Drayton caught hold of her before she covered even half the distance to the woods. Restrained by his grasp, she whirled and fought him savagely, kicking and biting and scratching, wanting desperately to hurt him. Drayton might have subdued her easily had he not been so concerned about her pregnancy. As it was, it was all he could do to hold her.
‘’I hate you!’’ she screamed as he wrestled her slowly to the ground. ‘’I’ll never go back there with you!”
“And just where do you intend to go?” he demanded, his breath coming just as hard as hers.
“I hate you!”
“Answer me! Where?”
She spit at him and suddenly his face was a frightening mask of rage. He had never really imagined that she would try to run away. The anger that took hold of him was so strong it made him shake as he stared at her face, as the last of his hopes for any kind of a life with her were wrenched from his heart. And in that moment he hated her as passionately as he had ever loved her. If it had not been for the child, he might have killed her with his bare hands.
“I won’t go back with you!” she sobbed hysterically. “I won’t!”
“Oh, yes you will.” He took brutal hold of her arms and pinned them behind her back. Then he removed his belt and roughly turned her sideways, so that he could bind her hands securely. A fresh flow of tears splashed over her face. He grasped her shoulders and yanked her to her feet. “Yankee bastard,” she muttered.
He gave her a none-too-delicate shove toward the horses. “Move.”
Somehow Sheba managed to get her horse going in the same direction as Drayton’s and followed them back to the house without making a single sound. Ambrosia rode half the distance with her hands bound, her mare’s reins in Drayton’s hands. Only when her body sagged forward in exhaustion and threatened to slip from the saddle did Drayton loosen her hands and place her on his own horse, where his arms encircled her limp body and give her support the remainder of the ride.
The three reached the house in the darkest hours of the night. Sheba hurried away without ever daring to look Drayton in the eye, but she saw him pull Ambrosia from the saddle and heard him carry her up the stairs. She mouthed a silent prayer for her mistress’s safety, then huddled in her own narrow bed and tried to get some sleep.
Once upstairs in their room, Drayton removed Ambrosia’s shoes and stockings and most of her clothing before he left her to tend to the horses. She was almost grateful for his help, since she was too tired and weak to undress herself. She was asleep long before he returned to the room, her mind unable to focus on the fact that she had failed to escape and what that failure meant.
Chapter 32
Ambrosia woke when the painful brightness of the sun fell across her face. She turned away from it, groaning as her sore muscles and bruised skin protested the movement. She let out a long breath as she forced herself to relax again, but her mind was alert now, and the memory of what had happened the night before quickly jarred the sleep from her body. She struggled to sit upright, leaning heavily on one arm while the other groped for the bedpost.
“I didn’t expect you to wake so soon. Not after last night.”
She jerked to attention at the sound of his voice, meeting his cool blue eyes with a sneer before turning away and pulling the bed linens up to her chin. She had to fight to keep from wincing with every move, so tired, so sore were her muscles.
He rose from the chair he had occupied throughout the night and strode toward the French doors which opened onto a small terrace. For a time he was silent. When he turned to face her, his face was a perfect calm. “You have tried me for the last time, Ambrosia. I never actually thought you would try to leave here in your condition, without a penny to your name, with no protection. You might have been thrown last night. Or worse. Did you ever stop to consider the dangers facing you?” He paused, then gave a short laugh and shook his head. “How little you must care for the life you carry to act so selfishly, without giving a thought to the consequences.’’
She stared at the opposite wall, feeling a terrible stab of guilt. What he said was true. Until this moment she had not really considered the baby’s safety. She had only known that she must get away from here at any cost. Escape had been the only thing she had thought of since coming here. And now she had failed.
‘’I told you before that I could easily make this a prison for you. You have seen fit to challenge my words. So this morning,” he went on indifferently, “you will move to new quarters, to a room in which you will remain until the birth of our child. I will see that meals are brought up to you, that you are made as comfortable as possible. But you will be locked in the room at all times.” There was no anger in his voice, no emotion at all.
