The Madness of Miss Grey

by Julia Bennet

  Just when she’d been on the verge of forgiving him, too. Clearly, he hadn’t come to apologize but to offer further insult. “What arrogance to assume you’re better than Dr. Carter.”

  “I only say what everyone thinks. Carter isn’t a gentleman.”

  “And therefore he’s inferior?”

  Vaughn stared at her, absolutely baffled. “Well, of course he is. You know, you’re beginning to sound like a republican.”

  She quickened her pace. The sooner they found Hector and returned to the house the better.

  “Wait!” Vaughn cried. “I’m saying everything wrong. What I meant is that you don’t need him anymore. I’m here now. I can take care of you.”

  “Thank you,” she said, as polite as if he’d offered to give up his chair. “But I’m quite happy as I am. Dr. Carter may not be a gentleman—”

  “He’s little better than a thug, truth be told. And he looks like a prizefighter.”

  She took a deep breath and tried again. “He may not be a gentleman by birth, but he is one by nature. He also happens to be the best man I’ve ever known. He’s kind and wonderful and…”

  And I’m in love with him.

  Just like that, she knew. Hearing him insulted hurt her a thousand times more deeply than any affront to herself. She admired him, she wanted him, she chose him, and every moment spent in his company was a gift. Of course she loved him. It seemed so obvious now. She loved Will, but he didn’t know.

  “I have to go,” she said. Though it made no sense, getting to Will and telling him how she felt seemed like the most important thing in the world. Tom could look after Hector while she ran home.

  Vaughn grabbed her arm. “Wait, Helen. Please.”

  “I can’t. Look, we’ll talk again soon, but right now I have to—”

  “No.” Too late, she heard the steel in his voice. His gaze burned with resentment.

  “Let go of my arm, Vaughn.”

  “I’m sorry, but you’re not thinking clearly. No sane woman would choose that housekeeper’s whelp over me.”

  Incensed, she tore loose, but he caught her coat and dragged her backward. Before she had a chance to cry out, he covered her mouth in a crushing kiss. The last thing she knew was the rough hardness of the tree trunk at her back, then a sharp pain as the needle pricked her neck.

  Chapter Eighteen

  At first, she was aware only of a jumbled cacophony of angry voices. The words themselves made no sense. Every time she tried to open her eyes, a powerful tiredness dragged her back into darkness, an effect of whatever drug they’d given her this time.

  “I couldn’t help it. The blasted gardener refused to go back to the house.”

  Vaughn. But what was he talking about?

  “Stop mithering. It’s done now.”

  Fletch. Oh God.

  “You should’ve seen Green’s face when he saw us up against the tree. Such moral outrage. But he’ll go straight to the house and warn them.”

  “So what if he does? Think, man. He’ll tell them what he saw. You and Helen rutting against a tree, then you carrying her off to a carriage. An elopement. Very romantic.”

  The significance of these words couldn’t penetrate Helen’s thick narcotic fog, but she’d long been half aware of a vague rocking sensation. Now her stomach lurched, nudging her closer to full consciousness. They were in a carriage, she realized, and they’d taken a corner at high speed.

  “Oh God,” she moaned. “I think I’m going to be sick.”

  “I’m not surprised,” Fletch muttered as she helped Helen lean forward. “Still, we’ll be there soon.”

  “Don’t let her vomit in the carriage,” Vaughn snapped.

  Thankfully, the nausea eased slightly once Helen was upright. If she kept taking deep breaths, she thought she might be all right. She forced her eyes open, but outside she saw only barren fields and wind-twisted trees. Blackwell had been her prison for over ten years, and during that time, she’d hardly ever left the grounds. Nothing looked familiar.

  “Where are we going?” she asked.

  Vaughn sat opposite in the forward-facing seat, but he didn’t even look at her. Instead, he stared moodily out the window.

  Fletch’s eyes lit with malicious pleasure. “On a nice little jaunt. There’s going to be a train. Won’t that be grand?”

  A train meant far. “Is it another asylum?”

  “That would be telling.”

  Vaughn eyed her coldly. “It’s up to His Grace.”

