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“The publication of the duke’s death said as much,” the hostile mistress growled. “The baron is even rumored to be in town looking for his daughter whose body, as you well know, was not found with her husband. Presumed escaped and possibly with child surely complicates any offer of ransom that might have been made.”
“So you haven’t presented the offer?” Marilee asked with feigned disinterest. In her mind she was cursing. No one would even begin to know where to look without the ransom demand. Disappeared ladies did not often appear as unwilling servants amongst theTon.
Madame Mildred did not bother to answer. “Is she, or is she not, with child?” she pressed.
“Why should it matter to you?” Marilee argued though she knew well enough that Miss Caroline had remained an innocent. “A ransom is a ransom. What does her title or condition change as long as she is alive?” Marilee hoped for confirmation of that fact.
“Cease your querying and answer me at once!” The woman was becoming more and more agitated with each delay in Marilee’s answer. Yet, Marilee refused to give any information that might lead to Miss Caroline’s harm. She wondered if she ought to lie? Was the woman now thinking to dispose of Miss Caroline, and perhaps Marilee, now that their disappearance had been made public knowledge? Perhaps if Miss Caroline were thought to be with child, then she would not be harmed.
No, Marilee thought. That did not bring one and one to two. Why then might Madam Mildred care about Miss Caroline’s condition?
“What does it matter?” Marilee groaned as she received yet another blow. She felt blood drip from her brow down across one eye but still refused to give up information that might be used against Miss Caroline. She had become hardened these past weeks and would not cower before the wench. “Why would you care?”
“I care whether or not she is carrying that demon’s spawn,” came the reply. “Isn’t it just like the man to always have the last word? He never could leave well enough alone, even when it all ought to be in hand. First, he decided to marry in secret a young thing more than half his age and in excellent childbearing form. Then, that boy of his just had to come back from the sea.” Her eyes rolled toward the mossy ceiling. “I’d wager my best girl that ‘ol duke is laughing in his grave.”
“Are you referring to Lady Lydia’s betrothed?” Marilee wondered aloud about whichboymight have come back from the sea. Thatboywas surely a man, and one which now held the right to the title and holdings as the Duke of Manchester. She flinched, preparing for the pain that came every time she spoke but this time it did not. She had not offended, and it appeared that she had been correct. Like a flame flickering to life, the truth of the situation became illuminated in Marilee’s mind. The eldest son of the duke, thought to be dead, had returned. The duke, accosted on the road, had also met his end. Leaving only Lord Edward, with Lady Lydia at his side, to secure the title for himself. Another heir would potentially complicate things. Marilee’s stomach rolled as she began to put the pieces together and decide what tale was best to tell. She decided upon the truth.
“The duke was hunted,” she croaked. “The carriage was diverted and attacked with malice, with intention.” Her mouth fell open as more and more became clear. “He was meant to be travelling alone, with none left to witness.”
The woman nodded, and Marilee paused in her story. Would she and Miss Caroline have to forfeit their lives so that Lady Lydia could claim a silly title that Miss Caroline had never even wanted? This was absurd.
Madame Mildred laughed a deep and husky boom. “A bit slow on the uptake, aren’t you?” she nodded. “Yes, your presence was certainly a complication, particularly now that we know your companion was more than a mere guest in the journey. Miss Caroline, the duchess, must not be brought back into society, nor you my little bird. My lady will not allow any other than she to hold that title, and she has waited long enough by far.” Of course, Marilee groaned. Even if Lady Lydia were to marry one of the remaining sons, Miss Caroline would still be the Dowager and therefore hold significant power. Lady Lydia would not share power. She would want it all to herself, no exceptions.
“She’s not with child!” Marilee shouted. “The marriage can be claimed invalid. She does not wish to be the duchess.”
“Not likely,” Madame Mildred scoffed. “It has been announced and documentation brought forth. It cannot be undone.”
