Chapter One
Spring 1809
"Morbleu! Monseigneur, il y a une fille!”
Exhaustion weighted her eyes heavily so Emily had to force them open at the shocked exclamation from an anxious, wide-eyed little man. Evidently a Frenchman, from the way he spoke. It would appear that he had paused in the act of opening the lid of the carriage boot and was obviously surprised to find a bedraggled young woman curled up amongst the baggage. Emily tried to clear her confusion, her own eyes widening in shock as the events of the past evening tumbled around her sleepy mind.
Emily struggled to an upright position and cried out in pain as her legs developed the rushing sensation of pins and needles from her cramped position in the boot. She almost fell in her haste to be out of the cramped quarters but the high-strung Frenchman, apparently ever helpful despite his shock, quickly grasped her arm and assisted her to climb out with as much dignity as she could muster. Emily was almost able to be amused when the man’s sensitive feelings were seemingly further abraded by the state of her attire and he exclaimed in dismay over her dishevelled appearance. He was obviously a tailor or a highly positioned personal servant if his demeanour were anything to go by.
“I have had a very trying day, sir, pray control yourself,” Emily explained with quiet dignity as she gathered her scattered wits before raising her head to look around. The sight of the large but welcoming manor house spread out grandly before her view was surprisingly soothing to her. She had no idea where she had arrived, and she was struggling to come up with a plan of action. This was an effort since she was still rather inexperienced in life, besides her state of exhaustion. As she considered how much of her circumstances to reveal she ultimately decided silence would be her best option for the moment. She was just arriving at that conclusion when her gaze was caught and held by the haughty stare of the most elegantly handsome man she had ever encountered.
Emily tried not to stare as the handsome man paused in the act of entering the particularly grand residence and watched curiously what was likely a rather strange development to him. Emily quickly decided that the small man who assisted her must be this other man’s personal valet. It was likely his carriage she had stolen a ride from. Despite the dirty rags she was dressed in, Emily’s pride didn’t take well to his curious scrutiny, and she tried valiantly to quell the shivers that racked her in the chill of the late-night wind as she gazed about, avoiding the man’s stare. She had never been dirty before, at least not since childhood adventures that involved mud puddles when she had escaped her nurserymaid. It was shameful, but the blame could not be laid at her own feet and she refused to cower for it.
“Qu’est-ce qui se passe ici, George?” he called out in bored, drawling, slightly accented French as he approached.George must be the man’s valet,who had helped her from the boot, Emily thought rather vaguely. The handsome man demanded to know what was going on, but how could he possibly expect the poor servant to know?
Emily was fluent in the foreign tongue, but felt unsure how to proceed.Had she gone all the way to France?her confused mind questioned. That seemed hardly possible, she realized. She surely couldn’t have slept that long even despite her deep exhaustion. Would it reveal too much information to acknowledge her understanding of his words? She waited nervously to see what would develop as the handsome young man approached the rear of the carriage, his haughty bearing proclaiming him a lord. Up until recently Emily had led quite a sheltered life, and she felt unprepared to deal with a handsome nobleman in her current state.
“Thank you kindly for the ride,monsieur, I truly appreciate your hospitality. Now I must be off,adieu,” she stated with dignity in refined tones. She had decided to speak in English since she was almost certain they were still on British soil.
The handsome lord reached out and caught her easily and then demanded answers from her that she either couldn’t or wouldn’t provide.
“Not so fast, girl,” he’d said, nearly shaking her. Emily felt equal parts rattled by the cold as by the man’s overbearing presence. “I cannot allow you to run off in this state. Have you run away from your employer? Who is he or she? What were you doing in my carriage? I cannot be involved in your defection,” he added with another shake. “Speak up, girl.”
The state she was in, she could barely stand let alone provide any explanation that made sense. She could only stand there and stare at him in mute confusion.
To her relief, though, rather than tossing her into the wilderness or calling for a magistrate, the nobleman entrusted her to his valet to hand over to the housekeeper and swept into the grand house without a backward glance.
Mrs. Simms appeared only slightly less bewildered than the valet had been as she took the bedraggled young woman off to the servants’ quarters to get cleaned up, fed, and put to bed. She informed Emily that the master of the house was Philip, the Earl of Yorkleigh, and this grand house was Yorkleigh itself. According to the housekeeper’s chatter, she had known the earl his entire life and was somewhat more used to his fits and starts than poor George was. She had been appalled at the state Emily was in. Her clothing was tattered and filthy, emitting a slight but very unpleasant odour, and her shoes were nearly in pieces. When these were removed it was obvious that her feet would need some attention; they were raw from rubbing on the poorly fitted fabric. Mrs. Simms had some powerful ointment she assured Emily would do the trick quite nicely and the housekeeper guaranteed Emily would feel right as rain by morning.
