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“Miranda, honey, wake up. Please wake up.” She heard her aunt’s worried voice invading her ears and traveling into her mind, but her mind didn’t want to work. It hurt too much. She truly didn’t want to wake up. Nausea churned inside her stomach and pain stabbed her eyes when she opened them causing her to shut them immediately.
“No, you don’t. Wake up. You need to wake up,” her aunt’s voice demanded.
“Why?” she managed to say.
“Because you have been unconscious for hours.”
“Why?” And then she remembered watching Baker swing a club at Spencer. The sound of it hitting his skull, the way his body slumped toward the ground. She tried to help him but then she heard the crack of the club again and nothing.
“Ohmygod, Spencer. I think Baker killed him,” she cried as her aunt hugged her and gently rocked her. It was then Miranda realized they sat on cold cement in a dark room smelling of mold and rotten dirt. Where were they?
“There, there, dear. I’m certain Spencer was hit just like you and he will be fine. Right now he is probably scouring all of London looking for you.”
“Yes, well, I don’t know.” She craned her neck looking for clues to their whereabouts. “Where are we?”
“I haven’t the foggiest idea. The bastard waylaid me right after we arrived. I didn’t recognize him in his costume until it was too late. He gagged and blindfolded me and snuck me out the servants’ entrance. At least I think it was the servants’ entrance. It doesn’t really matter. What matters is he managed to kidnap both of us.” She continued to rock. “I was angrier than anything at my stupidity in falling for his disguise when he brought me here. But when he came back with you...I’m so frightened for you.”
“Spencer will come for us.”
“That’s my girl. Think positive.”
Miranda was anything but positive. Her heart ached for her husband. Afraid for him. Afraid for her aunt and for herself. She didn’t think she could live through Baker violating her body again.
As her aunt held her tightly, she surveyed her surroundings more closely. It appeared they were in some sort of jail cell. Perhaps a private residence. But who did Baker know in London that would help him commit kidnapping and allow him to keep his prisoners in their home.
“Did Baker have any friends or acquaintances in London?”
“None that I know of,” Violet replied.
“Have you seen him since he brought me here?”
“No.”
She rested her head on her aunt’s shoulder. “My head throbs. You don’t think he means to keep us down here, do you?”
“I hope not. But while we are here I need to confess something.” Her aunt moved away just enough to take both of Miranda’s hands in her icy ones. “I lied about having no money?”
Miranda went to pull her hands away, but Violet tightened her hold. “Lied? I don’t understand?”
“I did what I did for you. Baker did take some money, but not all. I also didn’t lose the house. I sold it. I couldn’t let you continue living your life in the country. What if something happened to me, you would’ve been alone for the rest of your life.”
Miranda rested her head back on her aunt’s shoulder. It was too painful to continue holding her head up. “Thank you.”
“Thank you?” Violet queried.
“If you weren’t looking out for me I never would have married Spencer. So yes, thank you from the bottom of my heart.”
“Even under the present circumstances?”
Before Miranda could respond, footsteps approached. “Hello ladies. Are your accommodations to your satisfaction because you will be here for the foreseeable future?”
“Why?”
“My dear wife, in case you haven’t noticed, you and I are at war. You tried to send me to the Colonies.” He visibly shivered. “And if that wasn’t horrible enough, you then tried to send me to New South Wales of all places.”
“You deserve no less for what you did to Miranda?” Violet screeched.
“Ah, so is that it? Are you jealous my dear wife? Because if you are, I can remedy that.” He unlocked the door, closed it behind him and advanced on Miranda with a knife and rope.
“No,” Violet screamed as she rushed towards Baker, who shoved her aside sending her crashing hard on the cement floor.
Miranda, eyes riveted to the steel in Baker’s hand as he advanced on her, backed up against the cold wall and tried to think of something to say to plead for her life. Impossible as her mind screamed inside her head wiping out any thoughts but the pain the knife would cause and the fact that she would never see the man she loved again.
“Easy, Miranda. Don’t fight me. I’m only going to bind your arms and legs.”
Relief washed through her body as she slid down the wall and sat with her legs and arms out in front.
Baker quickly tied her wrists together and then her legs. And to her shock, he tied her wrists and legs together making it impossible for her to stand. But why? They were locked inside the cell. Surely he didn’t mean to leave her like that.
“Even if you scream, no one will hear you.”
He turned and strolled menacingly across the cell to Auntie where he yanked her to her feet and touched the knife to her neck just enough for a drop of blood to slide down. Miranda swallowed her scream along with the bile rising up her throat. What did he mean to do?
“Be a good girl and I’ll not need to use this again.” He sheathed his knife into the waistband of his trousers. Grabbing the front of Violet’s gossamer thin cream gown with his hands, he tore it from her body.
Who knew the sound of fabric tearing could be so deafening and painful to the ears.
Miranda didn’t want to watch but was petrified to look away. In her mind, as long as she kept her eyes on her aunt, her aunt would be safe. Miranda was afraid if she looked away, Baker would kill her aunt. Take the terrifying sharp knife and slice through her neck.
Not rational thought, but nothing about this situation was rational. With her heart trying to leap out of her chest and her body trembling, she fought against her bindings. If only she could get loose she could snag his knife and turn the tables. He would be their prisoner. She would bury the knife so deep inside his chest, it would never dislodge.
To her dismay, all she managed to do was make the rough rope bite painfully into her skin.
The sound of her aunt begging her husband not to do this went unanswered. Seeing her aunt naked and vulnerable and being violated would haunt Miranda for the rest of her life. That was if she lived. Tears pooled in her eyes. Baker pushed Violet up against the wall, one hand holding both of hers over her head. With the other he exposed himself. Forcing her legs apart with his knee, he pushed into her aunt. A disgusting, inhuman sound fell from his lips, and Miranda shivered all the more.
