She looked at him a moment longer. Then her face crumpled, and she put her hands over it.
“Oh Lord,” Zeb said. “Uh, would you like to sit down?” He grabbed the chair and put it under her, then retreated to the other side of the room, away from the door, so she had a clear path out.
The maid sobbed silently, shoulders heaving. Zeb put hishands behind his back and leaned on them, rather than give in to the urge to offer a consoling touch. “I’m sorry for upsetting you. Is there anything I can do? If you just want to cry in here for a little while, feel free. I can go away.” He cursed himself internally. Elise’s remark about Bram pawing the maids had been sitting uncomfortably in his mind, and he’d blurted the thought out, and now look what he’d done. “Or I really will do my best to help if I can.”
“Can I trust you?” she said into her hands. “In confidence?”
“Yes.”
“Do you promise?”
Zeb couldn’t help his jaw tightening. He said, “I will keep any confidence unless there is a true and urgent need to reveal it. I won’t take it lightly, I swear.”
She was silent for what felt like a very long time, then she spoke deliberately. “It was Mr. Bram, sir. He made…advances on me. He insisted. I couldn’t—he would not let me refuse. I did refuse. He didn’t stop.”
Zeb couldn’t reply for a second. He would have liked to deny it, to say his brother couldn’t possibly have done such a thing, but he knew very well that men did. His stomach was clenched hard.
“I’m very, very sorry to hear you say so,” he managed. “Are you hurt?”
“No. No, I—” She gave a sudden, ugly, heaving sob.
Zeb fished out his handkerchief but a quick glance showed it was unacceptable. “Would you like a handkerchief? Er, I willhave to walk by you to get a clean one.”
She hesitated, then nodded without looking up. Zeb skirted her as widely as he could, grabbed his last clean handkerchief, and offered it with the longest possible arm. She took it and applied it to her face. “I beg your pardon, sir,” she said, muffled. “You’re very kind.”
“Take your time.”
She sniffled a bit, then looked up, face red and eyes wet. “Thank you, sir,” she said softly.
“I’m so sorry. Can I do anything? If you want me to speak to anyone—”
“No! Don’t say anything, to him or anyone. I don’t want to lose my post, or my good name. I don’t want Mr. Bram to know I told.”
Zeb wished he could say,Of course you will not be blamed or dismissed, and knew perfectly well he couldn’t; even in a normal household, that would not be a given. He wanted to do something and had no idea what it should be. The helplessness was enraging. “I won’t do anything to risk your post without your permission. But at least you ought not have to go anywhere near him.”
“I have seen to that.” She dabbed at her eyes, recovering her composure. “I beg your pardon, sir, but there is nothing to be done, or at least, nothing for you to do. I told you so you know what kind of man your brother is. That’s all I wanted. Thank you for the handkerchief.” She rose.
“Wait,” Zeb said. “I’m sorry, Miss—what’s your name?”
“Rachel, sir.”
“Miss Rachel. Is there a woman here? I mean, do you have someone you can talk to?”
She hesitated. “Do you think I should tell Mrs. Bram? Would she help me?”
Rather them than merang in his ears. “I…don’t know,” he said. “I’m not sure I’d risk it.”
Her shoulders sagged. Zeb cursed his family, again, and his own uselessness. “Look, I won’t do or say anything unless you want me to. But if you think there’s any way at all I can help, please tell me, and I’ll do what I can. And, for what it’s worth, I am truly, deeply sorry.”
She met his eyes, examining his face in a long, silent look. “Yes,” she said at last. “I think you are.”
***
Zeb could do nothing after that but pace restively around the room. There was no sign of Gideon, and he kept thinking about Rachel’s wretched tears, Elise’s cold facade breaking with that smile, Jessamine-who-might-not-be-Jessamine. And of course, Colonel Dash, even now trapped in a dusty room, banging on the door, thirsty, panicking, unheard. The feeling that gave him—claustrophobic, confined, constrained—made him want to kick off his own skin.
He tried to tell himself that they had no idea what had really happened to Dash. It did no good. Once the thought had come, itwouldn’t leave him, and he ended up prowling the house again, ears straining for cries for help.
He heard nothing. He saw nobody. His footsteps echoed flatly, the mist lay thick around the house, and it felt like the end of the world.
