Dangerous to Know

by Tasha Alexander

  He lifted my chin so that I was looking at him.

  “Truly, no woman has ever been loved as I love you,” he said. “There’s nothing I wouldn’t give up for you. Please trust me.”

  “Of course,” I said, tears spilling down my cheeks. He kissed me, gently at first, then with an increasing urgency and heat that was irresistible. I put my arms around him and pulled him closer. His embrace enveloped me.

  “Do not lose faith in me,” he whispered. “I could not bear it.”

  I woke alone the next morning. Colin had slipped out, not wanting to disturb my sleep, leaving me with two lines of poetry on a sheet of paper placed on his pillow:

  I love thee to the depth and breadth and height / My soul can reach…

  Despite the difficulties of the night, he’d managed to make me smile. I rang for Meg and directed her to begin packing my belongings as soon as she’d helped me dress. Cécile and Mrs. Hargreaves were already seated at the breakfast table when I arrived downstairs. I sank into a chair, accepted a cup of steaming tea, and put a still-warm croissant on my plate.

  “I confess, Emily, to feeling a certain sadness that my household is being so disrupted by all this tragedy,” Mrs. Hargreaves said. “It’s a dreadful thing not to feel one’s own home offers adequate protection for guests.”

  “It’s no fault of yours,” I said. “There’s nothing more to be done. What of you, Cécile? Will you join me in exile?”

  “Much as I hate to abandon you, Anne,” Cécile said. “I don’t want to leave Emily with only Madeline for company.”

  My mother-in-law nodded. “She’s a dear girl, but not, perhaps, the best of companions given all that you’ve recently suffered.” I did like Madeline, but Sebastian’s suggestion that she’d pushed the gardener’s daughter to her death still haunted me, and I wondered if it could be true. I hated the thought of returning to the place where I’d seen the eerie specter in the dovecote, but preferred that to being shipped home by myself in what might be viewed by society as disgrace. “And at any rate,” Mrs. Hargreaves continued. “You shan’t be abandoning me. I’m to come with you as well. Colin doesn’t want any of us unprotected in this house.”

  It was nearly four o’clock before we set off for our friends’ estate, where we were greeted with great exuberance from George and Madeline. I was happy to find Madeline in a lucid state of mind, free from any hint of madness, and wished there were some way to keep her from slipping again into its bonds.

  “It’s a bloody disaster what’s going on,” George said, crossing to us and leaving his wife to direct the servants’ handling of our luggage. “But we’re so pleased to have you all here. It will be an unending party. I’ve set up Japanese lanterns in the garden and thought we could have midnight wanderings through the maze if it’s not too chilly.”

  “An excellent plan,” I said. I was torn. On the one hand, I hated being cut out of the remainder of Colin’s investigation. On the other, so long as I was cut out, I felt tempted to throw myself with wild abandon into vacuous pleasures. If I couldn’t be useful, I might as well take full advantage of the entertainments presented to me.

  “I think we should make this as extravagant as Carnival in Venice,” Cécile said. “The sooner we can push the hideous events of the past weeks from our minds the better. How much champagne do you have on hand, sir? And where is your butler? I would have him send a telegram to Moët for me.”

  Before long we were all settled in pleasantly decorated bedrooms in the renovated section of the château. Cécile’s and mine were adjoining, which would make for excellent late-night consultation. Mrs. Hargreaves’s stood across the corridor, two doors down from that occupied by George and Madeline. Despite the size of the house, we were nestled in a cozy and friendly group.

  Madeline had planned an exquisite menu for dinner, and when we were all stuffed with côtes de veau vallée d’Auge—the most tender veal cutlets I’d ever tasted, cooked in sweet Norman butter and doused with a creamy cider sauce—we retired to the sitting room where there was still a space on the wall for the missing Monet.

  “Can’t you persuade Sebastian to bring it back?” George asked. “I can’t bear the room without it.”

