It meant she was utterly off her hooks, by the look of it. What kind of noiseswouldcome from a larder? Pheasants, rising from the dead?
“I have to see,” she whispered. “Come with me. I don’t want to go by myself.”
She took three or four steps into the darkness. She stopped, glanced up at him, and gestured for him to hurry.
Evan sighed. If Ollie caught them spying on neat little rows of tins and jars, Evan would never hear the end of it. The crew had taunted Evan and Timothy for their alleged “fancy” tastes ever since they’d both balked at the slop they’d been served in dusty bowls their first night aboard ship. Evan felt no shame for liking good food. But he didn’t particularly want to set himself up for another round of ribbing when now more than ever it seemed wise to stay out of the captain’s eye. And out of Ollie’s house.
Miss Stanton, however, had not stopped staring up at him and making furious “Comeon!” motions with her hands.
All right, fine. But she’d better hurry.
He descended quickly, brushing past her and continuing on. He snagged a candle from the sole candelabrum halfway down the stairs and moved faster. The sooner he got to the bottom, the sooner he could head back to the top. It wasn’t as though there were any reason for her to act as if something frightening lurked just around the corner. It was alarder,for Christ’s—
Evan stopped so suddenly, candle wax dripped on his ungloved fingers. He scarcely noticed. All he could see were the high stone walls, damp with age and mold. A thick iron chain led from a clamp in the wall to an ankle the width of a child’s. The terrified owner of said ankle rocked in the far corner with her hands wrapped tightly about her knees and a dirty handkerchief tied around her head in a gag.
“Oh no,” Miss Stanton cried out, running past him to kneel before the emaciated young lady with long blonde plaits and pale skin. “Cousin Emeline, what have they done to you?”
Evan almost dropped the candle.
This was LadyEmeline?!
He’d thought—he’d thought—well, he wasn’t sure his brain had been firing fast enough to think much of anything, but he certainly hadn’t thought this poor creature was Ollie’swife. He ran his fingers in the cracks between the stones, searching for a key to unlock her.
“Don’t bother.” With her eyes focused on the trembling young lady before her, Miss Stanton began to carefully untie the soiled handkerchief. “The scarecrow keeps the keys with him.”
He blinked. “Scarecrow?”
“I’m forced to keep hold of the keys withyounosing about,” scratched a voice from the stairwell.
Although he’d recognized the speaker immediately, Evan had half-expected an actual scarecrow to appear in the doorway. Why not? His evening had lost all sense of reality hours ago.
But no, it was the butler standing between them and the stairwell.
And Ollie.
“Why do you have your wife chained to a wall in the cellar?” Evan challenged, unable to hide the shock in his tone.
Ollie made no response.
The lapdog, however, grinned. “You know a better place to chain her?”
Evan’s hands clenched. His fists ached to plant themselves right in the center of the servant’s smug face. He warred with temptation. But this was Ollie’s lackey. And Ollie’s house. So Evan kept his focus on the master.
“Unlock her.”
“No.”
As before, the response was swift, monosyllabic, and final.
Worse than anything, there was nothing Evan could do about it. Well, short of breaking the captive free and abducting her from her home. Thenhe’dbe the one in violation of the law. With him in gaol, the woman would be returned right back to her husband.
Miss Stanton rose to her feet, handkerchief clenched in her fist.
“Why did you gag her?” she demanded, eyes flashing with fear and outrage.
Evan couldn’t help but admire her in that moment. She was clearly terrified, yet willing to stand up to an oversize brute despite being powerless to stop him from doing whatever he fancied. With a backbone like that, she wouldn’t make a half-bad pirate.
“Whydidyou gag her?” Evan repeated, when it seemed the twosome would ignore Miss Stanton’s question indefinitely.
