Panic began to rise in her chest as she was reminded just how little she knew about him and this world he apparently lived in. Did she live in this world now too? What was he going to do with her? Was she going to have to find employment, as well? Was that even something a woman could do? And what about her father? What would happen when he realized she was gone? Would he go looking for her? Or would he just be glad to wash his hands of her?
Shaking herself, she walked away from the window. Worrying about what may come was not going to resolve anything or answer any of her endless questions. Perhaps she could find a book or some other way to occupy her mind until Simon returned.
She wandered through the rest of the house, but if he had any books, they’d likely be in his study. He’d specifically said she was not allowed in there, so she’d have to figure out something else to do to keep her mind busy. Perhaps there were clues around that might tell her a bit about what kind of person he was. Through a lifetime of forced silence, she’d made a game of figuring people out. She’d become quite adept at discerning what people were like by simply observing.
But as she meandered around the sitting room, there was just nothing. No clues about what kind of man Simon was, what brought him joy, or captured his interest. No art on the walls, no decorations to speak of. There was a single newspaper on the table beside one chair. His chair of choice, presumably. The paper was neatly folded and perfectly aligned with the edges of the table. There were no used glasses or signs of a teapot, but there was a sideboard with a few bottles of different spirits. Madelene had never been allowed spirits. She’d once been brave enough to sneak a sip of sherry. It certainly hadn’t been worth the week she’d had to spend in her room as a result.
With a sigh, she headed back upstairs, eventually finding herself in Simon’s bedroom. He hadn’t said she wasn’t allowed. Surely, there would be something there to tell her about what kind of man he was.
His bed was made neatly, with plush but plain duvet and pillows. There were very few colors in his home, a simple palette of shades of brown. Dark woods, brown leather, and even his bedding was tan. Everything was uncluttered and tidy. Almost too tidy. It didn’t feel as if he really lived there.
She opened his armoire, and it was more of the same. A half-dozen brown suits hung, equal spacing between each one. He liked order. That much was obvious. Why, then, had he rescued her on a whim? It didn’t make sense. It didn’t fit with the rest of this.
“Who are you?”
Madelene shrieked and whirled around at the sudden question, dropping the pair of socks she’d picked up. A woman stood in the doorway, her arms folded across her chest, her brow raised haughtily.
“M-Madelene,” she said, as if that was a sufficient answer.
“And what are you doing in Simon’s bedroom, Madelene? You’re not his sister, but in that dress, you didn’t just walk in off the streets either. Are you one of his strays?”
What did that mean? She didn’t know what to say, so she simply shook her head and looked at the floor.
“I don’t think he’ll appreciate you going through his private things. He’s not a man to be trifled with, so if you’ve stolen something, I suggest you put it back before you leave.”
Madelene sputtered. “I haven’t stolen anything. But you’re right. I shouldn’t be in his personal space. I’m sorry.” She stepped toward the door, but the woman didn’t move.
“You still haven’t told me who you are.”
“I don’t know,” she said stupidly, but it wasn’t wrong. She didn’t know how else to answer the woman’s question. “I’m sorry. I didn’t steal anything. I swear to you.” Simon would never believe her. Why else would she have been in his bedroom, going through his wardrobe? This woman, whoever she was, would surely tell him. He’d take her back to Auburn Ridge. She couldn’t go back there.
She surged through the doorway, pushing the woman aside before sprinting down the stairs all the way to the ground floor. She threw the front door open and stumbled toward the street, sheer terror driving her forward.
She couldn’t go back.
Turning up the nearest alley, she collided with a large man. She tried to skirt past him, but his thick fingers clamped around her upper arm. His remaining teeth were yellow and his breath reeked.
“Where d’ya think yor goin’?”
“Get your hands off of her.” It was the woman from Simon’s house. She held a knife out in front of her and glared into the man’s eyes. “Or I’ll gut you,” she added.
Suddenly Madelene’s arm was free and she ran. She didn’t look back. She should make sure the woman was safe, but how could she possibly help?
“Madelene, stop.”
Not knowing what else to do, she did stop. She turned to face the woman. “Please don’t hurt me. I didn’t steal anything. I’ll go. I didn’t mean to cause any problems.”
“You’re not going anywhere,” she said, grabbing Madelene’s wrist. “I don’t know who you are, but I’m guessing Simon will be furious with me if he comes home to find you gone.”
The sun was nearly set and the alleyway grew darker by the minute. Madelene had never been more frightened. What was she supposed to do?
The woman pulled lightly on Madelene’s wrist. ”Let’s get you back inside before I really do have to stab someone tonight.”
She didn’t have a better option, so after a moment, Madelene nodded and followed her back to the house.
“Sit,” she instructed once they were back inside. There was a small table in the kitchen with a chair on either side of it. “I’ll make us some tea.”
“Who are you?” Madelene asked as she sat down.
