After finding some items he thought would suffice, he wrapped them in a clean kitchen towel and hurried from the house.
Chapter Seven
Lydia scratched out the last few lines with her broken pencil as she drew in George’s whiskers. Today the poor cat was doused with a pot of water from a woman in an upstairs window. Lydia was used to painting miniature panoramas on paper a few inches high and several inches long that was then rolled up and stored in a wooden tube that she and her sisters would sell to customers. By comparison, the one she did now on the cell wall was huge. While she did have a much larger canvas to work on, it was more than that. It was as if she had so much to say, so many feelings to communicate about what she was going through, she needed a larger area on which to create it.
Thankfully, one of the kinder female keepers had left her lantern just inside Lydia’s cell door so Lydia could have some light to aid in her drawing. She wished they’d do that every day. It wasn’t like Lydia could reach the lantern herself. Were they afraid she’d use it to try to set the place on fire? Her chains wouldn’t allow her to get more than a couple of feet from the wall or her straw bed.
A key turned in the door. Lydia cringed and dropped her pencil. What if it was Mr. Steele again? Had he returned to finish what he hadn’t accomplished the night prior?
She widened her eyes when the door opened and she saw that it was not the keeper. It was Stratford.
He came back!
Relief flooded through her, making her feel weaker than she already was from hunger. She couldn’t imagine why he’d return when he’d been so angry at the end of his previous visit, but she cared not. He was there. Would she have a chance to apologize for causing him to leave in such a rush?
Glancing down at her blanket, Lydia made sure it was still tucked in underneath her arms and that her most private areas were covered. Then she sat and waited.
He stepped inside the cell, waited for the matron to close the door, then turned toward her. Something, a small lump of some sort, was beneath his coat right about chest height. What in the world was it? Stratford bit his lip as he came a step closer. He tilted his head and waited.
When no words were forthcoming, Lydia decided to take hold of the reins herself. He’d returned, but who knew how long he might stay. Best to get the conversation started. “I’m pleased you’ve returned.”
His eyes widened. “You are?”
She nodded, and a thick lock of hair fell forward. She wished she had a tie or ribbon to keep her lank hair from falling in her face. After brushing it from her eyes, she answered, “Yes, I… I treated you dreadfully. You’d come to see me, and I practically interrogated you about the letter. Since I don’t have many visitors, I should have been grateful instead of hateful.”
He smirked. “It’s always refreshing when an apology rhymes at the end.” His smile fell and then he replied, “I’m the one who should apologize. For acting like a spoiled child and stomping away. As well as…”
“What?”
“Not reading you your sister’s note.”
Lydia clasped her hands together in her lap. She still longed to know why he hadn’t read it, but if he hadn’t told her before, how likely was it that he’d be forthcoming now? “I’m sure you had your reason for not doing so.”
“Indeed.”
When he didn’t comment further, she pointed to the bump in his coat. “What have you there?” Sometimes visitors smuggled in books or other things for prisoners. Had he brought her something to read as a way of apology about the note?
He glanced down and frowned, seeming surprised something happened to be beneath his coat. “I… brought you something.”
So he had snuck something in. Pure delight flowed through her that he’d bothered to bring something especially for her. “Thank you.”
“You don’t know what I’ve brought.”
“It doesn’t matter. Anything will be welcome.”
One side of his mouth lifted. “What if I’ve brought you something detestable? Like a bat?”
“I’d put it to good use and let it terrorize the resident rat.”
“Oh, Lydia…” His pleasant countenance slipped away, leaving sadness in its place.
She waved her hand. “Please, I was only trying to bring some levity to an otherwise dreadful existence.”
“Are there truly rats?”
“I’m afraid so.” Much to her horror and dismay. When there wasn’t one in her cell, she continually kept a watch out for one in case it came back.
“I’m sorry.”
“It isn’t your doing I’m here.”
“That’s true. But whose? Do you know?” Stratford leaned forward slightly as if desperately longing to know who’d caused her plight.
