by Jo Goodman
Skye was still thinking hard, wondering how to handle Parnell when he confronted her. It was inevitable that he would. She would have to lie, and it would have to sound plausible. "What do you mean?" she asked absently. "What lesson?"
"That you always land on your feet."
It wasn't what Skye expected Annie might say. She frowned. "What are you talking about?"
"The time you went to the cellar," Annie said. "One of the first nights you were here. I was on my way to the kitchen myself, and I glimpsed you going in that direction. I thought you probably didn't want company, so I let you go on. When I went down a little later, your pan of milk was warm by the stove and you weren't around." Annie sniffed. She brushed the tip of her nose with the handkerchief. "I heard you in the cellar. You knew you weren't supposed to go down there. We've all been warned off right from the start. It came to me suddenly, just a thought that I should have pushed to the back of my mind. But I couldn't."
Now Skye knew what she was going to hear. She remained quiet, letting Annie say it.
"I shut the door and locked it. I knew it was wrong—you'd been so very good to me—but I thought if I could secure your position, things would be better for Matt and me."
"Is that all you did?" asked Skye. "Did you tell anyone?"
Annie shook her head. "I didn't think I'd have to. I thought you'd be discovered there and the matter would take care of itself. I was glad when I realized the next day that you'd got out. You have to believe me. I felt terrible about what I'd done."
"Not so terrible that you let me out."
"But I didn't give you away when I had the chance." At Skye's questioning look, she explained, "Mrs. Reading came through. I could have told her where you'd gone, but I didn't."
"She asked about me?"
"She asked about the milk on the stove."
Skye remembered putting the milk on to warm. She was going to have graveyard stew to help her sleep. The sugar and cinnamon were sitting out on the table. So were a few crusts of bread. She had prepared the same thing for herself the evening before, the first night at Granville, and Mrs. Reading had watched her. "Did you tell her the milk was yours?"
"I did," Annie said. "But I told her I didn't want it any longer. I was going to put it away, but she told me to leave it."
"And then you left."
"That's right. I could have told her where you were. Surely it counts for something."
"It's all right, Annie. What's done is done. There's no sense making yourself sick over it." It was clear to Skye that Mrs. Reading hadn't believed Annie about the milk. Corina might not have realized that she was in the cellar then, but the cook knew she had been around recently. "You'd better begin packing your things. There's nothing I can do for you here. Mr. Parnell isn't going to change his mind."
"I don't want him to change his mind," she said. "I didn't come here for that. I wanted you to know what I've done. I wanted to tell you how sorry I am. I wish I could take it back." She saw Skye's skeptical expression. "And not because I lost my position. This is a frightening place, Skye. There's part of me that's glad to go. I can't sleep most nights for hearing the Granville ghost pace the floor."
Skye didn't want to hear Annie's stories about the ghost. "Annie," she said firmly. "If Mr. Parnell is telling you to leave tonight, then—"
"Do you forgive me?"
"Yes, I forgive you." She took Annie's large, hardworking hands in her own. She captured Annie's gaze, held it, and then spoke deliberately and slowly. "Listen to me. I'm not angry with you. Of course, I forgive you. I want you to pack your things and go to Baileyboro. Get a ticket for New York and present yourself to a house at 50th and Broadway. Ask for Mrs. Cavanaugh."
Annie was uncertain. "What sort of house?" she asked. "You know I ain't the kind that—"
Skye squeezed her hands. "Annie, it's not a brothel. It's a family home, and I'm known there. Mrs. Cavanaugh. Can you remember that, or shall I write it for you?" Annie repeated the name. "Good. You'll do fine. Tell them I'd like you to have work there. They'll take you in and let you stay as long as you behave yourself."
"Oh, I will. I will." She leaned forward and hugged Skye. "The others think you like Mr. Parnell's attentions," she said. "I know it's different with you. That's why I could believe Matt about the gun." She drew back and glanced around. "Where'd he go?"
Skye swiveled around on the bed and looked for Matt. "He must be hiding. He hasn't left the room. The door's still closed." She dropped on her knees beside the bed and looked under it. Matt hadn't crawled there. "Where are you, Matt?"