She swore she lived it right along with her aunt. It was her aunt going through the rape, but Miranda saw herself in her place. Felt his vile hands on her body. His disgusting thing inside her. She closed her eyes tight. Could no longer look. The sounds were enough to have her gagging. Violet was silent and Miranda knew she would never cry out and give that bastard any opportunity to hurt her more. But the sound of him groaning and panting and the sound of their bodies slamming against each other had every muscle and tendon in her body screaming in pain. And her mind wishing for escape.
When at last there was silence, panic set in worse than before. Silence was more frightening because she didn’t know what was happening, and she fought to open her eyes, but they refused.
The sound of footsteps moving her way had her cringing and waiting for her turn to come. For surely he intended to rape her as well.
He tugged at her bonds and the next thing she knew she was free. Inhaling deeply, she braced herself and opened her eyes.
It took a moment for her to register he was leaving. Locking them in once again. She made quick work of hurrying to her aunt’s side and covering her up with the remains of her tattered gown.
Lowering herself to the ground, she wrapped her arms around her aunt and rocked her like Violet had done to her not minutes ago.
Violet stared straight ahead as she moaned and rocked. Shock. She was in shock.
“It’s going to be fine. He left. He won’t hurt you again.” Miranda didn’t believe her own lies, but if they consoled her aunt, gave her peace and took her fear away, she would lie for all it was worth.
“Spencer will find us. I know it in my heart he will never stop looking for us.” Of course it all depended on him being alive. A sharp pain stabbed her chest. I will think positive. He is alive. I know it.
“We just need to be strong for a while longer. Can you do that? Can you be strong?”
No answer. Miranda remembered how she was after her rape. She’d taken to her room, to her bed and stared endlessly at everything and nothing. Numb to all her surroundings. Broken inside. Damaged beyond repair.
Until one day her aunt had entered her room, flung open the drapes, ordered a bath and demanded she return to the living. She was not dead. It was time to heal her soul. Her body healed quickly, but her mind and soul still needed repairing and it was high time she started on the mending process. Hiding from life would not help her. She needed to face her demons and take back her life.
Her aunt saved her. Forced her to leave her room. Forced her to see that life still went on around her and she needed to join in. She was young and alive. Could not let that man destroy her life. If she didn’t snap out of her shock, Baker won.
Having lived through what Violet just did, she knew it would take time for her aunt to heal. Only it was so much worse this time. He was her husband. He kidnapped them and imprisoned them. Did he feel any remorse?
Deep down inside Miranda feared he would be back to rape her. “Dear God,” she prayed quietly. “Please don’t let him come back. Please let us be rescued.”
***
Tension lived and breathed inside Bridgeton Manor twenty-four hours after the attack. Spencer could feel it trying to strangle him. He’d come to an hour ago, and since then his room had become crowded with all his family members.
He wished to hell they would leave him alone. His head pained him something awful, but that didn’t compare to the ache inside his chest. Baker had Miranda. His Miranda. The thought of that man putting his hands on his wife had him seeing red. How he wished he could go back to the day the man arrived on his doorstep. Go back and kill him. England would be a much better place without the likes of him living within its borders.
Lying in bed, like an invalid, would never do. He didn’t care that the physician said he had a skull fracture and needed to rest. The hell with that. Only, when he had tried to rise, the room spun, his stomach revolted, and white hot pain exploded inside his skull.
He never hated himself, ever, but right in this moment he despised himself for being weak. For succumbing to something beyond his control.
Trust. He had to place his trust in Smythe again. And William. He had to trust that they would find Miranda and her aunt and bring them home safe and unhurt. But, damn, his pride stung. It was his wife, it should be him out there hunting for her. Not lying here like the infirm.
And then his mind screamed. Who cares who saves her as long as she is saved. Damn his stubborn pride. He squinted around the room because it hurt to open his eyes fully. William, Amelia, Liz, Mary, and his grandmother stood around his bed.
“Stop staring at me, I’m not dying.”
“You may not be dying now, but there was a moment when we feared you would,” William said, looking somber and exhausted. Come to think of it, as he studied all the faces, they all had that in common.
“Did I really come that close to dying?”
His grandmother moved forward and took his hand. “Doctor Warren feared you might not recover consciousness. And if you did, you might not be yourself.”
“Well, I can assure you, I am myself and I need to get out of this blasted bed.” He exhaled and leaned back against the numerous pillows, frowning as he realized someone dressed him in a man’s dressing gown. He’d never worn one in his entire life and couldn’t believe where they unearthed one. He may, on occasion, don a dressing robe, but never a gown.
“Unfortunately, the pain in my head won’t let me up. Tell me, what Smythe has found out. Because I’m assuming you sent for him, William.”
“I did. The second you stumbled into the ballroom and collapsed. You caused quite a stir. One can only imagine what scandal is in the rags today. Not that any of us care.” He rocked back on his heels. “As best as Smythe can tell, Baker must have jumped ship after it set sail. He’d had his men watching the docks the whole time until it left.”
“That doesn’t tell me anything about Miranda.”
“He and his best men are scouring all of London looking for clues. Most likely he took them to the slums of London as Baker had no money. Or he had an accomplice. Family nearby to help. Bloody hell.”
“Bridgeton,” his grandmother scolded.
“I beg your pardon. I’m just frustrated beyond proper speech.”
“Has there been word?” Spencer asked as the room began to fade. He blinked his eyes, forcing himself to focus, but as William spoke again it sounded muffled, black spots flashed in and out of his eyes, and try as he might he couldn’t fight the darkness swallowing him whole.