Lydia didn’t want to admit the truth. That Miss Queensbury had put her in Bedlam because of Stratford. He didn’t deserve to be saddled with unearned guilt or with the other woman for a wife. Instead, she tilted her head toward whatever he’d brought. “I’m really hoping that’s more pleasant than a bat.”
With a glance downward he said, “I think you’ll find it so.” He opened his coat and produced something wrapped in a white cloth. What could it be? The shape was irregular, so it wasn’t a book. He moved closer and leaned down until she could reach for it. “Open it and see.”
As soon as she lifted one corner of the cloth, the sweet aroma of bread reached her. Food? Her mouth watered. She lifted the loaf and inhaled deeply. The sweet smell traveled from her nose to her stomach. When she looked down, there was also a small block of cheese. “Stratford… I don’t know how to thank you.”
He waved away her thanks. “It’s not much. Truly. When I was here last, I noticed you appeared to be thinner. I… I was concerned. For your health.” A slight blush crept up to his cheeks. Was he embarrassed to have admitted he cared about her welfare?
She nodded, not sure how to reply. Should she thank him again? Take away the awkwardness with inane chatter? Or dive into the meal, as she longed to do.
“Please.” He pointed to the food. “Go ahead and eat.”
Without saying anything further, Lydia tore off a large chunk of bread and stuffed it in her mouth. She did the same with the cheese, alternating between the two foods and small sips of water in her jar. Thankfully Mr. Steele hadn’t taken that when he’d confiscated her food. It seemed only a matter of seconds before she looked down and the food was gone. Every. Last. Crumb. She wiped her hand across her mouth and glanced at Stratford. “Oh dear…”
“What?” His eyes crinkled at the corners.
“I must resemble a pig at a trough.”
“Lydia, you have every right. You must be starving. How much food are they giving you?”
She swallowed hard, not wanting to tell him the truth.
He placed his hands on his hips as if he might scold her were she not forthcoming. “Please. We’re family of a sort. You can tell me.”
“Last night… someone, well…”
He took a step closer. “Something happened?”
“One of the keepers…” She darted a glance at the door to make sure no one was peering in. “He—”
“He? You have male keepers? I’d assumed, that is, I was hoping…”
“Not all of them. Mostly women but there are some men.”
“Go on.” He crossed his arms and tapped the toe of his boot. Was he angry? With her?
“He came in the middle of the night and…” She closed her eyes. “He wanted to… tried to—”
Stratford let out a gasp. “He didn’t—”
“No. But not for lack of trying.” The memory of the man’s hot breath, dirty fingers, and lewd expression ran through her mind. Oh that she could erase it forever. “And then he took away my gruel.”
“The bastard.”
Lydia looked up sharply. Stratford was angry but not at her. On her behalf.
“How did you keep him from…”
She let out a small chuckle. In spite of her
bad memories and loss of food, she had gotten a little retribution. “I bit him. On the hand.”
He laughed. “I see. Good for you.”
Praise from Stratford? She never thought she’d live to see it. Though it was chilly in the damp basement, warmth from his sentiment spread from her face down to her bare feet. “Thank you again for the food. It truly means so much.”
“You don’t need to thank me, Lydia. You’re here enduring terrible atrocities.” He paused to peruse her face. Was he studying her bruises again? “If I can offer the least bit of comfort to you, then that I shall do.”
She smiled then grimaced and touched her face. Still tender near her eye. “If I could impose on your generosity a bit further, could you… that is, would you stay for just a little while longer? Perhaps you could tell me more about Kitty. How she’s doing. Any news from home, no matter how mundane, would be welcome.”
He came nearer but continued to stand. Not that she could blame him. There wasn’t any place to sit unless it was on the floor. She’d spent weeks there and wouldn’t recommend it.
His eyes crinkled at the corners. “Certainly. Well, as of this morning, Kitty is still doing well. The doctor insists she stay in bed, however, which seems to be putting her in a snit.”
