But it wasn’t a tenant or a ghost. It was Malcolm, a grim frown drawing the edges of his mouth downward. His eyes landed on her and narrowed. The lantern light carved his cheekbones sharp as sabers. “Ah, there you are. Just as I thought.”
Eliza hugged herself beneath the chilling scrutiny of his gaze, silently swearing. How idiotic it was to think she could get away again without his knowing! She should have left the night before and used the time she’d had more wisely. But it was too late for that now. Now she’d have to face the consequences. Alone.
“I only wanted to go for a walk in the forest,” she stammered. “I tripped, that’s all.”
Malcolm calmly strode to her side, his boots kicking up a flurry of leaves. He knelt at her side and raised her face to meet his eyes. A nervous flutter went through her at the tenderness of his touch. “Is that all, darling?”
She nodded.
“It’s funny, you see. People don’t normally pack valises and leave their rooms in disarray when they go on a walk.”
“I ... I ...”
“Come now, Eliza. I’m no fool. You meant to leave me, didn’t you?”
She flinched. “I’m not sure what you mean.”
“Don’t lie to me. You’ve been deceiving me. We both know that.” Malcolm turned to her entrapped ankle and ran his long fingers gently over her boot. She winced. “I know all about your scheming. Your plotting and planning. Finding out all our little secrets, aren’t you?”
He withdrew something metallic from his greatcoat pocket. Despite the cold, sweat beaded at her temple and ran down her collar. Her heartbeat surged.
“I warned you,” Malcolm said, his voice crisp, each word enunciated. “About the traps.” He hinged her knee and placed her foot flat on the ground. She howled in pain. “There, there, darling. This might hurt a little. Do try to be still.”
Eliza began shaking uncontrollably.
And then there was Eliza, caught in a trap and murdered in the forest.
She could almost hear Galbraith’s wicked cackle on the wind.
Malcolm bent to his work. Eliza saw that the instrument he held wasn’t a weapon at all, but a simple carpenter’s C-clamp. He fastened the clamp around one of the trap’s springs and twisted its wing nut, sending it spiraling down the bolt. The pressure around her leg slowly began to diminish. After a few moments, Malcolm worked his hands between the loosened jaws of the trap and pulled it open with a snap. Blood rushed to Eliza’s head in relief. She nearly swooned. She was free. Alive.
She flexed her knee and tentatively circled her ankle. It rotated normally, but a jolt of ragged pain traveled up her leg, making her gasp.
“I’ll have to carry you,” Malcolm said. “It’s likely your ankle is broken.”
He scooped his arms beneath her and picked her up off the ground. Eliza wound her arms around his neck and allowed herself to be carried. She caught the scent of his camphor soap and felt the stubble sprouting from his chin against her cheek. A part of her wanted to nuzzle there and pretend that nothing between them had changed. That theywere still the tender lovers they’d been before and he wasn’t gone to his madness.
As if reading her mind, he kissed the top of her head and chuckled warmly. “Ah, pet. You needn’t worry. All will be right again between us. Soon.”
Malcolm trudged through the gate and onto the tree-lined drive. The shadowed shoulders of the manor loomed ahead. Its yellow windows winked, as if they were amused by her misfortune. The house she’d once loved had become both curse and prison.
As Malcolm carried her over the threshold just as he had on their wedding day, Eliza knew with certainty she’d never see the outside of Havenwood Manor again.
CHAPTER 43
She was a prisoner now.
From Ada’s bed, Eliza watched the tumbling snow, its downy serenity giving little comfort as it enfolded the hills and clung to the naked branches of the birchwood grove in the distance. Night would be falling soon, and Ada’s room was frigid and mean—a room with windows locked and barred from the outside. A room where no one would hear her cries for help. Eliza shivered, running her hands over her arms. She only wore the thin cotton blouse and dungarees she’d escaped in. They stank of sour sweat and chafed against her skin. Malcolm had promised to give her a bath and a change of clothing that evening, but she didn’t trust him.
She should never have trusted him.
Her ankle still throbbed dully, like a toothache set into her bones. It had been two days since her injury, by her account. Possibly three. Malcolm had kept her in an opium-clouded stupor. She’d drifted in and out of consciousness so many times she couldn’t be sure of the days.
Upon their return to the manor, he’d been ostensibly tender and doting. Too tender. He laid her on the chesterfield in the library and applied compresses to her swollen ankle, all the while plying her with romantic platitudes. He brewed cup after cup of tea she refused to drink, until her thirst became unbearable. Just as she suspected, thetea contained a sedative. After her second cup, the wallpaper began to waver and flow like incandescent water. She dimly remembered the feeling of being picked up again and carried. When she finally woke, her head pounding like a drum, she’d found herself here and realized Malcolm had turned a corner from which there would be no return.
Eliza pushed herself up against the headboard and looked about the room, wiping the crust from her eyes. It looked much the same as it had on her first visit to the south wing. Ada’s bottle-green dressing gown was still draped over the screen and the objects on her bureau showed no signs of having been disturbed. That was one mystery solved—if Adawerestill living in the house, she would have had no reason not to still be residing in this room. She wasn’t here.
Eliza suddenly remembered the tin she’d found in the chimney. Had Malcolm discovered it in her pocket and taken it? She patted the leg of her trousers. It was still there, along with the luckenbooth. She brought out the little box, weighing it in her hand. It was so light that whatever was inside couldn’t amount to much. Eliza carefully opened the lid. Inside there were several pieces of paper, neatly folded and stacked, tied with a faded violet ribbon.
