Chapter 7
A crack like lightning striking a tree startled me from a dreamless sleep. Instinctively, I sat up, seeking the source of the sound. Pain lanced through me, radiating from just below my belly outward in all directions until my vision swam with white-hot stars.
“Grace?”
My name reached me from far away, echoing as though I were underwater.
“Grace.”
I blinked rapidly, trying to clear my head. Blackness overtook me for a moment and then Mrs. Donahue was there, matronly and motherly, more so than anyone I had ever known.
“Grace, dear, do lie down. You will strain your stiches.”
I smiled, wanting nothing more than to please this woman, whom I knew, but didn’t. For a few moments I floated there, unaware of anything but the pain slowly abating. When I could breathe again, I asked, “What was that sound?”
Mrs. Donahue hovered over me. “What sound?”
I shook my head, trying to describe it. “It ... it was like lightning. Is it storming?”
She turned her head, presumably to look out the window. “No. The moon and stars are shining.”
“But I heard …”
“You were probably dreaming, having a nightmare. With what you have been through today, I shouldn’t be surprised.”
“What I …” I whispered. What was she talking about? What had I been through? The last thing I remembered was leaving Margaret at Miss McAuley’s estate. Then … nothing.
“Yes, dear.” Mrs. Donahue stroked my forehead and temples lightly. “You’ve had quite a shock. You were set upon at the market. Don’t you remember?”
Remember? I searched the back of mind for something, anything, that resembled the words she was saying. No. There was nothing. I recalled sneaking out of the house and down Dublin’s back lanes. There I met a woman, who took me into her dank residence and promised me she could fix everything. I gave her some of the coins I had stolen from Cook’s expenses tin.
Then everything was sound and fury. I cried out as something blunt was shoved between my thighs. Strong arms held my wrists and ankles, preventing any escape from the pain. Then the scraping began. I screamed and screamed and screamed. I felt as though my stomach was being pulled out from between my legs. I feared my heart would explode from the strain.
Then I was home again in my own bed. Margaret woke me and I took her to a house, some grand affair from my daydreams. But then I left her. I would never do that, would I? Why did I leave her? Did I leave her? Oh Margaret, where are you?
I reached out to Mrs. Donahue. “Where is Margaret? I want to see Margaret.”
“I don’t know, my dear. She’s been gone for quite a while now. But don’t you worry. Lord Montague is looking for her. Here, take this.” She held a small vial to my lips and tipped it back, urging me to swallow the sweet liquid that immediately soured on my tongue.
Lord Montague. His name stirred something in my mind. Margaret. He was the reason she left. She had injured him. But then why did I seem to see his face in my mind, leaning over me, hands wrapped around my throat?
I lay back on the pillow and closed my eyes, trying to reconcile the rest of my memories with Mrs. Donahue’s account. On my way back to the townhouse I passed through the market. That much I recall. I don’t remember being accosted like Mrs. Donahue said, but yet … I must have been. Flashes of memory, jagged recollections of blows and bruises played through my mind. A shouting male voice telling me I should have listened. I should have remembered my place.
And then that sound. That dreadful noise, like bone breaking. I had heard it before. I struggled to recall where, but I couldn’t seem to catch my thoughts. My mind was growing fuzzy around the edges, thoughts melting together like butter and sugar in cake batter. Beaten … beating … my head spun dizzily until I thought I would faint, or perhaps wretch. Blessedly, sleep took me first. But not before I placed the source of the sound.
It was Lord Montague’s cane.