When dinner did end, Remy insisted she see Lord Huntington to the door. This obviously pleased her mother, who nodded her head in approval while her father was already halfway down the hall so he did not say in the matter.
The walk was silent but comfortable. Remy wanted to say something, anything, to convey her regret at what was about to transpire, to wish him the best in life because he so deserved it. But she did not have the words. Instead, once they reached the front doors, Remy quickly reached out to touch his hand, wrapping her fingers around his own, and squeezed. To say this shocked him was somewhat of an understatement, but he did not look displeased. He looked at her rather curiously, but did not speak, recognizing there was something she wished to say.
All Remy could come up with was, “Thank you, Stybolt, for everything you have done for me and my family.”
Remy seemed to shock him to speechlessness due to her familiar use of his Christian name. She did not have time to wait for him to reply, however, and after one last squeeze, she dropped his hand. She left before he could say anything and headed up the stairs, away from her life as she knew it forever.
Once Remy heard the door to her room click shut, she immediately locked the door. She did not want anybody interrupting her escape.
Dinner had taken much longer than Remy had anticipated, and as such, she would be unable to change out of her pale blue gown and into more comfortable clothing that would blend better with the intended destination. The only thing she could do was rid herself of the heavy skirt that would no doubt slow her down or aid in her untimely demise. She would not be leaving her home through the front door; rather, she was planning to climb out her window to the oak tree and weasel her way down until her feet touched solid ground once more. She knew from personal experience that heavy skirts proved deadly while descending this particular tree.
After grabbing a sack of shillings she had saved up and kept hidden especially for today, Remy slipped on an old pair of boots she wore while riding her family’s horses. Now all that was left for her to do was to step through the windowsill and onto the tree branch.
The sack of money was tied around her waist, and without the impairment of the heavy skirt, she felt much lighter. But that did not inspire Remy to leap out of her room just yet.
She had been in this exact place before, two years ago when she was fifteen. The results of her action were thought to be permanent, in the sense that she had died and somehow had managed to escape death’s grasp with her life. Remy had wanted to sneak out of her house in order to meet a boy she liked, a boy she knew her parents would never approve of. But she never made that meeting because she had been transported to a completely different world, one where souls went to reach their final resting place. Somehow, she managed to return home with a bump on her head and a long lecture from her father, but she refused to see that boy again and ignored the letters and trinkets he sent her in secret through Charlie. Remy decided once she recovered from her ordeal to never risk her life for love again, no matter what.
Her predicament had changed now. Instead of rushing out to meet a boy, she was running away from one. Though, Lord Huntington was really more of a man, was he not? Never did she even think about attempting to escape through the window again, until her parents came to her and told her of the marriage they had arranged for her to the Lord. While she had heard favorable things regarding the man, Remy had only met him twice in a year, including today. He was cordial and polite, and was probably quite handsome when he was younger, but at thirty-eight, he was past his prime and past grasping any interest Remy might have had for him. Certainly, he would make an ideal husband. He was a Lord, after all, and was well-respected by the King. He came from wealth and she would never go wanting for anything as long as she lived. Her parents obviously approved of the marriage, and though they too were wealthy, they wanted to ensure their family’s survival by wedding their only child to the best suitable match.
Remy waited until the last minute to concoct her plan of escape only because she had hoped that the Lord would change his mind or her parents would change their mind or something would intervene and prevent the couple from marrying. When Remy realized this was not to be the case, she had no choice but to hastily come up with some sort of plan to leave. Her only regret was that she was unable to speak of it to Charlie.
Charlie was two years older than Remy and looked after her like he might look after a sister if he had one. When they were children and society’s expectations were more relaxed, they constantly were together, eating and playing and getting dirty. Remy had to admit that Charlie was probably the reason she did not act too spoiled, unlike other girls in her class. He kept her grounded and taught her things her private tutors refused to teach, including geography, philosophy, and history, and encouraged her to read as much as she possibly could. As they grew older, they were not permitted to see each other much, but Remy and Charlie would find some way to do so, even if it meant meeting in the kitchen for five minutes a day. He was the closest thing to a brother she had and trusted him blindly.
In a way, Remy was almost glad she could not tell Charlie. This way, he could not insist on coming with her and her parents could not blame him for encouraging her to leave them behind. Therefore, they could not punish Charlie’s family, all of which worked for the Cutlers in some manner or another. He would not approve of her going off by herself when something could happen to her, and she did not want the last time she spoke to him to be a lecture.
Once Remy made it down from the tree, she would have to leave the grounds without getting caught and then walk all the way to town without the aid of a carriage. Even to her, it sounded daunting, impossible. She had to at least try, however, no matter how terrifying the journey seemed to be.
All she had to do in order to begin was reach the tree branch from her windowsill.
