Unconscious...
Angel could feel herself being moved. Nausea welled up in her, twisting her stomach. When she finally was still, she opened her eyes. She was lying on a table. An older gentleman was leaning over her, and a large, stout woman.
She wanted to say, “Call Geoffrey…” But the words wouldn’t come, and she closed her eyes.
“The Sheriff brought you in, young lady. Can you tell me what happened?”
Once again, she opened her eyes and tried to speak. “Geoff…” It was all she could manage, and she tried to open them wider. “Burton…” and she closed them again.
Were they ignoring her? Angel realized with dismay neither attempt had been strong enough to hear.
“Looks like these are two more girls who have no one to speak for them,” the woman next to him said. “Poor doves.”
“Don’t be so sure,” the man said. “The sheriff said this one was found outside Lord Wellington’s Coach. The other one was inside.”
“I’ll put them upstairs,” the woman answered, “where it’s quiet. I’ll keep a close eye on them, Dr. Craig. If they need anything I’ll come for you.”
Through slits in her vision, Angel could see the Dr. eyeing the woman suspiciously. “No, Mrs. Grimm. I want them down here where I can check on them. It is too hard for me to get up and down the stairs. You know that.”
But as soon as he went to his office, Elva picked up Angel in her arms and began the trip up the stairs to the second story. Dropping her on the bed in a room toward the back of the house, she turned and left.
* * *
When Angel again opened her eyes, the woman’s face was inches away.
“Aren’t you a pretty one,” she said, with sarcasm.
Angel frowned. “Where am I?” she asked in a whisper. “Where is Miri?””
There was no answer right away, only a grim stare. “You’ll find out, missy. Soon enough.”
Angel scowled. “Call Lord Wellington, please. I’m his wife.”
Mrs. Grimm was laughing now. “Of course you are.” Her voice changed, suddenly. “Now you listen to me, missy. You’ll learn to do as I say, and learn quick. Do you hear? Or you will find life very unpleasant for you.”
Angel couldn’t believe what she was hearing. “Lord Wellington will find me,” she said, and closed her mouth tightly.
A slap with a large hand, on the side of her face caused her to close her eyes, and she once again became unconscious.
* * *
Angel awakened with her head throbbing, trying to remember all that had happened. Surely Geoffrey would be looking for her now. She tried to put her hand to her head when she realized it.
She couldn’t move.
She looked down. Her wrists were tied to the bed, as well as her ankles. There was one sheet over her body, and she was naked underneath.
She screamed.
Immediately, the door opened and a young girl came running into the room. “Shh, miss! Don’t scream! She will come in,” she whispered. “She’s mean, miss. Please don’t cross her.”
The screaming had made angelica’s head hurt worse. “Who is she?” she asked, “and who are you?”
She is Elva Grimm, miss. And I am Marie.”
“Marie, listen to me. I am Angel Wellington, Lord Wellington’s wife. I was on my way to Pembroke when Highwaymen attacked us. Please, Marie—get word to Lord Wellington and tell him where I am.”
“Oh, miss! I cannot! She will kill me!” She backed away, and suddenly came closer, whispering. “She’s a witch, miss. You should be afraid!”
“Contact the sheriff, then?” Angel realized she was pleading now.
Marie pulled the sheet up further toward her chin. “I’m sorry, miss. I can’t do that.”
And she was gone.
Angel looked around the room. She was a prisoner here? Where in the world was she then? And where was Geoffrey?
Suddenly she knew. This was the clinic—the place from which young ladies disappeared. She let her eyes drift closed to ease the pain in her head.
It was when she opened them again that Marie stood by her bedside with a bowl in her hand.
“How is your head, miss?”
“A little better,” Angel tried her bonds, only to find she was still bound to the bed. “Can you loosen these, Marie?”
“No, miss. I’m sorry. I have some gruel to eat, but I must feed you.”
Angel eyed the bowl of liquid Marie was holding. But when she caught a whiff, a wave of nausea followed. She shook her head. “Please take it away. It smells vile.”
“But—if you don’t eat it, she’ll be angry, and you’ll get nothing more to eat while you’re here.”
“If I eat it, I shall be sick.” Angel frowned at her. “This is a clinic, is it not? Surely one can understand sickness.”
“But,” Marie looked toward the door, “you, miss, are not—in the clinic part.” She was whispering now.
“What do you mean, not in the clinic? Tell me. What is happening here?”
But the girl only backed away. “Do you refuse to eat then, miss?”
The door behind her opened, and Elva Grimm stood in the doorway. “Is she giving you trouble, Marie?” She said, folding her arms over her chest.
Angel stared back at her silently for a moment, refusing to show her fear. “I feel sick,” was all she said.
Elva advanced toward the bed, taking the bowl from Marie. “You will eat.”
“I will not.”
One determined face stared at another; but the woman put the bowl to Angelica’s lips. When she tried to turn her head she was held fast.
But as she was forced to take a gulp, her stomach instantly rebelled. She wretched forcefully in Mrs. Grimm’s face, covering the front of her clothes.
An angry curse erupted from the woman, and she screamed. “Marie, clean her up. I’ll be back with a sedative. And I’ll teach her a lesson in respect.”
“Oh, miss,” Marie’s eyes were filled with fear now. “I’m afraid for you, miss. She is angry. She will beat you, I know it.”
But Angel’s stomach wasn’t finished. Choking, she struggled for breath. Marie tried to help her by lifting her head. “Spit, miss. Here.” She held a towel in front of Angelica’s mouth. A moment later, she ran for a bowl of water and began dipping a towel in it, trying to remove the repugnant substance. When the door flew open again, Mrs. Grimm was coming toward her. In one hand she held a small bottle; in the other a cloth. A school cane was tucked under her arm.
And her face looked evil.
A horrible sense of dread descended over Angel. She could do nothing but watch warily as the woman dropped some of the liquid from the bottle onto the cloth and approached her. Opening her mouth to scream didn’t help. Within a few seconds the cloth was held tightly over her face. She fought as much as possible, struggling against her bonds. But it was futile.
She barely heard Mrs. Grimm’s voice as she spoke to Marie.
“Untie her, Marie.”
Angel could do nothing but lie quietly as she was turned over on her belly and tied again. It was as if she was listening to the scene from far away. She felt each blow, but could not awaken enough even to whimper.
She was twelve years old again, and her stepfather was beating her mercilessly. But it was not his voice, she heard. It was a woman’s voice, filled with derision and hate.
And each time a blow landed she laughed with satisfaction.