The magistrate gasped in shock. “Is that... Lady Emeline?”
Susan could only nod, relief momentarily robbing her of her voice. They were saved. Thank God.They were saved.
“You did the right thing, Miss Stanton.”
Susan nodded again, smiling. Of course she did. She couldn’t let her helpless cousin fester in that godforsaken stone cage one moment longer. They were escaping, and they were escaping together. But—how did Mr. Forrester recognize Lady Emeline?
“You knew my cousin needed help?” Susan asked, shocked.
“Of course not.” Mr. Forrester shook his golden curls and hauled Lady Emeline to her feet. “I had no idea she’d wandered off again. Her husband must be so worried.”
Susan’s mouth fell open. “What?”
“You were right to come to me,” he continued, swinging Lady Emeline up and into his arms as though she weighed no more than a pile of feathers. If he noticed the broken chain swinging loose from beneath her skirts, he gave no mention. “She can be quite a handful, and I’m sure you didn’t want to attempt guiding her up this trail in the rain. Gets slippery.” He turned and met Susan’s eyes. Smiled. “Accidents sometimes happen.”
“What?” She stared in horror as the magistrate began to march cousin Emeline right back up the very trail that the two women had just fled. Stabbing him with the ivory-handled knife in her pocket suddenly seemed a reasonable idea.
Either the man had less brainpower than the little she’d given him credit for, or he realized quite clearly the atrocities that took place inside Moonseed Manor but was too frightened—or, more likely, too well paid—to act as he ought.
“He keeps her locked up,” she blurted out, desperate to try her best while they were still outside the walls of Moonseed Manor. What were the odds she’d be able to free cousin Emeline twice? Or that the giant wouldn’t retaliate for having done so this once?
Mr. Forrester’s brow creased, but his voice could only be described as kind. “He’s her husband, Miss Stanton. While I hope they are a happy couple, I simply do not have the power to dictate how a man should treat his wife. My personal belief is that women are to be cherished, but such beliefs are unenforceable in a court of law.” He smiled gently. “Come, now. You know that to be true.”
Yes. Susan did know. She closed her eyes, unable to keep looking at the disappointment and hopelessness in her cousin’s face. What Mr. Forrester said was absolutely true. Even Miss Grey had pointed it out when she’d first told Susan the story. The marriage contract simply served to transfer ownership from father to husband. The magistrate’s hands were tied.
The assembly in Bath the following weekend was looking more and more like her only possibility of escape—and therefore her only opportunity to return with an army, and free Lady Emeline. Because shewouldfree her cousin. Laws be damned.
“Don’t worry,” Mr. Forrester said over his shoulder, misreading Susan’s thoughts entirely. “It’s not your fault she got free. I’ll let Ollie know you were the one to find her and return her home.”
Oh, lovely. Susan shivered. The giant was bound to believethat.
Chapter 29
The following afternoon, Moonseed Manor was still as a tomb. Susan hadn’t seen hide nor hair of her malicious host—a situation for which she was profoundly grateful. She knelt in the grave garden, wrapped in a thick pelisse despite the pale yellow sun overhead. Its weak rays provided little warmth for Susan, and none whatsoever for the owner of the unmarked grave before her.
She reached out to touch the sparse brown grass tangled amongst the dirt and the stones. Most of the brittle blades crumbled at the brush of her fingertips, as if their weakened state could not withstand even that gentle touch.
“I am sorry, cousin,” she whispered to the silent patch of earth marking Lady Beaune’s grave. “Your daughter will not join you here. I swear it.”
Having thus sworn her fealty, she placed her hands atop trembling legs and struggled to her feet. It was difficult to have faith in her ability to make good on such a promise when there was no guarantee she herself would not soon lie at her cousin’s side.
If only there was someone to confide in. But there was not. The dressmakers could not bear Susan’s presence. Despite his drugging kisses, Mr. Bothwick was a bosom friend of the monstrous master of the manor. And the magistrate... the magistrate... if evenhishands were tied thanks to the letter of the law, she could hardly expect a less powerful citizen to hurry to her aid.
She needed someonemorepowerful. Someone who believed him—or herself—above the law. She needed, Susan admitted reluctantly, her mother.
One arch of her mother’s eyebrow accompanied by the barest breath of the Stanton name and a veritable army would rain upon Moonseed Manor in the blink of an eye. The moment Susan arrived in Bath, she’d rent—or outright steal—the first available carriage and hie directly to Stanton House. She would have to do a fair bit of explaining in order to win Mother to her point of view, but Susan would persevere until her voice cracked and died, if that was what it took.
So resolved, she crossed the small enclosure and shoved open the cold iron gate on the far side. Although no sounds rent the still air save the faint whisper of wind scattering sand over rock, she paused with her hand on the gate and tilted her head toward the thicket of trees teeming in the shadows. She waited, not breathing, irrationally convinced she was better off shuttered inside the grave garden than stepping into the open where whatever animal prowling in the woods could attack and devour her.
The rustle of fallen leaves crackling beneath the unseen beast’s great paws seemed overloud to Susan’s straining ears. Ominous. If it were not an animal in the strictest sense, it might very well be the villain of Moonseed Manor come home to punish his “guest” for her attempted interference.
She almost turned and fled. Would have, in fact, had her hands not clenched in a palsied grip around the icy bars of iron. Had her booted feet not turned to stone, miring her in place like a sacrificial lamb. Had her heart not been beating so quickly that remembering to breathe became an impossible challenge.
He stepped from the shadows.
Her heart stalled, then exploded double time. Mr. Bothwick. He’d never confessed what he and the giant had uncovered amongst the graves. Or why he had kissed her senseless in front of the townsfolk just to save her. Unless saving her was the farthest objective from his mind. (The thought of danger, in that moment, had likewise vanished from Susan’s.) There was far more to Mr. Bothwick than his carefully maintained image of a care-for-naught rake. But while he seemed willing enough to dally with her, he obviously had no intention of sharing any of his secrets.
Nor could she share hers. Last night’s crushing disappointment with Mr. Forrester had driven that point home.
