by Aston, Alexa
Finally, they stopped slamming the water into her and untied her. As they did, they told her she was to have no opinions. She was to comply with every command. She was never to speak unless given permission to do so. As she trembled with cold and hunger, they marched her down the hallway, which was eerily silent, and opened the door to a room. It was bare except for a small bed with a thin mattress. Bars stretched across the lone window.
As they brought her closer, she saw the bed covered with dark specks that moved. She cringed, digging in her heels. They forced her onto the mattress, still dripping wet, and tied her to it, her hands above her head, her legs spread wide apart.
“Why are you doing this?” she cried. “I am not mad.”
“That’s what they all say,” one of the men said. “Now be quiet. If you make noise, you’ll suffer the consequences.”
They left, closing the door behind them. Her body quaked with cold.
Anna knew she had been left in Hell.
Chapter Four
A week had passed. Anna knew because she counted in her head each morning as she was escorted from her room. She had remained docile and silent yet inside her head she constantly screamed, frantic to find a way out from this horrible place.
She was tired of being meek. Dalinda would have already rebelled if placed in this situation. Anna looked to her courageous friend and decided today would be the day she would begin to fight back. She had to—or she might truly go mad.
An attendant came to her room to bring her to breakfast and she remained obedient as she forced the slop they called food into her mouth. As usual, after the meal she was led to a long hallway lined with benches. The patients were spaced out on these benches and sat for a majority of the day. When Anna was shoved onto a spot, she bounced back to her feet.
Steadily eyeing her attendant, she told him, “I believe I would like to walk the corridor today and take some exercise.”
She looked out and loudly said, “Would anyone wish to join me?”
Not one patient looked her way. Heads remained bowed. She could see tension in shoulders and bodies beginning to tremble—but the silence was deafening. She glanced back at the attendant, who shook his head in disbelief, and then he walked away. She glanced around and saw all other attendants had left. She was free to roam as she pleased.
Savoring her small victory, Anna slowly walked the length of the corridor. She spoke to a few of the women but no one returned a word in her direction. Turning, she moved back up the hallway.
At the end of it stood Matron with an attendant by her side, her expression grim.
Anna moved toward the woman with purpose, praying her steps wouldn’t falter. She reached Matron and came to a stop before her.
“I have been told you are breaking the rules, Browning. My rules,” emphasized Matron. She studied Anna a moment and then said, “I suppose I was wrong about you. You caught on quite well your first day here. For a week, you have been submissive and compliant.”
“I merely wished to take some exercise,” Anna said, her voice quaking.
“Ah, so the queen wishes for exercise,” Matron said, her tone mocking. “A turn about the room. So you shall.” She glanced at the servant next to her and said, “Bring me a scold’s bridle.”
As the man hurried away, she heard a few gasps and glanced out. Still, every head remained bowed. Anna returned her gaze to Matron, whose malicious smile caused a trickle of fear to run along Anna’s spine. The two women stared at one another until the attendant returned with something in his hands that she couldn’t make out.
“Seize her!” Matron cried suddenly.
Two other men had sneaked up behind Anna and latched onto her. As she tried to shrug them off, Matron took the object from the servant’s hands and held it up for Anna to view.
“This is a scold’s bridle. It gets its name from the nagging, scolding females it is used upon. I place it on troublesome patients, Browning. Such as you.”
Matron lifted it over Anna’s head and locked the cage around her head, shoving something into her mouth that was attached to this iron muzzle. She had seen—and now her tongue felt—the tiny spikes in it as cold fear filled her.
“I’ve slipped the curb-plate into your mouth,” Matron continued. “It is like a bridle bit for a horse. It will compress your tongue and prevent you from speaking. If you try to say anything, the spikes will pierce your tongue and fill your mouth with blood.”
Anna could already taste the tinny blood in her mouth from Matron jamming it in and held herself perfectly still.
“You will suffer mild discomfort,” the older woman said nonchalantly. “While you are taking your exercise, of course.”
Matron raised her hand, her palm open. The attendant placed what looked like a leash in her hands. The woman attached it to the cage that surrounded Anna’s head.
“You are so eager to move about, Browning, that I will be generous and allow you to do so. Notice I said allow. I am in charge here. Nothing happens that I am not aware of. Everyone does my bidding.” She smiled brightly at Anna. “You will now be walked as a dog. All day. All night. We will revisit the issue twenty-four hours from now and see how you feel about . . . exercise.”
With that, Matron handed the leash to the closest attendant. The ones restraining her stepped away.
“Walk!” barked the man.
Anna did as bid, moving to the end of the corridor. She turned and came back toward Matron, who stood with her arms crossed over her chest. Anna turned again, parading endlessly up and down the corridor, humiliation filling her as much as the saliva and blood that flooded her mouth. Matron remained watching for a few hours and then left but the constant walking continued.
For the rest of the day.