  “And I’m affronted that he no longer appreciates our taste,” Madeline said. She was happy and well-balanced, no signs of her illness tainting any facet of her personality. Her mother, however, had not joined us. She, George had told me, was in the midst of a bad spell, and was keeping to her room, where a nurse tried to calm her by reading aloud.

  “I promise I shall ask him about it when next I see him,” I said. “He’s off with Colin now.”

  “Saving the world,” George said. “And thank heavens someone will do it. I’m not capable, but I am tired of feeling as if our little slice of paradise is tainted by these murders.”

  “It’s deeply unsettling,” Mrs. Hargreaves said.

  “But we’re not going to think about it tonight!” Madeline said. “Let’s play cards until it’s dark enough to light the lanterns. I’ve had enough of worry and misery, and now want only to enjoy the company of good friends. Do you like bezique?”

  “Only two can play that,” George said. “You ladies divide up and I’ll float between tables giving bad advice to everyone.”

  I was not familiar with the game, but Cécile was a huge proponent, and soon she’d taught me the rules. We took one table and Mrs. Hargreaves and Madeline the other, laughter erupting with great frequency as George bounced between us, stealing cards and generally making mischief. Some time after we’d switched partners and I was paired with Madeline, a footman came into the room with a telegram.

  George glanced at the envelope and handed it to me. I tore it open. “It’s from Colin,” I said. “He’s well. They’re close, he says, to having the final bit of evidence they need. He doesn’t think it will take more than three days and he’ll be back with us. And he says we’re safe where we are, that there’s no need for any worry.”

  “This could not be better news,” George said and turned to the waiting footman. “Take Lady Emily’s reply, my good man, and then bring us a bottle of champagne.”

  “You don’t think to celebrate now is premature, my dear?” Madeline asked, concern tugging at her pretty face.

  “Only if you object to celebrating again once the madman has been apprehended and jailed,” George said.

  “I do not understand, monsieur,” Cécile said. “Objecting to celebration? Is such a thing possible?”

  We all toasted and drank to Colin’s efficient success, giddy with relief that the end was all but in sight. I was proud of my husband, delighted with the speed of his success, and eager to return to London. George was about to open a third bottle of champagne when Madeline stopped him.

  “Look,” she said, pointing out the window. “They’ve lit the lanterns. Let’s go outside.”

  Glasses still in our hands, we stepped into the garden, brilliantly bathed in dancing light, and made our way to the maze. George raised his hands to silence our chattering when we reached the entrance.

  “Madeline and I have a tradition of racing each other through the maze,” he said. “Which does, of course, mean we’re starting on unequal footing here, but there it is. I say we all set off at once. And I warn you, I may lead you astray should you try to follow me. First one to the center and back wins. There are five scrolls in the center—pick one up and bring it back with you. I’ve written poems on each and when we’re done we’ll read them aloud.”

  It was an excellent idea for an entertainment. We quickly split up after entering the labyrinth hedge, none of us at first wanting the others too close by. Laughter drifted through the night air, Madeline’s louder than the rest. I’d never been particularly good at mazes—I’d forget which direction I’d taken when and found the only way I could make my way through was by not paying too close attention to the fact that I would have to encounter every dead end on my way to the solution.

  After more th
an a quarter of an hour I still hadn’t found the center. As I reached yet another stopping point, a feeling of panic filled my chest, and it seemed as if the dark hedgerows were closing in on me. I slowed my breathing and turned around, continuing on. When I again dead-ended, I retreated back to the last junction I’d been at and tried to remember which way I’d gone before. Making the best guess I could, I marched on, finding myself in the same dark spot I’d been in only moments before. Back at the junction, I turned what I thought was the other way, but wound up yet again in the place I’d started.

  Unless it was an identical dead end. I felt trapped, more scared than frustrated, my breath coming faster and my heart rate increasing. Surely I couldn’t have been going back and forth to the same place over and over again all this time? I dropped my handkerchief to the ground and returned to the junction, where I closed my eyes, concentrated, and went in the direction opposite from whence I’d come.

