She crossed her arms to keep her voice steady. “And my art? Did they take my painting as signs of a crazed woman as well? I am well respected in the artist community.”
“Once I showed them the hundreds of paintings you store in your closet, they were never more certain.”
Perspiration formed at her temples. “You showed them those? You know those paintings are private.”
“Tell me, why on earth do you find the need to paint hands? Always three hands?” He sent her a smirk that revealed his triumph.
She swallowed and gave a slight shrug. “I don’t know. I feel I must until I know why.”
“You don’t know.” He snorted, shaking his head. “Your work displays the very definition of insanity. Only someone who is insane would keep painting the same thing over and over without a reason.”
“I do still life paintings as well. Did you show them those?”
“Of course not. They have seen your particularities, and those will be your downfall. Time is up, my dear. You either sign over your fortune, or you will be committed to Blackwell’s Island. The choice is yours.”
“My father would never have included such a clause, and my lawyer will be testing the validity of your claim, which, I suspect, you added after my father died.”
“Please do, for when your lawyer discovers that your maternal grandmother was as mad as they come, your fate will be sealed.”
She stumbled, gripping the back of the settee. “Grandmother Blakely … she died when Mother was a child.”
“She died in a cell on Blackwell’s Island.”
Her breath left her and she leaned against the wall, her head in her hands, trying to still her rising panic and remind herself that this was her uncle. Her father’s only living flesh and blood besides her. Surely he would not do such vile things to her. But one look at his wild eyes, and she feared he was serious. Her gaze fell on the pen, her fingers twitching. But, knowing she had access to the best lawyer in the city, she turned her back on him and ran, slamming the parlor door behind her, and bolted for her bedroom. I am not mad. He is lying. He is lying!
Locking her door, Edyth threw aside her gloves, seething at his threat. She looked at the clock on her mantel. Midnight. She would have to wait until morning to send for her lawyer. What is his name? She dug through the papers in her writing desk and found sketch after sketch but no documents with his name.
Snapping her fingers, she went to her armoire and retrieved an old hatbox that had once belonged to her mother, and sinking to the floor, she sat back on her heels and riffled through it until she found the paper that her mother once gave her for reference should something ever happen to them or her in their absence. With trembling hands, she lifted it out and read the faded, fine handwriting until she found a footnote with Mr. Pittman, Attorney-at-Law scribbled as if he were an afterthought.
Satisfied, she took a seat at her desk to compose her thoughts, but her gaze flitted back to her french doors. Rising, she removed the key and deposited it into her chemise should she have need of it at a moment’s notice. Taking an armchair, she propped it under the handle and bit her lip. Should I just leave and seek out Bane despite the late hour? She shook her head at that thought. She didn’t want Bane to think that she created drama everywhere she went, even at home, not when they had just begun courting. Her uncle was surely only bluffing to get her to sign away her inheritance. Why become hysterical over a threat he would never act upon? She ran her fingers through her hair and grunted. “But he has doctors ready to testify, and papers,” she murmured to herself. Crossing the room, she removed her rapier from the box under her bed and held it up to the firelight, the sharpened steel deadly. She sighed, feeling a bit safer with a blade at hand should her uncle challenge her right to seek out her lawyer come morning.
She propped the blade beside the fireplace and returned to her desk, intent on writing a solid letter for her lawyer, but every time she wrote the words Blackwell’s Island, her temper would threaten to overtake her. She crumpled paper after paper and tossed each into the rubbish bin. Finally she wrote the initials B.I., B.I. over and over, hoping to make sense of what she would write to her lawyer. But the words would not come.
Unable to concentrate, she reached for her paints and once again painted what she always painted when she could not bear to be left alone with her thoughts any longer, a trio of hands, reaching for one another. Tonight’s version was full of dark grays and cold blues, capturing the sensation of being underwater and sinking into the murky depths. She painted her fear as her vision blurred and her body grew weak, but the irresistible urge to paint kept her going as it always did until the vision of the hands faded to a dull ache. At the clock sounding three, she sank, still in her evening gown, onto the settee for a moment’s rest.
