Max narrowed his eyes but did not pursue the subject. In truth, requesting aid from Queen Charlotte and having the whole deuced mess dragged out into the open was the last thing he wanted. But if it meant saving Patience’s life, he would willingly trade everything he had.
‘In the meantime, best we take watches,’ declared Malcolm thoughtfully, ‘but I ken we need a system to ensure that whoever’s on watch can quickly get word to the rest of us.’
‘It’s a deuced good job you’ve got us then, isn’t it?’ piped a loud voice from the other side of the door. All eyes turned as the drawing room door was pushed open, revealing four nightgown clad children.
‘No one notices the little ones,’ commented Charity confidently.
‘You’re not that little,’ argued Chastity.
‘I’m smaller than you.’
‘You might be shorter but you’re much fatter.’
‘I am not.’
‘We’ll be like wraiths,’ declared Prudence, ignoring her older sisters bickering.
‘What’s a wraith?’ asked Anthony.
‘It’s what’s left of a dead person. We’ll be just like dead people.’
‘I don’t want to be a dead person,’ wailed Anthony, ‘I want my mother…’ He suddenly stopped howling and looked around the room with a frown.
‘Where is mother? Has she woken up yet?’
Chapter Twenty
The rest of the night seemed interminable to Patience. Her restraints were secured to ensure that she was completely unable to move anything but her head. By the time dawn approached, her fear had been supplanted by a desperate need to relieve herself.
And anger. Dear God, she was so deuced angry. How dare that revolting little man even think to keep her a prisoner. Somehow, she would get out of here and bring the blackguard down if it was the last thing she did. And of course, Bamford had no idea of her peculiar skill. All she had to do was bide her time.
As light seeped into the room, she was able to make out the shapes of her companions, lying still under their rough blankets. None looked to be restrained as she was, and all were sleeping like the dead.
To her everlasting relief, there was the sound of a key turning in the lock. Even in her current predicament, the sound of the click still gave her the same satisfaction as it always had. Especially as she knew this one would provide no barrier to her leaving the room.
Lifting her head, she watched the door open, and the same slovenly nurse slowly shuffled towards her. At each bed she stopped, and shook its occupant awake. ‘Up yer lazy trollops, there’s work te be done.’ Patience felt her confidence ooze away as the large woman approached her bed to stare down at her. ‘Any bloody hysterics and I’ll have yer tied up like an Easter chicken afore ye can say amen,’ she warned as she began untying the straps tying Patience to the bed.
As soon as she was free, Patience struggled to a sitting position and stared over at her companions. They were all women of mixed ages, and she wondered what they had done to find themselves here. ‘Better not linger abed miss,’ the woman to her left commented, ‘you don’t want to get on the wrong side of Mrs Trenchant on your first day.’
‘Or her bloody stick,’ cackled an older, scrawny woman standing by the bed nearest the door. Hurriedly climbing out of bed, Patience noted they were all wearing the same grey shifts. Looking down at herself, she wrinkled her nose at her own attire. While she’d never had any interest in what she wore, the sack that covered her at the moment was none too clean.
The other four women were forming a line at the door, and not knowing what else to do, she padded to join them. Her feet were bare, and the floor was freezing. Shivering, she wrapped her arms around her body and swallowed the sudden lump in her throat. Surely, they would be missing her at home by now? She thought inevitably to the Marquess. Would he believe her on her way back to Blackmore? Mayhap he’d dismissed her from his thoughts after her behaviour two nights before.
A gentle hand placed on her shoulder brought her back to the present. ‘What is your name my dear?’ She looked up into the brown eyes of a woman no longer in her first flush of youth. Her greying hair was pulled back in a simple ribbon and like the rest of them, she wore a rough shift. There was no mistaking her cultured voice however, and frowning, Patience realised the lady was clearly exactly that. She wondered what on earth such a gentlewoman could have done to find herself in such a place. Then it hit her, and she almost gasped. The woman was staring at her, puzzled at her silence. ‘My name is Patience,’ she stammered. ‘Are you …?’ She was unable to complete her question as the door opened, this time to admit a man so large he almost filled the doorway. Without speaking, the giant stood to one side, and watched them file through. When it came to Patience’s turn, he stopped her, and taking hold of her chin, he turned her head this way and that. All thoughts of resisting his poking fled when she looked into his eyes. They were like black currents set in a white doughy face. And they held no expression at all. It was as if he was examining a piece of meat. Chilled, she swallowed the longing to slap his hand away.
Without saying a word, he finally ceased his examination and pushed her towards the others who’d continued down a dark passageway. Patience didn’t look back but fled towards the dubious safety of the other five women, her heart slamming against her ribs. All her earlier bravado had gone, and she was fighting the urge to cry.
They were taken to a large, cavernous kitchen, nothing like the one she was accustomed to back at the vicarage. The next two hours were the hardest of Patience’s life. While she preferred to avoid it if possible, she was no stranger to hard work but nothing like this.
Without speaking, the women scrubbed every single surface of the room, every pot and every pan. There was no hot water and by the time they’d finished, Patience’s hands were raw and blistered. Her stomach was also rumbling loudly, and she wondered, slightly hysterically if they were ever going to get anything to eat. There had been no sign of a cook, and she could only hope that any food they were finally given would not be prepared by either the slovenly Mrs Trenchant or the disgusting Cavendish.
The grey shift clung to her sweaty body, and her feet were the colour of the floor as they silently lined up again. Patience’s throbbing head had by now subsided to a dull ache, but when she touched the back of her head, her fingers came away sticky. Clearly the blow she’d received had been substantial. Had Bamford hit her himself? She became aware they were moving again and followed the others into a small square room, the only light coming from a window high up. The giant shut them in, and Patience heard the key turn in the lock.
At one end of the room were a series of chamber pots. Each of the women used them without embarrassment, and when it came to Patience’s turn, the fullness in her bladder overcame any discomfiture. Once she’d finished, she pulled her shift back down and looked around.
In the meagre light, she could see a large cupboard set into one wall. Hanging inside was a row of identical brown dresses. Silently the women stripped off their shifts and put on the simple uniforms. They were uniforms, Patience realised, as one of the women handed the last dress to her.
‘Best not linger miss. You need to be ready by the time he opens the door.’
