For an hour, Elizabeth stood on a stool while the pin-sticking dressmaker measured and made endless adjustments. Her heart hammered in her chest. Escape. As a child, Elizabeth had discovered a fake door in the wall of this room. It had been her secret refuge away from her mother. A long narrow hallway led to the back servants’ stairs. Had the architect placed it there for her father to have a secret rendezvous with a paramour? Her mother knew naught of its existence.
“Ouch.” A pin skewered Elizabeth, punishing her for her inattention.
“My apologies,” said the dressmaker and showered upon Elizabeth a myriad of fabrics to choose: satin, bombazine, velvet, silk and taffetas. “Mr. Dyer has hired me to make an entire trousseau that is unmatched for his bride-to-be. Nothing but excellence was what he told me.”
And of course, the excellent profit the dressmaker would incur. To add to Elizabeth’s headache arrived a wealth of trimmings, ribbons, Chantilly lace, seed pearls, bows, tassels and braids. If only she could divert the women enough to flee the room. But how?
A strong wind blew against her window, rattling the sashes. A terrible foreboding touched every fiber of her being, remembering Zachary’s words. He took a man’s measure, but if double-crossed, he’d be merciless. To have loved again and then to have his heart fractured. What would he do to her? A flood of Cheyenne tortures came to mind. She must find Caroline and then get to Zachary to tell him the truth.
A maid knocked and entered with a missive on a silver tray. “For you, Mrs. Spencer.”
“I must answer this summons right away,” Alva said. “Elizabeth, stand straight so the dressmaker can finish the adjustments.”
As soon as her mother departed, Elizabeth swooned. The dressmaker was hysterical, fanning the Harper’s Bazaar over Elizabeth’s face. Elizabeth fluttered her eyes open. The assistant clapped her hands in prayerful pose, ready to shout hallelujah. The women helped her into a seated position. Elizabeth fell backward. “Please get me water,” she croaked, “and some food from the kitchen. I’m so lightheaded. I could not eat because of my nerves.”
“Go get what she needs,” the dressmaker ordered her assistant.
“How do I get there?”
Elizabeth smiled inwardly. “Easy. Go down the hall to your right, turn left, make another left at the alcove, descend the stairs, turn right through the lobby, then a hallway to the right. Oh, I forgot. They are remodeling that hallway.” Elizabeth gave another set of confusing instructions. The poor woman would be lost for eternity.
How to get rid of the dressmaker? “Could you obtain a basin of cool water and a cloth to cool me down? Mother would be angry if I wasn’t cared for properly.” She offered another set of baffling directions.
“Yes Ma’am. Right away.” She moved quicker than a bolt of lightning fearful if Elizabeth fainted.
Elizabeth locked the door, went to the panel in the wall. Would it open? She pressed and prodded for a latch. Nothing. Had the panel been nailed shut? It had been years since she used the corridor. She bit her bottom lip. Did she not remember? She reexamined the room.Hurry.Her mother and the dressmakers would return any moment.
Pins sticking in her, Elizabeth dropped to the floor, crawled on her hands and knees, looking for a crack in the wainscoting. Her finger smoothed over a rough edge, and she followed it up to waist-high gold trim. She prodded and poked. Where was it? Her finger hit an indentation. She pressed the serrated groove and the panel door swung open.
Elizabeth breathed a sigh of relief, heaved on a dressing robe. She hurried inside and pressed the panel door closed. Total darkness. As a child, she had procured a lantern to illuminate her way. Too late for a lamp.
Cobwebs ensnared her head. She swept them away, proceeding down the dark, dusty hallway, using her hands to guide her along a corridor that passed behind several bedrooms, in fact, the entire width of the house. She calculated how many steps she’d taken as a child and matched distance-wise her adult steps to get to the stairway. Why did the hallway seem longer?
Her nose twitched with stirred up dust mites and mustiness. Please, no bats or rats. Spiders she could deal with. Using all her senses, she tiptoed with no sound or creak of wood to indicate her passing.
From behind, the sudden hue and cry of her mother and the dressmaker returning, paralyzed her. They had discovered her missing. Keep moving. Must find the stairway before the whole house was alerted. A faint glow farther down the corridor cast a vaporous thread of light through the murky gloom. At the end,she was blocked by a wall. She faced right. Her adrenalin spiked. Almost there. She felt through the years of accumulated dust for the latch.
It refused to open. Was it rusted? With every muscle, tendon and sinew, she shoved. The door popped open. She moved onto the back stairs. She could not risk discovery.Hurry.She moved down one flight at a time. Each step tattooed in her mind and came to a door leading to the gardens. She stepped outside, into brilliant sunshine. Fresh sweet air burst in her lungs. She congratulated herself on the marvelous rapidity of her escape. She rushed through the gardens, kept to the shadow of the box hedges, leading to a rear gate. A little alley lay on the other side. Freedom surrendered just beyond the door.
“Where do you think you are going?”
That voice. Elizabeth whirled.
Dyer smoothed a finger across his walrus mustache. “I have several guards at every exit for your protection.”
Elizabeth wanted to cry, rail against the injustice. She lifted her chin, turned to the house, leaving the dust from her heels.
Chapter Forty-Three
For days, Zachary had not seen or heard from Elizabeth. At first, he figured she was laying low so as not to ring alarm bells. For God’s sake, he’d secured a priest. He went to her home and was told she had gone. Then to his shock, he read about Elizabeth’s betrothal to Dyer in the paper. He couldn’t believe his eyes.
He wended through a myriad of parked carriages and society to celebrate the engagement of Rawlins Dyer and Elizabeth Spencer. He’d wring the truth from her. Up the steps he went, burst into the mansion.
“Do you have an invitation?” the butler intoned, chasing after him.
“To hell with it.”
People moved into a ballroom. He thrust through the line of jackals.
