Sweet Asylum

by Tracy L. Ward

  “Peter.”

  Ainsley turned to Blair and then followed his gaze to the cliffs where two figures stood at the edge of the trees.

  “It’s Samuel,” Blair said somberly. “He has Margaret.”

  Chapter 36

  Of truth that's not in thee,

  Like bird that finds its nest

  Twice Margaret tried to run and twice she was caught by Samuel’s long, unforgiving grasp. The second time he held fast to her arm, digging his fingers in the soft flesh of her arm when her steps took her too far from him. With the ax balanced on his shoulder, he led her down the path through the fields, along the same route Ivy had taken her upon her first visit. His limp prevented him from walking fast but his grip was determined. Margaret knew what he meant to do.

  “Matthew, was that his name?” Margaret spoke, knowing he heard her. “He saw your family, didn’t he?”

  She felt his grip tighten and yelped as he pulled her even closer. The heaviness of his boots hit the back of her legs as she walked. The pain at her heels propelled her forward but the pain in her arm kept her back.

  “He didn’t fall,” she yelled, her voice growling. She pulled her arm free, ignoring the rush of warmth radiating from her arm, and turned to look Samuel in the eye. “You pushed him.”

  Samuel towered over her, long and lean, with vise-grip hands and a farmworker’s muscles. “I didn’t have any other choice. But dead men can be controlled.”

  Margaret struggled for air as her heart beat in her throat. “And your father, was killing him a choice?”

  Samuel forced her to turn and pushed her along the path. “That was unfortunate,” he said, in a tone that could have almost been mistaken for regret. “He beat the wrong horse.”

  “You killed your own father because he beat a horse?”

  From the corner of her eye she could see Samuel smiling.

  “He’s my favourite horse.”

  Margaret’s legs gave out from under her as the shock took hold. She slumped to the ground beneath her feet. Samuel found it easy to kill. He held no reverence for life, no kinship with his fellow man. The bodies positioned around the family table were proof that the Owens family could not delineate between this world and the next.

  All this time she had thought Ivy peculiar and perhaps even responsible for Mr. Owen’s end. She could not believe Ivy did it for any other reason than duress. Now everything was made clear. Their drunken father was another victim, probably amongst countless victims, who died at the hands of the men he raised.

  “Get up and walk!” Samuel grabbed her hair, digging his thick fingers between her curls and yanking her to her feet. Margaret squealed against the pain and stumbled as he pushed her forward. She cried silent tears as he marched the last two hundred yards to where the earth fell into the river.

  She turned to look at him, perhaps hoping to distract him so she could run away. “What story will you tell my family? What lie will you concoct?” she asked defiantly, hoping he could not hear her distress.

  He kept walking, pushing her backward, his face inches from her own. “I will tell them you were leading me back to the woods to help find Garret. Given your frantic state, you slipped.”

  “I do not subscribe to panic.”

  “So I see.” Samuel raised his eyebrows. “Perhaps this will change your mind.” He turned her away from him and held her at the very edge of the cliff with a hand on each of her arms.

  Below her feet the eroding soil shifted. Her legs wanted to give way, to crumple at the sight, but she held fast, closing her eyes briefly to the view of the rushing river below and the meadow on the other side.

  “It’s too bad, Lady Margaret,” Samuel said. “My sister was rather fond of you.”

  Shouts in the valley below forced her eyes open and she saw Ainsley, Blair, and Garret below them. Blair and Ainsley spoke rapidly to each other, though she could not hear what they said over the rush of the water.

  “It’s them,” she said suddenly, savouring the draw of breath she was able to finally take.

  Samuel inched closer to the edge and peered over.

  “You can’t kill all of us.”

  They watched as Ainsley grabbed Garret by the back of the collar and dragged him to where Samuel could see him better. “Give us Margaret!” he boomed. Blair went to the other side of the kneeling Garret and together he and Ainsley pulled him to the water’s edge, threatening to throw him in.

  From the corner of her eye, Margaret could see Samuel panting slightly. His brow perspired and his jaw clenched. He could not throw her now, not with so many witnesses.

