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“Blood money,” she whispered to the empty room. This was how Lady Lydia was paying off her debts. Still, Marilee could not determine exactly where they had come from. They were unmarked save for a stamp of three sparrows in the place of a signature. Again, Marilee made a note for the solicitor.
When Marilee moved to place the contents back into the box, she realized that the lining at the bottom of the panel was curled in one corner. Some instinct told her to pull back the liner, and she was shocked to find one last piece of paper tucked beneath.
On the page was a list of names, no less than fifty in number, all female and all with numbers written beside them. Their value in sale, she realized with a lurch of her stomach. It was a good thing that she had skipped the midday meal else she would have retched.
Marilee had nearly finished copying the first column when she heard a laugh in the hall. She ducked down beside the bed and held her breath.
A moment later, the handle of the chamber door turned, and she knew that she would be caught.
Mrs. Cavendish was speaking to someone in the hall and she, as usual, did not sound pleased.
“Tell Penny that if his Lordship does not have his dinner in the next hour, then she won’t see an evening meal for herself for the rest of the week,” the housekeeper snarled as she stepped into the room. Her footsteps could be heard as she moved toward the partition behind which Lady Lydia would dress. The sound of rustling clothing and a grunt as Mrs. Cavendish tossed the items into the arms of a nearby maid had Marilee in a panic. Only a few more steps and she would be able to catch Marilee about her havey-cavey business.
Marilee threw herself on her stomach beside the bed and, inch by ever-loving inch, she squeezed herself into the darkened crevasse beneath the bed. She rubbed her nose. It was none too clean under the bed, with dust bunnies galore. She stifled a sneeze, by squeezing her nose shut with her thumb and forefinger. Her heart was beating so fast that she felt it must give out. Each step of the housekeeper upon the floor boards she was certain would mean her last breath.
“No! Bring the linens you lout,” Mrs. Cavendish ordered. “Thenyou can take the garments to wash. I’ll not change this bed myself. I will show youoncehow milady likes it done, that is all. You will take it in mind and repeat it exactly as I say moving forward.”
“Yes, Ma’am,” the maid, a new one by Marilee’s estimation, replied with a quiver.
Marilee peered down past her feet where she could see Mrs. Cavendish’s shoes still standing by the partition. It was now or never. She had one shot to pull the chest beneath the bed or be beaten within an inch of her life, or worse. Marilee realized she could not have chosen a worse hiding place. If they were to make the bed, surely, they would see her, but she could not change her choice now.
With one slow breath, she reached out, lifted the small box, and pulled it to her chest. Slowly, with aching slowness, she set it down beside her head. Then, she forced herself to steady her breath so that she might not sneeze from the dust in which she was laying. She would be a sight to be sure if she got out of this alive. Surely, Mrs. Cavendish could hear the mad beating of her heart. She closed her eyes and stilled her breathing, praying for deliverance.
For the next several minutes, Mrs. Cavendish barked orders while the maid went about completing the task of stripping and remaking the bed. It wasn’t until they moved to the side on which Marilee had been hidden that she realized that the ribboned key still lay on the floor within sight of anyone who might look down. She felt a cold sweat break out across her forehead and between her breasts. Mrs. Cavendish had moved to the opposite side of the room but the maid had come around to Marilee’s side. The maid was wholly focused on her task, but she was sure to notice the bright ribbon if she glanced away from the bedding for even a moment.
“Tuck the corner tighter,” Mrs. Cavendish snarled. “I won’t have the edges falling lose when my Lady is sleeping. She’ll catch her death if her feet get cold.”
Marilee watched as one leg of the maid lifted from the ground and the other lifted to her toes. She was kneeling on the bed to get a better purchase.
“Not like that!” the housekeeper shouted.
Quick as an arrow, Marilee snaked her hand out and snagged the ribbon. Not a moment later, the maid’s foot came down right where her hand had been. Marilee shook as she clutched the key to her chest.
“You do not climb on the bed,” Mrs. Cavendish shouted in full rage. Her boots stomped toward the maid who was jerked from her feet, by her ear Marilee presumed, and dragged from the room with wailing cries and cursed scolding from the housekeeper.
Marilee allowed her head to fall back upon the dusty floor without a sound. For several minutes she lay there, certain that Mrs. Cavendish would reappear to finish the job herself. When it seemed she would not, and when Marilee could no longer hide away beneath the bed, she pried herself out from her hiding place and made a scribbling completion of the list. Her hands were shaking so that she could only hope that Nikolas would be able to decipher the scratching. She replaced the list beneath the liner, closed and locked the box, and slid it back from whence it had come. Marilee stepped behind the partition to dust herself off, check her hair and body for dust in the standing mirror, and replaced the key upon its hook in the cabinet.
She was certain that the door would fling open any moment to reveal her standing there in all her criminal nature. But it did not. She swept the last of the pins from the dressing table into their box and glanced about to ensure that everything was as it should be, except for the rumpled bedding. Then, with her paper and pencil in her pocket, she peaked into the corridor. It was empty. With her head held high, she stepped into the hall with all the feigned confidence of a queen. Or, at the very least, one seasoned in stealth and not the quivering mess of nerves that was her reality. She felt quite nauseous. Breathe, she told herself. She did, and then she sneezed quite ferociously.
She had reachedthe end of the corridor and was merely one step away from slipping down the servant stair when a deep chuckle sounded from behind her. She turned to see the loathsome Lord Edward crest the top of the main stair. Something about his perfect hair, perfect teeth, and immaculate attire had always set her on edge. Like a wolf in sheep’s clothing. He was far too pristine to be as good on the inside as appearance were meant to imply.
“Here we are,” he slurred. Marilee wrinkled her nose as he stumbled towards her. It was far too early in the day for him to have been so well into his drink.
“The lady is out,” she explained. “A musicale. Perhaps you might still catch her.” She tried for the door at the top of the servants’ stairs, but Lord Edward blocked her way. He chuckled. “I find myself in no rush. Do you?”
“Yes,” she released a rush of breath. She did not care for the predatory look in his eye. “I am needed below.”
“I think not,” he laughed again, stepping closer until they were toe to toe, and Marilee felt the urge to back away, except she was met by the wall against her back.
“If you’ll excuse me…” she turned, but his arm shot out and prevented her from making her escape. The other settled upon her waist and Marilee looked up at him with unbridled loathing.
“Oh!” he grinned. “Full of vigor and not even going to pretend? My favorite type.”
Marilee tried to wrest herself away but his hold was firm. She cried out. Punishment be damned but she would not allow this cretin to take advantage.
“Hush you trollop,” he slammed a hand down over her mouth. “You exist for my entertainment, and I’ll not tolerate your shouting.”
Without hesitation Marilee sank her teeth into the flesh of his hand. Lord Edward bellowed and Marilee cried for help once more. Despite the attack, he still held her in place by shoving his body against her and pushing her against the door jamb as he inspected his hand for injury. Then he slapped her with the same hand. Her head jerked back smashing into the door jamb.
