Chapter 8
Charlotte was trapped in her chamber. Her mother would not yield—and neither would she. They were locked in a battle of wills.
And now, quite literally, a bolt had been fixed to the outside of her door, and only Sarah was permitted to bring her bread and water once a day and attend to her basic needs.
Sarah did attempt to smuggle in more food when she was not being watched, but this was seldom possible, as Charlotte’s mother was liable to check.
Hunger pangs aside, Charlotte battled grief and anger in equal measure. Her limbs ached from idleness, her hair hung limp, and the room felt like a tomb. Every hour stretched into the next—endless and suffocating.
At first, she thought of escaping from the window, but the sheer height proved a deterrent. She had leaned out once, and the distance to the ground had made her recoil at once. The drop looked deep enough to break every bone she possessed.
No point in risking becoming crippled as well as a penniless spinster orphan.
Yes, she had a dowry—a decent one—but according to the legal papers, she would not be able to access it until she reached the ripe age of five-and-twenty.
One year. Three hundred and sixty-five very long, very mother-filled days.
Even if she did manage to escape, where would she go with no money and no connections for an entire year? Anne was already struggling with her own family’s problems and financial hardships.
And Grace... Grace was halfway across the world.
She was truly alone.
Sometimes she caught herself speaking aloud, simply to hear another voice—a dreadful sign of her descent into madness, she told herself. Soon she would start naming the furniture.
Drat. Perhaps she should simply relent and marry that lecherous Lord Haverley. Her mother had a point—men do tire of their wives after a few years.
But the moment the thought crossed her mind, her whole being screamed. No! I need to get away.
An idea struck her. Perhaps she could fashion a rope out of her clothes and—
A scratch at the door interrupted her.
The bolts drew back, the handle turned—likely Sarah bringing the day’s meagre rations. But it was not just Sarah. Anne stepped into the room behind her.
‘Anne, my dearest!’ Charlotte lunged at her friend, clutching her fiercely. ‘How did you get into the house? Mama has barred me from seeing anyone.’
‘It was not easy. Sarah brought me through the servants’ entrance—your mother has no idea, of course,’ Anne said in her usual quiet tone. ‘How are you doing, my dear?’ she asked, taking Charlotte’s hands in her own small ones and noting her worn face.
Charlotte shrugged. ‘I am as well as can be expected, considering the circumstances. Why are you in your travelling cloak?’ she asked, eyeing Anne’s heavy cloak and carriage dress.
Anne looked apologetic. ‘I have news from... Mrs Wilberforce. I received word about that governess post. Well, they have accepted both myself and my maid for the position.’ Her voice trembled with disbelief.
‘They did not even ask for references! Imagine that—me, respectable employment at last. I just had to see you before I leave. To make sure you are all right and your mother has not devoured you.’
Charlotte was surprised, but schooled her features. It seemed as though everyone she loved was leaving her one by one—first Grace, then Papa, and now Anne as well. She swallowed the painful lump in her throat.
‘I have already sent them a letter accepting, and they want me to start immediately,’ Anne continued when Charlotte did not reply at once.
‘But, Anne, it could be dangerous to go where the Odd Fellows will be sniffing around Wilberforce.’
‘Ah, no one ever pays any heed to governesses—perfect for spying and investigating,’ she replied dismissively. ‘Besides, I have to get away from... them.’ Charlotte nodded in understanding. ‘I have been trying to see you all these weeks, but your mother would not allow it.’
Charlotte nodded gratefully at Sarah. ‘Thank you. You have no idea what this means to me.’
Sarah blushed. ‘It’s no bother, Miss Charlotte. It’s cruel, what your mother is doing—if you do not mind my saying.’
‘Not at all,’ Charlotte said warmly.
Anne looked around the oppressive chamber—the unmade bed, the strewn papers, the stale air. ‘Good heavens, Char. What’s the plan? You cannot stay here like this for much longer.’
Charlotte sighed. ‘I know. But truthfully, I do not know what I can do. I even considered jumping out of that window and running for the woods.’
Both Anne and Sarah looked horrified.
‘Do not look at me like that,’ Charlotte protested. ‘If all you ate was bread and water for days on end, you would think it a good idea too.’
The two exchanged glances, mouths agape.
‘I have not passed a motion for days,’ Charlotte grumbled. ‘I am that bloated. And look—I have lost so much weight my gown is falling off me!’
Anne gasped—then smiled shyly. ‘Well, your figure has never looked better. Stunning, really.’
Charlotte harrumphed, but could not help sneaking a glance at her reflection in the mirror.