  “Let me go back to my horse,” she said. “I can ride down to them in a few minutes.”

  “No.” Samuel let go of her and she stumbled forward slightly. She saw Ainsley flinch, moving as if to try his best to catch her. If she fell there would nothing he could do on the opposite side of the river. She would most assuredly bash her head on a rock, break a limb or two before being deposited in the water and carried away.

  “Don’t you dare hurt her!” Blair yelled.

  Samuel grabbed her by the arm and pulled her to the side. A very narrow path was etched into the side of the drop-off. The soil, more sand than clay, clung to the hairlike roots that protruded outward. The stability of the route was questionable as rocks and deposits of sand broke free under the weight of Margaret’s feet. Samuel let her go first and released her arm only after she had committed to the path.

  Scarcely able to breathe, Margaret gingerly made her way down, calculating each step, all the while knowing the faster she went the further distance she put between herself and Samuel. She was aware of Ainsley and Blair making their way across the footbridge, waiting for her at the bottom.

  Suddenly a rock broke free, which set her off balance. She grabbed the slim trunk of sapling and prayed it had a better hold of the ground than she did.

  “It’s all right, Margaret,” she heard Ainsley say. “A bit more.”

  After twenty baby steps she could go no farther. Each step, left or right, resulted in crumbling ground and an avalanche of debris beneath her feet. She halted on a tuft of grass, which seemed to be the only thing keeping the dirt under her. Samuel paused just behind her, proving even more unsteady on the near-vertical descent.

  She noticed a tree root jutting out beside her and a sizeable rock not much farther. Calculatedly, Margaret anchored herself by clinging to the tree root and snatching the fist-sized rock in her hands. She felt Samuel’s hand scratching at her arm, trying to pull her back toward him and that’s when she swung. The rock landed with a crunch to his cheekbone and set him off balance. Blood running down his cheek, he grabbed Margaret’s boot as his body slid down toward the water.

  The root Margaret held to snapped under the weight of both of them. Samuel rolled down the rocks while Margaret slid, clawing at everything and anything that she could to slow her descent. She felt the rocks scraping her arms and face as she slid and then the water, cold and turbulent, hit her like a slap to the face.

  Churning in the current, she fumbled to find air. Her navy jacket billowed and ripped against the rocks before she was able to get hold of something downstream. Samuel floated past, blood oozing from a second gash to his head, heavily tainting the water around him red.

  Margaret gasped when she felt her hands slipping from the boulder, the current rushing over her as she watched Samuel’s body taken downstream.

  “Margaret!”

  Blair appeared beside her, struggling against the same current. “Take my hand!”

  She did as he ordered and he turned to give the signal to Ainsley. Using all her remaining strength, Margaret clung to the side of Blair as Ainsley pulled them to shore. Blair passed Margaret’s hand to Ainsley before pulling himself onto the rocks.

  The cold overtook her then, sending her into convulsions, shaking uncontrollably against the chill of the air and the temperature of the water that soaked her. Ainsley helped her remove her coat, while
Blair discreetly looked away.

  “We need to get you to the house,” Ainsley said, giving her his own coat. Margaret nodded feebly as she curled her near-frozen fingers around the lapel of his coat.

  On the opposite bank they could see Garret looking downstream, wailing as his brother’s body was carried by the river farther and farther downstream. As the seconds passed, Margaret felt her body grow weaker and weaker. A fatigue overtook her as Ainsley held her, trying to get her warm.

  “I’m sorry,” she said against chattering teeth. “I thought he could help us track Garret. I never meant for any of this to happen.”

  Ainsley shook his head. “Your apology means nothing,” he said, “because you have nothing to apologize for.”

  When Margaret opened her eyes next she discovered she was seated on Ainsley’s horse, her brother holding her in front of him as he guided the mare through the woods at a swift pace.

  “I’m taking you home,” he said just as her eyes slid back into darkness.

