Almighty Father to save her ... save her.
Save her.
The horse had slowed to a trot. When had he stopped spurring? Presently, it stopped altogether.
Oliver dismounted and looked around. It was a beautiful vale, one he would love to explore were his heart lighter. Now it was just miles of dead ground. He fell to his knees, panting. There were no tears, only wracks of breath coloured by voice.
I won’t let her die. Not again.
