by Liz Tyner
The man she gazed at now was as stalwart as a fortress and his compassion would only be meted out as he decided it was deserved. And she saw none for her, but she didn’t lower her chin.
‘Fair enough.’ Almost a bow without moving more than a few muscles. ‘For the time being.’
He moved to the bed frame and, in the light, she took him in. Noticing more than she’d seen before.
His feet were bare now and she didn’t think they’d ever been without stockings. But it didn’t diminish him. Only demonstrated the sinew and skin beneath the clothing. And perhaps the rawness. The animal part of him that was comfortable without adornment.
The cords of his feet weren’t attractive by any means. More—almost primitive. And she realised she’d never seen a man’s bare foot before. Never. But she liked the appearance of them. They were more different from her own than she would have suspected.
She repositioned herself, then found a place to sit on the edge of the stump. ‘You can rest if you wish. You’ve been striding back and forth. There’s so little room in here, it only takes you about one step before you reverse direction.’
He grasped his coat, removing it. Taking off the waistcoat. Shoving the tails of his shirt back into place, which didn’t help much. Then he sat on the bed.
He stretched across the bed, from the top to the opposite corner, and she saw he was totally unconcerned about her presence. His posture was the only way the bed could accommodate his length without his feet hanging from the end.
His back to her, he grasped her pillow, curled it into his arms and relaxed.
She felt certain he fell instantly asleep. The way he breathed, rhythmic, calm.
His muscular arms encased the soft ball of feathers and he kept the pillow tight.
The man didn’t appear gentler asleep, but more like a spring ready to uncoil at the slightest sound or movement.
She scrutinised him, the well-made clothing he wore hugging him like a second skin. No peacefulness softened his face, but it was easier to examine him when he wasn’t aware.
In the dim light, the shadows darkened the beginning of a beard even more.
The man her grandmother had captured for her was becoming primitive.
They had to escape.
She had to escape.
She was losing her strength and he was gaining it. Even as she watched him sleep, she understood that he was doing so to gather his resources. He would awake solid and more potent than before.
Chapter Five
The singing voice came from just outside the boarded window.
Chalgrove was at Miranda’s side before she knew he’d moved.
She shut her eyes, but when she opened them, her grandmother stood, staring between the slats of the window.
‘Ah, Child,’ the old woman spoke to Miranda. ‘How do you like being my guest?’
Miranda stared, seeing the aged eyes of her grandmother, the wrinkles around them surprising her, but anger overrode it. ‘May the sins of your past rise up and may you never shut your eyes without seeing the faces of those you’ve wronged.’
‘But, then,’ the old woman sang again, ‘do you think I might be seeing your face? I think not.’
‘You would see my face every moment you are awake.’
The old woman laughed. ‘Shame. Shame, Child, to speak such to your elders. And you teach the little children, but you know nothing.’ She fluttered her ringed fingers. ‘Nothing at all.’
Miranda felt Chalgrove moving forward.
She grabbed his arm with both hands, then threw her body between him and the window.
‘How could you do this vile thing to me? To him?’ Miranda choked the words out when she frowned at the old woman’s face. ‘You’re vile. Evil.’
‘No, Child. That is not my name,’ she mused. ‘Have you forgotten it? But does it really matter?’ Then she straightened her posture and laughed. ‘Vile. I’ll take it. I like that word. I should use it on my calling cards. Besides, I care for you like no one else.’
‘You’re a menace. You’re—’
‘And who are you, miss?’ eyes flashing, her grandmother asked. ‘I nabbed a woman of quality, but before me, you stand as if you would like to tear out my heart. That is not the way you were taught. I am sure of it. The woman who raised you did better than that. She would have been embarrassed at the sight of you now, yesterday and last year, too. You take the table crumbs when you should have the feast.’
‘How I live is not your concern.’ Miranda lunged for the window, but the old crone moved away.
Miranda kept staring at the window. ‘Let us go. You’ve taken me from my employment. You’ve stolen this man from his family. You’ve hurt people who’ve done you no harm.’
