Page 19 of The Rum and The Fox

There was a snort of disgust and she shrieked in horror as strong hands hauled her upright once more. Keziah fought to get free even though she knew it was futile. Her father was so much larger and stronger, and then he shook her, so hard her teeth rattled in her head and her brain spun as her stomach churned.

“Who is he?”

The words were harsh and loud, shouted in her ears so loud that the sound of it hurt, her senses reeling from the pain and fear.

“A … a solider,” she stammered. She was pushed then, forced back against the wall so hard her head banged against the wall with an audible crack. Keziah’s knees buckled and she fought the urge to be sick, her mind becoming slow and hazy.

“What’s his name?” he demanded.

Her brain ran in hopeless circles, panic freezing her ability to think.

“B-Bartholomew,” she said, clutching at a name she had seen over one of the shops in Bath. “He’s a captain.”

Keziah hauled in a breath, daring to look up at her father’s face to see if she could judge his reaction. She was certain her heart stopped, her body growing cold as she saw the look in his eyes. Was that the look her mother had seen before she’d died?

“I don’t believe you,” he said, each word precise and filled with malice. “But don’t you worry, my pretty daughter.” He stroked her hair with one large hand in a parody of affection that made Keziah shiver in earnest. “I mean to know exactly who the young man with the fancy curricle was and what you were doing with him. We’ll get to the truth, sooner or later.”

Keziah blanched as she realised she’d been seen. Thank God whoever it was hadn’t recognised the duke, but she knew her father’s tactics, and knew he was right to be confident. She would tell him in the end. There would be no choice.

She had to get out.

Keziah wasn’t sure what happened next, only that she came to on the cold floor, pain searing her head and her side and Molly’s screams filling her ears. Fighting her way back to consciousness, she looked up and felt terror fill her chest as she saw her father staring down at her and moving to pull her to her feet. But then he stumbled, shouting in pain as he clutched at his head, and Keziah saw the terrified figure of Molly standing behind him, her face white as the moon and clutching a heavy iron skillet in one hand.

She was frozen in terror, her expression one of abject horror as Keziah scrambled to her feet.

“Come on!” she shouted, pushing Molly towards the door and hearing the clatter of the pan as it fell to the floor. Keziah ran, dragging her terrified abigail behind her and forcing her protesting limbs to move faster as they raced for the door and out into the storm.

Rain lashed at her face, cold, stinging, and brutal and Keziah was glad for it as it woke her senses, forcing her mind through the fog of pain and injury as she tugged them on further and faster.

They ran from Abbey Green as the lightning split the darkness above, crazing the skies above like old china. Screaming in terror as thunder crashed a moment later, they ran out onto Barton Street, puffing as they forced their way up the hill towards Queen’s Square. The wind buffeted them, making it harder still as they had to fight against it as they ran.

Keziah dared a glance behind her on the square, but the streets were too sombre and the rain falling too hard to make out if there was anyone behind them. Instead she pushed on, shouting for Molly to keep up as the poor girl stumbled and almost fell, yelping in pain and clutching at her arm. Their feet slid on mud and cobbles, their heavy, wet skirts clinging to their legs and making their flight all the slower as they fought against the sodden material.

They saw The Circus up ahead and Keziah kept going, though her body protested, bruised as it was, and her mind seemed hazy as though it grew as dark as the skies overhead. But her fear was a bright light in the gloom and it guided them to the only place she could think to go. The stately buildings blurred around her as they ran, each one leading to the next in a fog of terror and hope.

Finally, Royal Crescent appeared, its grand proportions and elegant sweeping curve promising safety and refuge, if only the duke was at home to receive them. With anxiety clawing at her throat, she realised she’d lost her reticule in the struggle with her father, and with it the duke’s card demanding she be given shelter.

Nonetheless, they ran to the door of the elegant building he’d given as his and pounded on the door, looking behind them and shaking with terror. Molly clung to her hand, and Keziah could feel how hard the poor girl trembled and the way she cradled her free hand against her chest.

The grand door opened and a startled-looking butler gave them a look of utter revulsion and began to close it again, clearly not recognising her from their previous meeting. Keziah could hardly blame him, they were soaked to the bone, bloody and bruised, and likely wild-eyed with terror.

“No!” she screamed, pushing at the door to stop him. “I must see Ash!” The man started at the familiar use of the duke’s nickname and she corrected herself. “Lord Ashwicke instructed me to come here if I was in danger, and I am … Please, please,” she begged. “I am Lady Keziah Todd, Lord Todd’s daughter.”

Whether out of shock or because he was convinced by their words, as he still seemed not to know who she was, the man stepped back. Keziah, who had been braced against the closing door, fell into the imposing foyer, landing on her knees on the cold, marble floor.