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“Well, he did not stay put, did he?” Lady Lydia spat. “And I do not think he accepted my story. Thanks to you I’ll likely have the magistrate on my doorstep by morn. Then I shall have to fire the lot of you for your offenses and then where will I be?”
It was then that Marilee realized that Lady Lydia was fully apprised of the situation in her house, fully apprised and supportive. She was even willing to throw all of them to their ruin to preserve her own name and would not hesitate to do so if the time came. No one would believe a load of servants over a noble lady. Not when Mrs. Cavendish and Mr. Smyth would parrot every word, she told them to save their own skins.
Why could the man not leave well enough alone? Of course, Marilee wanted the atrocities of this place to be outed, but not like this. If Mr. Crowley brought any attention to this house, Marilee was dead. Peggy and all the other maids would be dead. Miss Caroline would be dead. She needed a plan, but first she needed to find out where Miss Caroline was so that she could ensure her safety. This explosion in the Blackwell household would only succeed in doing a world of harm.
“Get her out of my sight,” Lady Lydia spat.
“Of course, my lady,” Mrs. Cavendish replied. “I’ll have Robert pick her up and take her to the birds.”
Marilee felt an icy chill wash over her. The birds? That could only mean one of two things and neither boded well for her safety. The first thought was that Marilee had was that she would be killed and left to be pecked to pieces by the carrion. The second was that she meant the brothel, the rookery. Neither option sat well.
Lady Lydia fingered her fine tresses and indicated for Mrs. Cavendish to pause where she had reached for Marilee’s arm.
“No,” she grinned. “Teach her a lesson, but do not go so far as to get rid of her. I still have need of her services. That is, if you can learn to be good and take care of me as you ought.” Lady Lydia grabbed Marilee’s face and squeezed her cheeks. “Do you understand?”
If she could obey Lady Lydia’s every demand, Marilee corrected in her mind. The thought galled her, and she was sure her anger showed in her eyes, but she nodded with her cheeks still squeezed in Lady Lydia’s hand. She looked at the floor in a subservient manner when the lady released her, shoving her away.
“Yes. Of course, my lady,” she replied with a dip of her head.
“Good. No more mistakes,” Lady Lydia said from over her shoulder. “The rest of you, quit gawking!” The other servants, Peggy reluctantly included, scrambled to their tasks. “I shall have no need of her for a day or two, Mrs. Cavendish. I shall get this mess sorted, and then perhaps do some visiting in the country.” The last brought sheer terror to Marilee’s heart.
Of course, the witch would distance herself from the house on the chance that Mr. Crowley brought the law down upon them. He was, after all, by the very nature of his position as a solicitor deeply ingrained in the law. Still, what could she have meant for the housekeeper to take from the words? Was Lady Lydia advocating for a punishment that would put Marilee out of commission for a few days? Good Gawd what kind of woman was she? Marilee barely had time to consider what the lady had meant when she was firmly thrown over the shoulder of one of the burly footmen and carried down the stairs.
* * *
Marilee had never receiveda lashing before and the only thing that she could hope was to never receive one again. Peggy had slept with her in the washing room rather than in the crowded dormitory where the others would be subject to Marilee’s constant cries of agony.
Seven lashes had seemed an eternity in the making, but the afterward was worse. Every shift of her body opened the wounds afresh and despite Peggy’s constant dabbing, the wounds continued to weep. There was no possibility of sleep. Every way she laid put pressure on her wounds.
By morning they wrapped her torso in thick bandages so that she might head upstairs to dress Lady Lydia one last time before she went away.
Lady Lydia seemed overly pleased with Marilee’s demure silence. The truth was that it was all Marilee could do not to gasp and groan with every move she made, but Lady Lydia took her silent care as a lesson well learned.
A knock on the door brought a letter which Lady Lydia read with rabid eyes. She devoured the words, her grin growing inch by terrible inch.
“So, there is some good news at last. The bastard is dead,” Lady Lydia cheered as she secured a necklace about her throat. She threw the letter down on her dressing table and exited the room without even thanking Marilee for making her look so fine this morn. Not that Lady Lydia did not always paint an attractive picture, but this morning Marilee had really outdone herself by choosing a blue gown that matched the lady’s piercing eyes.
Marilee heard her call for the carriage and declare a visit must be made tosee Ed and offer her condolences.The statement was followed by a joyous laugh.
Marilee sighed and sank down into Lady Lydia’s chair. Her legs had been shaking for the last hour as she had attempted to overcome the waves of pain that had wracked her slight form. She just needed to rest for a moment, she told herself. Then, she could go below and lay herself back down on the pile of bedding while Peggy watched over her.
She could not help it. The letter had just been sitting there waiting to be read. She did not dare touch it, move it, but she could see at least half of the contents just fine if she leaned over the pages.
What she found there shocked her, saddened her, and in some ways pleased her.
The announcement of the Duke of Manchester’s death had hit London full force and Lady Lydia had received a letter from one of her friends detailing his terrible demise when the carriage was attacked by highwaymen. Of course, Marilee could not celebrate such a sad end, but she had known already that the death had occurred and could at least be happy that the news had broken.
This must mean that the ransom would be made, and she and Miss Caroline would be set free. She could almost taste her freedom. She could almost revel in the fact that she would return to free Peggy and the others as soon as her harrowing tale could be told. But the taste of blood in her mouth was more prevalent.
She had bitten her cheek again in an attempt to stymie the gasp of pain that that threatened to break forth as she had stood from her resting place. She felt she was so very close to freedom she should be rejoicing, and yet, all she could feel was the desire to lay in bed and wait for rescue. But she was afraid if she lay down, she may never get up again. She was so eternally exhausted.
* * *
The fever struck justafter midday. The room was always hot, but Marilee felt chilled all over and Peggy gave up on the wash to fret over her friend. Marilee begged her to do her work and not risk punishment, but the laundress was overcome with worry.
“I’m calling for a doctor,” Peggy said when it was clear her own care was not enough to keep the wounds clean.
“And how do you expect to do that?” Marilee laughed wryly. “Mrs. Cavendish would not dare.”