  The white linen of my handkerchief struck my eyes like a blow. This time, I marched back to the junction and kept going, but the path only returned me to where I’d been. I’d somehow become trapped in a portion of the maze that went nowhere. I stopped, the feeling of claustrophobia pressing in harder now, and fear gripped me. I couldn’t get out. Couldn’t find my way. Couldn’t even backtrack. I was about to shout for help when I heard Cécile and Mrs. Hargreaves chatting in the distance. Reassured, I reminded myself this could not be so difficult, and set off for another try.

  Only to find, once again, my handkerchief.

  I could no longer hear my friends, but far away in the distance rose the sound of a thin wail, growing louder and louder as it came closer to where I stood. Shaking, I reached into the bushes, wanting to push my way through them and force my way out, but they were too thick. Running now, I retraced my steps, determined to escape.

  This time, I didn’t find my handkerchief. Instead, crumpled on the ground in front of me, I saw a blue satin ribbon. The keening sound had followed me, weak and sad, and I felt as if it was nearly upon me, its eerie moan a plea for help or release.

  Against all my principles and everything I believed in, I did something I abhorred with a passion.

  I fainted.

  31

  I woke up to the sensation of someone tenderly rubbing my forehead. I opened my eyes, expecting to see Colin, surprised to find George instead. I parted my lips to speak but he covered my mouth, gently, with his hand.

  “Don’t exhaust yourself, Emily. You need your rest now.”

  “Rest? I only fainted,” I said, groggy and confused. “I’m fine.” I tried to sit up and realized that I’d been bound to the bed on which I lay. Leather straps at my ankles and wrists secured me, and instinctively I pulled against them. “George! What is this?”

  “Just one more, my friend,” he said, and tightened something around my forehead. What a mistake to have thought I’d been awakened by sweet ministrations.

  “Where are we?”

  “In the tower I’ve convinced Madeline is unsafe. It’s the only way I could ensure privacy for my work.”

  “Work? What work?”

  “There’s no need to worry about that now, dear.” He stroked my cheek. I flinched.

  “Where are the others?”

  “At the house, resting happily after drinking the laudanum-laced brandy I poured for them after we came inside. There’s no danger any of them will wake up until morning.”

  “What do they think became of me?”

  “You, my friend, succumbed to a fit of the vapors after getting lost in the maze. I found you and carried you to your room, where everyone believes you are sleeping peacefully. Cécile herself tucked you into bed. I didn’t move you here until they were all asleep.”

  “Our rooms are adjoining. She’ll check on me.”

  “She won’t wake up.”

  “Why would you do such a thing?” I asked, my heart racing.

  “I need your help, Emily. Madeline needs it. Edith was taken away from me too soon—I couldn’t finish the work. But you’re the right size, and I was close, so very close to solving the problem. You must understand, though, that I can’t test it on her. The risks are too great.”

  “I don’t know what you’re talking about.” I struggled to release my hands.

  “Don’t,” he said, gripping my wrists. “You’ll only hurt yourself. Edith had terrible sores from trying to escape. I didn’t want to hurt her, you know. I was trying to help her, too.”

  I looked around, desperate to find a way to escape. The architecture matched the oldest parts of the château, but there were no windows that I could see in the room, only unbroken stone walls. There was nothing else to do. I screamed for help.

  “You really shouldn’t do that,” he said, forcing a dirty rag into my mouth. “I don’t want to make you uncomfortable, but I can’t have anyone finding you here. Not right now.”

  I strained against the leather straps.

  “This may hurt some, but it won’t kill you, and you’re doing so much good, so much for my Madeline.”

  On a table next to me I saw a strange object: a metal cylinder with a crank and a jar full of clear liquid attached to it. A long wire, of which George held the terminus, extended from the end of the tube.

