Beatrix’s first two days of captivity were surprisingly boring, though she wondered how that could be. Shouldn’t being the captive of a well-to-do, titled young man like the insufferable Duke of Whatever He Was be more thrilling than this? Instead, other than her blanket and straw pillow, the undignified chamber pot in the corner, and the occasional spider who slowly descended from the window high above her, there was nothing about her cell that offered any diversion.
“So that’s how it’s to be then,” Beatrix muttered to herself as she looked at the locked door once again. “I’m to slowly go mad here with only the spiders to keep me company. It’s an effective tactic, to be sure. Perhaps Sir Snoots believes if I go mad, I’ll reveal the names he desires without even realizing I’ve done so.”
Beatrix surprised herself by laughing before suddenly clamping her hand over her mouth. “Oh dear,” she said, giggling softly, “it’s begun already, and after only two days! I’ll never survive in the Tower at this rate!”
By suppertime, Beatrix had amused herself by crafting an adventure story of her fate. In the story, the dear maligned young lady escapes by removing the window of her cell, fleeing on foot to a nearby village. There, she rallied the townspeople into overthrowing the somewhat mentally incompetent duke who’d ruled viciously over them for so long, dancing merrily into the night after they strung him upside down from a tree and took turns pelting him with rotten apples.
Her tutors would be most proud of her efforts and attention to grammar and description, though they would certainly not have approved of the subject matter.
“Well,” Beatrix thought angrily, “I don’t approve either. There is no justification for holding a young woman prisoner! And over some stupid bauble that the good sir could replace at any jeweler with a flick of his wrist and signature of debt!”
When her supper arrived, a meal that was sure to be as cold and tasteless as every meal before it, the same maid entered with her eyes downcast. She refused to meet Beatrix’s gaze as she removed what remained from midday’s dinner, though she looked rather uncomfortable to be charged with this task.
“You’re permitted to speak to me, you do know,” Beatrix said quietly. The maid shook her head quickly as she placed the crude wooden tray on the floor and backed out of the room.
Alone again, Beatrix was perplexed by the tray. Unlike previous meals, it was covered with a thin, stained cloth. Presumably it prevented flies from landing in the food, but could she hope that it also kept the food warm? That this meal was actually hot? She pulled back the worn cloth that covered her food and felt a stab of disappointment. No, the slab of bread was rather stale-looking, and the thin soup was both cold and overly watery.
Beatrix was surprised to see the tray perched precariously on some sort of object, though. She lifted it and was very pleased at the discovery. It was a book. The maid had been holding it beneath the tray the whole time, keeping it obscured under the edges of the cloth.
Setting aside the tray and devoting her full interest to something far more enticing than the supper, she turned it over in her hands. It appeared to be a rather costly edition, though the subject matter may not have been the most riveting. While not a work of fiction to hold her interest, it was at least a book of native plants, complete with hand-rendered illustrations in full color.
A scrap of paper fluttered to the floor and slid some distance away. Beatrix crawled after it and opened it, realizing that it was torn from a butcher’s order.
Well, that certainly shows the gluttony of this fine household!She thought angrily.Who could possibly need so many cuts of meat such as this? And in a month’s time, let alone a week!
Turning it over, Beatrix found more writing on the reverse side. She had to read it aloud to herself to decipher its meaning as the letters and spelling were both rather poor.
Thot as tho yud be wantin a buk. Kep it hid in ya blankit.
“What a dear girl!” Beatrix whispered aloud, smiling. “When my father comes for me, I’ll see to it that her life is spared and that she finds a position with a household whose master is luckier than this one.”
She spent the evening perusing the book, reading each page carefully as though doling out a rationed supply of expensive sweets. Many of the plants were familiar to Beatrix, though she was taken aback at times to learn that a few of the remedies she’d relied on for years could be deadly in high doses or with too frequent use. The very poultice she’d been applying to her father’s leg would be quite effective at preventing infection and curing the skin, though if he did not heal soon, there could be lasting weakness in the leg.
All the more reason for me to escape!Beatrix thought, her anger welling up in her again.
The maid might prove to be rather useful, she realized. After all, the girl cared enough that Beatrix was trapped in here with only her thoughts to keep her company. She’d likely had no idea what book she’d even fetched her, but she had been concerned enough to provide something other than the four walls to look at.
It might take some time to fully win the maid over after such a risk as stealing a book for her, but unfortunately, time was something Beatrix feared she had in abundance.
* * *
By the next morning, Callum could scarcely concentrate on anything other than the girl he kept locked up. The sheer audacity of stealing that which did not belong to her raised his ire, but then to be so rude and dismissive when he had promised repeatedly to set her free was an insult heaped on top of the injury.
To make matters worse, to lie to him about her station and then laugh at his attempts to correct his perceived mistake showed her true character. Despite her obvious intelligence and education, she was still every bit the villain that any other common thief might be. That may very well be a sad fact of her circumstances and upbringing, but that was not Callum’s concern any longer.
No, she would have one final opportunity today to reveal what he needed to know, and then he would wash his hands off her. If there was no hope that he might see his mother’s gift again, then he would no longer entertain concerns about what might happen to the young woman.
“My Lord, your appointments today can wait a while longer,” Lloyd said as he removed Callum’s tray from his desk. “I have taken the liberty of inquiring whether your unfortunate guest is awake, if you wish to speak to her.”
“Thank you, Lloyd. But I care not if she’s awake,” Callum said, seething. “She’s a criminal and a liar and deserves no consideration from me. I’ll speak to her at any hour that I choose.”
“Very good, My Lord,” the butler said as he removed a cart and closed the study door softly behind him.
Callum kicked the leg of his chair in frustration, deciding that anger was a more manageable emotion than anguish and grief. Why had his mother even given the heirloom to him if it was only to be stolen from him! The cruelty of it was palpable, and it felt like a physical weight that Callum carried across his back. This was far beyond the injustice of someone as worthless as that damnable woman daring to take what was his, this was the harshest hurt she could have inflicted.
By now, her companions had no doubt destroyed the item, having sold it in exchange for mere coins that they most likely squandered on drink. If it still existed at all, had it not already been melted for its silver and few pearls, Callum had little hope of finding it again.
Now, with the knowledge that it may be lost forever, his thoughts turned to revenge instead of reason and hope.
