Color of Danger (The Sullyard Sisters Book 2)

by Ruth J. Hartman

  Darkness permeated every corner of Lydia’s cell. She was cold. So cold. Glancing down, she gasped. Naked! Where was her blanket? Something rustled against the far wall. The rat? Lydia’s heart pounded. Hard. Why wouldn’t the vile rodent go away? Some nights Lydia was afraid to allow sleep to overtake her, frightened the rat would chew her appendages before she could stop it.

  A squeak of metal came from her door. Who was it? Lydia sat up on her bed of moldy straw.

  “Miss Sullyard.” Her name was spoken in a low, sing-song way that sent rippling chills up the back of her neck. It was Mr. Steele.

  “Please. No…” How many more beatings could she endure before her life was snuffed out?

  “I’m not here for you. This time.”

  “Then, who?”

  A dim light appeared from a few feet away along the back wall. The lantern illuminated part of her panorama. What did it mean? Why was… Something moved. And moaned. Someone was there!

  Mr. Steele slowly changed form, transforming into Miss Queensbury, who stepped closer to the sound and held up the light. Slumped against the wall, chained to the floor was Stratford. Dark, angry bruises marred his otherwise flawless face.

  Lydia struggled against her chains, wishing for the thousandth time she had freedom to move more than a couple of feet from her confinement. “What are you doing to him? Leave him alone!”

  Miss Queensbury gave a harsh, sharp laugh, the sound very much like rocks being dropped onto a pile of other stones. She tapped a hammer Lydia hadn’t noticed before against the wall. “There’s only one way to stop his beating.”

  “How? I’ll do anything!”

  Stratford peered up at Lydia from the floor, one eye swollen and closed, the other blinking against a flow of blood from a cut above the eyebrow. His expression was a plea for mercy, to be spared the atrocity he endured. “Lydia…”

  She yanked against the chains and cried out in frustration. “Tell me! What must I do?”

  “Look your pretty man in the eye and say the words.”

  “I don’t understand. What words?”

  “Tell him you don’t love him. You never loved him.”

  “I… I can’t.”

  “Do it or he dies.”

  Lydia screamed.

  With a gasp for air, Lydia sat up and looked around. Where was Stratford, was he…

  Relief rushed over her, making her feel faint. It wasn’t real. Stratford was safe. She was safe.

  Dread crawled up her spine. No. Stratford wasn’t safe. Not from his betrothed. The heartless witch who’d blackmailed him into a loveless, hideous marriage. Though Miss Queensbury didn’t have him shackled to the floor wielding a hammer over him, she was doing something much worse. She was stealing his happiness. The very essence of his heart.

  Longing for something to force her mind elsewhere, Lydia reached for the paper and pencil on her bedside table. She grabbed a book of poems that had also been there and used it as a makeshift table.

  She studied the picture she’d begun the night before. It was of her cell. A small grey square of misery and squalor. A rat the size of George the cat sat in one corner, rubbing his paws together in apparent glee. A set of shackles sat empty, waiting for its next unfortunate victim, the inside of the metal brackets lined with sharp spurs to inflict further pain.

  A dark cloud, not unlike a whirlwind, hovered just inside the door. As of Lydia’s last drawing session, the cloud had begun to take on the shape of a woman. The features of Miss Queensbury, with the added unpleasantness of needle-thin teeth ready to devour the patient to be brought to the cell.

  With a shudder, Lydia dropped her pencil into her lap. What damaged images she’d drawn. Had the evil of Bedlam warped her sensitivities forever? Would she always, from then on, draw such dark, morbid scenes?

  It was hard to fathom that not so very long ago, she’d painted colorful panoramas of bright birds at the Regent’s Park Sanctuary, large, sleepy bears at the Royal Menagerie, and the green banks and grey-blue rushing water of the Thames River. Such calming subjects. Such pleasant, happy images. Would she be capable of creating art again that was anything other than despair and death?

