Jonathan’s entire body seemed to weigh down at Charlie’s words. “Are you on about Lord Fabian again? Still?” He shook his head as he grabbed his supper shirt to put it on. “Charlie, while I admire your desire to help wherever you can, you do not know the circumstances surrounding Lord Fabian any more than I do.”
In an instant, Charlie was plunged back into frustration and disappointment.
“Then find out,” he said. “Go to the cottage behind the orangery and ask him.”
Jonathan sent him a wary look through the mirror, where he’d gone to make certain he was buttoning his shirt correctly. “I cannot just walk over to that cottage, knock on the door, and demand to know why a young lordling who is high on opium is idling away his time in the middle of the countryside.”
“He is chained to the bed,” Charlie insisted, wanting to stamp his foot. “The laudanum is being forced on him.”
“You don’t know that,” Jonathan said sheepishly.
Charlie growled in frustration and turned away, heading for the door.
“Charlie, where are you going?” Jonathan asked, pivoting away from the mirror and looking at Charlie in alarm.
Charlie reached for the door handle, glanced back at Jonathan for a moment, then stormed out into the hall. If Jonathan wanted to drag his heels and believe Fabian was complicit in his own captivity, then fine. But Charlie intended to find out the truth.
He met very few people on his way downstairs. Supper was about to be served, so Fairford’s staff was all busy preparing for the meal.
The only person who didn’t seem to be rushing to and from the dining room was the pale-faced maid who had sent him in search of Mr. Glenn the day before. Charlie caught sight of her just outside the kitchen door as he stepped through a different door into the small courtyard that separated the house from the stables and some of the other buildings.
If the maid had any questions as to why Charlie was wandering around the kitchen courtyard, she didn’t stop to ask. In fact, if Charlie didn’t know better, he would have said the young woman didn’t see him at all.
He pretended to head in a different direction than the orangery as he walked around the house, keeping to the shadows as best he could. He passed the lawn where the guests had played tennis earlier, but the area was abandoned. The gardens were empty as well, which was unsurprising, given the hour.
Charlie had a moment of panic as he rounded the house to the side where the orangery stood and saw the maid again. She was headed straight toward the orangery with a basket on onearm. Part of Charlie wanted to leap toward her and warn her that she’d be sacked if she went near those forbidden buildings, but the rest of him realized how absurd that was.
And also, she appeared to know exactly what she was doing. Charlie followed, hiding as much as he could, piecing together the story of what must have been happening. The maid was very likely bringing food to Fabian.
He was almost certain of it by the time he dashed up to the side of the house, hiding around the corner from the maid as she pulled out a key to unlock the door. As soon as she ducked inside the cottage, Charlie hurried to one of the curtained windows, pressing his ear against it to see if he could hear any conversation.
“Please, Margaret, please,” he heard Fabian plead.
The maid didn’t say a word. Charlie wished he could see whether she even looked at Fabian or how Fabian looked at her.
Minutes later, Charlie heard the cottage door shut. He pressed his back against the stone wall, heart pounding, counting the seconds until he dared to peek around the corner to see if the maid, Margaret, was gone.
He didn’t have to wait. Margaret stepped silently from the other side of the cottage so suddenly that Charlie gasped in shock.
“Shh!” Margaret warned him, eyes wide. She stared right at Charlie and said, “The door is unlocked,” before striding past him as if she’d never seen him there.
Charlie gulped, then slowly peeked around the front of the cottage. Everything was silent. Nothing looked at all out of place. He summoned his courage, then hurried forward, grabbing the door handle with a shaking hand.
It seemed like a better idea to enter the cottage quickly than to linger and risk someone catching him. As soon as he wasinside the cottage, though, he was met with a terrified shout from Fabian, who sat at the table wrapped in a robe.
Charlie yelped as well, but mostly because of the shock of the moment. He was as frightened as Fabian was.
Fabian recovered first. His glassy eyes went wide, and he wheezed out, “You!”
Fear made it nearly impossible for Charlie to speak, but he nodded and approached Fabian cautiously.
“Help me, please,” Fabian said, standing from the table and taking a step toward Charlie.
The chain fastened to his ankle by a shackle clinked and scraped along the floor. Charlie noted sickly that the skin around Fabian’s ankle was bruised and red with sores. He must have been in so much pain, but his wounds didn’t seep pus or ooze like they were infected. Someone must be seeing to them.
“Take me away from here, Charlie.” Fabian burst into tears as he approached Charlie and grabbed at the front of his shirt. “Please help me.”
“I…I want to,” Charlie said, grabbing Fabian’s arms in turn.