Annie was up and looking behind the chair. She tried Skye's trunk next, lifting a few of the topmost belongings. Her son's little towhead didn't appear. "Matthew Staplehurst! Show yourself right now!" Both women listened. There wasn't so much as a giggle to reveal the whereabouts of the boy.
Hands on her hips, Skye surveyed the room. "This is silly," she said. "He can't have disappeared." Her eyes fell on the armoire. The door to it was still ajar from when she had been interrupted. She placed one finger over her lips and pointed it out to Annie.
Annie nodded, understanding. She tiptoed quietly toward the armoire and opened the door fully. Without any warning, her hand snaked in. Her plan was to come out with a handful of boy. She pulled out crumpled linens instead. "I'll be darned," she said, staring at them. "I was sure—"
Skye was sure, too. "I had those folded," she said. "The little scamp must have made a nest for himself." She dropped down in front of the deep armoire and leaned in, rooting around for an ankle or wrist that wasn't hidden as well as the rest. "Matt, come out—" Her voice broke off abruptly when her hand seemed to go through the back of the wardrobe. "Annie, go next door to Parnell's room. See if Matt's there."
"Why in the world—"
"Just go, Annie." As soon as she heard Annie leave the room, Skye pressed forward, crawling into the armoire in just the manner she was sure Matthew had. The panel at the back was already open, swinging outward into Parnell's room, or more specifically, into Parnell's own armoire. The opening was small but easily negotiated by someone on their hands and knees. Skye had no difficulty moving through it. She understood now that Parnell had had no difficulty either.
Skye yanked on her gown as it caught beneath her, then she pushed the rest of the way through, opening the outer doors to Parnell's armoire. She grinned when she saw Annie sitting on Parnell's bed with Matthew in her lap. "Look at that. You've got him. As soon as I found the opening, I knew he'd be in here." It took Skye a moment to realize that Annie wasn't sharing her satisfaction. Even Matthew looked unusually subdued.
"What is it?" she asked. She started to climb out of the wardrobe. It was an awkward journey and her gown impeded her progress. She was startled when she felt herself being hauled upward, a firm hand grasping the coil of hair at her nape. Her hands went automatically to the back of her head to keep her hair from being torn out by its roots.
Skye was yanked hard to her feet and brought flush against Parnell himself. His fine, distinguished features were sharply etched. His blue eyes were like chips of ice, burning her with their coldness. He turned her around so that her back was pressed flat against him. One of his arms locked under her breasts, making struggle almost impossible. His touch made Skye want to retch. For a moment she couldn't see clearly. Darkness pressed in on the edges of her vision and she realized she was in danger of fainting. An odd thought crossed her mind then: the thought that her sisters would laugh if she fainted in the midst of her first real adventure. The ignominy of it was like smelling salts, pushing back the darkness.
"Hold still," he whispered in her ear. His arm tightened, as did the fingers in her hair.
Skye forced herself to quiet though she couldn't relax. She looked at Annie. Had it all been planned just this way?
Annie understood the question in Skye's eyes and knew she deserved to be doubted. She shook her head. "I didn't have anything to do with—"
"Quiet," Parnell sai
d. "Give your boy to Skye."
Annie's eyes widened. She held Matthew more tightly and didn't move.
"So help me God, I'll kill you right in front of him." He saw Annie recoil. "Now, give him to Skye."
Annie slid off the bed and approached Skye and Parnell slowly. "You go to Skye," she whispered to Matthew, ruffling his hair. "Skye wants to hold you." Parnell released Skye enough to allow her to take the boy. Annie still gave him up reluctantly. Her eyes were anguished. "I don't understand," she pleaded. "I don't—"
"Go to your room and pack your things." His smile held no sympathy. "Yes, I can see you wish you'd done that right away. It's too late now, and regrets won't solve the problem. Go on with you. Pack everything. The boy's things, too." As an afterthought, he added, "And don't talk to anyone." Annie fled the room. Parnell released Skye and gave her a push at the small of the back toward the bed. "Sit there." He closed the door and locked it.