  “It is through this the electricity flows,” he said, explaining as if I were his pupil. “A fascinating machine, elegant in design, simple to operate. We attach the wire here—” He put it on my temple, something sticky catching on my skin to hold it in place. I was struggling to pay attention to everything he said, to remain focused, as it occurred to me my only hope for survival was to understand this contrivance. “And then I turn it on. First, though, I’ll adjust the current.” He spun a knob on the base of the platform. I heard a whirring sound, a sudden pop, and my muscles convulsed as pain shot through me. Tears poured from my eyes. George wiped them with his handkerchief and removed the rag from my mouth, covering it once again with his hand.

  “You mustn’t scream again, do you understand?” he asked. “Or I shall have to put a real gag on you.”

  “What are you doing?”

  “I’m making it so you can help your friend,” he said. “That’s all you need know.”

  “No, George, tell me what this is. I’m scared.” Whatever he was up to, there seemed to be some small measure of compassion still present in him, and at the moment, appealing to it seemed all I could do.

  “This is a treatment—medical electricity—that can be used for nervous disorders, but it’s not been much studied, and as you see, it’s painful. I think it may help Madeline, but I must be sure before I try it on her.”

  “I don’t have a mental disorder, George. You can’t learn anything from doing this to me.”

  “You’re just her size,” he said. “I didn’t notice it until you wore her clothes after you both got soaked in the rain. I have to figure out how much current is required—and how much is too much—so I can try to stop the progression of the hideous disease that’s destroying my dear girl.”

  “But you won’t know the effect on her brain,” I said, hoping to keep him talking until I could make an escape from the leather straps. They weren’t terribly tight, but tight enough. I might be able to wriggle my way out of them if given enough time. I rolled my ankles, not wanting to draw his attention to my hands. “What you’re doing to me is futile.”

  “No, no, you’re wrong,” he said. “Edith started to respond to the treatment and as the results got better and better I escalated too quickly, although I wasn’t giving her even half what this machine can generate. When the volts went too high, she fell into a coma. It was a horrible sight. She foamed at the mouth and twitched violently. She recovered in less than half an hour, but I could see that she was no longer herself. She was more crazed, and she broke free and lashed out at me. Knocked me against the wall and I lost consciousness for a brief moment. When I woke, she was gone.”

  “You killed her.”

  “I had no choice,
Emily. If she’d made it to the village, she would have told them, she would have brought the police, and all my work would have been for naught. Would you have me let my wife slip into the irrevocable bonds of madness?”

  “You can’t save her by killing others,” I said.

  “Edith shouldn’t have died. I admit, it’s my fault for escalating the experiment at the wrong pace. But she left me no option once she’d fled. I found her easily enough—she was crying, couldn’t stop from the sound of it. All I had to do was follow the sound.”

  “But the manner in which you killed her. It was so brutal, George…how could you?” The horror of being trapped so near a person capable of such crimes was beyond any words. I was sweating, my stomach churned, my muscles clenched. My very bones ached with pain as my entire body revolted at his proximity.

  “I did it quickly. The knife was sharp. The rest…” He covered his eyes. “It was terrible for me, too, you know. But I thought if I made it look like something it wasn’t—if I mimicked a crime more famous…perhaps I would avoid all scrutiny.”

  “You have to let me go, George.”

  “Oh, Emily, I should like nothing better. But you know I can’t do that, especially now. I’ve always liked you, and Madeline adores you, so I can promise to be as kind as the situation allows. I have to figure out how much current you can take before the seizure, and that I will do slowly. But in the end…” He choked on the words. “I will do it when you’re unconscious. You will feel neither pain nor fear. And you can die knowing you’re giving back to me the woman I adore more than anything.”

  I couldn’t speak, could hardly think. No terror could be compared to this, no dread, no hideous imagining. I let my eyes meet his, wanting to see if madness was visible on his face. His pupils were dilated, his skin flushed, but he looked otherwise like a perfectly ordinary man. To have found otherwise might have provided a slim parcel of comfort.