So that was it. Turn the manor house into an upscale brothel for politicians, dukes and lairds. Traffic girls through here and make a ton of money. And of course, with high paying clientele, the prostitutes needed to be kept disease-free and healthy. This meant an occasional penicillin shot, vitamins and other drugs to keep them cooperative, like amphetamines and downers. No wonder the doctor’s eyes twinkled with avarice. “And you will be the resident physician in case one is needed.”
“Precisely.”
I scrunched my legs to my chest. “So, Robert wants me out of the way now?”
The doctor sat on the bed’s edge, his legs crossed. “You are making a nuisance. Not supportive like a good little wife.” He patted my knees. “There’s still time to change your ways.”
“Why on earth did Robert think I’d go along with this scheme?”
“He didn’t. Not really. But I think he hoped…” The doctor shrugged. “Guess he was killing two birds with one stone. Make the old lady loony and get a little quality time with you.” An evil smirk crossed his face. “Sorry I interrupted that.”
I swallowed hard to keep my emotions down in my gut, which churned like mad at the moment.
“It’s your choice to cooperate or not, my dear.” He held up his black bag. “If you stay, you can play the dutiful wife who is much better now thanks to my well-prescribed medications. And I can give you something to, shall we say, make it easier for you to fulfill your husband’s needs.”
I turned my head away and shut my eyes at the thought.
“One more thing.” His calm, steady voice continued. “If you decide to leave for the hospital, I think Mary deserves a long vacation since you won’t need her, don’t you?”
Tears blurred my vision.
I heard a slight chuckle as he rose. His footsteps shuffled across the carpet. He called to Jane. “Tell Mary the lady may wish to stay here and recover. We’ll give her another 24 hours, and then we’ll reevaluate the situation. In the meantime, find her a proper nightgown, will you? She needs to stay in bed and rest.”
I buried my face in my hands. I’d placed Mary in grave danger by telling her my story. How could I have been so stupid?
But the good doctor was right. I needed twenty-four hours—to find a way out of here. Maybe, I’d take Mary with me.
CHAPTER THIRTY
Shouting, though muffled, seeped up through the floorboards. Robert and Andrew. When Jane came in with some hot tea, I noticed her jaw line tighten. The things the servants must hear and agree to keep in silence. Such loyalty. Or perhaps fear? She fluffed the pillows behind my head.
“I guess my husband isn’t happy.”
She dropped her eyes and straightened my bed covers around me.
“Jane. You’ve only been told his made-up version. I’m not the one who committed adultery. He did.”
Her facial expression became blank. “It’s none of my concern, ma’am.” She returned to her duty of straightening my quarters.
I shut my mouth. Stupid, Jen. Don’t endanger this poor girl as well. “Never mind.”
Thunderous footsteps sounded towards my room. With a bang, Robert burst open the door and stomped in. His eyes reddened with anger. He shook his finger at me. “What game have you been trying to play?”
Jane dashed out of the room.
I pressed my knees and thighs together under the covers. “Why, Robert, do you care? Let me go. Divorce me. Surely you can woo another naïve woman into marrying you. English duchy with more money than sense, perhaps?”
He shuffled from one foot to the other like a bull ready to charge. I pictured steam ejecting through his nostrils. I decided to wave the red flag under his nose some more. Go ahead, try it. My finger poised on top of the hairspray nozzle hidden under my covers.
“I’m tainted goods, right? I am no longer under your spell.” I repeated my request in slow deliberate syllables. “Let…me…go.”
His eyes darkened.” I can’t. You’ve learned too much.”
I folded my arms. “And now Dr. Wilson and Mary know as well.”
A shadow of a sneer eased across his face. “Actually, the good doctor is more clever than I have given him credit. That hospital? He plans the mental ward for you if you choose to leave here.”
His laughter gave me chills. It oozed with evil. I watched him slide into the chair, which the doctor had pulled to my bedside, with the confidence of the devil himself.