“Will you never cease your tossing, Brother?” Bertram called from his bed across the dark room.
“I can’t sleep.”
“Thinking of a pair of fine eyes, are you?” His rumbling chuckle reached Bane.
Bane rolled to his side, propping his head up with the palm of his hand. “Is it that obvious?”
Bertram laughed. “Raoul. This is the first time I’ve ever seen you so taken with a girl. But what I want to know is, why didn’t you notice her before now?”
Bane dropped his head to the pillow and sighed. “Stupidity? My sights were so fixed on developing the business, I failed to see what was right before me.”
“Or perhaps you had to wait for her to dress brightly enough to capture your attention so you could see beyond her layers of eccentricity and find that she is your perfect match?”
He sighed again. “As superficial as I may sound by admitting it, yes. I believe her styles in the past kept me from noticing her as more than a friend.” He thought back on the evening’s events and couldn’t keep his grin from spreading at the thought of Edyth swirling around with him on the dance floor in her crimson gown, her eyes sparkling in the candlelight and their passionate kisses afterward. He couldn’t wait for their ride in the morning. And even though they had kissed, he wanted her to be certain of his feelings, of his love. He had only to wait until morning to know if she felt the same and if she would accept his offer of marriage … but morning felt like years from now.
“Raoul?” his brother whispered. “Are you asleep?”
Bane rolled to his side again. “No, and I won’t be for a while. Want to spar with me? Maybe it will help encourage my body to sleep if I can put my nerves to use.”
His brother sighed. “I will agree to get out of my comfortable bed for one reason. The only reason why I keep waking from a fitful sleep. Leftovers.”
Bane laughed. “Well then, you best come spar with me, because I have a maid cleaning first thing in the morning, and I told her to take whatever is left.”
Bertram scrambled out from beneath the bedclothes, mumbling. “You should have mentioned this before bed. No wonder I couldn’t sleep. Those poor leftovers have been calling to me.”
Dressed in their loose fencing trousers and with their shirts untucked, they tromped down the stairs in their bare feet to the deserted great hall. While there wasn’t an abundance of food, for the two brothers, it was a feast. Bane grabbed two tarts from a silver tray and popped one after the other into his mouth, not caring that the sugar could keep him up.
He grabbed a foil sword from the wall and swished it in the air, motioning for his brother to take one as well and join him on the roped-off piste. Holding their treats in one hand and using the other to casually spar, the brothers laughed and ate until they acquired side stitches. Afterward the two lay on their backs on the cool floor, panting, and between his full belly and the exertion of fencing, Bane felt his eyelids growing heavy.
“Raoul? Why did you decide to be an instructor when you could have continued being a champion and obtain a legendary status?”
Bane answered sleepily. “I knew I could win, and that took the fire from the competition. And in the back of my
mind, I knew with you and all our brothers having a piece of the family fortune, I needed to think of my future, much like your motivation for studying to become a doctor while you work here. There simply isn’t enough money for all the Banebridge sons to live like gentlemen. I have awhile to go yet to make my own fortune, but this place is almost paid off, and when it finally is next year, I’ll be able to save a tidy sum.”
“A tidy enough sum to take care of a wife?” Bertram ventured.
“Should I be so fortunate for her to accept my suit, yes.”
“Too bad you didn’t notice her sooner. The girl has carried a torch for you for years and gladly would’ve paid off your loans.”
“Edyth has liked me for years?” Bane couldn’t keep his grin from splitting his face. He would enjoy teasing her over that bit of knowledge.
Bertram chuckled. “Seems like I got the good looks and the smarts of the family. You really are stupid, aren’t you?”
“I’d rather call it focused. But I guess that’s why I wasn’t supposed to notice her until now. I needed to prove to myself and society that I don’t need her for her fortune. I only ever need her at my side.”