Stepping up to it, her stomach was bombarded with butterflies with wings probably too big for their bodies, crashing into each other and Remy’s stomach. She tried to tell herself not to look down, tried to focus her eyes on the thick trunk of the oak tree, but it did not help. Her boot-clad toes were dangling off the edge of the sill, her fingers gripping the sides so hard her knuckles turned white. Her heart beat began to increase and even though she was not sad, she felt the lids of her eyes begin to employ tears.
Why was she so scared?
Prior to her temporary death, she had never been afraid of heights. In fact, climbing out of her window and shimmying down the tree was common practice, a way for her to see Charlie without being caught. Yet now, she could not look down at the green grass and thick bushes without feeling her head spin.
Why did she ever think she would be able to make it out of her window?
A knock on the door startled her, and Remy’s head snapped in its direction.
“Remy?” her mother’s voice, husky with smoke, inquired. “Are you ready? I would like you to try on the dress in order to ensure it fits you properly.”
“I shall be there in a minute,” Remy called. She hoped her mother did not detect the shakiness of the sound. All Remy could do was pray that the woman would not try to open the door. Finding it locked would convince the her that something was, indeed, wrong.
It is now or never, she thought to herself. Even if her mother found the door to be locked, Remy knew that she had mere seconds until somebody would be at her door with the key, ruining her plans. She wanted to leave with no one the wiser.
Without even thinking, Remy turned back to face the tree and then raised her foot out until the sole of the boot was planted firmly on the branch. Shifting her weight, she brought her other foot around until it stood by its opposite.
“Thank God!” she whispered to herself.
Remy knew her face had turned an uncomely shade of red and one lone tear had fallen down her face, but she had to keep going. As gracefully as she could muster, she dashed over to the trunk, the branch dipping down and up with each step Remy took. Somehow, s
he managed to make it safely there.
Now for the easy part. She gripped the trunk in her hands, and in seconds, squirmed down the tree, her booted feet landing with a plop on the grass. Her feet prickled due to the hard landing, but she regained her balance and pressed forward, running across the deserted front lawn. There were a couple of guards surveying the front, but not enough to notice her singular frame. Remy managed to sneak by the two with relative ease.
She quickly walked across the field. Despite her decidedly unladylike actions, her muscles tensed, preventing her from running just yet. A lady never ran, and always kept good posture if she did. She made it to the black iron gates that kept unwanted visitors out, and without a backward glance, slipped through the bars with ease.
She was free. Finally free.
Now all that was left to do was get to down where the docks were located.
She was almost there. She was almost gone.
She descended the gentle slope of the hill Remy had lived on and proceeded to make her way through the town. People selling a variety of things – including particular services targeting men of all ages – tried to get her to buy the various goods and services they were selling, but Remy paid them no mind. Luckily, they did not seem to recognize her and moved on to their next potential customer.
She was so close. She could smell the salt in the air.
The prospect of actually having to work in order to earn money and pay for necessities was not a pleasant thought, especially when Remy had never lifted a finger to labor over something in her entire life. However, she placed her faith in herself, that things would all work out in her favor, and perhaps labor was not as dire as she had once considered. Perhaps she would not have to work at all.
When she reached her final destination, she felt herself stall. Remy turned, glancing at the familiar town, and then picked her eyes up. She could not see her home from where she was, but she could point out the hill it rested on.
Please, Remy, do not cry, she thought, and blinked back the threatening tears. This is the right thing, you know.
Remy turned back towards the ocean. She was here. She made it.
It was surprisingly easy for Remy to make her way onto the ship, and even more so to go below deck and into the storage area. She had been studying the design of trade ships as thoroughly as she possibly could the past fortnight and wanted to have the intricate pieces that made up a vessel memorized so she would not waste time wandering around. She knew that the sailors had just restocked on supplies, and there would be no need to fetch anything down here until well into the night, and by that time, Remy hoped to find a better hiding place until the ship reached its next destination, wherever that might be. Now she knew where the food and drink were kept so she would not starve to death if they would be at sea for a while.
Remy managed to find a place close to the entranceway with a view of anyone who might happen to walk into the room while also keeping her hidden from view. It was not as comfortable as she hoped it would be, but she supposed that her freedom was worth more to her than a relaxing sitting place and a warm fire. She was suddenly exhausted, could now clearly feel her heart hammering away at her chest as though it was trying to break free. She could not sleep, could not fully relax until she knew she was safe with absolute certainty. Her ears picked up the sounds of the sailors, walking and grunting, shouting and moving objects Remy could only guess at. The staircase that led to the storage area was near where she was, and as such, she would be able to hear if anyone were to come down.
They would not. They had no reason to… Right?