“You see, I had long prepared him for this possible scenario.” He waved his arms. “By blabbing to the servants, you’ve proved my assumption that you’re quite unstable. And I”—he bowed—“am the long-suffering husband who only wants the best for you. It all began after you, um, miscarried.” He fluttered his hand. “That’s what sent you drifting slowly over the edge into your pitiful fantasy world where I’m the evil king.”
My eyes widened.
He clucked. “Transposed guilt they call it. I’m not convinced the child was mine or that smooth Tom’s. How long did you two have feelings for each other behind my back, dear Jen?” He stood and sauntered to my bed. “But, saint that I am…”
I scooted away from him and got out the other side. His eyes fell to my nightgown. What appeared to be lust grew in them. I grabbed the robe at the end of the duvet and wrapped it around me.
He leaned forward with his palms flat to the mattress, elbows stiff. “Which will it be, Jen? The mental ward with drugs and confinement for years to come, or our marriage bed again? As the doctor told you, it’s all your choice.”
I froze to the spot. My heartbeat pounded against the walls of my chest as the room began to sway.
A jeer played across his mouth. “You have an hour to decide.” He walked to the door. With his back to me, he finished his thought. “When I return, I hope your mood improves. If not, Dr. Wilson’s black bag will have something to help you be more, shall we say, compliant to my husbandly wishes.”
As soon as the door clicked shut, I crumbled face down onto the bed in terror.
CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE
Outside, birds tweeted and the sun poked through the rain clouds. But in my heart, a treacherous storm brewed. I fell to the floor on my knees and prayed. I asked God to forgive me—for turning away in anger over my parents’ death while they served Him in the mission field, for once loving Robert more than Him, for developing feelings for Tom, and for walking away from church. Hands clasped, as tears cascaded in sheets down my cheeks, I spilled out all of it onto the bed.
“Save me, Lord Jesus, from this evil man. I don’t care how. I don’t deserve your help, I know that. I can never, ever say I’m sorry enough. But I need you. Please, Lord. Please.”
The quiet tap on my door made me jump. Had it been an hour? No, I doubted Robert would knock. I got up, wiped my face and tiptoed to the jamb. “Yes?”
Mary’s voice filtered through the wood. “May I enter?”
I turned the latch and let her in. Jane followed with more hot tea, sandwiches and scones. “Fortitude, you know.” Mary winked, but frowned. She peered into my eyes. I am sure they were red and swollen. They still felt hot from my tears.
She nodded for Jane to leave and motioned me to the wing chairs. I wrapped the robe closer to my body, sat with my legs tucked under me, and watched as she poured the tea.
“I am not mad, Mary. Really. I’ve never needed a psych eval. And I didn’t have a miscarriage a few months ago.”
She placed a gentle hand on my shoulder. “Yes, dear. Whatever you say.”
I pushed it away. “I mean it. I told you the truth. All of it. How can I get you to believe me?”
Maybe Mary hadn’t been privy to the whole scheme—the grandmother’s committal, the brothel. But I’d placed her in danger by taking her into my confidence. Only God knew what the doctor meant by a “long vacation” for her. I needed her on my side, for both of our sakes, in order for us to escape together.
“Mary, if Robert’s version is the truth then why did he bring me her
e to England? This isn’t our home. We’re from Texas. It doesn’t make sense.”
She stopped in mid-pour and clunked the teapot onto the tray. Her face paled, just a bit, but she regained her stately demeanor. “Well, there is that. But he told us he needed to spend too much time here advising Andrew and consulting with Michael. And you needed care. So…”
I saw the crack in Robert’s lie and wedged the door open, so to speak, hoping the light of truth would shine in. “Tell me about Niamh, Andrew’s sister. Did Robert know her?”
She cocked her head. “I don’t believe he did.”
I took the cup of tea and added the cream and sugar. Mary gazed at her feet. For moment she seemed somewhere else in time, most likely the past. Then with a sigh, her eyes returned to my face. “Her death wasn’t exactly an accident. She was angry. Depressed. They threatened to put her in the sanitarium after a nasty break-up with a boy from town. So below their class.” She waved her hand and swallowed back the emerging emotion in her face. “Well, and rather shady he was, you see. She met him though Andrew. As I’ve said so many times, he always had the knack for hanging around hoodlums.”
