Page 35 of The Mistress of All & Torn

The girl trembled even more, her expression darkened by fright. “No, ma’am. There is nothing you can do for me...you do not know.”

“Know what, Sarah? Come, let us leave.”

“But he will come after us,” Sarah said.

“Nonsense. I will write to my uncle immediately. This will end tomorrow. Come, let us leave,” Elizabeth said, with a last glance towards the bed. On the pillow, there were signs of blood, either from her lips or from Sarah.

“It will never end, madam...He always wants to have his way. He will only return, even angrier,” the girl repeated. “You should not have interfered. He will get tired of me soon, but now he will punish you too.”

“Nonsense,” Elizabeth repeated uncertainly, as the fear began to envelop her too.

“Wait...Wait, madam. Just a moment,” Sarah suddenly said, grabbing Elizabeth. “He must believe he has succeeded in his plan. At least for now.”

“What is it? What do you mean? Let us leave before he...”

With dismay, she watched Sarah open a drawer and take out a knife. Before Elizabeth had time to react, the maid cut her wrist. Elizabeth lurched towards her but the girl seemed calm and confident.

“He must believe he had his way,” she insisted. “We never argue with him, never oppose him. It is easier this way.”

Then, to Elizabeth’s stupefaction, Sarah moved to the bed and let her blood fall onto the white sheets.

While Elizabeth stood, stunned, the girl approached and grabbed her ripped gown, wiping her wound until the silky fabric, now all ruined, turned red in the middle.

Elizabeth finally understood the girl’s plan and her fear paralysed her for an instant. Then she ripped some fabric from her gown and bandaged the girl’s wrist in hurry, as they both left the chamber.

In the hall, they stopped again. “I shall leave you now, madam. You should be careful what you tell him tomorrow. I may be your witness. I have no escape anyway. You should not have tried to help me. He will not forgive you for that.”

The girl seemed frightfully calm, like she had surrendered to fate's will. She held her bandaged hand absently.

“Sarah, look at me. I will take care of you,” Eizabeth said. “Can you go to your room? Promise me you will take care of your wound. If he asks you...”

“He will not ask me, madam. He never notices wounds. He will leave me alone for a while. But he will be angry with you,” the girl whispered, then she departed.

There, in the hall of what should have been her home, near the door to the chamber where the man she had wedded was lying, Elizabeth felt for the first time what fear meant.

She almost ran to her chamber, then locked the door and put a chair in front of it. She changed her gown and was tempted to throw the ripped one on the fire. A moment later she realised her error and dropped the bloody fabric on the carpet. Then she lay in bed, with the sheets pulled tightly around her, slowly understanding the cage she was trapped in and realising she had no true protection, no way out and no place to hide.

That night, Elizabeth did not sleep at all. And neither did she on the many nights that followed. Her mind could not accept the knowledge. The notion that her husband—an earl—was a beast who abused and tortured others to the point of threatening their lives, that he imposed terror on his household, was unbelievable. And furthermore, his friends seemed to not be strangers to his habits.

The scene with the wounded maid in the London house suddenly held a deeper significance and she blamed her foolishness for not enquiring further. In London, she was close to people. To her relatives. Here, she was alone.

That night might have terrible consequences. She did not know how hard she had hit him. He might have been gravely hurt, perhaps even die and she would be a murderer, thrown into prison.

Or he might recover and remember everything, and again her life would be in danger.

The impromptu scheme imagined by Sarah was equally frightening. She briefly considered the nightmare the girl had been through—God only knew for how long—that induced her to invent such a plan all of a sudden.

No matter the outcome, nothing good could follow.

The dawn came painfully slowly for Elizabeth. She dressed herself and rang the bell, asking for tea. When the maid returned with a tray with tea and some biscuits, they did not speak and barely looked at each other—a clear sign that the maid was not ignorant of what had happened. She might have been abused too, and many other incidents might have taken place in that house without Elizabeth’s knowledge.

Elizabeth did not attend breakfast and nobody asked about her. Her lower lip was still painful and a dark bruise had appeared on her face where she had been hit. There was not much she could do by herself. She understood she needed to find help in some way.

She began writing to her aunt Gardiner, but the letter progressed slowly, as she was uncertain of how much she could reveal. She wondered if her husband would allow her to send any letters, or if he would open them and read them. After what she had witnessed the night before, such actions were expected.

In the afternoon, however, a knock on her door startled her. She quickly hid the letter and chills of panic filled her, even before the earl entered.

He remained at the door, looking at her. She felt his stare on her face as he took a few steps inside. As he walked past the bed, his eyes dropped to the floor, where her ripped and bloody gown was still lying.