  The memory of being chained to the floor, unable to move more than a couple of feet made her squirm beneath the covers. Please, dear God, let me not have to ever endure that again. She glanced out the window, longing to feel the sun’s warmth on her face. Wanting to escape the confines of the bedroom and go outside. And not just to walk. She ached to run. To pump her legs, working her muscles and not stopping until she was exhausted. But she couldn’t. Not yet. She still needed someone to at least hold her hand in case she stumbled. Would she ever be well enough to walk on her own? Even if she was, would her overprotective family allow it?

  Lydia sighed and leaned against the headboard. Nathaniel’s words of the previous evening opened the already raw wound of her heart.

  “I’ve spoken to Stratford. He is indeed betrothed to Miss Queensbury. The wedding is in seven days. I’m so sorry, my dear Lydia.”

  With another look at the morning sunshine streaming through the sheer drapes, Lydia swallowed hard. Now it was only six days until he would wed.

  And he’s doing it for me. Relief at no longer being in the hell of her dream was quickly squashed by the reminder that Stratford would never, could never be Lydia’s. Was he saving her from Bedlam because of pity? Because he’d seen firsthand what she’d endured in the hospital? Or was it more…

  Could it be love?

  As much as she longed to believe it, part of her just couldn’t. He’d spent the past year simply being polite when they were together. Only speaking when it was required and then only a word or two. To have changed his opinion of her so quickly, to find he had developed tender feelings for her seemed… miraculous.

  No. He couldn’t love her. A friend, yes, but more? Lydia had discovered, knew all too well that life was not fair. Didn’t offer people like her a happy ending. It kicked them into a torture chamber and dangled the hope of love of one special man just a grasp out of reach.

  But what of Kitty and Nathaniel?

  While it was true that her sister had found that joy, a perfect love of her heart’s desire, Kitty was different from Lydia. She was beautiful, vivacious, always shining with that inner light, that certain something that Lydia had never possessed. Kitty did indeed deserve her happiness.

  Lydia, however…

  She beat her fist against the blanket over her thigh. Stop it. Thinking like that won’t help you. Won’t save Stratford from Miss Queensbury.

  But what could Lydia do? She’d tried to talk Stratford out of complying with Miss Queensbury’s demands. Had asked him not to marry the shrew. But according to Nathaniel, Stratford was set on a definite course of destruction by way of marriage.

  Had she tried hard enough to convince him not to? She’d begged him. Implored him.

  But you didn’t tell him why it was so important. That you loved him.

  While it might have saved him from marrying Miss Queensbury, it would also have kept Lydia in chains. Yet she would have done it, would have endured the agony forever if it meant Stratford could be free.

  You should have told him.

  No. He didn’t love her in return. She would have been mortified had she confessed her love.

  But you didn’t even try.

  What could she do now? It was too late to save him. Wasn’t it?

  A knock sounded at her door quickly followed by Kitty stepping into the room. “Good morning. How are you feeling?”

  Lydia eyed her sister. Should she give a pleasant, non-committal answer or tell Kitty what was really on her mind? They were quite different in personality but they were close and discussed nearly everything.

  Honesty, it would be.

  “Well,” Lydia tapped her finger three times on the cover. “If you must know, I’m not doing well. Not well at all.”

  Kitty closed the door and rushed to the bed. Without invitation,
she sat down next to Lydia. “Oh, darling, I’m so sorry. Nathaniel just told me of Stratford’s news.”

  “News. Yes I guess you could call it that. Though to me it’s like a death knell.”

  Kitty squeezed Lydia’s hand. “I’m sure it is. Is there anything I can do for you?”

  “You could have Miss Queensbury committed in my stead. That would please me immensely.”

  Kitty sputtered a laugh. “You’ve always spoken your mind, but I must say, you’ve become much more frank since your… er… stay at Bedlam.”

  “After what I’ve endured, speaking frankly no longer feels like much of a faux pas.”

  With a sobered expression, she replied, “I see your point. So… what are you going to do about it?”

  “Me? What could I do? Speaking my mind is one thing, trying to prevent a wedding is another matter. What would society think if I meddled in Miss Queensbury’s affairs?”

