Much obliged,
Charles Lancashire
Earl of Eastleigh
Vomit flooded Eliza’s mouth. She leaned over the edge of the mattress and heaved onto the floor. Nothing but bile came forth. Eliza remembered the feel of Eastleigh’s greedy hands clasping her waist, the possessiveness of his slimy kiss. She had been a conquest for him—a challenge and a prize. Just like Ada. Malcolm had at least been truthfulabout Eastleigh. He’d protected her, only to turn tail and become the serpent in the garden himself. But why?
Eliza took a shaky breath and unfolded the next piece of paper, its edges torn. It was one of the missing entries from Ada’s diary.
June 18th, 1893
Our plan is becoming reality. My long-tormented marriage is almost at an end. Beatrice has played her part well. Eastleigh is as regular with his visits as clockwork. Every Sunday, just before four o’clock, Beatrice climbs into the dumbwaiter in the basement and hauls herself upstairs. As Eastleigh ruts with me, Beatrice spies through the top of the dumbwaiter to make sure his actions are witnessed and that I am as safe as I can be, should he turn violent. Beatrice is so specific in her recounting of Eastleigh’s anatomy and the physical nature of the ordeal that I am often amused. As that miserable, grunting fool spends himself within me (it is quite brief, thanks be to God, as is his member), I only think of the day when I will use him to bring my husband begging for mercy at last. If he refuses to grant me a divorce settlement, Beatrice will go to the papers and reveal his and Eastleigh’s debauched arrangement for all the world to see.
I disguise myself and use the dumbwaiter in my room to sneak out to meet Beatrice in Winchester once a week to go over her records. We have a merry time, laughing at the pub and drinking to old H’s ruin. I think of the future, when Beatrice and I will be safe beside Brynmoor’s hearth, to love and live out our days in happy companionship, and where I at last can be free. Oh, I cannot wait!
Realization broke over Eliza. Ada and Beatricehadbeen more than friends. They’d been lovers. She imagined them together, in a cozy hunting lodge made of fieldstone beneath a fog-wrapped mountain. It was a lovely picture—but one that had never come to pass. Something had happened to thwart Ada’s plans and bring about Beatrice’s death, leaving her spirit to roam restlessly within this house. Eliza opened the final folded paper. A feeling of dread came over her as she read what she already knew in her heart.
December 17th, 1896
At last, I have discovered what happened to my love. She is dead, my Beatrice, and has been for nigh on three years. Gabriel came to me, weeping in my arms like a child as he told me the truth of what they made him do. Of how they kept him silent, with threats against my life and his own, should their shameful secrets ever be revealed to the world. They shall pay, my enemies. I will take my revenge. For every cruel fist that bloodied my body and broke the will of my sons. For each time I’ve had to endure Eastleigh’s loathsome, crawling touch. For every devious deception. They shall pay. They think me weak. But I have become vengeance.
There was a creak outside her door, and the crystal doorknob began to twist as a key rattled in the lock. Eliza scooted backward on the mattress and shoved the papers and cigarette tin beneath the pillow. Malcolm pushed through the door, carrying a salver stacked with plates and a tea service. He set it down on the mattress and gave a toothsome grin.
“I’ve brought refreshments, darling. I’ve even made you a toasted cheese sandwich.” He shrugged. “It’s the only thing I know how to cook, I’m afraid.”
At an earlier time in their marriage, this sort of proclamation would have charmed her. Now it rankled her every nerve. Her knees shook, whether from hunger or fear, she couldn’t know. “How long are you going to keep me in here?” she asked. She reached out for the sandwich. She sniffed it, then pulled apart the bread to inspect the hummocky layer of melted cheese.
“Don’t be concerned. I haven’t poisoned it. It wouldn’t be in my best interest to kill you, seeing as you’ve my heir in your belly. I’ve only locked you away to protect you from yourself.”
“I don’t know what to think, Malcolm. Locking me up doesn’t seem like the sort of thing a normal husband does.” Eliza bit into the sandwich, the salty taste of the cheese exploding on her tongue. “Hardly conventional.”
“I suppose wedohave a rather unconventional marriage.” He grinned and sat on the stool by Ada’s dressing table. “I was thinking about the carriage ride we took, that last warm day of autumn. Wasn’t it lovely? Perhaps when you’re better, we can go again.”
Eliza swallowed her tea to chase the dry sandwich down her throat. “Seems a lifetime ago. I thought we’d turned a corner that day. I thought we’d be happy.”
Malcolm tilted his chin and looked at her. “So did I. You know, I didn’t think much of you, at first.”
“You certainly could have fooled me.”
“Oh, but I did fool you. Quite well, for my part.” He gave a wistful look and clapped his hands on the top of his knees. “Well. I’ve rats to poison and grates to blacken. I’ve been rather industrious since our staff left. I daresay we won’t need them anymore. Now, isn’t that modern of me?” He rose, turning toward the door.
“I thought you were going to give me a bath and change of clothes. And this room is so cold. Can I at least have my sweater back?”
“You’re so very spoiled.” He frowned and clucked. “I simply haven’t the time to give you a bath tonight. Perhaps tomorrow.”
“Fuck you, Malcolm,” she spat.
He stood and backed away, his green eyes glinting hard as quartz. “Do manage to be good until morning, dearest wife.”
The door shut with a snick, followed by Malcolm’s key turning the lock. Eliza screamed a string of expletives and flung the porcelain teapot against the wall, where it shattered into creamy shards, the tea splashing onto the dressing table mirror. Her reflection was crazed, her eyes wild with her fury. But there was something else there—something she hadn’t felt in a long while—the blazing, heart-pounding will to survive and protect her unborn child. No matter the cost.
To escape her captivity, she’d have to play a game. A game that would likely end with killing Malcolm.Wouldshe be able to kill him, if it came to it? She closed her eyes, remembering their courtship. But that charming man she’d met on a summer balcony wasn’t him—it never had been. It was all a lie—he was a lie—nurtured by her own foolish naïveté and unwillingness to face the truth.
Yes. If she had to, she would kill him. For her baby. For herself.
As December rolled onward, Eliza made her plan. She had nothing but time, after all.
Her ankle had healed quickly. She’d tested it every day, slowly putting more and more weight upon it. At first, it had been painful and arduous to even manage standing. A sharp hiss of breath would burst from her lips as soon as her foot touched the floor. Now, little more than a week later, she was able to walk in a steady line across the room, almost as well as she had before the trap had caught her. Only a trace of yellow bruising surrounded the scabbed marks where the metal teeth had punctured her flesh. A few more days, and she’d be whole.