  The duke. Did that mean she was actually going to see him or only that Vaughn was waiting for his instructions? She slumped back in her seat, but she wouldn’t let herself sleep. Fletch and Vaughn didn’t talk anymore, instead gazing through opposite windows.

  Vaughn’s conduct, though despicable, was well within a doctor’s remit. The scandal sheets had always been full of the forced incarceration of lunatics. Even if they chanced upon a policeman on their journey, Vaughn would show his credentials. No doubt he had some sort of guarantee with Harcastle’s crest on it.

  “Was this always your intention?” she asked him. “To abduct me?”

  “I wanted you to come willingly. You brought this on yourself.”

  “Why, because I didn’t fall in with your plan?”

  He looked away, but not before she glimpsed the tight set of his jaw.

  “Happen it were you playing the slut with that housekeeper’s son that did it,” Fletch said.

  “Shut up,” Vaughn snapped. “I wouldn’t touch her now. I never would have if I’d known what a whore she was.”

  Slut, whore, trollop, trull. Those words needed striking from the language. Tired of talking now, Helen stared at the bleak view. When Will realized she’d gone…

  “I know what you’re thinking,” Vaughn said. “Dr. Carter isn’t coming for you. Not after the note you left, and not after the show I put on in the woods.”

  You should have seen Green’s face, Vaughn had said. Such moral outrage.

  Helen’s stomach clenched with another spasm of nausea. “What do you mean? What did you do to me?”

  “Nothing I hadn’t done before. Don’t worry. I was too busy trying to stop you falling over to go far. When you wouldn’t let me send Green back to the house, I had to do something to convince him you were willing to come with me. I kissed you and carried you to the carriage before he got close enough to see what was really happening.”

  They’d thought of everything. “And the letter you left?”

  “A fond farewell to your old lover.” He gave a small, gloating smile. “I doubt Carter will trouble you again once he’s read it.”

  …

  Will found the note propped against the clock on the mantel. He unfolded the paper with a tightness in his chest, a constriction that only intensified as he read the words.

  Dr. Vaughn wants to look after me and keep me safe. In time, I hope you can forgive me for leaving without a proper farewell. Thank you for everything.

  He waited for the weight of despair to come crashing down on him, but the echoing void of nothing was far worse. Thoughts of Helen, plans, dreams, hopes, and longing had filled him for months, and now they simply disappeared. Like Helen herself.

  Once before, love had ended almost this abruptly. Esther had been too young to die but too frail to survive the perils of a difficult pregnancy. Her loss had been cruel, but at least he’d known she loved him.

  With Helen…

  Why had he fallen in love with a woman who’d only ever tried to manipulate him? Even though he’d feared this very thing, he’d still run headlong into pain. Why? Was it because she appeared to accept him for who he was? At times, she seemed honestly to care for him or, if not care, at least to like him. She hadn’t loved him—had never claimed to—yet he’d never felt happier or freer than when he’d been in her arms. To find that it meant nothing after all, that all of it had been pretense…

  All these thoughts and feelings ran through him as he stood by the mant
el, the hated note slipping from his fingers. Now it took an enormous effort to turn and face the empty room. She’d made every inch of it hers. There was the chair where she’d sat. On the armrest, he saw the book she’d been reading, left open as if she’d intended to come back and finish it. And over there, the bed where they’d made love, where she’d promised never to leave him.

  They’d have to tear me out of your arms, she’d said, and he’d almost believed her. Promise me you’ll never give up on me.

  And he had promised.

  Was he so eager to play the fool even now? He mustn’t latch on to those words she’d spoken as if they were the only truth in this sea of deception. Yet, what if she hadn’t gone willingly? What if Vaughn had forced her to write that note? Or, since Will had no idea what her handwriting looked like, what if she hadn’t even written the thing? Even if it turned out she had, didn’t he deserve to hear her say so straight to his face?

  Where to start?

  He could search Vaughn’s room, but it seemed unlikely he’d have left anything helpful behind. If Somerton turned out to be in on—

  Somerton. Somerton was about to leave.