Her mouth and jaw ached something fierce. Fatigue set into her limbs. Yet she still was led up and down, over and over, as not one head raised to see her pass. Eventually, evening must have fallen for the patients were removed from the benches. Another attendant replaced the current one and Anna continued walking up and down the corridor throughout the night. Weariness blanketed her yet she knew she couldn’t falter. If she did, Matron would win. She drew on a well of bravery she didn’t know she had, knowing Dalinda—and Dez—would have been proud of her resolve.
Finally, a new day must have dawned and the patients were brought back to their benches. A few glanced at her in pity before they took their spots and lowered their gazes to their laps.
When Anna made another turn, she caught sight of Matron standing in the middle of the hallway. Though she had been shuffling along, barely able to move, she now picked up her feet and marched to the older woman, halting in front of her.
“Well, Your Majesty, I hope you enjoyed your bit of exercise.” Matron barked out a laugh and the attendants nearby joined in nervously.
Anna met the woman’s gaze.
“This is what happens to troublesome patients, Browning,” Matron said with a sigh. “I do pray that you have decided to be more manageable in the future.”
She couldn’t speak without puncturing her tongue further so Anna nodded slightly.
“Good. It is always refreshing when a patient learns an important lesson, Browning. I hope you have learned yours and that you will remember that rash actions have consequences.” Matron shook her head. “I am not a monster despite what you think. I merely have rules in place so that all patients will comply. It is so much easier if you respect those rules and yield accordingly.”
With a flick of her hand, two attendants took Anna by the elbows. A third undid the leash. Matron herself unlocked the cage and removed the curb-plate and lifted the scold’s bridle from Anna’s head. Relief swept through her even as blood and saliva mixed in her mouth. She swallowed, her tongue painfully swollen and sore.
“Do you require further exercise, Browning?” Matron demanded, glaring at her as if she were an avenging angel yielding a sword of justice.
Anna glanced to the device of torture she ha
d worn for an entire day. Not sure she could even speak, she vigorously shook her head.
“Good,” Matron said, satisfaction in her voice. “Place her on the bench.”
Two men dragged her down the corridor to a free spot since Anna’s legs gave way and she could no longer walk. Sitting on the hard surface, she placed her hands in her lap, her head bent, tears streaming down her cheeks.
A figure appeared next to her but Anna didn’t dare look up.
Matron softly said, “I will break you if I have to, Browning. You would be wise to comply with my rules. Submission is expected at all times. I am to be obeyed without question.”
She closed her eyes and barely nodded. After a moment, Matron moved away, her swishing skirts the only audible noise.
For the first time since she had arrived at Gollingham, Anna retreated far into herself. They may break her body but they would never touch her mind. She would submit to Matron’s terrible rules and pretend to be a shell of her former self.
But inside, Anna would remain true to herself. If she didn’t?
She might actually go mad.
Chapter Five
Twelve years later . . .
Spain—March 1810
Major Desmond Bretton took a sip from his goblet and set it down. “At least the wine is good here. That must count for something.”
His friend, Colonel Rhys Armistead, chuckled. “I would say it’s the only good thing in Spain. I hope when this ends that I never see Spain again.” He tilted his glass and finished off the red wine.
“If we weren’t at war, I might appreciate the landscape. The scenery. The people,” Dez added. “But I am just so bloody tired of all the fighting.”
Rhys shrugged. “It’s what we signed up for.”
He shook his head. “Don’t tell me we knew what we were getting into.”
The two men had met a dozen years ago. Both were eighteen and wet behind the ears, not yet having filled out their tall frames. Rhys’ benefactor had bought a commission for him, while Dez’s father had done the same for his second son. Both men got along because they rarely talked about their pasts and they have saved one another’s hide on the battlefield more times than they could count.
“Do you think the Little General will ever be defeated?” his friend asked.
“If you would have asked me that years ago, I would have answered without hesitation. I had confidence in the great, mighty, powerful British Empire. Now, after all of these years at war with no end in sight, I couldn’t venture a guess.”
Dejection filled Dez. Though he knew he was a good officer, he had grown tired of always being at war. Killing the enemy was bad enough but each man he lost took a piece of his soul. He longed for the beauty of the English countryside. To sit back and breathe in air that wasn’t heavy with smoke from cannon fire. He wished for a peace that might never come.
It was probably better to be busy at war even with long stretches of inactivity, as now. And though he thought he would be happier in England, he wouldn’t be. Every day he lived was a day without Anna in it.
Anna. Who was no more.
He liked to picture her atop her horse, her long braid of strawberry blond hair bobbing up and down as she raced ahead of him, jumping a fence, cutting around shrubbery. Even after all this time, he could recall her laugh. Remember the feel of her lips against his.
Poor Anna hadn’t fared as well as Dez. True, he had to forgo his university education but he had learned far better things during in his time in the army. At least he had a few friends, Rhys being chief among them, and leadership duties. He might not be happy but he was useful to his country. On the other hand, Anna had made the decision to leave this earth. Dez supposed she couldn’t stomach the thought of a life spent in the ancient Lord Needham’s bed. Instead, she had filled her pockets with stones and walked into the lake where they had picnicked at so often.