That hasn’t changed, I thought. I sat, hands folded in my lap. I understood the pain edging into her eyes. I’d experienced it enough. I gave her the sweetest smile I could muster. “Go on.”
She fiddled with her blouse. “They’d had an awful row, I’m told. Andrew says she dashed out to the garage, took the car…” Mary pulled her lower lip into her teeth.
I waited. Tears filled her eyes.
“Dr. Wilson examined her body. She was six weeks pregnant. The Baron, he loved her dearly. He never stopped mourning. Died of a stroke two months later.”
“Or of a broken heart?”
“Mmm.” A shaky fist went to her mouth. She swallowed her grief and regained her British composure.
I reached for her other hand but she shook her head. “He left the family in quite a mess, now didn’t he? This manor, like many in England, is wretchedly old and crumbling. Repairs can suck the life out of a family’s wealth. But, he’d inherited it and considered it his duty to maintain it, no matter the cost. The money the dowager brought into the marriage? Well, with inflation and the world-wide stock market crash a while back, it hasn’t been enough.” She shot me a weak smile.
I nodded and sipped my tea. Her face revealed she had more to tell, and knowledge was power. I waited.
In a few moments, she continued. “Andrew’s tried to reconcile the finances. I’ll give him that. After the BP fiasco in the Gulf, their stock portfolio dwindled even more. Andrew went to the States to seek out investors. Even woo some well-off Texas girls—oil and gas dynasties, you know.”
“…and there, he met Robert.”
“Andrew may have been a wild child, but after he returned to the manor from college, I saw he’d mended his ways. Grown up, I gather. He absorbed a lot of the responsibilities as his father should have had. The baron became proud of him.” She shook her head several times. “When Andrew found out about Niamh and her lover they fought so much. Niamh always was a stubborn, willful girl.”
A draft whiffed through the room. I repositioned the robe around my shoulders. “Mary, this helps me understand. But, keeping me here is wrong. Robert, er, Edward as you know him, is twisted. You must sense that.”
She went to the window. With her back to me, I saw her shoulders heave. “I’m not sure what to believe.” She swiveled to me, hand still clasped to her blouse. “But, you certainly appear perfectly sane to me. Just scared. And I admit, there are times I’ve noticed a look of evil in him.”
I nodded. “Me, too, Mary. It frightens me.” I swallowed some more tea for strength and rose to meet her. “I’m afraid he will drug me and, well, you know. He uses women, manipulates them, and dominates them. Sex is his weapon of choice.”
The common word raised her eyebrows. “If half of what you have told me is true…”
“It is.” I went to grab her shoulders to drive home my point, but then thought better of it. Remain in complete control. She’d respect that more. It’d prove further I wasn’t emotionally unstable.
I thrust my hands to my sides and stared into her worried eyes. They had endured a great deal for this family. Maybe she really didn’t know of the plans to make the grandmother bonkers so they could turn this place into an upscale brothel. I decided to play my trump card. “Mary, my hair has been cut and dyed to look like Niamh’s. It is naturally reddish blonde, and I always wore it long.”
The woman peered at me, I guess in an attempt to view me differently in her mind.
“And here—” I plopped the contacts out. “See? My eyes are not naturally blue-gray. They’re hazel around the edges.”
A shock waved over her face. “Oh, my dear heavens. I see. No, I didn’t know this wasn’t your natural look. I thought maybe it was a coincidence.” She eased back into her chair.
I sat as well. “And that we’d have the same name? A little too much of one, now don’t you think?”
A tap appeared at the door.
“Ma’am? Are you ready for me to collect the tea?”
Mary raised her voice. “No, Jane. Not yet. Niamh will want to nibble a bit more later on. You can return for it before dinner.”
Jane closed the door again.
I sighed.
The nanny rose. “I’m sure somewhere between you version and Mr. Manning’s is the truth. About the reasons for altering your appearance, I’m not sure. But, I intend to find out.” Her expression warmed.
