Chapter 26
Chapter Twenty-Six
Helena was caught in the web of a nightmare, unable to extract herself. Downfield Manor was recognizable to her, the long stone corridor that joined her father’s gallery of oddities with the rest of the house.
She was running along it, barefoot, the floor cold beneath her feet. In front of her, two men were dragging Charlie away as he kicked and screamed, trying to get away from them.
“Stop!” she tried to yell but no sound emerged from her lips.
It did not matter how hard she tried.
She tried to run faster, but it was like running through molasses. There was nobody hindering her movement and yet every step was a monumental effort.
Finally, the men in front of her reached the gallery door. It opened and there stood Sister Frances, a scythe in hand, grinning maniacally and showing teeth stained red with blood.
“Come here,” she hissed, beckoning to Charlie with long dirty nails, “Let me ssseee you, my boy.”
Charlie screamed louder and fought harder.
“No!” Helena tried to yell.
The men threw Charlie inside the gallery and the doors snapped shut, leaving him alone with the monster version of Sister Frances. Helena tried to go faster but failed.
She strained towards the door, but the force holding her back was stronger.
Finally, she was able to put her hand on the door handle and pull.
But there was some sort of obstruction on the other side of the door.
The obstruction blocked the door and forced Helena to push harder, praying as she utilized all her strength.
The door moved and there was a bump as something was pushed away from the door. She looked down, only to see Charlie’s head, neatly separated from his body, vacant eyes staring at nothing.
Helena screamed.
“Helena!”
She jerked and shot to a sitting position, looking around her in confusion.
“It was just a dream,” a soft, gentle voice said to her, and she turned to see Amelia sitting beside her, looking concerned.
Helena closed her eyes, reaching up to run her hand downward, hoping to wipe away the dream.
It had been so real; she could still see her brother’s empty blue eyes, staring at nothing. Her body was shaking.
Amelia embraced her. “There, there. There’s nothing to worry about. We’re fine.”
Yes we’re fine. But what about Charlie?
“I have to get to Downfield soon,” she whispered. “I can’t take much more of this. My brother is in danger.”
“I can’t imagine how worried you must be,” Amelia said sympathetically.
“Yes, you can’t imagine. And I’m glad of that. No one should have to be this afraid for their kin.”
“What can I do?”
Helena shook her head as she swallowed, then realized how dry her throat was. “Can you get me some water?”
“Of course.”
Amelia edged off the bed but only as far as the bedside table, on which already stood a jar of water and a glass. She poured the water into the glass and handed it to Helena.
“Thank you,” Helena murmured, taking a sip of her drink. She was still shaking, the last tendrils of the dream still clinging to her. Amelia sat quietly with her until she stopped shaking.
“Do you want to sleep some more?” she asked.
Helena shook her head. “No, I don’t want to risk dreaming again. I think I’ll just get up and…” She squinted at the crack between the curtains. The sun was barely rising. “Well, perhaps I’ll read a book as I wait for the maids to wake up.”
Amelia got out of bed and opened the blinds. A slight drizzle and mist made the world look hazy and ethereal. “It’s definitely too cold to go outside. Did you want to have a bath?”
“Yes. I feel quite… sticky with sweat.” Helena rubbed her arm.
Amelia grabbed the bell and pulled it. “I expect someone’s awake by now.”
Within a few minutes, there was a knock on the door, and a footman was there to take their order of hot water and hot tea to start the day.
“Right away, Your Grace,’” the footman said happily before trotting off to do as he was bid.
“Well, he was right cheerful for so early in the morning.” Helena murmured sardonically.
Amelia chuckled. “Well, I’m guessing he’ll pass on the message and then go off to sleep. What’s to be sad about?”
Helena looked at her in surprise. “Go to sleep?”
“Yes,” Amelia said smugly, “I overheard two footmen talking in the kitchen. Silas has them working in shifts now, so there’s always someone available. The night shift should be wrapping up just about now.”
Helena nodded slowly. “That’s clever,” she admitted, tucking that little insight away.
Helena was just sitting down for breakfast, after having enjoyed a long hot soak, and feeling much calmer. The mist had cleared up but the drizzle had gone into light rain, with dark clouds that made for a gloomy start to the day.
She looked up as the butler brought in a basket piled with fresh loaves.
“Will His Grace be joining us?” she asked, not having checked on him before coming down.
Jeeves shook his head. “His valet said he would be sleeping in today.”
Helena nodded. “I see.”
She was disappointed because she’d wanted to speak to him further about next steps. She felt impatient for them to act, and she wanted to know when he thought the next shipment might be leaving the abbey.
She wanted to go there personally and wait.
She wanted to talk to Charlie.
She felt as if she might jump out of her own skin if she had to sit and wait any longer.
One of the serving girls came in, holding a tray. “A letter has arrived for you, Your Grace.”
Helena frowned. She had no one who she would expect a letter from. She held out her hand, and the serving girl plucked the letter from the tray and gave it to her.
She stared at the familiar handwriting with some trepidation before snatching it up and tearing it open. Unfolding it slowly, she began to read.
My dear Duchess,
Congratulations on your nuptials. Your mother tells me you’ve acquired some airs since you were wed and now you think we’re beneath your touch.
I’m sorry to dissuade you of this notion, but need I remind you that your brother is in our tender care, and should you wish that care to remain tender, you shall do exactly as I say.
Your father bequeathed you some things. I suggest you make arrangements to collect them personally as soon as possible. You do not want me to tire of waiting. You know I’m not very kind when I’m tired.
No need to send a reply. We shall be awaiting your personal visit.
James Porter.
By the time she reached the end, her hands were trembling. She dropped the letter onto the table as if it burned her fingers, staring at it like it might leap up and bite her.
She could read between the lines. James had Charlie. And if she didn’t do exactly as he said, her brother wouldn’t survive.
Her first thought was to go to Silas.
Her second was: And then what?
He’d storm in with armed men and fury, and if James felt even slightly threatened, he would retaliate.
Charlie could already be dead by then.
Her breath came quicker, panic rising. She had no time to explain. No time to reason.
And she didn’t want Silas talking her out of it—not this. Not when it was Charlie.
She shot to her feet, waving the nearest footman over and ordering him to fetch her a horse. As she hurried to change into sturdier shoes and grab her cloak, she told herself again and again.
She would speak to Charlie first.
She’d get him out.
Then she’d deal with James.
The rain had started to fall. Helena urged her horse faster, the trees lining the road blurring as her cloak snapped in the wind.
She could hardly feel her fingers. Her mind raced.
Just get to Downfield. Just get to Charlie.
A shadow loomed ahead.
A rider. Large. Fast.
Her heart jerked. Her hands trembled, but then, the horse veered toward her, cutting her off with frightening precision.
She yanked at the reins too late.
“Helena!”
The voice thundered—familiar. Furious.
Silas.