She left the conservatory in search of a powder room, for she was fairly certain that she knew her way about this wing of the estate sufficiently to locate such a room and return. Once in the corridors, however, curiosity overcame Lina, and she began to open doors to peer inside the enormous and richly decorated rooms, if only for the sheer joy of seeing such interesting and beautiful things.
After a few rooms, she quite forgot herself, and her troubles. The thought flitted through her mind that she was being a bit naughty, but it was such fun and so in her nature to go on adventures, that she quite handily dismissed the thoughts. After all, she would soon be married to Mr. Blackstone and the estate would be hers, and Dr. Doyle had told her that she would be free to explore as she wished, provided that she followed all of the rules Mr. Blackstone would set forth. If she did not, he had added with a gleam in his eyes, she would of course be disciplined.
Lina did not find discipline to be a very good deterrent; she might even break rules purposely in order to receive such delightful “discipline.” For she was coming to understand herself, and what she wanted and needed, and was no longer ashamed of her own proclivities... at least not as ashamed as she was upon her arrival.
She was turned around and quite lost, and thinking of the burning spanking that she would receive with great pleasure after she was discovered. Seeing nothing she recognized, she entered a great room that appeared to be a ballroom and was marveling at the interior of richly painted frescoes and a massive chandelier in the dim light, when she heard the voices. They were muffled, and it took her some time to discover that a service hallway was behind a cleverly disguised door in the far corner of the great room.
She opened it without hesitation, for that was her nature. When she did, she heard the voices more distinctly: she recognized Mr. Blackstone’s voice, though it was inflamed by a far greater passion than she had ever heard. He seemed quite angry, which reassured her momentarily. Another voice spoke, and she could not make out what it said, and then another.
She crept down the stairs, for the voices became louder as she did, and when she reached the end of the flight of stairs in the very narrow passageway, she understood that the voices were coming from behind the door at the bottom.
She hesitated but a moment, before placed her ear against the door.
A man was speaking in a foreign tongue of great complexity, and he spoke for a long time. She guessed this was the infamous Laroui, for he was a foreigner. She could make nothing of what he said and despaired of overhearing the conversation in full. After all, it concerned her future. She lingered, and just as she was about to turn away, she very distinctly heard the voice of Dr. Doyle.
His voice grew louder as he spoke, indicating that he was nearing the door, so Lina listened as long as she felt she could, but when his voice was quite close to the door, her heart was beating so fast and she became gripped by such fear and panic that she fled as soundlessly as she possibly could, back to the ballroom, shutting the door behind her quickly and quietly. In the ballroom, which had become considerably darker, the blue light closed in upon her and her rushing blood filled her ears with a tinny ringing. For she had heard, before fleeing, Dr. Doyle very distinctly saying:
“Perhaps, then, we could come to an arrangement. Perhaps... we could... if we consent, allow the Moulay to take his pleasure with Miss Blanchet before our wedding, then the Moulay might see fit to forgive the debt...”
Lina closed her eyes, as if doing so would remove the echo of Dr. Doyle’s words from her mind. For a moment, she tried to believe that she had heard him incorrectly, or that the voice was not his own. But it was his voice, and she had heard him clearly, and he had hesitated as he spoke, as though he were thinking out loud.
Hot tears welled up in Lina’s eyes. She was crushed, and as they spilled to her cheeks and ran down her face, she allowed herself a moment of self-pity. She teetered in the ringing silence on the verge of utter despair. She had been so certain, so believing, so trusting—the two men had spun such an intricate web of deceit, and she wanted to believe it.
Her heart hardened suddenly.
She had been a fool to believe it.
She opened her eyes and stared into the dark ballroom. Was this to be her life forever, in a gilded cage, striving for the affection and love she had been promised, but given away to wealthy friends as a favor? They could not truly love her as they had promised if they considered doing such a thing.
A sort of panic overtook her. It was not like anything she had ever experienced before. She did not feel as though she would faint, or even as though she might lose control. Instead, her mind became sharply focused as her heart closed up, and she was several moves ahead of herself as she methodically—quickly, but methodically—walked at almost a dead run, into the corridors, her mind always on the next turn, on the way to leave a labyrinth, on the outside light, on descending the stairs, on finding hidden doors, on how to find the carriage house she had seen on her walks, on where the kitchen might be so that she could steal food.
And so, drawing upon her years of experience sneaking about the vast ruins of Green Grove, she managed to find the servant’s quarters, take from the kitchens several loaves of bread and the coat of an unfortunate maid. And then, with the same determined quickness, she stole toward the carriage house, though what she would do there, she was not entirely certain.
Chapter Eighteen
Doyle had become quitetired of translating for the implacable Moulay Laroui by the time Mongrave interrupted their meeting, which had, by that time, become at least neutral in tone, with Laroui willing to accept the settlement they had been hashing out for several hours. Doyle had not realized how much time had passed until Mongrave burst in, apologetically, bowing, and with a most serious expression upon his face.