“What’s his lordship up to now? Taking in more strays again, is he? He usually contains himself to animals.” It was evident to Emily, even in her semi-conscious state, that the housekeeper was dying to ask even more questions, but out of respect for her charge’s exhaustion, she bit her tongue for the time being. “I guess all our questions will keep until the morning, eh?” she asked prosaically and rhetorically as she tucked Emily into the clean linens. “But there certainly seems to be some mystery behind you, isn’t there my dear?”
Emily merely sighed as she sank into the soft pillow and fully entered the deep sleep she had already been drifting in and out of while the housekeeper fed her and helped her to clean up and change into a spare nightgown. She had barely even noticed when Mrs. Simms helped anoint her aching feet with the pungent smelling ointment. Mrs. Simms shook her head in wonder as she quietly left the room, likely questioning what tomorrow would hold for this newest, no doubt temporary, member of the household.
~~~~
Moorfields, Bethlem Royal Hospital (otherwise known as Bedlam)
Tonight was the night that would make or break her entire future. Morbid fear held her firmly in its grip. Emily’s heart was racing as she crept down the damp and dingy hallway, trying to close her mind to the sights, smells, and sounds of captivity as she attempted to make her escape.
"If I do not make it out of here tonight, I really shall belong here. This place could make the sanest person run mad." Emily clamped her teeth over her lips, unsure if she was thinking the words or saying them aloud, terrified she would speak and give herself up for capture.
She felt faint. Her knees wobbled with each step as she forced them to propel her forward. Anxiety and fear gripped her every nerve. As she inched past the gruesome cells of sedated inmates she struggled with a keen sense of guilt. She would be free and all these poor souls would remain in their miserable bondage. Her mind and heart cringed as she heard the ceaseless chanting of the poor individuals trapped in their own delusional world.
Emily steeled herself, tamping down raw emotions as she grasped her courage and made a dash towards the last door between captivity and freedom.Oh no! Are those footsteps approaching? She squeezed herself into a shadowy nook to see what would transpire, too weak to make it to the door in time. Struggling with her feelings and mental sluggishness, she held her breath to avoid the stench permeating the small space she was crouched in. She then realized her fear was making her paranoid. She had only imagined the sounds of pursuit! With a grunt of disgust at her own stupidity she crept to the door and found her prayers were answered — it wasn’t locked.
With a sense of exultation and triumph, she stepped out into the intense darkness surrounding the stone edifice that had been her prison for the past untold number of weeks. Despite her efforts to keep a count, she had accidentally lost track of time somewhere along the way. She paused in her steps, lost in thought, trying to figure out how long she had been there.This is no time to be thinking about that! She scolded herself for her lack of concentration as she squared her shoulders, took a deep breath, and ran as fast as she could.
She looked around franticly as she ran through the dark, eerie shadows surrounding the imposing granite building.I have got to make it, tonight is my only chance,Emily thought urgently and repeatedly as she stumbled, regained her footing, and ran on towards the open gate and freedom.
Poor Colette’s ill-fated escape effort means the gate-keeper is joining in, celebrating her capture. There’s a chance no one will notice me gone. They think I’m still asleep from that awful mixture everyone gets at night to ‘keep us tranquil.’
Emily cringed in suppressed horror as she crept past the immense statues of muted grey marble above the gate, “Madness” and “Melancholia,” grinning down grotesquely at any who pass through their portals. Just looking at that pair would make you crazed,Emily thought wryly as she continued on her way. Her mind drifted for a moment as she contemplated what sort of artist would lend his skilled hands and craft to moulding such a gruesome parody. Again she recalled herself to the present, forcing the thoughts out with an extreme effort of will as she gave her head a quick shake and scuttled off to the shadows of the laneway.
Her mind was screaming:Run! Run! Run! But her body's reply was:Impossible!She did the best she could as she urged herself closer to safety.
~~~~
Emily’s sickening dread of discovery sent her scurrying as fast as her feet could carry her through the bushes at the side of the lane, ignoring the weakness of her body. Her worn and tattered "uniform” provided little protection from the elements as a light drizzle began to fall, adding to the misery of an already unbearable situation. But nothing could deter her. Her feet grew heavy in their shabby shoes but as she imagined the gargoyle-like statues of Bedlam bearing down on her she was able to force them to a faster pace. Her legs burned from the exertion, being so unused to movement over the past weeks, and she quite suspected that her feet might be bleeding. Emily found herself welcoming the pain since it helped her concentrate as she fought the effects of the sedative. She fled on towards freedom in a state of semi-consciousness, not truly believing she would make it to safety, not even knowing where safety could be found, not really caring as long as it was anywhere but back in the asylum.