A trim waist. A definite improvement.
‘Splendid. My misery comes with a corseted silver lining, I suppose,’ she muttered. Then she shook her head. ‘It is not funny, Anne. What should I do?’
‘We’ll think of something,’ Anne said, tapping her chin. ‘What would Grace have done?’
‘Probably dressed up as a man and taken a position as a footman until she could access her dowry,’ Charlotte chuckled.
Anne, however, replied as though it were a serious suggestion. ‘Not a bad idea for Grace. But your chest is a dead giveaway.’
Charlotte blushed fiercely. ‘I was joking, Anne.’
Sarah spoke up then. ‘Whatever you decide, now would be a good time to do it. Your mother and sisters are preoccupied with Lord Stanley’s imminent arrival at the moment.
They will not notice until he leaves. They say he is searching for the young woman suspected of murder at Lord Bamber’s masquerade ball. ’
Charlotte’s stomach dropped as though she had jumped from the window. Anne’s eyes widened in horror.
‘What’s wrong?’ Sarah asked them.
Charlotte and Anne exchanged looks.
‘I think you need to tell her,’ Anne sighed.
Charlotte nodded, her voice grave, as she turned to her maid. ‘Sarah... I fear I may be the woman he is searching for.’
And so she launched into the story—the laced lemonade, the overheard conversation, the card room, the stable, the letter she sent. She left nothing out.
Sarah gasped. ‘Oh! That was the letter you asked me to deliver. Now it makes sense. And here I was thinking you were starting a romantic liaison with him.’
Charlotte glared at her impertinent maid. Clearing her throat, she scoffed, ‘Clearly you have not heard of his reputation as the great icy one. He is impervious to women’s charms, I am certain,’ she replied, recalling her very public humiliation at his hands.
Anne, however, grew quiet, her face paling. ‘Charlotte, this is more serious than I feared. You are suspected of murder. It seems your letter has done nothing—and instead of seeking Lord W, Lord Stanley is still searching for you. He has intensified his efforts.’
Charlotte’s mouth went dry at Anne’s words, and all they implied.
Sarah replied, ‘I heard he is bringing a maid with him to all these interviews of the guests. I daresay it is the same one that helped you dress up as a horse.’
‘Zebra,’ Charlotte corrected automatically. ‘I was a zebra.’ The ridiculousness nearly made her laugh—but the terror in her chest kept it trapped there.
‘No... he knows I am not the murderer. I wrote the letter explaining everything.’
Her voice faltered.
Anne shook her head. ‘Perhaps he did not believe you? He does not know you. You kept your identity anonymous, remember? You could be the killer, trying to deflect suspicion. If that maid kept the dress... you mentioned it was covered in blood!’
A heavy dread settled in Charlotte’s stomach. ‘It was not covered in it, just a few spots...’ as though that made it better. But she knew it was not going to help her.
‘With Papa passing, and my confinement to this room, I have not kept pace with the ton’s gossip.
You cannot mean they still suspect me? Perhaps he is merely coming to speak to Mama and my sisters,’ she added with a fragile note of hope, clinging to the absurd notion that she might simply be forgotten.
Anne nodded grimly. ‘I think he will want to see you too, if he is bringing the maid.’
Charlotte dropped heavily into her chair, gripping the armrests. Bile rose in her throat. She swallowed hard.
‘When... he sees me. He will know.’
‘Oh no, Miss,’ Sarah whispered. ‘If that maid recognises you, then you could be sent to the gallows. It was his cousin, after all.’
Charlotte looked up sharply. ‘But his cousin was the one trying to kill him.’
‘But that rests only upon your word. Why would he believe it? He might think you killed his cousin because of a lovers’ quarrel,’ Sarah reasoned.
Charlotte recalled the conversation at the card table when Mr Stanley had lied about bumping into an ‘old flame’. Perhaps Sarah was right, and the Ice Baron believed her to be a woman scorned.
Anne hesitated, then added, ‘I have something else to tell you. I managed to get hold of Lady Bamber’s guest list.’
Charlotte stared at her in astonishment. ‘How?’
‘I have my ways,’ Anne replied mysteriously.
‘I checked all the names beginning with Lord W... there were only two. One is about seventy, and the other only twenty. Neither matches your description. You said he rode off on his Arabian—it is possible he was not even invited to the ball; otherwise, he would have come in a carriage.’
Charlotte’s eyes widened in horror. ‘He was wearing Hessian boots instead of dancing pumps!’ she said, struck by sudden recollection. She gulped. ‘Perhaps you are right. So there is no evidence, other than my word, that he was there.’