‘Have a care, Child. I do only good for you. I am a matchmaker. Besides, the stars told me to do this. And I must always do as they say. Blame them.’
Miranda reached down with her free hand, lifted her foot and pulled off the buckled slipper. She held her right arm aloft and hurled the makeshift weapon towards the woman’s head at the window. It bounced from the wall.
The face disappeared for a few seconds, before returning to view her, glowering. ‘Ungrateful.’
‘The poor souls in Bedlam are less daft than you,’ Miranda shouted to her grandmother.
She removed her other shoe, but held it in her hand, pointing the toe at the old woman. ‘You must release us. You have no right to keep us. At least release him, then you and I will talk.’
‘I cannot release either of you. Not yet. I have to see that you fulfil your destiny.’
‘What destiny?’ Chalgrove spoke.
The old woman ignored him, and Miranda did as well.
The hag used the same gesture as Miranda, pointing a finger towards them. ‘That slipper is better than any I have ever worn. You should thank the person who caused you to have such fine garments.’
‘I do. I thank my mother.’
‘Your mother?’ The crone’s brows lifted. ‘The lady did right by you, but then she went and did that evil thing. She died. I cannot forgive her. Then you became a little mouse who skitters into the corner of life and will not take as she should. You give everything away. Even your life as you spend it behind doors with someone else’s children.’
‘They are precious, the children. I love them with all my heart.’
‘They are someone else’s. Now, toss the slippers out so I might see what fine things you wear. The opening is wide enough you can push them through.’
‘Come retrieve them.’ Miranda didn’t lower her arm.
* * *
Chalgrove tugged Miss Manwaring closer. Then he freed her waist and grasped for the shoe, but she twisted, keeping it firm in her hand.
It would not do well for both women to be throwing shoes at each other.
Miss Manwaring lunged within Chalgrove’s reach, then threw the shoe, making the old woman dodge again. The shoe bounced from the wall.
‘See what a prim and proper miss you are.’ The old woman’s lips pinched and she held a slender loaf of bread at the window. ‘Are you hungry?’
The scent of fresh-baked bread wafted to him.
‘Toss it here.’ Chalgrove leaned forward, taking it with his left hand as the old woman slipped the food towards him. He kept Miss Manwaring in his grasp.
‘The fine life you’ve had didn’t make you strong,’ the woman shouted to Miranda ‘Made you weak. You’re little more than a flower growing among the grass. You should be a rose, a thistle, anything high and proud. Not on the ground for feet to step on.’
Chalgrove tossed the bread on to the stump and Miss Manwaring slipped from his grasp and rushed to the window.
The old woman moved away.
Miss Manwaring gripped her shoe again, hand shaking, and Chalgrove hoped the old woman didn’t step closer. Ri
ght now, it wouldn’t be in their best interest for the governess to try to knock out the old woman.
He pulled Miss Manwaring away from the window.
The woman squinted at Chalgrove. ‘What happened to your face? Did those clods do that? I will kill them.’
He patted the scratches Miss Manwaring had made.
‘Kill them,’ he answered without hesitation. He snugged Miss Manwaring close again. The woman was practically writhing against him in an effort to push herself towards the other so she might try to thump her with a shoe. This was not how he would have planned an encounter with her. This was not comforting.
‘Miss Manwaring.’ He tried to pull the shoe from her hand and she moved her shoulder, and used her body as a shield, keeping him from taking the shoe.
They stood, bodies locked together, a silent struggle, and the old woman... The old woman smiled.
‘The lady is correct,’ he said. ‘We need to be released. We have families.’
‘Ha!’ she sputtered. ‘She has no family. She cares for children who are not her own, knowing any day she could be dismissed. Never sitting under the sun—the stars. Never leaving her prison except on her half-day off to buy sweets.’
Miss Manwaring gasped. ‘You’ve been following me.’
The old woman muttered, ‘You never check behind you. You should.’