  Awareness nipping at her consciousness, Margaret snapped her eyes open and realized she was warm in bed at The Briar. A fire crackled raucously in the hearth. A copper bath filled with water sat nearby. Julia was plucking her wet clothes from the floor when she looked over and saw Margaret was awake.

  “Oh thank heavens!” Aunt Louisa called out from the opposite side of the bed. “Peter! Peter! She’s awake!” Margaret watched as Aunt Louisa circled the bed and made for the door, a joyous expression plastered on her features.

  When Margaret turned her head to follow the movement of her aunt she saw Ainsley at the door, speaking with Maxwell in the hall. Margaret could not help but smile when she saw the relief on his face. “You gave us quite a scare, Miss Margaret,” he said as he neared the bed. He placed an overturned hand on her cheek to check her temperature.

  She swatted his hand away and moved to position herself higher on her pillow. “Don’t fuss so,” she said.

  “You two are quite the pair, you know,” Aunt Louisa said, clicking her tongue to show her disapproval. “I’ve never witnessed such excitement as I have while living here.”

  Ainsley looked to Margaret and raised an eyebrow. Neither of them could disagree.

  “Mother! Mother!” George and Hubert rushed into the room and stopped suddenly in front of Aunt Louisa. “Is Cousin Margaret going to die?”

  Aunt Louisa’s shoulders sank. “Certainly not! Not for a good long while. Now out you go. She’s had quite enough excitement for one day.” Aunt Louisa ushered her boys out of the room, including Nathaniel, who hovered at the door.

  When Julia closed the door after everyone’s exit the room fell quiet, leaving only Margaret and Ainsley alone. Margaret reached over and placed her hand on top of his. “How is Blair?” she asked. “And Lady Thornton?”

  Ainsley took a deep breath. “As well as can be expected. Priscilla is beside herself. I’ve sent Dr. Hollingsworth word that he should check in on her while the family remains in Tunbridge Wells.”

  “I don’t know what is more tragic, the loss of her intended husband or the knowledge that he loved someone else,” Margaret confessed.

  Ainsley nodded. His face turned solemn as he sat on the edge of the bed. “How come you never showed me?” he asked as he reached over and ran his finger over the bubbled scar at her throat.

  “It’s hideous,” she said, fighting back tears that stung her eyes. “And it reminds me of the hideous person who gave it to me.”

  “That’s interesting,” he said, smiling. “It reminds me how strong you are.”

  Chapter 37

  I'll stop and take my rest;

  And love as she loves me.

  Margaret was unusually quiet the next day as she and Ainsley rode in the carriage toward St. Andrew’s House. Ainsley shifted uncomfortably as he took in his sister’s somber expression.

  “You are not still vexed with me, are you?” he asked cautiously.

  Margaret looked to him as if taken by surprised. “No.”

  Ainsley could tell she was still grappling with the events of the previous day, turning them around in her head, as he had been doing, and trying to put the pieces in a logical order.

  “Aunt Louisa told me Samuel’s body was found this morning ten miles downriver,” he explained, hoping the news would bring about a sense of closure.

  Margaret gave a nod but her eyes remained vacant.

  “She didn’t want to tell you directly,” he said, “for fear you were too delicate.”

  That brought about a chuckle from Margaret, who finally looked up at him. “Does she know me at all?” Margaret asked.

  “Apparently not. I imagine she will be quite shocked once she finds out your aspirations to study medicine.”

  Margaret’s face turned solemn then. “Don’t tease.”

  “I don’t. A friend of mine, who’s been travelling extensively in North America, wrote to me a few weeks ago about a women’s medical school that has formed in Philadelphia. ”

  “Jonas told me he’s going to propose a class for females at Edinburgh,” she said.

  “Did he?” Ainsley smiled. “Edinburgh is a great distance away,” he said airily.

  “Not too great a distance,” Margaret corrected. Ainsley watched as she nervously pressed out the folds of her skirt and readjusted her gloves. She cleared her throat and proceeded to change the subject. “Peter, I know about you and Julia.”