Remy gulped. She pulled her bent knees up to her chest and wrapped her arms around them, holding them as tightly as she could. She wanted to make herself smaller, just in case.
Perhaps this was not such a good idea. What if they caught her? What would they do to her? How stupid could she have been, to not think this through more? Marriage was preferable over death, was it not? Would she rather die free – even if her freedom lasted minutes – or live a kept woman?
Remy was only seventeen years of age! She should not be contemplating something as morbid as death.
Then again, she was not like other girls, in that others girls probably had never died and then come back to life.
When would the ship leave? What was the crew waiting for, exactly?
How long had she been here? It certainly felt like forever.
Remy was finally able to relax when she felt the telltale lurch of the ship moving through the water. Maybe soon she could rid herself of the constraining corset, but for right now, she was content to bury herself deep into Will’s coat and allow slumber to take her.
“Wake up!”
Remy’s eyes snapped open.
She had no idea how long she was out or where the ship was currently, but she immediately knew that her hiding place was not as isolated as she had previously thought.
Black, beady eyes of a short, squat man who appeared to need a bath and breath that reeked of decay narrowed. She gulped.
This new turn of events did not look promising.
“’ho be you?” he asked in barely recognizable English. .“We don’t take kindly to stowaways, missies or not.”
He gave her a long look, starting at the tips of her boots to the top of her head before resting his yellow-tinted eyes to a place on the wall, to her left. Remy could not help but look behind her due to the intensity of his stare, but found that nothing was there.
Odd.
Remy turned back to regard the man and opened her mouth, but no sound came out. Her throat felt dry. She desperately needed something to drink.
“I says, ‘ho be you?’” he asked. Before Remy could reply, he slapped her with the back of his hand.
A sweet taste of metal began to taint the inside of her mouth, and her head reeled from the pain.
“Ye realize the captain’s gonna to gut ye like a fish, don’t ye?” he continued.
Goodness. This was not at all going the way Remy had planned. Though the best scenario would have been her presence never being discovered, she knew that it was unlikely such a thing would have happened. However, she had hoped that the crew and the captain might be a little friendlier to her since she was a young woman and had done nothing to cause anyone harm. All she needed was a lift to the next port. She had money to pay them, after all.
“I ‘ave a idea,” he said, look back to the spot on the wall. “Instead of handin’ her ter the captain right away, why don’t we ‘ave some fun wit’ her? No one will be looking for us for a while.”
Remy furrowed her brow as her heart beat overtook the heavy silence. Who, exactly, was he speaking to?
Any memory of pain vanished as his words sunk in. Remy might not have been experienced, but she knew what they meant when they said they were going to have fun with her.
Her fear came rushing back to her and before she knew it, she socked the man in the face. Pain immediately shot through her hand and she released a whimper. Charlie never told her to expect her own pain when trying to inflict some on somebody else as he taught her how to fight.
The brute looked surprised and said, “Yer gonna to pay for that.” He reached out his arm and Remy flinched, closing her eyes. Her body tightened, preparing for the attack she knew was bound to come.
Except it never did.
A strong arm wrapped around her waist, and before she knew what was happening, Remy was gone from the ship she had stowed away on, and instead, was brought to another one. A familiar one. A ship she had never thought she would see again until she was old and decrepit.
It was the same ship she had been on after dying the first time.
Chapter 2
Perhaps she had died again. Yes, that was probably the case. Although, she did expect to feel some pain from the attack. Certainly the sailor looked as though he wanted to inflict pain on her; but she felt nothing.
Remy looked down at herself. She was still in the white corset, the corset was s
till keeping everything narrowed and in place. Her hands were not bruised, her stomach was not pooling out blood, she still had all of her toes, and there was an arm still wrapped around her midsection.
“Oh no, not her again.”
Her eyes snapped up to find a familiar man walking towards her, momentarily distracting her from the fact that someone was holding on to her. He was still surprisingly tall, standing two or three inches over six feet. Though the sun was out and normally bronzed peach-colored skin, it seemed to turn his skin pink which caused any intimidation his height might have granted him to disappear. He had short, dirty blond hair that was pushed up, away from his face. His high forehead and pointed nose marred his otherwise handsome appearance. Remy believed that many girls she knew would instantly spring at the chance to be betrothed to him, had he come from a respectable and wealthy family. But it was apparent that he did not, considering his choice in attire. With a strong frame and broad shoulders, he wore his dirty clothes with a certain amount of pride – or something resembling pride from Remy’s perspective – as he stopped directly in front of her and whoever it was that was holding her.
“What is she doing here, Captain?” The man acknowledged his superior with a somewhat condescending tone inflected on the last word, but his dark blue eyes demanded some sort of explanation.
Death in Neverland: Book 1 in The Neverland Trilogy (The Neverland Series) Page 2