A Girl Who Can Dream

Chapter the Eighth

 All throughout the next day, I thought about Emma's hand and the ruined state of it. I thought of the terrible person to whom my father was going to agree to engage me. The horror of it all and the sadness made my head hurt. I knew that, however strong and rebellious I was, I could never rid myself of Sir Victor. I might escape, but he would make Father send me back. And even the thought of escaping seemed impossible. I felt like a horrible person for keeping Emma's hopes up when my own chances of escaping were grim.

It was like a cloud of gray rain clouds had been set over me, raining over and over, never fully stopping. It wasn't in my nature to cry quietly to myself. When I felt sorrow, I would take action, find a way to distract myself from it. But the damp room in which I was held offered no distractions. The melancholy feeling that hung over me had no choice but to come out. So, I found myself crying from the sheer sadness of the situation, from the feeling of doom.

Many times in the day, I found myself staring absently down from the hole in the wall that I called a window. The thought of being a bird crossed my mind a lot that day. Of just being able to hop onto the ledge and fly off, going back home without the money needed for a train, food, or clothes. I would just be. And the freedom of that appealed to me a lot more than just getting out of this forced marriage and going back to normal. Even when I was at the manor, at Garner Hall, I wasn't allowed to live as I wanted to. I wasn't allowed to dress the way I wanted to. Even my choice of husband was restricted to only those who Father approved of.

It was the middle of the day, maybe just an hour or two after I'd eaten a wonderful lunch and made small talk with little Emma. I'd been staring out the window when I'd seen a little girl around Emma's age walking alone down the bustling street. She was a dirty creature thinner than my servant friend, soot coating her entire body. She'd carried around a small tin cup and had sang the most beautiful melodies that I'd ever heard. I hadn't known where true beauty lay before that. Most people walking about ignored her, most likely so they wouldn't have to spend their precious pennies on a beggar, but those who did stop and listened were so mesmerized by her voice that they never left without placing at least a shilling in her tin cup.

I was watching this scene, my eyes closed and my eyes open to the marvelous sound, when I heard footsteps again. By now, I'd been able to easily identify the sounds of Sir Victor, Emma, and the other servants. These footsteps were of someone completely different, yet their stride seemed familiar.

Grayson. It was the only thought in my head as I rushed to the door, waiting patiently as I heard the sound of the lock clicking open. The door swung open criminally slow and I watched, with excitement, as a young man in a gray overcoat and top hat walked in, boots clicking on the stone.

Again, I threw myself onto Grayson, forgetting the depression I was in for a moment. He caught me and we embraced each other for a moment before I pulled back, wanting to know of his adventures.

"What happened?" I asked eagerly. "Have you worked it all out with Father? Am I free?"

Grayson didn't answer, tipping his head back a little. I looked behind him and my eyes widened, large as moons. He wasn't alone this time, or with Emma. He was with the villain whom I was trying to avoid. Sir Victor Baskerville. The other man's footsteps had been masked by Grayson's clicking boots.

The baronet smiled, amused. "Surprised, my dear?" He paused and, when I didn't answer, went on. "You've got a visitor, from your father. A messenger, it seems." He addressed Grayson. "Privately, I'm assuming."

"Yes, sir." The door was shut and I heard Sir Victor's prominent footsteps fading away.

"What is happening, Gray?" I was worried now. How was it possible for him to come while the baronet was home?