He tightened his grasp, trying to calm Miranda, sliding his arm to her back, and pulled her close.
‘Woman,’ he spoke. ‘Might you introduce yourself?’
She scrutinised him. ‘I’m telling you nothing.’
‘Why would you risk so much to kidnap us?’ he asked.
‘I cannot tell you all.’ She laughed again. ‘But no one tells all. The miss in your hand, she has her secrets as well.’
‘She is entitled. We all are.’
‘Then I am entitled to my own.’ The crone’s eyes twinkled between the slats, then her expression hardened. ‘I didn’t want this burden. It’s not how I planned it.’
She peered overhead, speaking to the heavens. ‘Twenty-odd years ago, I finished my chore. I carefully planned. I read the fortunes. Oh, so many. Asking questions of everyone. Finding out all I could.’ She made a rumbling noise from her throat that would have sounded like a snore if she’d been asleep. ‘Then, the little miss... She cares for others’ children instead of her own. This I didn’t foresee.’
‘My mother took care of me,’ Miranda cried out. ‘I find no fault with her. I made my choices.’
The old woman sputtered. ‘Lies. Lies. You lie to yourself. You’re supposed to lie only to others. You are to tell yourself truths. You have it all backwards.’
‘I do not. I do not lie. To anyone. I do not lie to myself.’
‘The rich ways you are around make you weak and dishonest to your birthright. You give away what you should have.’
‘Step closer and you will see how weak I am.’
‘Miss Manwaring.’ This time Chalgrove pulled her so close that he lifted her from her feet for half a second and could feel the deep breaths she took even closer than his own. ‘Can you please let me speak to the woman?’
She hushed and settled against him, and his senses reacted, unaware of anything but Miss Manwaring’s softness.
He pushed the awareness aside and carefully moved away. ‘Why have you done this?’
The old woman’s face didn’t waver. She raised her eyes to his. ‘If you want to blame anyone, then...’ She paused, sadness flittering in her eyes. ‘Blame me. It’s my doing. I’m daft. Born so and I’ve perfected it over the years.’
‘You’re not only addled, you are despicable,’ Miss Manwaring interrupted. ‘You would abandon—’
‘My... My...child.’ She nodded. ‘Yes, I do good works. It is sad you do not have the eyes to see what is good and what is bad, and have them as mixed up as you do truth and lies.’ The old woman moved away. ‘I have more fresh bread for you. But you’re not hungry.’
‘I am,’ Chalgrove said.
She pushed another chunk of bread into the window.
Chalgrove released Miss Manwaring so he could slide forward enough to pull the loaf into the room, then he put it beside the other one on the stump.
‘I’m not getting close enough for you to grab me,’ she said to Chalgrove. ‘Besides, I would still be on the outside and you would be on the inside and you would not be free. You must keep me alive for that.’
‘How much ransom are you asking?’ Chalgrove demanded.
‘I ask for no payment from you. I give my riches to you,’ she sneered. ‘You think you wish to give me money? I will earn more than you could ever pay me.’ She waved a hand around her head, as if giving a royal wave. ‘You’ll see.’
His fingers tightened at Miss Manwaring’s waist, the caress seeming to calm her and to spark a need within him to protect her.
The old crone tilted her head sideways, censure in her voice. ‘You two are both so haughty. Both so stubborn. Both a trial to me. But better together.’
‘Explain.’ He spoke softly, a thread of power underlining his words.
Her jaw went slack and the deep eyes studied him through the wooden slats. With one word, she argued, ‘Haughty.’
‘Yes. I agree,’ he said.
‘Meddling old witch,’ Miranda mumbled.
‘Miss Manwaring.’ His quiet words fluttered the tendrils of hair at her ear. ‘Might I speak with the woman? You can throw my boots at her afterwards, if you wish to.’
The crone cackled. ‘Yes, little one. Your silence would be appreciated.’
‘Manipulative. Conniving. Tossing people here and there just...’ Miranda grumbled.