Ambrosia’s lip trembled at the thought of being locked away. There would be no hope of escape. There would be no hope for anything. She stared down at her hands, vaguely wondering how she would survive the confinement.
“To my knowledge, no one but Sheba knows what went on last night. And I have no intention of telling anyone, except Lily, the truth... unless your behavior forces me to do so. I prefer to say that you have contracted a fever which might be contagious, that you will remain in your room until you have fully recovered.” He paused. “I would advise you to consider the future complications should you choose to cross me again, Ambrosia. I could easily have you placed in an asylum once the child is born.”
“No!” Her cry was full of panic, her eyes wide and frightened. He meant it! Dear God, he meant every word of it! She stared helplessly at the hard set of his mouth, at the icy blue eyes, and she realized just how much he hated her now. A terrible fear gripped her at the realization and she felt herself tremble in dread. “Please,” she whispered, “please don’t do that.”
He let out his breath and faced away, feeling revulsion at the thought of doing what he had threatened to do. He had seen the horror of asylums, but he would do it if she tried him. The anger in him was that strong. He needed to prove to her, and perhaps to himself, that he was capable of hurting her in the same brutal way she had hurt him. He turned to face her. “Don’t test me, Ambrosia,” he said tersely, ignoring the frightened, childish look in her eyes. “Get dressed now,” he ordered gruffly. “I’m taking you to your room.’’
Lily nearly stumbled in her haste as she made her way to the parlor, where Bessie had told her her nephew would be waiting. “Drayton, is it true?” she demanded the moment she crossed the threshold. “Bessie says that Ambrosia is seriously ill. She didn’t eat well yesterday-”
Her voice broke off in midsentence as he turned to face her. A half-filled glass of whiskey was in his hand and his eyes were hard and cold. “Sit down, Lily.”
She stared at him for a long moment. “What is it, Drayton? Did she lose the baby?”
He sighed and glanced away a moment. “No,” he answered in a much gentler tone. “It’s nothing like that.” He set his glass on the mantel and strode past her favorite chair, pausing to give its upholstered high back a pat. “Sit down, Lily. Please.”
Lily eyed him anxiously but did as he requested without further protest. He moved to close the parlor doors and returned, momentarily contemplating the chair nearest Lily’s. He drew a deep breath and began to pace the room, obviously in far too much turmoil to take a seat at all. “Ambrosia is not ill,” he began finally, stopping at the mantel to retrieve his glass. “She tried to leave here last night, Lily.”
Lily let out a startled gasp. “Tried to leave? But how?”
He met her eyes and seemed almost amused. But there was something else in his eyes that was nothing like amusement. It was hard and ugly. ‘’As a matter of fact, she stole two of your best mares. She took Sheba with her, though I don’t blame Sheba for any of this. It wasn’t her idea, I’m sure.”
“But-how did you know that she meant to leave?”
‘’Quite by accident. I decided to
return here last night, after I finished my meeting with Matt. Unfortunately for her, we met on Bloomingdale Road.”
Lily stared at him, her eyes still wide. A moment later she shook her head vigorously. “No. I cannot believe any of this,’’ she said firmly. ‘’Why, in her condition she could hardly saddle a horse herself, much less ride properly. And Sheba-”
He slammed his fist hard on the mantel. “Dammit, don’t you understand? She wasn’t thinking of her condition; she can’t think of anything but the war, and the hate it filled her with. She’d do anything to be free of her Yankee husband.” He lifted his glass of whiskey and drained it in a single swallow while Lily watched in silence, agonizing over what she saw in his eyes and heard in his voice. She was shocked and angered, and she could think of nothing to say to comfort him.