“It was never consummated,” Marilee pleaded. All of her fear and feeling surged forth and her voice broke as she begged for their lives. She knew without any doubt that Miss Caroline would agree with each word. “I can swear to it and it is true. Miss Caroline is still an innocent. He never laid a hand on her. You can do much better to still earn the ransom money and we will not speak a word. She has no claim to the title, none at all. I swear it. Please…” she sobbed.
Madame Mildred stopped her pacing and turned upon Marilee with a sly grin. “Now that is a useful piece of information.”
* * *
If Marilee had thoughtthat the sound lashing had been painful, this was worse in a much different manner. She was now both physically and mentally defeated. Fear for Miss Caroline, the unknown future, and worry that perhaps her testimony would do more harm than good all led the Marilee descending into a pit of despair. When she had been delivered back to Blackwell house the following morning her eyes were blackened and swollen shut, her lips cracked and bleeding, and she was fairly certain that both a bone at her collar and a ribcage had been broken over the course of Madame Mildred’s punishments.
It hurt to eat. It hurt to breathe. It even seemed to hurt to think. Not that she wanted to think. Her mind kept going over and over every single word that had been exchanged, every minute change in the tone of her captor, searching and analyzing in an attempt to deduce the impossible; had her admissions been their salvation or their doom?
“I’ll find a way to contact Nikolas,” Peggy had hissed as she had sponged away what she could from the mess that was Marilee.
“No! You will not dare it,” Marilee had hissed through her teeth. “There is nothing here that will not pass with time and I will not have him brought into this house to meet his death.”
“He ought to know,” Peggy argued. “He would want to know.”
But Marilee shook her head. Peggy pleaded that his ministrations would speed her healing and ease her discomfort, but Marilee would not hear of it. Nick was on the run, or so she had prayed. She would not draw him back into the den of the wolves on her behalf. That is, if he would even care about her wellbeing. A small part in the recesses of her heart hoped that he still cared. That small portion feared what his caring might mean. That if he refused to give up the fight, if only on principle of helping Peggy and the others, then he would bring about his own demise. A larger portion, however, argued that she had burned him too well. That he would forever think of her only with hatred and betrayal. That even with all the goodness that he possessed, he would not wish to look upon her or Blackwell house ever again.
Peggy would not hear of it. Of course, she would always cling to the promise that Nikolas had made her, his search for her son. Marilee knew that he would have stayed true to his word to place the duty upon his kindly brother. So, she ensured that she gave Peggy clear instructions on how to meet the man if she ever escaped.
“You will be with me!” Peggy cried.
Marilee shook her head. She was so very tired. She couldn’t continue this fight. It was too much. If Peggy could find the doctor, whether or not any of the others survived, then he would help her find her son. This was the only hope that Marilee would permit herself. This was the only glimmer of light that she might allow to flicker in the darkness of her heart.
* * *
Unhappily,Marilee did not go to her just rewards. She healed, at least in body. Marilee spent her time drifting about the house like a wraith as she completed her duties in silence. Peggy did her best to comfort her, but Marilee was lost. The only time she would speak was after one of the many victorious smirks that were bestowed upon her by Lady Lydia or the head housekeeper.
In such moments, she would rush back to the laundry before they could witness her tears. Then she would gibber without breath about her fears that Miss Caroline was dead and it must be her fault. She ought not have admitted to their identities. She ought to have spun a better tale, thought better upon her feet, not given into her fear. Any number of excuses that Peggy tried, and failed, to soothe away.
It was the not knowing that ate at her most. Not knowing how her lady fared. Not knowing where the man she loved might be, how he fared, or if he might ever come to forgive her for her atrocities. It was the not knowing her future. If any hope of escape had disappeared the moment that she had poisoned Nikolas? If each new day brought about the likelihood that their captors would find the risk of their living too dangerous and decide to remedy their mistake with a swift hand? Saddest of all, Peggy would never again see the face of her little boy and hold him in her arms. That chance too had been dashed upon the rocks by Marilee’s actions.