  “With what you’ve been through, does society’s opinion really matter? Besides, after being linked to Cousin Robert in prison, society has already washed their hands of the Sullyards.”

  Lydia shook her head. “Not you. Because of Nathaniel, you’re still accepted. It’s Patience I would worry about.”

  “Dear heart, Patience loves you as I do. We want you to be happy. As a matter of fact, she was with me when I heard the news of the impending nuptials. She’s of the same mind, that if there was something you could do to thwart the wedding, you should.”

  Lydia blinked back the moisture forming in her eyes. “I have the best sisters in the world.”

  “I doubt for a fact you’ve always felt that way. Remember how you always scolded Patience for playing with the cats instead of helping in the kitchen? Or me when I snuck away from the house alone? To flirt with men?”

  “None of that matters anymore. For one, you’re happily married now. Besides that… Let’s just say that my perspective has changed drastically in the last month. In Bedlam, there were no rules of society. None of it mattered. Even if someone had tried to enforce them, the majority of the patients wouldn’t have noticed in any case.”

  “That being said, I’ll repeat my earlier question. What are you going to do to help save Stratford from that terrible woman?”

  Lydia formed her decision right then and there. She had to at least try to save Stratford from Miss Queensbury. She owed him that and so much more, no matter if it created a scandal for her or not. And it would likely create one for Stratford, but wouldn’t that be preferable to spending the rest of his life in chains of Miss Queensbury’s making?

  Lydia bit her lip as she looked at Kitty. “Very well. I will do my best to help him as he’s done for me. I’m open to suggestions as to how. Any ideas?”

  “First, we need to get you walking on your own. This will be something you’ll probably want to accomplish alone. Am I correct?”

  She nodded. Whatever Kitty had in mind for her, she must accomplish by herself. No use dragging her family farther down the scandal path than they already were.

  “And…” Kitty eyed Lydia. “We’ll need to arrange your hair just so. And find a gown that would fit you since your own would hang on you now.”

  Lydia peered down at her drooping nightgown. “True.”

  “Patience wants to help too. We’ll check her armoire for something appropriate that might fit you now.”

  “Oh, Kitty. What if it doesn’t work? What if—”

  “But you have to try.”

  Lydia swallowed and nodded. “You’re right. If I don’t, I will never forgive myself.”

  Chapter Nineteen

  Stratford fumbled awkwardly with his cravat.

  “Here, allow me, sir.” His valet had it expertly tied in a few seconds.

  “Thank you, Aaron.”

  He nodded. “A little anxious for the wedding ceremony?”

  “Not in the normal way a bridegroom might be.”

  “Sir?”

  Stratford sat down heavily on a bench beside his dressing room door. “It’s all gone to hell.”

  “I don’t understand.”

  “I don’t love Miss Queensbury.”

  “Ah… but that’s not uncommon. Don’t couples sometimes begin as no more than friends?”

  “I only wish she was a friend. No, this is more like marrying a viper.”

  Aaron sputtered and covered it with a cough. “If I may be so bold…”

  Stratford held out his hand, giving permission. It wouldn’t be the first time he’d discussed something of a private nature with his valet.

  “If you don’t love her and don’t want to join with her in marriage, then why…”

  “You’ve made the acquaintance of Nathaniel’s wife’s sister? Lydia?”

  “I’ve had the opportunity to have met her here at the house, yes.”

  “She was recently in Bedlam.”

  “I did hear… something of that nature.”

  Stratford sighed and ran his hand through his hair, grimacing when he realized that Aaron would now have to brush it again. “Of course you have. Sometimes I forget that servants know all.”

  He smiled. “Perhaps not all…”

  “Close enough. Anyway, Nathaniel had asked me to deliver something to Lydia there. I… she…”

  Aaron averted his gaze. “You’ve no need to say anything further. I think I understand.”

  He shook his head. “You might understand that I’ve developed feelings for her, but not the reason I must marry another. Miss Queensbury is holding something over my head. Something I refuse to give into. Hence, my wedding ceremony today.”