  Will sped down the spiral staircase and out into the cold. The quickest way to the main entrance was around the house rather than through its maze of corridors. As he turned the corner, he saw the carriage on the drive. Sterling stood on the front step, bidding Somerton farewell.

  Will didn’t have time to plan what he would say or do once he reached them, so he felt as surprised as anyone when he grabbed Somerton by the front of his greatcoat and shoved him back against the wall of the house.

  “Did you know about it?” he roared.

  Hands plucked at his jacket. Sterling or one of the attendants perhaps. Will didn’t know or care.

  Somerton looked down at Will’s hands crushing the smooth folds of his coat and frowned. “Carter, what’s the matter with you? What are you talking about?”

  “About Helen, of course.”

  The expression in Somerton’s dark eyes hardened. “Let me go,” he said. “Then tell me what’s happened to my sister.” His protective, even proprietary, tone convinced Will, at least for the time being.

  “She’s gone. Vaughn’s with her. It may not have been by choice.”

  “Gone?” Sterling said. “What do you mean gone? I never authorized—”

  Somerton sighed. “If Vaughn got permission from the duke, your authorization is immaterial. I’m afraid my father’s finished with you and your asylum, Sterling.”

  “He can’t—”

  “Oh, go back inside. Do some paperwork.” Somerton turned his back on the still blustering Sterling and steered Will down the steps and onto the grass. “How do you know she’s gone? Did she leave a note?”

  “There is a note, but I don’t believe it’s from Helen.”

  “But if Vaughn offered to get her out—”

  “Helen wouldn’t leave me.” He spoke with more conviction than he felt. Despite the apparent understanding blossoming between them, he couldn’t stop thinking about how she’d manipulated him when they’d first met. What if that’s all their marriage had been? He’d tried to make it clear that he didn’t expect anything in return for his help, but her distrust of doctors ran deep. What if she’d only pretended to believe him?

  “What’s that filthy canine doing on my lawn?” Sterling shouted. “Carter, I told you to keep that thing in the stable. It’s not safe.”

  Hector came hurtling toward Will and sent him flying.

  “Sit.” Scrambling to his feet, he seized the dog’s collar, then turned to Somerton. “You see? She took the dog for a walk. Why would she take him from the stable if she knew she wasn’t going to be able to bring him back?”

  Somerton winced, his skepticism clear. “From what I hear, that dog is as adept at escaping as Helen.”

  Before Will could answer, Tom Green rounded the corner and pelted across the gravel toward them. He looked dreadful, pale faced, his eyes wide. In all the chaos, Will had forgotten that Tom was supposed to accompany Helen.

  “Where is she?”

  “I’m so sorry. I couldn’t stop them.”

  Somerton stepped forward. “You saw Dr. Vaughn and Miss Grey leave?”

  “Aye, sir.”

  “How did Miss Grey look? Did she appear under any duress?”

  Will wanted to shove Somerton out of the way. These were the wrong questions.

  “No,” Tom said, ducking his head. “She went willingly.”

  Will closed his eyes, not wanting to see the sympathy already creeping into Somerton’s expression. This didn’t mean anything. There were dozens of reasons why she might not struggle. Vaughn might have threatened her, or perhaps he’d tricked her in some way.

  “Are you sure?” Somerton said. “What exactly did you see? You must tell us, man. It might be important.”

  “Dr. Vaughn sent me out of the way to look for the dog. When I came back, they were… He had her up against the tree. They were kissing, and he had his hands on her.”

  Pain tore through Will so that he actually pressed a hand to his heart. Nothing could have prepared him for the agony Tom’s words caused. All this time, she’d been lying. She didn’t truly want Will. He’d been a means to an end. All those times they’d made love, had she been thinking of Vaughn? “Did you try to stop them?”

  “I was shocked at first, but then he swung her up in his arms and started carrying her through the trees. I ran after them then, but by the time I reached the road, all I saw was the carriage turning the corner.”

  Will sat down heavily on the stone step. Hector nudged his arm with the top of his head, and Will stroked him absentmindedly.