Lydia laughed. “Yes, I can quite imagine. Have you seen her recently, spoken to her personally?”
“I saw her earlier, very briefly. I didn’t want to tire her out.”
“What did you talk about?”
“You, mostly.”
“Me? What about the baby? She should be only thinking of the child and herself right now.”
He leaned forward slightly. “But you’re her sister. And she’s unable to come and see you for herself. She’s sick with worry.”
“Oh no… I hate that I’m the cause of any stress for her. That can’t be good for her health.”
“It isn’t your fault. You didn’t request to be housed in this lovely establishment.” He waved his hand around the small gloomy confines of the cell.
“True, but—”
“No. Stop blaming yourself for Kitty’s well-being. Just take care of yourself as best you can.”
She shrugged and then nodded. What choice did she have? A person chained to the floor could only do so much.
“Let’s see.” He pressed his finger against his chin. “What else can I tell you?”
She longed to know anything. Everything. “How is Patience?”
“She’s doing well. But I’m afraid she’s running herself a little ragged trying to keep Kitty entertained.”
“That sounds like Patience. Always the peacemaker. Wanting everything to be in good order and everyone around her happy and content.”
“She’s awfully worried about you. And the fact that she can’t come and see you right now. Nathaniel told me that Patience confided in him. She’s torn between caring for Kitty and the baby and longing to come and see you. Guilt is gnawing at her.”
“But she shouldn’t feel guilty on my behalf. It isn’t her fault that they won’t let her in to see me. Will you please tell I said so?.”
“I will convey your sentiments.”
“Thank you.” She let out a long breath. Sitting in her cell gave her entirely too much time to think. And worry. Aside from the mural she worked on daily, there wasn’t much else with which to occupy her.
“Along the lines of conveying sentiments, I’m to tell you that George misses you terribly.”
“I miss him too.” She peered over her shoulder at her mural.
“I’d meant to ask you about your drawing. The poor cat who I can only assume is George doesn’t seem to be faring too well.” He pointed toward her latest addition. “Usually, your panoramas are so cheerful. Hopeful. But being trapped in here, I’m guessing…”
“You’re correct. I can’t contemplate anything happy of which to paint. I’m just glad to know that the real George is content and well looked after at home with Kitty.”
“Indeed he is. Patience brings him to visit Kitty each day, much to my mother’s chagrin. Mother isn’t a lover of animals. Nathaniel insisted, however, that seeing George would help settle Kitty’s frayed nerves.”
Wanting to change the subject before he asked more questions about George’s unfortunate plight in her mural, she asked, “How is Nathaniel doing? I hear expectant fathers are often nervous.”
“Trust me, my cousin is no different. If he paces beside Kitty’s bed much more, he’ll wear a hole and tumble through the floor to the room below.”
“I’m pleased that things worked out for Kitty and Nathaniel. They’re so much in love and—” Lydia paused, realizing what she’d said. “I didn’t mean… that is—”
“Don’t give it another thought. Please. I deeply regret my prior actions. My disregard for their happiness and my thoughtless behavior are inexcusable.”
She studied his face the best she could with her impaired eyesight. “Stratford, it’s obvious you’ve changed.”
“Is it?” He lowered his brow. Didn’t he believe her?
“Why, yes. You’re so supportive of my sister and your cousin now. And you’ve come to see me. Twice. As you can see, I don’t have many visitors. Not that I’d blame someone for wishing to stay away from here.”
“So you wouldn’t be opposed to me returning on another occasion?”
He intended to come back? “No. Not in the least. In fact, I’ll be counting the minutes until you’re with me again.” Counting the minutes? Lydia sucked in a breath. Heat, sudden and forceful leaped upon her face. What had she done? It sounded like she was making a declaration of love for the man.
You do love him, Lydia. However, Stratford didn’t need to know that.
“I shall be happy to oblige.” He nodded once and smiled. “Until then.”