The old woman threw her head back, laughed. ‘I am all you say and I thank you for the praise.’
‘The buttons on my coat.’ Chalgrove knew the gold would fetch a good price—though not as much as they were worth. He’d had them made with his coat of arms imprinted on them. They might be traced back to him. ‘Take them. Sell them. Buy more food. You barely brought us enough for one meal.’
He reached out, secured his coat, ripped a button from the fabric and held it near the window. She reached in and he tossed the button into her palm. She quickly pulled her hand away.
‘I’ll take this one, but keep the rest in case I need them later.’
‘You can have them all,’ Chalgrove said.
The woman peered at them both through the slats. ‘I don’t want them. All I wish for is for my dreams for Child to come true. And they will. One way or another.’ She fixed one eye on Chalgrove. ‘When I am convinced that her true worth is recognised, I will set her free.’
‘How much ransom is our true worth?’ he asked.
She bit the end of her fingernail free and spat it to the ground. ‘I said nothing about funds. Gold is heavy and weighs one down and banks can’t be trusted with their paper nonsense.’
She stilled and tapped her fingers over her lips, eyes wide. ‘I am losing my mind. I could have asked for a ransom. A small bag of gold isn’t that heavy.’ She took a step back, almost whispering. ‘I am getting too kind-hearted.’ Shaking her head, she reassured herself, ‘No. I am getting old. That’s all it is.’
She shrugged her shoulders. ‘No ransom, but you may freely give me a gift. After she is betrothed.’
‘Be...trothed?’ He stared.
‘Yes,’ she said, head erect so that her face was impossible to see through the opening. ‘I am a woman of herbs, of fortunes, revenge and kindness. It’s time for her to wed. She’s almost eighteen.’
‘I am not almost eighteen. I am well over eighteen.’
‘Shush,’ she shouted the command. ‘I’m going to get you a marriage proposal, but you must learn to keep your mouth shut.’ She scowled at Chalgrove. ‘So, she’s twenty. We cannot hold a few years against her.’
‘No,’ Miranda called out. ‘I’m over twenty.’
He clapped a hand over Miss Manwaring’s mouth and captured her fist as she raised it towards the woman.
‘It doesn’t matter,’ Chalgrove snapped out the words. Then he muttered in Miss Manwaring’s ear, ‘Let’s not quarrel with her.’
The old woman peered in again. ‘You’re getting married, Child. It is all up to you how long it takes. When you come to your senses and you both agree, I will let you out.’
She turned away from the window and grumbled as she walked away. ‘Why am I the only one who knows what is best for everyone? Now I will have to get more food. The stars are letting me down. Everyone hates me and I know more than anyone else.’
After the woman left, Chalgrove released Miss Manwaring, picked up her shoe, and handed it to her. ‘What was that all about?’
‘She kidnapped us. Both of us. What else could it be about?’ She waved the shoe.
Chalgrove stared at the wan face in front of him. ‘She wouldn’t take the gold buttons on my coat.’
‘She took one. She’ll think about those other gold buttons and decide that she must have them, and return for them.’
He questioned her by raising his brows. ‘We may need to see her again.’
‘We will. A bad penny always returns.’ Miss Manwaring hugged herself and he expected her to crumple in front of him. Instead, she jutted her chin out and held out the shoe towards him. ‘I am a governess and I am unwed, and there is nothing wrong with that. I have the best life of anyone I know.’ She stopped, scowled at the shoe, then continued. ‘Until an old woman decided to take it all from me. And I’m really older than twenty and my age is no one’s business but my own.’
He tried to see inside her, then he glanced to the window and scrubbed his knuckles against his unshaven jaw. The old woman had expected Miss Manwaring to remember her name and Miss Manwaring had claimed her right to secrets.
‘Where did you first meet?’
‘It was a long time ago. I was a child and I’ve not seen her since. She’s so unsettled that she’s been following me.’ She closed her arms around herself. ‘And I never suspected a thing.’