"Why are you doing this?" Skye asked. "Annie was getting ready to leave."
"Not fast enough to suit me. This will move her along and keep her quiet." He reached into the armoire and pulled all the panels shut. Anyone entering Skye's room would no longer know that she had exited through the wardrobe. "I thought she might come running to you."
"You listened."
He nodded. "You can hear quite well through the back of the wardrobe. The panel doesn't always have to be opened."
Skye struggled for calm. "Matt must have surprised you."
Parnell didn't reply. He leaned against the closed wardrobe and watched her silently. The picture of her with the child in her lap intrigued him. Her hair was like a copper aura about her head. Madonna and child, he thought. It was a false picture, of course. At one time he might have mistaken her for pure. No longer.
Matthew squirmed in Skye's lap. He could sense her uneasiness as the silence went on. She stroked the back of his head and felt Parnell's eyes narrow on the movement of her fingers.
It seemed hours passed before Annie returned. Skye knew by the mantel clock that it had been less than twenty minutes. Parnell brought Annie into the room. He took Matt from Skye and gave the boy over to his mother. "I want to show you something, Annie."
With no more warning than that he brought back his fist and clipped Skye on the chin. She fell back on the bed without a sound. "Now come with me," he said. He led Annie and Matt out of the room and locked the door behind him.
Chapter 16
The touch was light but strangely insistent. Skye shrugged, trying to avoid the sensation that caressed her from throat to shoulder. The strength of her panic forced awareness.
Skye's eyes flew open and she was confronted by Parnell. He was standing over her holding a long silk scarf in his hand. One corner of the gray silk was being drawn across her bare arm. He was smiling. It was a cold greeting and it did not touch his eyes.
"Your ghost, I'm afraid." It wasn't an apology. He let the scarf trail along her arm, dipping lightly in the curve of her elbow. "But you liked it. I know you did."
Skye rolled away and sat up quickly. She was still on Parnell's bed, but when she tried to scramble to the far side, he grabbed her leg and pulled her back. Her dress was unbuttoned to the waist and now the hem was rucked up to her knees. Skye found herself clutching the bodice while she kicked ineffectually at Parnell.
He straddled her easily, drew her hands away, and pinned her wrists to the headboard. "You're more responsive when you're sleeping," he said.
"Drugged, you mean."
He ignored that. "I like you compliant." He looked at her closely. "But this is good. Your fear is very satisfying."
"I'm not afraid of you."
His faint smile was pitying. "I should have taken you the first time I saw you," he said. "It was in the Worth home, but you didn't know that, did you?"
Skye merely stared at him, refusing to play to his hand.
"There wasn't any time then. I had come for other purposes and you were a distraction." He sighed. "And then, when you unexpectedly came here, there was always Walker Caide between us. He enjoyed watching you as much as I did."
Skye twisted but couldn't dislodge Parnell. His hands were so tight on her wrists that her fingers were numb. He was staring at her with darkening eyes. The look was sexual and predatory.
"Walker's no longer a problem," Parnell said. "He won't be watching either one of us now. I have you to myself... for as long as I want... in any way I want."
"What have you done to Walker?"
Parnell was of no mind to answer Skye's questions. His head bent. When his mouth was close to hers, he whispered, "I can make you want me. I can, you know. I have."
Skye spit at him.
Parnell reeled back. His reaction was instinctive. The flat of his large hand sent pain screaming through Skye's head and delivered the oblivion she had prayed for.
* * *
This time Skye's waking was accompanied by her own pained groan. Her jaw ached miserably. Tentatively pressing her tongue against her teeth, Skye knew a moment's relief that she hadn't lost any. Encouraged, she tried to raise a hand to her face and discovered it was impossible. Her wrists were bound tightly at the small of her back. She gave in to her first instinct to yank at the bonds. The silken knots tightened. She rotated her ankles and found them similarly bound. This time she did not attempt to force a release. Instead Skye willed herself to quell the panic, relax, and think. She had brought herself to this pass, she thought, by enraging Parnell. She had to believe it was worth it. If he came for her again, she would be prepared. She would kill him if he touched her.