Chapter Eight
Lydia had slept better the previous night than she had in all the time she’d spent in Bedlam. The fact that Stratford would return gave her hope. And purpose. A reason to hang on to what was left of her composure and sanity when surrounded by people consumed by madness and the inhumane way in which some of the keepers treated the patients.
When the key turned in her door lock, Lydia sat up straight. Was it him? He hadn’t specified he’d return the very next day, but she had hoped.
Oh, how she’d hoped.
The man in question stepped inside the room. “Good day.”
“Good day, Stratford.” Not for the first time, she wished she appeared presentable. Clean, brushed hair, a pretty, new dress. Delicate slippers. With a sigh, Lydia looked down. Dirty hair, a threadbare blanket, and bare feet was all she could offer.
He stepped closer and handed her something wrapped in the familiar white cloth. More food? With haste, she unwrapped the parcel and took a small bite of bread. She could have kissed Stratford. To be truthful, she would kiss him even if he hadn’t brought her a repast. Though with the way she looked and smelled, the sentiment wouldn’t be gladly returned, even if they were more than simple acquaintances.
Stratford reached into his coat pocket a second time. For a moment, Lydia wondered if he’d brought her something besides the bread and fruit tart to eat. When he retrieved a piece of foolscap, Lydia’s heart soared. Was it another note from her sister? Her vision was still a bit blurry for such tiny detail, but if he was still reticent to read to her for whatever reason, perhaps she could read it herself once the swelling had gone down around her eyes. To be able to read Kitty’s thoughts would be a true gift.
Lydia swallowed bite of bread she’d been chewing and waited. Staring at his outstretched hand, she reached up to take the offered letter.
Instead of placing the letter in Lydia’s hand, he lowered it to his side. What was he doing? Was he not going to give it to her, after all?
Stratford looked directly at her then, peering into her eyes, and then he gave a curt nod. It was as if he’d come to some important decision. What in the world was going on? He stepped closer until he
was only a few inches in front of her. Without forethought, Lydia reached out and clasped his hand, which caused him to bend down at an awkward angle. But she had to know why he kept the letter and had given her that strange expression.
Stratford ended up crouching down so they were now at least on the same eye level. He didn’t try to pull away from her clutching hand. Instead, he rubbed his thumb over the back of hers. The sensation was so unexpected, so soothing, she nearly burst into tears. It seemed to have been so long since someone had shown her kindness. In truth it had only been a matter of days since her family had last visited, but sitting in that cell, alone, it had felt like a year.
He stroked her skin over and over, slowly, tenderly. “What I’m going to tell you is something I’ve never told another soul.”
She frowned. What could it be? He was so serious. Where was the cockiness, the bravado he normally possessed?
“You see, I’ve never learned to… that is, I can’t…”
“What?”
“I can’t… read.”
Lydia frowned. “You’re not serious.” Was he trying to say something to lighten the mood? Bring her some humor in the dank terrible place?
“Yes, I am. And I’m loath to admit that’s the reason I try my best not to have to attempt doing paperwork in father’s office. Poor Nathaniel gets caught with the brunt of it.”
Finally, an answer to why he’d refused to read to her. “But…”
“I know it’s hard to believe, however it’s the truth.”
“You attended school, did you not?”
He nodded.
“If you can’t read, then how did you complete your studies?” Lydia’s voice sounded disbelieving, but she didn’t care. She wanted to find his words genuine, but part of her found it odd that he could have gone all through school with no one the wiser.
“It’s convenient at times to be wealthy.”
“You paid someone to do it for you?”
“I’m afraid to admit it, but yes.” He watched her closely, as if what she’d say next truly mattered.
“I… Did you just not want to learn or—”
“It wasn’t that. I tried. Over and over for many years. I just… couldn’t. For that reason, I’ve always envied my cousin. Wished I could be as smart and efficient as he is. It’s also partly why there was so much animosity between us, though he never knew why.”
Color of Danger (The Sullyard Sisters Book 2) Page 6
