“They have no heart, love.”Captain’s voice.“Not the ones out there. Trust no one outside of these woods… .”
Dare she? Could he read in her face how close she was to bolting and never coming back? Or was she only fooling herself? Did she even possess such courage?
She grasped the needlework in her hands and pushed the needle through the fabric so she wouldn’t have to look at him. “It is nothing. Only…tell me of Minney. The servant girl.”
“What about her?”
“Is she…is she very mad?”
“That is what’s troubling you?” A smile leaked into his voice. “You need not be afraid of her. She is harmless and more child than anything else, I think.”
“I am not afraid. I only wondered.”
“Which is just what Mrs. Eustace does not wish to happen. She is quite afraid the child will be a stain on the lily-white reputation of Monbury Manor. As if it were lily-white to begin with.”
“How did Minney come to stay here?”
“Her father was the steward many years ago. Lady Gillingham must have had something against him, though I don’t know what, for she asked Lord Gillingham to dismiss the man.”
“But Minney said he …”
“Yes. He was outraged at first. Took his daughter and left. The next week, they found him hung outside the inn window, where he had been staying with his daughter.”
“How terrible. How utterly terrible.”
“I remember well because it was the very next night when your mother was killed and you were taken.”
“Could they—”
“No. There is no connection. The constable investigated at the time, and Mr. Bradshaw’s death was indeed one of suicide. He even left a goodbye note. Minney would have gone to the workhouse or an insane asylum had not Lord Gillingham brought her back here. He has seen to her ever since.”
“Very noble of him.”
“Very unnecessary of him, thinks Mrs. Eustace.” A smile split Felton’s face. “But then again, it is well Mrs. Eustace does not always get her way, eh?”
Despite herself, she returned the smile. Only something didn’t feel right. The coincidence of it all. Minney’s warnings. Two deaths so close together and Lord Gillingham’s unnatural desire to help a child he had no duty to care for. What would make him do that? Was he the one she shouldn’t trust?
Her only security was being torn from her. She needed to leave. She must.
But the nausea in her stomach churned faster, because she knew she wouldn’t. All these days, she’d been preparing an escape. She’d imagined going out to the stables in the dead of night, stealing one of the horses, galloping away before anyone could stop her, and braving the long journey home with her head held high.
In all of the stories she’d pretended of herself, she would have done just that.
Yet she couldn’t. She knew she couldn’t. Twice last night she’d dressed and crept to the bottom of the stairs but made it no further before she rushed back to her chamber. A child. A craven child. She was trapped like the bird, with no choice but to trust the ones in her thicket.
“Come.” Felton seized her hand, startling her with the quickness of his movements. “Do you have a bonnet or something? Never mind. I quite forget sometimes you have lived your entire life in some dark and forsaken wood.” He dragged her through the drawing-room doors, but she halted in the hall.
“What are you doing?”
“You said you felt well, did you not?”
“Yes, but—”
“You do not appear well. And if your ailment is not physical, it must be the lack of new air and sunshine. I intend to see you get both.”
Before she had time to decide if the idea frightened or calmed her, they were seated together in one of Lord Gillingham’s curricles and passing through the wrought-iron gates. Would she ever be able to escape these gates on her own?
The farther they went from Monbury Manor, the quicker her stomach settled. The road was narrow and dusty, filling the air with a light brown fog. Trees stood on each side of them. They were green, playful in the salt-tasting breeze—and sometimes along the way, they stretched close enough to touch each other and form a leafy archway.
