Prologue #3
The doctor arrived shortly afterward. Again, Matthew shared what he had seen, and the doctor confirmed that the duke had died due to the broken neck he had suffered.
The physician gave his sympathies, and Mattthew allowed a few footmen to carry his father’s body inside, where his valet would wash and then dress him.
Now past midnight, Matthew found Ridley and Mrs. Ridley having a cup of tea in the kitchens.
“Would you like a cup, Your Grace?” the housekeeper asked.
“No, thank you, but I do have an important question.”
“Is it about the vicar?” Ridley asked. “I thought that I would send word to him first thing tomorrow morning. This morning, I suppose. I know you will need to meet with him.”
“No, this question has to do with something entirely different.” Looking intently at Ridley, Matthew asked, “Where is my mother?”
Mrs. Ridley touched her husband’s hand. “He needs to be told now. After all, he is the duke.”
“You’re right,” the butler said. Turning his attention back to his employer, Ridley said, “Her Grace was taken to an asylum two years ago.”
“What?”
Ridley’s agitation was obvious as he said, “Three men showed up at Redfield and carted Her Grace off. His Grace told the staff that Her Grace had been upset about things. That her nerves were acting up, causing her to behave irrationally.”
“That wasn’t the case, was it?” he said, a cold deeper than winter piercing his soul.
“No, Your Grace,” the butler replied, shaking his head back and forth. “We—the staff—wanted to do something.”
“You were powerless to help. No one can stand up to a duke, Ridley.”
He thought of the horror stories he had heard regarding asylums. How not only were the mad committed to them, living in the worst of conditions, but also that men who tired of their wives also placed them in these asylums, hoping they would quickly expire, leaving them free to wed again.
“Do you know where Her Grace was taken?”
Ridley nodded. “I asked one of the men as they left. Throckmorton. It is not far from here. About ten miles north of Brandon.”
“Have my carriage readied at first light. I am going to bring my mother home.”
At a quarter to five, Matthew boarded his carriage. Ridley offered to accompany him, and he accepted the butler’s offer. He also asked Mrs. Ridley to come, as well, thinking having a woman present might be comforting to Mama.
The coachman drove them to the town where Mama was kept, stopping the carriage at the gates of the building.
Matthew got out, saying, “Exchange the team for fresh horses and return here as soon as possible. I want to be back at Redfield as quickly as we can. The coachman can always return the rented team tomorrow and claim mine again.”
“Yes, Your Grace.”
The vehicle drove off, and the Ridleys accompanied Matthew to the gates. A guard was posted there, looking surprised to see them. He had the feeling not many visitors came calling at Throckmorton.
“State your business,” the guard said brusquely.
“I am the Duke of Reddington, and I wish to see who is in charge immediately.”
Quickly, the man’s attitude changed at once. “Yes, Your Grace. Please come with me.”
The gates were opened, and they were taken inside a large structure. Matthew thought it had, at one time, been a home, most likely sold off as unentailed. He heard a bone-chilling scream, causing his body to tense.
“Wait here,” the guard said, going to another man. They had a whispered conversation, and the other man hurried away.
“Dr. Cheney will be right with you, Your Grace,” the guard said, quickly exiting the building to return to his post.
As they waited, they heard two more screams and a low moan.
“It’s a bad place,” Ridley said grimly.
He couldn’t have agreed more.
A thin, bespectacled man came down the staircase. He frowned. “You are not His Grace.”
“I am now,” Matthew said firmly. “And I am here to take the Duchess of Reddington home with me.”
“This is most unorthodox,” Dr. Cheney protested. “His Grace said—”
“His Grace is dead. I am the duke, and you shall answer to me. Now, are you going to allow me to leave with Her Grace in my care, or will I need to call in the authorities?” He glared at the doctor, who wilted before his eyes.
“Of course, Your Grace. But you will need to pay—”
“I will not give you a farthing more. Whatever His Grace gave you, that is all your greedy hands will receive, Dr. Cheney. Take me to my mother now, or I will do everything in my power to see this facility permanently closed. I may be young, but I wield the power of a duke. You do not want to cross me. Ever.”
The doctor took a few seconds to think, then said, “I will have Her Grace brought to you.”
Something in this man’s eyes told Matthew he could not be trusted. “No. Bring us to her now. Without delay.”
Dr. Cheney winced. “Very well. Follow me.”
