And locked.
How many hours had she been trapped here? ’Twas a dungeon, and she the innocent hostage—only there was no one waiting outside the door to break her loose, unlock her chains, and carry her off to safety like the hero in all her books.
She’d paced from the sash window, to the neatly made trundle bed, to the mantle, to the bookshelf. The walls were closing in. Suffocating her. If she didn’t escape this room, she’d…what? What could she do?
Every part of her shivered. She went to the trundle bed, climbed onto the downy coverlet, and pulled her knees tight against her for lack of anything else to hold.Merrylad, Merrylad.If she crammed her eyes shut, she could see him. If she tried hard enough, she could hear his excited moans or feel his wet black nose or sense his contented smile.
And Captain.
She shook so hard the bed creaked, as if to voice her soundless sobs. Fear choked her. Too much fear. The woods, the woods…she was never supposed to leave the woods. By this time, he must be out of his head. Searching for her. Praying for her. Weeping for her, like she’d seen him do over that one strange page in his Bible.Why hasn’t he come, God?
The brass doorknob rattled.
Eliza sprang from the bed just before the creaking nursery door came open.
An older woman entered—clad in a blue dress, white fichu, and wrinkleless apron—with a key ring clasped in her veiny hand. “You must be Miss Gillingham.”
“No.” She held the woman’s daunting stare. “MissEllis.”
“Pardon?”
“I am Eliza Ellis…and should like to be called such.”
The woman’s smooth gray brows rose. “I see. May I see your left wrist?” When Eliza hesitated, the woman snapped her fingers. “Come, come. Your wrist, child.”
Moving one step closer, she held out her arm and winced when the woman snatched her hand and bent over it.
“The scar is from the day you played in the garden. A rose thorn pierced your skin, but you were senseless enough to hide it until the infection grew so grave the doctor had to cut it out.” She released Eliza’s hand. “I am Mrs. Eustace. Housekeeper. You may have changed greatly in your absence, but as I never pretended with you as a child, I see no point in doing so now. I will call you Miss Gillingham—not Miss Ellis. Understood?”
“I want to see Lord Gillingham.”
“Precisely why I have come for you. You will have dinner with him now, and though I regret presenting you in such attire, there is little choice until a wardrobe can be arranged.” The housekeeper’s lips formed a smug smile. “If you will follow me.”
No, she didn’t want to follow. Or see Lord Gillingham. Or stand face-to-face with a past she hadn’t known existed. What would she say to him?
Perhaps it didn’t matter, as long as she persuaded him to let her go.
She kept pace with the housekeeper’s fast footsteps as they hurried down the long hall, back down the stairs, and through several more rooms until they reached the dining room.
If she could have hidden herself in the blue folds of the housekeeper’s dress, she would have. She stood facing a long, rectangular table in a red room full of gilded-framed paintings.
All of them seemed to look at her, as if they were alive, as if they had eyes.
But only one pair blinked back.
Lord Gillingham rose at the head of the table, much taller indoors than he’d seemed outside. “Thank you, Mrs. Eustace. You may leave us now.”
The woman disappeared. The doors clicked shut.
Eliza wished to heaven there were trees she might climb and escape in.
“You must be hungry, Eliza.” His hand swept the lavishly spread table. “Won’t you sit?”
She remained standing.
He nodded, as if he’d expected as much. “A bedchamber is being prepared for you now. You always cared for pink, as did your mother, so I have requested new drapes and bedding.”
“I want to go home.”