There was a long silence. Drayton stared stonily at his empty glass, then let out a lengthy breath and shook his head. “She has nothing, no money, no land, no family to speak of, yet she would have left here, would have given birth to our child God-knows-where and worked herself to death to keep him fed and clothed rather than accept the home I offered her.’’ His voice became like steel as he went on. “She wants no part of me. And now I want no part of her.” He straightened abruptly and went to pour himself another glass of whiskey. He took a long swallow, and spoke in a low, harsh tone. “I will not allow her to ruin a child’s future just to satisfy her hate. The baby is mine too, and it will be born here, where I can protect it.’’
“But how can you-?”
“I have locked Ambrosia in the attic room.”
“But you can’t mean to keep her there! There must be some other way!”
‘’There is no other way. She will remain there until the child is born.” He finished off his drink and went to refill it again. “I shall tend to her needs for the next few days myself, until I can find a woman to-’’
“A woman! I have plenty of help here, Drayton,” Lily protested. “Surely Emily is trustworthy enough to be given the task. I insist on it.’’
“It’s too late for coddling, Lily. I’ve already made up my mind. I’ve told Bess and the others about Ambrosia’s illness, and none of them will be allowed on the second floor until she recovers. I shall be going to town tomorrow morning to hire someone to care for her.”
“You are acting in haste, Drayton,” Lily said softly. “Please reconsider before you do something you will regret. Ambrosia is not an animal. If you reason with her-’’
“Reason with her!” he flung back. He let out a short laugh. “I am doing what I have to do, Lily, and nothing more.” He finished off his bourbon and once again made to refill his glass.
“Getting drunk won’t solve anything,” she reproved.
He half drained the glass he had just poured. “I know.’’
She watched him for a moment then let out a breath through clenched teeth and rose, leaning heavily on her cane. He had drunk quite a bit in the days following Kathryn’s death, and Lily had learned not to argue with him when he was in a mood like this. Better to give him a free rein until he settled down a bit on his own and was ready to listen to reason. She bit her lip hard then, recalling that he had never gotten over Kathryn’s death, that he had never spoken of it to her, to anyone. She looked one last time at his face, so hard and cold and closed. There was no hope of reaching him now. With a sigh of reluctance, she left him to himself.
Chapter 33
The room was large, the walls simple rows of rough, exposed beams, the ceiling dipping low to follow the slope of the roof. Three small, four-paned windows, one on each of three walls, were without curtains, and a long row of neatly stacked boxes and crates lined the remaining wall.
Ambrosia’s furnishings consisted of an old but comfortable trundle bed, a plain wooden chair, a washstand with pitcher and basin, and a small table on which stood a brightly painted oil lamp and hand bell, which she was instructed to ring if she wished to summon help.
During the first days of her confinement Drayton brought her meals on a tray, paced the room in silence while she ate, then collected the tray and cutlery and left her alone again. He spoke to her only once, when she questioned him about Sheba, saying that since she had only acted out of loyalty, he had no intentions of punishing her for her actions. Ambrosia lowered her eyes and bit her lip as she slowly gave a nod. She asked him nothing more.
She was a far more docile prisoner than Drayton had expected, sleeping much of the time, idly sketching with the paper and charcoals that had been left in the table drawer by someone long forgotten, silently accepting and eating the meals he brought without comment. Still, whenever he entered the room, a tangible air of tension hung between them.
Ambrosia felt an odd sort of numbness during those first days, a feeling almost like an involuntary complacency... until Drayton entered the room. She was always tense when he was with her, and the threats he had made about placing her in an asylum after the baby’s birth always echoed in her mind. She did not allow herself to dwell on those threats otherwise, choosing instead to sketch pictures of the places and people she remembered from years past. It was a pastime she had been too busy to pursue since her days at Barhamville, and she found some solace in it now, a comfort in allowing her mind to relive a past that was no more. When she was not sketching, she would lie on the bed and study the odd distortion of her stomach as the baby wrestled and squirmed in her womb. She would try to picture the infant sometimes she imagined a boy, other times a girl-but al ways the baby was in her arms, always smiling up at her. The child was the only part of her present reality she could bear to consider.