  Aaron picked up a brush and quickly refashioned Stratford’s hair. “Is there not something that can be done?”

  “If only it was that easy. I’d gladly pay off my intended. But the wench requires something money cannot purchase.”

  “I’m sorry, sir.”

  He waved his hand. “At any rate, thank you for listening.”

  “Any time, sir.” He gave a bow. “Anything else I can do for you?”

  “Pray. I’m afraid that’s the only thing that will help the situation as it stands.” Stratford put on his hat and left the room.

  Stratford longed to drag his feet as he went down the long staircase but hastened his steps instead. Time to get the repulsiveness of the ceremony over with. At least it was only for immediate family. Nathaniel had been willing to go and offer Stratford moral support, but Stratford had told him he needn’t attend. Why put more people than necessary through the unpleasant experience?

  He drove his own carriage, needing some time alone to collect his thoughts, which, if given their way, would take him straight to Lydia.

  No. You must not think of her today of all days. She’s safe! And as long as you stay married to Eleanor, she will remain thus.

  That was what he must concentrate on. When times ahead became intolerable, which he had no doubt they would, Stratford could at least know that the woman he loved was away from Bedlam. Forever.

  His drive to the chapel was short, since the Bexley and Queensbury properties were side by side. When he arrived, he saw only two other carriages. His father’s and Mr. Queensbury’s. With a sigh, he stepped from the carriage and handed the reins to a waiting groom.

  Stratford stepped inside the candle-lit chapel, standing still for a few moments to let his vision adjust to the darkened interior.

  “There you are.”

  Stratford startled and glanced to his right. Mr. Queensbury. His future — very near future — father-in-law.

  “Stratford, my boy. I can’t tell you how pleased I am that this day has finally come.”

  He gave a nod, not trusting what words might come from his lips if he allowed them.

  “I’m afraid poor Eleanor feared you wouldn’t attend.” He smacked Stratford on the back. A little too hard. “But you’re here now, that’s all that matters.”

  Stratford nodded a second time, not caring if Mr. Queensbury thought him mute or even
an imbecile. If Stratford began talking and said what was really on his mind, in his heart, he had no doubt the older man would not like what he heard.

  He followed Mr. Queensbury down the short aisle of the chapel to stand beside the vicar. Stratford only vaguely noticed his parents, sister, and Eleanor’s mother sitting in the second pew. Eleanor’s father soon joined them.

  Avoiding eye contact with anyone, Stratford chose instead to stare at the floor. Getting through the next little while would be difficult enough without seeing how the ceremony affected the others.

  Music began. His intended, flawless on the outside and poisonous within, approached him and the vicar. She wore a wide, victorious smile, as if the whole of the world was on its knees giving her homage. From what he knew of his intended, she’d expect nothing less.

  They stood side by side, facing the vicar. Though they weren’t actually touching, Eleanor leaned toward Stratford’s side as close as possible without toppling over.

  Too bad she didn’t fall and hit her head, knocking her senseless. Then he would have her committed to Bedlam. He chortled, earning him a glare from the vicar.

  Forcing a neutral expression, Stratford stood still and waited for the vows to be said even as every fiber of his body longed to dash for the door. Away from the chapel. Into Lydia’s arms.

  Lydia, oh, Lydia. He let out a long sigh, that time earning a sharp look from Eleanor.

  He shrugged, caring not if she was displeased with something. Hadn’t she caused enough mayhem for countess members of his family and acquaintances over the years?

  The vicar droned on. Something about love. Marriage. Children. What did it matter? Stratford was going to be shackled to the woman standing next to him for all time.

  Shackled… Lydia…

  Something sharp hit his ribs. He jumped and stared at Eleanor, her elbow still posed close to his side. Through gritted teeth, she whispered, “The vicar has just addressed you.”

  Feeling like he moved in slow motion, Stratford turned his head and eyed the vicar, who wore a frown. Stratford waited, knowing the vicar would repeat whatever it was he’d just said, then Stratford would be required to—

  The rear door to the chapel flew open behind them. “Wait!”