“Not for a moment. She’s lied to me for years.” He scrubbed a hand over his face again. “I’ve made my capitulation contingent on full control of her finances, although I’m not sure if that’s enough. But we can worry about Clementine later. Now, I need to know that Madelina is well. We must secure her freedom.”
Greydrake nodded. “I’ll join the search. I assume that Aubrey Saint Lawrence is also searching for her?”
“She is. She came to me the moment she realized Madelina was gone.”
“Between us and her, we’ll find my sister.” Greydrake clasped Jasper’s shoulder. “If you learn anything, come tell me immediately. You can tell me or Lanora, or our adopted son, Dodger. No one else, and not within hearing of anyone else. Do you understand?”
“Yes, completely.”
Greydrake dropped his arm. He tied the folded triangle of black silk back in place, masking the lower half of his countenance, then donned his hat. Above the mask, his features fell into shadow.
“If it comes down to it,” Jasper said, “Clementine promised to show us Madelina, at a distance, just before the wedding, and to release her after. I’ll tell you where the wedding is to take place, so you can get to her. I don’t trust Clementine to free her.”
“Nor do I.”
“And….” Jasper cleared his throat. “That is, if I’m forced to go through with the ceremony, tell Madelina I’m sorry, but don’t permit her to see me.” His throat tightened. He hoped Greydrake understood. Jasper couldn’t see Madelina once he’d wed, once she was forever beyond his reach.
“It won’t come to that.”
Jasper cleared his throat again. “I hope you’re right.”
Greydrake offered a sharp nod. Leaving the lantern, he headed back down the line of sarcophagi to the steps, then up to rejoin the night.
Chapter Seventeen
Madelina didn’t need her tally to keep track of days. Each time the banns were read, Miss White came to taunt her, though she stayed well back from the door. Much as Madelina wished otherwise, Miss White’s taunts proved all too successful. Madelina worked to keep her body strong, but her mind ate away at itself, endlessly running in circles.
At first, she longed for the chance to confront Jasper. To demand to know why, if he loved her and was through with his mistress, he’d refused to believe Madelina and had told Miss White that she was Little Hook. Anger at Jasper simmering, Madelina found solace in the idea that Jasper and Miss White were meant to be together. That Miss White was what he deserved.
But Madelina couldn’t quite believe that to be true. The more she thought on it, the more she realized how her accusation must have seemed to him. Yes, he was enamored of her, but he hadn’t known her for long and likely found her behavior rather erratic, if not a touch unhinged. In contrast, he’d known Miss White for years.
Now, he obviously knew the truth about Miss White, or he wouldn’t ask for letters proving Madelina lived. He’d not only asked for them but demanded them. Despite Miss White’s bravado, Madelina sensed a growing, seething hatred each time the woman came to taunt her. What would that hatred be born of if not Jasper’s steadfast affection?
By the time the banns were read the third and final time, Madelina came to realize that her greatest regret was the day she’d turned Jasper away. She should never have halted his kisses, never rebuked his suit. Every moment that ticked by served to convince her that she would not get another chance to be in his arms.
During those weeks, they made her write several letters. They would tell her snippets of news, something that had happened that day, so she could speak on a recent event. They also permitted her to add whatever she pleased, but she suspected they smudged out anything they didn’t wish Jasper and her aunt to read. It would be easy enough to do. Her words were in charcoal.
She worked the stays from her corset. Thin as they were, she could slip them between door and wall, but each successive one snapped when she attempted to work the bolts free. She doubted she’d managed to move one even a quarter of an inch.
After the final banns were read, an abnormal amount of time passed without sight or sound, save an endless, taunting drip somewhere without. Ignoring the heavy darkness, Madelina went through her stretches and calisthenics, trying to keep her mind from the realization that no one was about because, even then, Jasper and Miss White were marrying. Miss White didn’t need Madelina any longer.
More time passed, her world dark and silent, and she went through her routine again, though she usually waited until they brought food. Still, no one came. The horrible suspicion that they’d left her there to die wiggled into her thoughts.
Heavy boots thudded on the steps, jerking her awake. She hadn’t realized she’d fallen asleep, her back against the wall opposite the door. Hurriedly, she tried to count the footfalls. Many pairs. Perhaps six. Maybe more. Flickering light filled the hall without. Torches, more than the usual one.
Madelina pressed to her feet, back against the wall. Relief that she hadn’t been left to die flooded alongside apprehension of what might come next. Worse, the faintest hope, though she knew it unlikely, sparked that the tromping men were allies.
The top bolt grated back, then the second. There came a grunt and the bottom one slid open. The door swung wide.
Men crowded the narrow hall. Two tromped into the room, shackles in hand, followed by a third with a torch. Without, cocked pistols pointed her way. More men holding more torches stood to either side.
“They’re going to chain you,” the torch wielder in her cell said. “Don’t fight. We’ve orders to shoot you where you stand.”
Madelina pressed off the wall to stand straight, blinking in the abundance of light, and held out her arms. At least seven men filled the cell and hall. All large, all armed. She’d rather find better odds, unless this was her last opportunity to fight. “Why chain me now?”
“The madam wants you,” their leader said. He gestured the other two men forward.
So, Miss White wished to torment her in some other place. Madelina anticipated another chance for escape, perhaps with better odds. She made no protest as they clamped cold, weighty, chain-linked iron on her wrists and ankles. They strung another chain between the two, and lead to that. One of the men wrapped the lead about his meaty hand.