I smiled. Had I won her over to my side? I only hoped it didn’t endanger her further. “Be careful, Mary.”
She huffed my caution away with a flip of her wrist. “We servants always hear more than they think. In the meantime,” Mary said, “I’d shove that armoire back to block his, or Dr. Wilson’s, further entrance if I were you.” She winked and left the room.
I once again maneuvered the mahogany monstrosity in front of the door. With the amount of scones and sandwiches piled on the plate, plus the fruit cascading out of the bowl on the side table, I could hold out for days. That would give me time to think of how to get Mary to hopefully escape with me. In the meantime, as long as I stayed put, her so-called long vacation would be postponed.
I raised my eyes to the ceiling. “Give me guidance. I need Your wisdom. Oh, and thank you for Your mercy and help so far, Lord.”
CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO
Pastor Jake had once told me strength came from prayer. I noticed an English Book of Common Prayer on the bookshelf. I thumbed through it and found prayers for guidance and peace. It also contained the Psalms and what appeared to be a reading guide for them, according to the day of the month. Today was the 27th, right? Wow. Less than a week ago I’d been a librarian in Florida. Six months prior, a naïve accounting clerk who’d never heard about Tom, traffickers or WITSEC. I shook my head and flipped the pages. May as well start there.
I curled up in the chair, chomped a sandwich and read Psalm 121. “I lift my eyes to the hills: from whence cometh my help? My help cometh even from the Lord; who hath made heaven and earth…”
A cold rush flowed to my toes, as if the breath of God himself coursed in my veins. I continued to read. “He will not let your foot be moved: and he that keepeth thee will not sleep… The Lord shall preserve thee from evil… The Lord shall preserve your going out and thy coming in, from this time forth forevermore.”
Going out and coming in. Did that mean that whatever choice I made God would protect me? Neither staying nor going sounded like a good idea to me. I didn’t see how I could possibly be protected from the consequences of either scenario—drugged into being a compliant wife or locked in a rubber room. Is there a third option, Lord?
Tears flowed again as I clutched the leather-bound book. Beyond the bed on the wall over a bureau hung a painting of the English hillside. At the top of the hill perched a gazebo cascaded in pink roses. My eyes blinked and refocused. Wait. That’s here on
this estate. I recalled seeing its outline from the corner bay window. It was also visible from the pavilion. I lift my eyes to the hills, from whence comes my strength! Are You trying to tell me the answer’s in the gazebo, Lord?
I peered through the raindrop-dusted windows to the left. Yes, there it sat on a hill above the tree tops. An octagonal gazebo. A whispered thought came to me. If you can get to it, you’ll be safe.
What? I’d be more like a sitting duck. Besides, I have no shoes. It’s cold, damp and more than a football field length past the gardens and up a fairly steep incline. Not to mention I’d have to bypass the six minders, numerous servants, and a patsy of a doctor with a bag of drugs all with one goal in mind—to stop me. Plus Malcolm, Michael, Andrew, and dear ol’ Robert.
But the abandoned little building drew me to it as a beacon pulsating security in a silent code only I could decipher. I stared at it for a few minutes. “I lift my eyes to the hills, from whence cometh my help,” I whispered.
As if in response, a flicker of light flashed from it. I blinked. Must be my imagination or a setting sunray peeking through the overcast sky, playing tricks with my vision. Surely not a signal.
Yet, a new wave of determination stirred in my mind.
“Okay, God. I trust this is your idea. You’ve heard my pleas. You must have a plan, so show me a way to get there.”
CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE
The sandwiches and scones, along with a juicy apple, bolstered my strength. The clock told me it had been well over an hour, yet Robert failed to return. I didn’t grasp what sort of psychological game his twisted mind had conceived now, but I decided to slough it off and run a warm bath. He couldn’t break down the door with my armoire firmly in place, and a nice aromatic soak was exactly what my body and mind needed to wash some of the anxiousness away. I locked the bath door and shoved the dressing table chair under the knob, though just in case.
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