Inside, the cottage was clean, even cosy in a meagre way. A fire had been laid in the principal room and now burned cheerfully upon the hearth. There was a table, two chairs, a narrow settle, and shelves holding a modest assortment of crockery. Upstairs, as they soon discovered, were two bedchambers and a small box room. Downstairs, near the kitchen, a hamper stood already unpacked in part: bread, cold meat, cheese, apples, a pot of preserves, tea, a bottle of wine, and even a little coffee. Such details might have seemed considerate in another context. At this moment they only deepened theoffence, as though abduction could be lessened by domestic provision.
Kendall set his hat down and turned to her with an expression of almost earnest appeal.
“Now do you see? You are not a prisoner.”
“Am I not?”
“No. The door is not locked. You may walk out whenever you please.”
She gave him a look of disdain sufficient, she hoped, to expose the falsehood of this generosity.
“With no carriage,” she said, “and no means of returning to Town beyond my feet.”
“You have your maid. You have food. You have shelter. If you remain sensibly where you are for a single day, you will be quite safe.”
“From whom—or what—will I be safe?”
He hesitated, then smiled in a manner which, because it aspired to reassurance, was more sinister than any frank severity. “From confusion.”
“I think confusion has already made itself very much at home.”
Something passed over his face then—impatience, perhaps, or regret at being opposed where he had expected gratitude. “Francesca, I am doing you a kindness. Had I left you in Town, there are those who might have questioned you, frightened you, perhaps even used you against us. This way, you are removed from the worst of it.”
“Am I, indeed—and tomorrow morning?”
“Tomorrow morning,” he said, “I shall return. By then the business will be done.”
“What business?”
He shook his head. “You promised no more questions.”
“I promised no such thing.”
He stood between her and the door, not threateningly perhaps, but with enough ownership of the space to make clear how little her will signified to him if it crossed his purpose. Nelly had drawn nearer to Francesca’s side. The fire crackled. Somewhere outside a crow called across the fields. The whole scene possessed an intolerable normality, as though this were merely a country call gone awkwardly astray.
Immediate defiance promised no practical advantage, so Francesca said, “Very well. I will stay until tomorrow morning.”
His shoulders eased. “Thank you for being sensible.”
It enraged her that he should approve in such a patronizing way.
He moved then to the hamper and pointed out its contents as though their host rather than captor. “There is enough for the day and night—more than enough, in fact. The pump at the back door is sound. The firewood is stacked under the lean-to. You need not fear discomfort.”
“I shall try to bear this luxury with fortitude.”
Nelly made a choking sound.
Kendall looked from one to the other and seemed at last to perceive that admiration was not to be had. He sighed. “Believe what you please of me today. Tomorrow you may think differently.”
“I doubt it.”
Again, that flash of something fervent, almost visionary, crossed his face. “When England is free of the men who have strangled her, many will think differently.”
There was no safety in answering that. Francesca held her tongue.
At last, he took up his hat again. “I shall come for you in the morning.”
“What are we to do if you do not come?”