“Spoken like a true lovesick pup. Good night.” Bertram rolled over to his side, and his snores soon echoed off the empty walls, leaving Bane to his thoughts, his last one being of Edyth’s present, still wrapped, sitting on his desk.
Chapter Seven
Drawing, and music occupied my every moment.
Cares I knew not, and cared naught about them.
~ John James Audubon
The sound of wood smashing jarred Edyth to her core. Limbs shaking and her head aching, she blinked in the light flooding her room, disoriented as her uncle charged inside followed by two burly men in greatcoats that dripped onto her Persian rug, their eyes fastened on her. Blood surging, she bolted backward from the settee toward the corner of the room. “What on earth do you think you’re doing? Remove yourself from my bedchamber at once.”
“Ignore anything she says,” Uncle Boris instructed the henchmen, who moved toward her, their dirt-creased hands outstretched.
“Stop!” She stumbled backward and caught sight of her rapier leaning against the corner of the fireplace. She scrambled for it, tripping over the wretched skirts of her ball gown, the tips of her fingers brushing the pommel.
One of the men wrenched her skirts backward, lifting her off her feet. Edyth screamed, kicking and clawing at her assailant. “Release me at once, or so help me, I’ll have you thrown in jail for the remainder of your miserable days,” she shrieked. “Police, help! Police!”
“Keep a firm hold on her, Meyer.” Her uncle waved away her distress, as if she were merely complaining of a pinching corset. “Do not worry, gentlemen. She is harmless, though out of her wits. The staff have all been informed and will not be coming to her aid. Holden, make yourself useful and secure her wrists.”
She kicked ferociously against the men, releasing a continuous stream of screaming and scratching at them, aching to get her hands on her rapier. If she had reached it, these men wouldn’t have touched her. Tears filled her eyes at being handled so roughly. For all of her years, no one had dared lay a finger on her. Her wealth had protected her. But these men didn’t care about her wealth. To them, she was simply a madwoman. The man her uncle called Meyer set her down, pausing only long enough for the other man, Holden, to secure her wrists in front of her with a length of rope he pulled from his coat pocket.
“She won’t get loose. Let’s go.” Holden’s thick southern accent cut the night.
She scraped her heels against the floor as the men dragged her out into the hall. She swung her leg up with all her might, intending to kick them, but her foot tangled in her voluminous skirts. Why had she worn such a ridiculous gown? Why had she fallen asleep instead of running for help the instant Uncle Boris made his threat? She hadn’t thought he was serious enough to act at once. She thought he would at least ask her to sign the document again before—
“Why bother struggling, Edyth?” Her uncle followed them into the hall, snacking on a bag of roasted nuts from his pocket as if he were at the circus.
She speared him with her gaze and shouted, “Traitor!”
He did not flinch, nor motion for the men to halt. They pulled her toward the main staircase with ease, and she shrieked again and again, calling for the servants, anyone, to rescue her. “Help me. Why is no one helping me?” She fairly sobbed in frustration, her breath coming in heaves when she spied a maid cowering in a doorway. “Katie, you must send for Bane. Get help.”
“She will not be helping you, not with the doctors on our side.” Uncle glared at Katie. “Get out of here. I told you that you were not to leave your quarters. If you breathe a word of this, I’ll make certain you never work anywhere respectable again.”
“I summoned her, dear.” Mrs. Foster stood in the threshold, her cold, hard eyes meeting Edyth’s as she kept one hand poised on the doorframe and the other resting on her abdomen. “You should have taken your uncle’s generous offer, girl. Look where your greed has gotten you.” The corners of her lips twitched upward. “Poor, dear, mad girl.” She waved them along. “Take her and be quick about it. I need my rest.”
Edyth would have responded, but her rising panic threatened to overwhelm her. She flailed her legs, kicking at the walls and glass cabinets, knocking over expensive vases that her relatives had collected with her fortune. Edyth didn’t pay mind to the mess she left in her wake. All she cared about was alerting the servants and having them defend her. But besides Katie, they were nowhere to be seen as the men dragged her down the stairs, her knees slamming into each step.