Dalinda had written to him of Anna’s death, which Lord Shelton had said was an accidental drowning. Both twins knew, however, that Anna had taken her own life and the viscount only said what he did to quell the rumors that tainted his family with her death. Dalinda had said there must have been a problem with the local clergyman deeming it a suicide because Anna was buried not in the village churchyard but at Shelton Park. His sister had never visited her friend’s grave, having married herself and staying far away from Surrey. Dalinda vowed never to set foot at Torville Manor while their father or Ham was the earl.
“You look contemplative, my friend,” Rhys said. “It is unlike you.”
Dez lifted his glass. “Pour me more wine.”
Rhys obliged and they sat in companionable silence until the flap of their tent moved and a soldier announced, “Mail.”
He knew the letter must be for him since Rhys never received mail of any kind. Both his parents were dead, as well as a sister who died when they were quite young. As for himself, he only received letters from his twin. His father had died a year after Dez left England and hadn’t written his son once. Now that Ham was the Earl of Torrington, he had continued the practice of silence, which was fine with Dez. The less he heard from or knew about his brother, the better.
Reaching out a hand, he accepted the letter.
“From your sister, I assume,” Rhys said.
The one thing Dez did talk about on rare occasions was Dalinda. He had shared a few stories of his childhood with Rhys, usually ones where Dalinda got them into trouble and Dez took the blame. Other than that, neither Rhys nor anyone else in the army knew about Dez’s background or life before he became a soldier in His Majesty’s Army.
He glanced at the letter he held and frowned. Puzzled at the unfamiliar handwriting, he broke the seal and skimmed to the bottom, seeing that a Mr. Capshaw had signed it.
Rhys rose. “I’ll leave you to it.” He left the tent.
With trepidation, Dez looked to the top and began to read.
My dear Major Bretton –
I will dispense with all niceties and come to the point of this correspondence. I am the solicitor for your brother, Lord Torrington, and regret to inform you that his lordship and wife drown. They have already been buried since bloating is an issue when death by drowning occurs.
Because of these circumstances and the fact that they had no issue, you now may claim the title as the new Earl of Torrington. All lands and estates, entailed and otherwise, are in your possession.
I suggest you return to England at your earliest convenience in order to see to your affairs. Write to me once you have arrived at Torville Manor and I will come down from London to inform you of your holdings and answer any questions you might have.
Your servant,
J. Capshaw
Dez dropped the letter and it floated to the ground. Stunned, he shook his head, trying to make sense of what he had just read.
He hadn’t known Ham had wed. Not that he or Dalinda would have access to that information. All ties had been cut between them many years ago. Still, he couldn’t help but feel a moment of pity for the woman who had perished next to her husband. This Capshaw didn’t elaborate regarding the circumstances so Dez had no idea where the drowning occurred.
And he was now Torrington.
A name he loathed, thanks to his despicable father and brother. In that moment, Dez vowed to be a better lord—a better man—than his two predecessors to the title.
His first thought was how woefully unprepared he was to take on such a role. His father had ignored him all his life, teaching his heir apparent all about estate business. Knowing Ham as he did, Dez knew his brother hadn’t done much managing of the estate once he had assumed the title. Ham had always run with a fast crowd, drinking and gambling with abandon. Tending to estate business would be the last thing Ham might have done well or been interested in. Because of that, Dez couldn’t help but wonder what the state of affairs would be upon his return.
He would need to sell his commission immediately. He owed it to his tenants at Torville Manor.
And thank the heavens above because this swift turn of events gave him an excuse to leave the ugliness of war. His only regret would be leaving Rhys behind. They had grown closer than any brothers could.
Rising, Dez folded the letter and placed it in his pocket. He left their shared tent and went in search of his friend, finding him watching a card game from a distance. He signaled and Rhys joined him.
“What news does your irascible twin send?” Rhys’ lips twitched with amusement. “Have her boys been up to no good again?”
“The letter wasn’t from Dalinda. It came from my brother’s solicitor.” He paused. “Ham is dead.”
His friend drew in a sharp breath. “Then you are now Earl of Torrington.”
Dez nodded slowly. “I am. And I haven’t the faintest idea how to be a titled lord.”
Rhys clasped his shoulder. “Dez, you will make for a wonderful earl. You have a keen intelligence. You always seem to have a solution for any problem that arises. Why, I believe you will be the best Torrington the estate has ever seen,” he proclaimed. “Better yet, you will soon leave this cesspool behind in order to take up your duties.”
He smiled ruefully. “I suppose I must.” He studied Rhys a moment. “Will you ever leave the army? I know nothing of your background, other than some patron bestowed your commission upon you.”
“It was the Earl of Sheffington,” his friend revealed.
“Why?”
“My mother is a distant cousin. The earl’s son is not strong. Sheffington hedged his bets. Found me when I was fifteen and saw me tutored for three years before I entered the army. If the viscount dies, I am Sheffington’s heir.”
The news Rhys revealed startled Dez. “Then you might also one day be an earl.”
Rhys shrugged. “I am not counting on it. Raleigh is a year older than I am and he’s still alive. Frankly, I don’t care one way or the other.”