Chapter 29 Captive
She was shivering, and pain throbbed along her arm. Mary reached across and touched it. Her fingers came away sticky.
The room lay in darkness save for a single candle flickering upon a table. A pitcher and glass stood beside it.
Mary pushed herself upright, but dizziness swept over her. She shut her eyes and pressed her hands against her aching head. More than the pain, it was thirst that tormented her.
She reached for the pitcher and felt grateful to whoever had thought to leave her water. She drank two glasses before examining her arm through the dim shadows.
The sleeve of her gown was sticky.
Blood.
She pushed the fabric back and discovered a gash nearly three inches long running down the side of her arm.
The wound needed cleaning.
She rose and found the dizziness had passed.
Carrying the candle, she examined the room.
It was large, with stone walls like those of an ancient castle.
Bare stone walls. No carpets covered the floor, no paintings adorned the walls, though the bedstead appeared fashioned from costly wood and was imposing in size.
She crossed toward a darker area of the room, where she discovered another chamber beyond. Perhaps it was a dressing room.
Inside, several gowns hung from wooden pegs. She searched through them and found two heavy cloaks. Taking the darker one, she wrapped it about herself and welcomed the warmth.
Her search continued until she discovered a cabinet against the far wall. Within one of the drawers lay a chemise. It was clean, but from the style and pattern, plainly very old. She tore it into strips and set one aside to clean the laceration.
Continuing her examination of the chamber, she discovered three trunks stacked in one corner.
The upper two trunks held old clothing, undergarments, shoes, an outdated pelisse, and petticoats. She lifted the top trunks aside and searched through the bottom one.
It was filled with spirits.
She removed several bottles. If one could be opened, she might clean the gash as Dr. Edgerton had taught them to do over the years. He cleansed his surgical instruments, bullet wounds, and flesh injuries before stitching them closed.
She examined one bottle and discovered it contained cognac. There was also gin, champagne, and wine.
Eventually, her captors would bring food, or so she hoped. When they did, she might persuade one of them to open a bottle so she could clean her wound. Perhaps her captor would drink the spirits and become drunk or insensible; she might escape.
Mary carried the bottles into the main bedchamber one by one. She arranged them in orderly rows upon the table where her meal would likely be served. Others she lined beneath the table, though still plainly visible.
When she finished, she cleaned the gash and left the bloodstained cloth beside the water basin. Perhaps her captor might feel some pity for her.
What ought she to do next?
Should she feign illness? Pretend the pain in her injured arm had overcome her?
Footsteps sounded beyond the door, and fear tightened her stomach.
How ought she to behave?
Mary resolved to remain calm and ask for assistance opening one of the bottles so she might clean her wound.
A key scraped within the lock.
The door opened, and a man wearing rough clothing entered carrying a tray of food. He halted upon seeing her upright and awake. Then his gaze traveled over the spirits she had arranged on the table.
Greed lit his face. Perhaps her plan would succeed.
She forced herself to speak calmly.
“Sir, I am injured.” She lifted the bloodstained sleeve of her gown and pointed toward the bloody cloth and basin of water. “I have washed the laceration, but if you would be so good as to open one of these bottles, I may clean it with spirits and perhaps ward off inflammation.”
She remained still while the man examined her arm and then the bottles. She watched him consider the request and knew the moment he decided it was reasonable.
“Yes, miss.”
He set the tray upon the table and pulled the cork from the nearest bottle. Cognac.
His eyes lit as the scent of the spirits reached him.
“Where do you want it, miss?”
She held up a clean strip of cloth. “Pour a little upon this, sir.”
He tipped the bottle with care, guarding every drop from waste.
“Thank you, sir.”
Mary pushed back her sleeve, turned her face away, and shut her eyes before pressing the soaked cloth against the gash in her skin.
Pain tore a cry from her throat.
Tears escaped beneath her closed lids while she scrubbed the wound again and again. At last, the bloodied rag slipped from her fingers to the floor, and she buried her face in her hands and struggled to keep from weeping.
The agony finally eased, and she lowered her hands and wiped her eyes with a clean cloth before looking toward the man once more.
“Thank you, sir. I believe the wound has been properly cleansed now, and perhaps I shall escape inflammation.”
He regarded her with what appeared to be pity.
“Ma’am, would you care for a drink of this cognac? It may ease the pain.”
In truth, Mary did not wish to drink. She needed her wits about her. But if she might persuade him to drink, she would accept.
“Yes, sir. I believe it may help. My arm pains me dreadfully.”
She emptied the water from her glass and held it out to him.
“Only a little, sir. I am unaccustomed to such strong spirits, and I do not wish to waste it. Will you not take some as well?”
His brows lifted. From his expression, she believed he intended to refuse, but then his gaze returned to the uncorked bottle in his hand. He lifted it nearer and inhaled the scent.
Then he drank directly from the bottle.
Mary pressed on at once. “There is a chair beside the dresser, sir. I should welcome some company. Will you sit with me while I eat my supper?”
He did not sit immediately, though his gaze lingered upon the chair. He remained standing while she tore the bread roll in half and dipped it into the broth he had brought her.
The meal was meager. A few vegetables floated in the broth beside a thin piece of mutton. Perhaps he believed distress would have robbed her of appetite.
Mary ate with deliberate slowness to place him at ease and allow the spirits time to work upon him.
The plan succeeded.
She kept silent and avoided looking directly at him, though she heard him drag the chair from the wall and settle into it. She also heard each swallow he took from the bottle.
He had brought pecans with the tray. After finishing the bread and broth, she cracked each nut with care and ate the meat bit by bit.
By the time she finished, he had consumed about a quarter of the bottle.
Ease settled over him now. He slouched low in the chair and grew talkative. His words had begun to slur.
Fear tightened within Mary. Another man might come to investigate why his companion had not returned.
What could she do?
Nothing.