  Something didn’t feel right. Vaughn carrying Helen to the carriage? It was too romantic. The only way he could imagine Helen allowing anyone to sweep her off her feet was if she was unconscious. Perhaps that hadn’t literally been the case, but the story still didn’t ring true. Once Vaughn had met Helen in the woods, why not send Tom back to the house and avoid a potential obstacle to their elopement? Come to think of it, why would Helen allow Tom to accompany her at all? Surely, she could have slipped away if she’d wanted to.

  Torn between hope and reason, he didn’t know what to do. All medical students learnt about Occam’s razor, the notion that the simplest hypothesis is usually correct. Which was more likely, that Tom Green had imagined a passionate scene between Helen and Vaughn or that Will, desperate to hold on to the life they’d been building, was deluding himself? Surely the latter.

  “I’m sorry, Carter,” Somerton said, sinking down onto the step beside him.

  Will wanted to stay exactly where he was and wallow in his grief, but Helen was still his wife, and he’d made her a promise. At the very least, he owed it to her to make sure she was safe.

  “Don’t be sorry. I don’t care what Tom thinks he saw, I have to go after her.”

  The pity in Somerton’s eyes was the final straw.

  “For God’s sake, man!” Will snapped. “Are you going to help me find your sister or not? If you are, let’s get on with it, but if you’re not, you need to get out of my way.”

  Somerton held up his hands in surrender. “Tell me what to do.”

  “I should think it’s obvious. Helen told me Vaughn has the duke’s trust. Anyway, he’d hardly run off with her without His Grace’s permission. He doesn’t seem the type to risk it.”

  “So we go and see my father.” Somerton’s lips twisted in a bitter smile. “Sounds like fun.”

  …

  It was dark outside by the time the train pulled into Charing Cross. Vaughn hailed a hansom cab, and the threesome traveled through the London streets in silence. Helen had long since given up trying to reason with her captors.

  The city didn’t feel like home anymore. A decade of almost-solitude at Blackwell had made her afraid of the noise and the people. Her first sight of the train, puffing steam and shrieking on the platform like an angry metal g
iant, had nearly stopped her heart.

  Yet, as the cab pulled up outside an enormous townhouse, she wanted to leap out and run as fast as she could in the opposite direction. Never mind that she’d be alone and lost at night in a city that terrified her, she didn’t want to go inside. Fletch’s fingers squeezed her arm in warning.

  Vaughn climbed down from the carriage and knocked at the front door. He then spent several minutes in conversation with a man dressed from head to toe in black. The butler, presumably.

  “What’s taking so long?” Helen wondered aloud.

  Fletch didn’t answer. She watched Vaughn, and when he turned and nodded, she opened the door and pulled Helen out after her.

  The butler led the way up a long, sweeping staircase, then through a wide corridor to a dimly lit sitting room. Thick blue velvet curtains hung from ceiling to floor around every window, drawn closed to keep out the winter air. The Duke of Harcastle sat in a leather wingback by the fire, an incongruous setting for the monster who stalked her nightmares. The monster had grown old, his thick, dark hair now steel gray and his face lined with countless wrinkles. These things ought to diminish her fear, but even the thick blanket draped across his knees seemed strangely ominous, as if a weapon might lie concealed in the folds of the fabric.

  “What are you doing here?” The deep, dark rumble of his voice hadn’t changed.

  Helen almost responded, but he gazed past her at Vaughn.

  “I’ve brought Miss Grey as you asked.”

  The duke shook his head. “I never told you to bring her into my home.”

  “Your Grace—”

  Harcastle raised a shaking hand and pointed at Fletch. “That one can wait outside.” Then, without waiting to see his orders obeyed, he continued. “You, Vaughn, may stand over there by the window and pretend not to eavesdrop.”

  Helen then found herself the sole object of the duke’s attention. Despite the pounding of her heart, she raised her chin and waited as his regard slid over her like a slug.

  “I’d hoped memory exaggerated your resemblance to your mother.”

  You liked Mama’s looks well enough once. Helen bit back the words, knowing they wouldn’t help her. “Did you want to see me, sir?” she said sweetly.