“I’d like to go to my room now.” I stand, and since Callie and Jen are still absent, Pete nods, and leads me back up the stairs.
“I promise you,” he says, as I cross the threshold, “there is still good in Malcom Walker, Miss Rosen.”
I tamp down my anger and nod my head once. “I certainly hope so.”
I wait until Pete has closed and locked my door from the outside. Until I’ve heard his footsteps fade down the stairs. Until muffled conversation, the maids and him, rises up to me.
Then I reach into my sleeve and pull out the tiny object I snuck off of Jen as they prepared my shower.
It shines up at me—my escape.
I slide the key back into my sleeve, and look out the window. The darkness can’t come quickly enough.
6
Malcom
It’s pouring by the time I turn up the drive. Night is an impenetrable black shroud over Rosehill Manor, nothing but a few gold squares of light to assure me the building lies ahead.
The first thing that strikes me is that the front doors are open. A pit carves into my stomach, and I floor it up the drive. Figures move wildly on the porch—what the hell is going on?
“What is it?” Rain slashes down around me, flooding the gravel road. Jen and Callie are rushing frantically around the entryway. “Jen. Callie. What happened? Where’s Pete? Where’s…”
No. It can’t be.
“Mr. Walker,” Callie says desperately. “Oh, Mr. Walker, I’m so sorry. We’d gone to bed, and Miss Rosen as well. We didn’t hear a thing—it wasn’t until Mr. Tavers was doing his rounds that he noticed—he noticed—”
I grip Callie by the arms and yank her before me, fear thundering through my heart. “Callie! Noticed what?”
“The front door was unlocked. Mr. Walker, I’m so sorry, she’s gone, Emma is gone—”
“Which way?” I bark, my rage flooding me unchecked. I blink rain from my eyes.
“Mr. Tavers took the car,” says Jen, weeping. “Before the rain started, there was a trail though the briars. Toward—toward—” She buries her face in her hands, sobbing.
“Blicktenner,” gasps out Callie. “It seems she made for the ruins on foot, through the wilderness. The marshes.” She wraps her arms around herself, face white with terror. “Oh, God. The cliffs. The foxholes. She could twist an ankle, or break a leg, or—”
“Go inside,” I command them. “Gather yourselves and keep a close eye on the house in case she comes back seeking shelter. In the meantime, keep the emergency phones on. If Pete or I call with any news, be prepared…”
“Prepared?” asks Jen, teary-eyed. “For what, Mr. Walker?”
I clench my jaw. “The worst.”
Without a word, Callie runs inside. An instant later, she appears with a massive torch, my raincoat, and Wellingtons. I quickly take the offerings, then turn without another word.
* * *
“Emma!” I bellow, cupping my hands over my mouth. The black of the dark isn’t even cut by the hard beam of the torch. I trudge through the sopping overgrowth, waist-high and treacherously tangled. Thatches of briars lie in perilous hooks, their thorns pinkie-finger long and thick. Jagged stones lie among them, and stretches of deep marsh, and hollows dug by wild animals.
Dead.
My heart is in my throat. It’s a dreadful kind of fear, fearing the death of someone in your care.
In your care?the voice in the back of my head sneers.You don’t care about her. You don’t care about her safety or her happiness. All you care about is making Sampson proud. Making Samuel proud. Making your dead father proud.
And you never will, Malcom. You are nothing but a disappointment.
I swing wildly through the brush. I can hear the sea pounding the cliffs somewhere in the distance. I’ve walked this way to Blicktenner more times than I can count—I can only hope the memory and my instinct in the dark is enough to get me there.