The woman Drayton hired to care for Ambrosia was a tall, thin Englishwoman whose lips were naturally pursed dourly and whose left brow was perpetually raised in an expression of arrogant inquiry. She spoke very little, answered questions with a simple yes or no, and in general avoided conversation. She began bringing Ambrosia her meals in Drayton’s stead, regarding the younger woman with her left brow raised even higher than usual in a gesture of disapproval. She eyed Ambrosia warily all the while she changed the bed linens or swept the floor or cleared away the dinner tray, as if she honestly thought the girl would pounce on her from behind like a lunatic. When Ambrosia questioned her about who she was, Miss Wilcox explained brusquely that she was a nurse hired to see to Mrs. Rambert’s needs until the baby came, then added pointedly that Mr. Rambert paid her salary, and that she was prepared to take orders only from him.
As soon as Drayton had hired Miss Wilcox, he threw himself into his work, spending long days and even some nights in the city, arranging for the sale or disposal of an entire warehouse of paints of questionable quality, visiting each of three Brooklyn factories with Tom Landon, who went over and over each facet of production with him until he knew almost as much about the process as Tom himself.
Drayton’s teacher was a burly, ruddy-faced man with a raspy voice and gruff manner that had frightened Drayton as a boy. Tom personally saw to the dismantling and cleaning of the machinery at the factories, explaining the intricate workings of each piece to Drayton as he went along. Tom was a man whose life had always centered around his work, and in that respect, he and James Rambert had been two of a kind. And Drayton was beginning to live his life in much the same way.
The days grew longer, hotter, and unbearably boring. Ambrosia unpacked the various boxes and crates that lined the wall, found nothing that interested her, and so methodically repacked everything and put each item back in its proper place. Several times she asked Miss Wilcox if she might have a book or a newspaper, only to be informed that Mr. Rambert had said nothing about either of those items and until he did, she was not at liberty to supply them. As the days dragged on in dismal sameness, Ambrosia memorized the views from the windows and counted the wallboards and rough beams a hundred times over. She took to pacing the floor for hours at a time, to keeping track of her steps and the n
umber of times she turned. She began to write down what she had eaten for breakfast, lunch, and dinner. Time ceased to have any real meaning to her. With each passing hour she grew more subdued, quieter, less able to think clearly. Often she would sit in silence, reliving the days before the war, remembering the sound of her father’s voice, the smell of freshly turned ground after a spring rain, the way she had felt when Ledger laughed.
One morning, she sat on the edge of the bed, lost in her thoughts, staring vacantly at the opposite wall. She did not realize at first that Lily had opened the door and stood on the threshold of the room, trying to catch her breath. The struggle of climbing three flights of stairs had left the older woman totally exhausted. When Ambrosia finally started and turned toward her visitor, Lily made no attempt at a warm greeting. “May I sit down, please?” she requested, still breathless from her climb.
Ambrosia eyed her warily for a moment before offering her the only chair. She herself went to stand by a nearby window and fixed her eyes on the familiar grounds below.
“I apologize for not coming sooner. It is only that the stairs are so difficult for me these days...and Drayton...Drayton did not approve of my visiting you.”
Ambrosia’s eyes touched hers for a moment. She showed no expression. She stared out the window again. “Sheba has been asking after you. She’s very concerned. “
‘’Please tell her not to be,’’ Ambrosia returned evenly, without turning to meet her eyes. “I’m quite well.”
Lily’s jaw tightened. “Come here, Ambrosia.” Her voice was firm. Ambrosia looked at her in surprise. “Please.” The older woman patted the bed and nodded, urging Ambrosia to take a seat.
Ambrosia hesitated, then did as Lily requested.
“I was astonished when Drayton told me you had tried to leave here,” Lily began somewhat haltingly. ‘’I knew, of course, that you were unhappy. But I never imagined you were so desperate as to consider running away.”
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