The next few minutes were a nightmare. They passed small, cramped rooms without doors, so privacy was nonexistent.
Inmates inside these cells were chained to their beds.
Other inmates were restrained in some kind of jackets, their arms inside these.
They rocked. Moaned. Cried out. Screamed.
Rats were everywhere, and the floors were covered in filth and feces, both animal and human.
Bile rose in his throat, and he forced it down.
“Wait here,” the doctor said, quickly entering a room and closing the door behind him.
The fact that this room had a door made him certain ominous things occurred behind it. Matthew wasn’t about to wait and threw open the door.
To a vision of horror.
Mama sat tied to a chair, wearing a gunnysack so filthy the color could not be distinguished.
Her long, beautiful hair had been shorn close to her scalp.
Her cornflower blue eyes, the same as her son’s, stared out dully.
The entire chamber was freezing, and Mama was soaked to the skin, water dripping from her.
“I have no opinion,” she said in a monotone. “I am never to speak. I have no opinion. I am never to speak.”
He rushed toward her, glaring at the woman standing beside her. “What have you done to her?” he demanded, shoving the woman aside. She fell to the floor with a thud, a sound of bones cracking as she shrieked.
His mother kept repeating the same phrase as Matthew untied the restraints. Dr. Cheney started to help him, and he looked at the man, growling, “Get away.”
Matthew finished loosening the knots and pulled the cords away, seeing Mama’s wrists bloody and scarred.
“What is this place?” he demanded of Cheney, disgust filling him. “How can you treat women this way? Like animals.”
The physician shrugged. “It is what their families ask. They wish to be rid of these women for various reasons. We do our best. It takes a great deal to keep them in line. My staff sometimes has to resort to . . . extreme measures.”
“You are a monster,” he said, his voice low, the anger obvious. “Leave.”
“As you wish.”
Tenderly, Matthew cupped Mama’s face. “It is me, Mama. Matthew. I have come to bring you home.”
Something flickered in her eyes. Recognition. She began weeping, fat tears streaming down her cheeks.
“You came,” she whispered. “I knew you would come.”
Her voice was raspy. If the words she had said over and over were true, she was punished for speaking and so did it rarely.
“Can you stand?” he asked, helping her from the chair, his arm going around her waist.
Ridley stepped closer. “It is Ridley, Your Grace. Might I help you to the carriage?”
“Ridley,” she repeated. “I know you.”
“And me,” Mrs. Ridley said, tears swimming in her eyes. “I am here, too, Your Grace. We will take you home to Redfield.”
Her sobs became louder now. “No. He will only bring me back here. Leave me on the road instead. Let me die there. Just not in this place.”
Her body began trembling, and she shook her head violently. For a moment, he thought being placed inside a madhouse had driven her mad. Even if it had, he knew there was a vestige of his beloved mother still left within her. He would take her home and help nurse her back, physically and mentally.
Matthew captured her face in his hands, focusing his gaze on hers, forcing her to meet it. “Reddington is dead. Do you hear me, Mama? Your husband is dead. Gone. He cannot hurt you any longer. I am Reddington now. And I promise that I will always keep you safe.”
His words seemed to get through to her. She calmed, allowing Ridley to get on the other side of her. Together, the two of them led her from the room and down the stairs. Matthew ignored all the screams and cries as they passed so many other helpless women.
They reached the front door, and Mrs. Ridley opened it, running ahead of them to make certain the gate was opened and the stairs placed by the carriage door. As they brought Mama along the walkway, his driver leapt to the ground and rushed toward them.
“Let me take you, Your Grace,” he said gently, sweeping her from her feet and carrying her the rest of the way to the carriage.
Once they were all inside, Matthew said, “Sleep now, Mama.”
“But the nightmares,” she protested weakly.
“There will be no more of those,” he promised, knowing those words might ring hollow to her. “Because you are going home. You are safe. I will never let another soul harm you ever again.”
He saw her love for him in her eyes, which were beginning to lose their dull sheen.
“You saved me, Matthew. Thank you.” She captured his hand and pressed a kiss to it.
“Sleep, Mama,” he urged, nudging her so that she placed her head in his lap. Almost instantly, he caught the rhythm of her even breaths.
He would never forget the terrors within Throckmorton and knew it might be years—if not a lifetime—before his mother ever got over her experiences while there.
If his father were not already dead, Matthew would have killed him on sight.