Dive headfirst into the exciting realm of Victorian England!
Lady Cecelia Cavendish, daughter of the famed Duke of Devonshire, lives the life that many envy. Though she doesn't understand exactly why. She has less freedom than a woman living on the...
He ran across the garden outside to the place he'd scouted out the day before. It was a nice, shaded spot under the cover of large, leafy green trees that would protect him lest he fell. He'd thought through everything a hundred times in the last week and this was the moment where everything would get paid off.
This better work,he muttered to himself. He'd gone to a friend's inn in town and changed into black trousers and a shirt, knowing that it would be better to dress light if he was going to get away with this. His friend was waiting at the gate with the dog-cart that he owned. The only horse he owned, a brown mare that was easily spooked, had been afraid of going after dark, but he'd been able to convince it to walk, if even at a slow pace.
He closed his eyes and took a deep breath in, readying himself. He was about to do something that he could never go back from. Something that would define him for the rest of his life. Did he want to risk it? Of course,he murmured. Everything depended on this one action.
Carefully, he gripped the healthy vines that climbed the side of the building, winding all the way up to the exact window that he needed to reach, testing its hold. It was firm and didn't seem like it would break. Hoping for his life that everything would be okay, he started climbing.
Every once in a while, he would look down, his head getting dizzy from the height. Thankfully, the Duke of Devonshire wasn't as clever as he was rich and hadn't employed a skilled guard. The only person protecting the manor and the grounds was a manservant sitting near the gate. A manservant who was currently fast asleep.
Once, as he was almost at reachable length to the window sill, the vine had snapped, though only a small one that one of his feet had been resting on. He quickly recovered, moving to a thicker, stronger one. Then, before he knew it, he'd reached the window and had gently pushed it open with a nudge of his hand.
Earlier, he'd scouted out the girl's room and had unlatched the window, all without the detection of the servants. Only after he'd finished the deed had a young servant girl caught him, though he'd easily evaded her suspicions by claiming that he'd needed to find the lavatory.
Easily, he crept into the room. Creak. He paused, waiting. Nothing. It was his own misstepping that had caused the sound. Careful, he creeped towards the bed where the maiden lay sleeping, completely unaware of everything that was going on. All the gears that were at work. How she was just a cog in a web of gearworks.
He pulled out the handkerchief that his friend had let him borrow. It wasn't a normal one, however. This handkerchief was special. Just an hour or two ago, he'd drenched it in the powerful chloroform liquid that he'd acquired through an old contact.
Without waiting, he shoved the fabric under her nose. She woke, violently, with a start. Her eyes settled upon him for a moment, widening with horror, before they closed once more. She'd been plunged, involuntarily, into a deep slumber that she wouldn't awaken from for many hours. Still, as a precaution, he pulled an old burlap sack onto her head, covering her face.
Then, wasting not even a moment, he took her into his arms and carried her off. Climbing slowly and carefully down the vines, he ran through the manor's excessive grounds before exiting the gate and handing the sleeping maiden to his friend, who tucked her into the back compartment.
He stepped into the passenger section of the dog-cart and he and his friend were off, leaving no trace behind of their midnight endeavor.
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When I woke up, I wasn't in my comfortable goose-feather mattress anymore. Nor was I in my large room overlooking Garner Hall's creek. The only thing recognizable about my surroundings was the black and white nightdress that I was dressed in. The rest, the damp, stone walls, the stark white cot, and the plain wooden door, were all unfamiliar.
I had a faint memory of seeing a face in the middle of the night. I couldn't remember many details as I'd been immediately plunged into sleep once more, but I thought that, at the time, the face had seemed familiar. But only slightly. As if I'd only seen the person, whoever it was, once or twice. The rest of the story had been lost to the night.
I got up, cringing as my bare soles felt the wetness of the crude stone floor. There was a miniscule window, if one could even call it that. My head barely fit through the glass-less structure and I could make out a busy street below.
I'm definitely not in Garner Hall then. Or Lavender Hall. The only bustling place that I can think of right now is London. But that couldn't be. London was kilometers away from the quiet country of Garner Hall. How could I have ended up here?
I stared out the window for a moment, identifying yellow hansom cabs and private carriages. Pedestrians walked freely on the footpaths while a Scotland Yard officer stood at the corner to manage traffic, too far away to call out to. Then, suddenly, I heard a creak as the door to my room opened.
As quick as a whip crack, I turned around, hoping to see a familiar face, or any face at all, but whoever had opened the door had already closed it, leaving only a small metal tray behind. I walked over to it, my mouth watering at the aroma of cooked eggs, porridge, and freshly baked breads. I closed my eyes, savoring it.
No matter the situation I was in, the food, the smell of something so good, helped me cope. I took the tray to the cot, which was the only bit of furniture in the small room, and started to eat. Starting with buttery bread and ending with a small English muffin, I finished my hearty breakfast and returned to worrying.
I walked up and down the room's length of about ten paces over and over again, pacing and thinking. My eyes were closed as I thought through everything I knew.
The feeling of extreme worry and fear that I had last night which started after meeting the mysterious baronet, Sir Victor. Molly's refusing to stay in my room the entire night. Father's laughing at my instincts. The peculiar face that I vaguely remembered seeing in the middle of the night.
Kidnapping. I thought with disgust. Unless this was Father's doing, that was the only word for it. And it couldn't be Father's doing, for I knew every single property that he owned. I'd grown up moving from home to home, before we'd finally settled in Garner Hall. Before that, we'd stayed at a small summer house near the coast, a large property close to Lavender Hall, and many other mansions. I'd explored all those houses and I didn't remember a tiny, damp room such as this one.
The only other suspect in my head was Sir Victor, the very man who'd conjured up the paranoia in me. I didn't know where this baronet lived, but I could bet my soul on the fact that he stayed in London.
Out of options and extremely confused, I put an ear to the wooden door, hoping to catch even a snitch of conversation. I was lucky. I heard a hurried, whispered conversation that could only be the house's servants.
"Oh! What shall we do?" A young girl's voice came. It seemed that she was greatly sorrowed and I felt my heart go out to her. "Tell me, what shall we do?"
Another woman's voice, most likely an older one by her hurried and rough tone, reached me. "Emma, hush now. There is nothing which we can do but listen to the master and his orders. Do your duties and life will reward you."
The girl's voice came again in a desperate wail. "But I can't! That girl, that master. None of this is right. I can't let him go through with this."
"Emma!" The woman's voice was angry with a hint of fear. "If anyone hears you, that will be the end. The master knows what he's doing. We are but his servants."
"I'm helping the young lord. That's it. I don't care about the punishments Sir Victor will inflict upon me. This isn't right." The girl's voice was steeled and confident, though there was a tremor of anxiousness in there.
I heard footsteps as she walked away and a faint sigh as the older woman continued her work. "Poor Emma. A girl who can still dream, even after experiencing the hardships of life. What more can I teach her? A woman only survives if she knows how to cower."