  Every cell in Ainsley’s body froze. He was not ready for such a conversation. She refused to make eye contact with him and instead she appeared to be studying the passing landscape outside her carriage window. “Your need for a new conquest astounds me.”

  “She is not my new conquest,” he answered, angered that Julia was referred to in such a way.

  “What would you call it then?”

  “Two people in need of each other,” he said, “for one reason or another. She’s one of the only good things in my life. Don’t take her away from me.” Ainsley realized he was pleading then, unsure how his sister wished to proceed. By rights she could have Julia sent from the house, stripped of her employment, and their father would probably order him to never have contact with her, not that Ainsley planned to obey any such order. It would surely complicate things and Ainsley was in no great need for further complications. “I haven’t said a word about you and Jonas to anyone,” he continued. “And if you need to go to him I understand.”

  Margaret’s eyes shot up. “Who said I will go to him?”

  Ainsley needn’t answer. The circumstances were plain enough to see. He reached over then, took a firm grasp of Margaret’s hand, which lay on her skirt, and looked her firmly in the eyes. “Let us keep each other’s secrets for a little while longer,” he said.

  “A lady’s maid is a close relationship,” Margaret said. “I need to trust her in all things.”

  “I promise she has not said a word to me,” Ainsley reassured her.

  Margaret’s shoulders sank as her gaze flittered about the carriage in thought. Finally, she looked at him and gave a nod of agreement. “All right,” she said, “your secret is safe with me. I will not tell a soul”— Margaret gave him a pointed finger—“unless circumstances force me,” she clarified.

  He nodded, agreeing to her caveat. “Thank you.” He kissed her gloved hand and released it before settling back into the opposite bench. He could see Margaret chuckle to herself. “Dear brother,” she said teasingly, “whatever shall I do with you?”

  Ivy kept close to Margaret’s side as they exited the asylum’s front door and only paused once when she lifted her face to the warm midday sun. Ainsley, who was waiting at the carriage, smiled at the sight and tried to suppress the shame he felt for having been a part of her short imprisonment. Ivy, however, seemed to direct no blame at him and smiled warmly as she and Margaret approached. She bobbed a curtsey. “Good day, Mr. Marshall.”

  “Miss Owen.”

  Margaret gestured to the open carriage door when Ivy looke
d at her unsure. Margaret smiled at her brother as Ivy climbed inside. “She is as a child,” she said.

  “Have you told her about Brandon?”

  Margaret nodded. “Yes, though I don’t believe the truth of it has been impressed upon her.”

  “While you were collecting our new charge we had a visitor,” Ainsley explained.

  “Oh really?”

  Ainsley gestured to inside the carriage, where a young, well-dressed man sat opposite Ivy. “Allow me to introduce Dr. Jeremiah Hertz.”

  Dr. Hertz looked quite uncomfortable as he sat in the Marshall carriage. He tried to stand as tall as the low ceiling would allow and offered a hand to assist Margaret as she climbed into the carriage. Ainsley sat alongside the doctor.

  “For what do we owe this pleasure?” Margaret asked, settling in beside Ivy.

  Before the doctor could speak, Ainsley cut in. “The good doctor is on his way to the train station and I offered him a ride in our conveyance.”

  Margaret smiled dryly. “How kind, brother.”

  Dr. Hertz licked his lips and glanced between Ainsley and Margaret.

  “Dr. Hertz is an alienist, are you not?” Ainsley asked, as the carriage rolled into motion.

  “Yes,” he stammered, “I work, that is to say, I run a small asylum of my own, if you could call it that.”

  Margaret raised an eyebrow and clung closer to Ivy, who slipped easily into Margaret’s grasp. “Imagine that.” It was clear Margaret was not in mood. Ainsley’s little jest was wearing her thin and so he decided to be out with it.

  “Dr. Hertz specializes in afflictions such as Ivy’s,” Ainsley explained. “He came down here from the city just to see her.”

  Dr. Hertz moved forward on the bench, eager to share his enthusiasm for his practice. “I have heard much regarding Miss Owen and I am certain she will find a place with us.”