Page 17 of The Recluse and the Runaway

“It’s too cold for spiders, stupid,” Clorinda said, “and in any case they rarely bite.”

“This room is dirty and freezing cold, completely unbefitting guests of quality. I refuse to stay here!” Mrs. Walmsley headed for the door.

Sir Rupert got in her way. “It’s better than what you deserve, and if my Nell comes to harm, I shall see that your names are blackened from London to Scotland and back. Come, Mrs. O.”

He slammed the door and turned the key in the lock. Pauletta shrieked and wailed, and Mrs. Walmsley banged on the door, shouting with fury.

“Oh, dear,” Mrs. O said again. “I don’t think Miss Nell would approve.”

Sir Rupert was already hastening downstairs. Mrs. Overton sent up a prayer for his success, as he strode away to search once more.

~ ~ ~

Nell woke to the sound of wailing—familiar wailing, as Pauletta was wont to make a fuss about anything that upset her in the slightest.

Next came Stepmother’s voice, crying, “Let us out, you heathen!” followed by the sound of fists pounding on a door. “You vicious brute! I wouldn’t let my daughters wed you if you were the last man on earth.”

Good heavens! Nell thought. They must be in the room next to this. Had Sir Rupert locked them in?

How very unlike him. He must be thoroughly enraged—and at them, not at her!

“Yes, you would,” Clorinda snapped. “He’s rich, so what do you care if he’s horrid? Your schemes have come to nothing—and it’s plain to see that you’ve lost your chance with Sir Nathaniel, too, if you ever had one, which I doubt.”

“What are we going to do?” Pauletta said.

“Nothing,” Stepmother said. “Sir Rupert is a lunatic, but he’ll let us out in the morning.”

“How do you know? Maybe we’ll die in here!” Pauletta shrieked.

“Don’t be absurd. He doesn’t want to kill us,” said Clorinda, but she didn’t sound too sure.

“Sir Nathaniel won’t leave without us,” Stepmother said, but she didn’t sound sure, either.

Next came a fit of sneezing, and Pauletta moaned. “It’s so cold in here, and frightfully dusty. Oh, no, the candle went out! And the other one is guttering! It will be so dark!”

“Get into the bed, both of you, and close your eyes,” Stepmother said. “Then it won’t matter how dark it is.”

“Get into that tattered, horrid thing?” Clorinda retorted. “It’s probably full of rat droppings!”

“And rats!” Pauletta burst into noisy sobs.

Oh, drat, thought Nell, and stood up. She felt bleary and wretched, but so what? She was used to that, and it wasn’t so bad. One simply did what one could and carried on.

She fished in her sleeve for a handkerchief and blew her nose gently so they wouldn’t hear her. She must look a fright. She was covered in dust, but apart from the damage to her poor, lovely dress, she didn’t much care. She was used to dust, thanks to years of cleaning the ashes from hearth and stove. Punishment, Stepmother had said, for being so unladylike as to enjoy kitchen work.

Far worse, Nell had cried herself to sleep, something she hadn’t done in years, for what was the use? It didn’t help. It resulted in red, swollen eyes and horrid taunts.

Would Sir Rupert taunt her? No, he was too polite and kind, but he would be angry with her for not trusting him. She’d kept her promise, though, by staying at Wonderly Manor rather than fleeing into the night. She’d at least believed that he might save her.

He might also be angry at what she proposed to do now, but she couldn’t let that stop her.

She hitched her skirts up properly this time, tied the shawl around her neck once again, and prepared to do what she believed was right.

~ ~ ~

“I suppose you know where she is,” Rupert snarled at Fairy. The little dog had planted her furry little bum on the garden path and was nonchalantly scratching her ear. “After all, you were the one who found her for me in the first place.”

Fairy ignored him and scratched her belly.