“You cannot do this. Help me! Someone help me.” Her throat grew thick with fear. She looked over her shoulder, causing the men to tug her with more force. “Uncle, I am your own flesh and blood. I beg of you. Think of my father, your brother. What would he say if he saw you treating me like this? Where is your compassion?”
At this, his brows lowered to a point, and he rested a hand on her shoulder, stopping them as her sobs hitched in her chest. “Since my brother refused to share our inheritance, more than a measly amount per year, I would say he should expect such a thing from me.” He reached out, plucked a rose from her hair, and crumpled it in his fist, allowing the petals to flutter to the floor. “He was selfish to the core, and I can’t take the chance on you not following in his footsteps once you see exactly how much wealth you are set to inherit.” He grinned. “Or were.”
“But he gave me over into your care. You must have loved one another. I thought he did so because you were close—”
“You were foisted upon me because I was the only family you had left, and he never thought he would pass before you were raised. Because of you, I had to give up my bachelorhood and become a father to a girl I never wanted.” He sneered. “My only regret is that I did not find the clause sooner. I assumed my darling brother left everything to his little girl without a condition besides your age.” He laughed without mirth. “But I suppose he was worried that since your mother was beginning to display eccentricities that you might finally be the one to go mad.”
Her stomach twisted. She thought back on her mother’s peculiarities such as never wearing shoes in the upstairs chambers or her aversion to cut flowers left too long in a vase, their dying scent bothering her. “You are lying.”
He shrugged. “If I am, you will never know, now will you? I am only thankful that Mrs. Foster made me take a second look at the will. Now, enough talk. I’m tired and wish to return to bed.” He waved his hand to the men. “Take her to Blackwell’s Island on the first ferry out.”
And with that, Edyth released a scream that would wake the block, only to have a rag shoved in her mouth followed by a gag to secure the rag and a black sack drawn over her head. One of the brutes threw her over his shoulder as she kicked, screaming through the cloth until she felt one of them wrap his hand around the back of her throat and press down hard wi
th two fingers.
“Don’t make me knock you out, miss,” the man growled. “But I will. You aren’t the first woman I’ve taken to the island. Your uncle hired me for a reason. I warn you not to test me, else I shall use my experience against you.”
She flinched as they gripped her wrists and gave the rope a sharp tug before she was tossed onto the floor of what she assumed was her uncle’s carriage. A boot was pressed firmly into her back as a reminder not to stir or scream lest she be kicked in the ribs. She gingerly touched where the brigand had squeezed her neck, wincing at the bruises that were surely already appearing. The sound of corks popping caught her ear and the men laughed, clinking glasses together before one belched and the scent of whiskey filled the small compartment.
In what seemed an eternity, they finally rolled to a stop. Seizing her arms, the two men dragged Edyth out of the carriage, keeping both of her arms in iron vises for grips. The scent of the river greeted her, along with a lone bell ringing in the silence. She squinted in the darkness, making out precious little from the lantern’s light seeping through the thin sack just before it was ripped from her head and the gag was removed. She gulped in the fresh air, but before she could even think about crying for help, a massive hand clamped onto her shoulder, pinching down and making her feel faint for the pain.
“I’m only removing it so as not to draw attention, but if you utter anything over a whisper, I’ll return the gag and tie it even tighter. So much so you’ll fear you’ll never draw another breath,” Holden hissed in her ear.
She hated herself for shaking. She sized them up, wishing she were taller. She could never hope to best them without a weapon. She looked about for something she could use. Perhaps I could swim for it … if I could only throw myself into the water and swim deep enough for them to think I drowned. She was a strong swimmer, but in the East River … she knew it would be risky.
“I got the ferry tickets. The first leaves in fifteen minutes. With all these doctors’ signatures, we can head straight to Blackwell’s Island without stopping at the other stations first. Saves us a good bit of time. We may be able to get in another job before the day is out.”
The Gray Chamber Page 7