The room was dimly lit by a single oil lamp. A glance at her surroundings told Skye she had never been in this particular room before. She was lying on a cot not much wider than she. It shook slightly as she rolled awkwardly off her back and onto her side so she could face the light. The new position relieved the pressure in her wrists but forced her head to rest at an odd angle. Her jaw began to thump.
Skye sat up slowly, dropping her bound legs over the side of the cot. The oil lamp rested on the dirt floor and cast its small circle of light over her legs. A tide of panic swept through her again as she realized she was no longer wearing her gown. She had been stripped to the plain white shift she wore under her day dress. Even her shoes had been removed. The bonds that cut her across the ankles were her own stockings.
The floor was cold and damp on her bare feet. She lifted them a few degrees so they didn't rest directly on the floor. The cot creaked under her shifting and she could feel the canvas give with her movement. It struck her that the cot hadn't been placed here specifically for her but had been a furnishing of the room for a long time. The canvas was rotten from the damp and she would be fortunate if it didn't tear under her weight.
Three walls of her prison were whitewashed stone. The green-veined marble look was the product of patches of mold and moss along the surface and in the crevices. The fourth wall was dirt with an opening squared off with timber like the adit of a mine. Lamplight did not extend to the tunnel beyond. The darkness was like a wall itself, hard and impenetrable.
Panic did not assert itself again; hopelessness did. Except for the cot there was no furniture, and except for the adit there was no way out. When the oil lamp burned itself out she wouldn't be able to see at all. The movement of her wrists was desperate this time. The stockings Parnell had used merely tightened further.
She wondered about Annie and Matt. Had Parnell really let them leave, or were they similarly trapped in another part of the mansion? The possibility of their plight left Skye with no pity for herself.
She had no idea how long she had been unconscious. More than a few minutes, she was sure. Perhaps as long as a half hour. It hardly seemed possible that she had only returned to Granville this very morning. Parnell had moved quickly. She wondered if Annie's disclosure about the gun had forced his hand, or if he was acting on a plan that was well thought out. Was it true she couldn't expect help from Walker, or had Parn
ell been bluffing? Skye found she didn't want to think about the answer to that.
She stood carefully, testing her balance on her bound feet. The slightest misstep would have her toppling face forward on the floor. She inched away from the cot toward the adit. By pushing with her toes she was able to nudge the lamp in front of her.
"Careful. You'll catch your shift on fire."
She nearly fell then. The sound of Walker's voice somewhere behind her made Skye lose her precarious balance. She managed to catch herself against the wall and use it for support. Her heart slammed hard against her chest and for a moment it was difficult to breathe. Her eyes darted anxiously around the room.
He wasn't there. Fear was already pushing her to the edge of madness, she thought. She had imagined his voice. The cruelty of it made it impossible to hold back a single sob.
"Skye?" Walker realized she hadn't seen him. Her sob cut him to the quick and made him curse his own carelessness. "Down here," he said softly. "Under the cot."
Skye's eyes dropped immediately. Walker was indeed stretched out beneath the cot. His wrists and ankles were similarly bound. He flashed her a smile that was more grimace than grin as he inched his way out from under it and sat up.
Skye sagged a little against the wall as she realized the scope of their predicament. This was not the manner in which she had expected to see Walker. Her rescuer was in need of rescuing. Her expression was easy to read.
One corner of Walker's mouth was raised in a self-depreciating smile. "Not quite the knight on a white charger, am I?" His eyes went swiftly over Skye. Except for a slight swelling along her jaw, she looked to be unharmed. In fact, she looked quite beautiful. A touch of color had returned to her cheeks, and her unbound hair spilled over one shoulder. Her own eyes were bright now with a mixture of relief and hope, and the unrelieved whiteness of her shift made her seem wraithlike, almost ethereal. "Although when I dream of a damsel in distress..." He didn't finish the sentence. Skye was not at all flattered by the comparison.