Chapter Thirteen
How to do it. How to do it. I pace back and forth in my room on my twentieth evening in the mansion.
The Pins carnival has come and gone, I have bled my monthly, I have danced so many times in the enchanted slippers and still, they show no wear.
But in this moment, I’m too restless to dance.
Even pacing doesn’t help, nor does ignoring my supper.
I plop back down because I can hardly think on an empty stomach.
It’s been twelve days since the demon woman came.
I’ve almost forgotten how afraid I was of her. Almost.
I weigh my options as I eat, just as I do so often now that I am certain he won’t agree to help me.
If my initial goal was to get him on my good side, in the last nine days, my focus has turned into playing the obedient captive—only to throw him off my real intentions.
I am going to escape…I just haven’t figured out how to get past the servants, Mr. Brown’s almost-constant presence, and my sad lack of hairpins.
I could tie my bedsheets together and climb out the window, a choice I’ve already considered.
But, walking over and eyeing the distance to the ground for about the dozenth time, barely visible in the darkening sky, I ascertain, bedsheets knotted tightly or no, it’s likely I would simply fall.
My strength is mostly in my legs, not my arms. And it’s a long way down.
I slump back to the table and run through other ideas, sullenly chewing my chicken-stuffed pastry.
It’s delicious. I don’t believe I’m able to outrun Mr. Brown.
Perhaps I could hit him over the head? But other than the big candelabra in the room, there’s nothing else to attack him with that could really do damage, and, as much as I dislike the man, I don’t want to kill him.
I gather he wouldn’t go down with a light thump.
I’d have to hit him hard, and he’d bleed.
I purse my lips with distaste. I don’t even like killing spiders.
But if it came down to it, wouldn’t I make any of them bleed if it meant saving my own life?
I could bribe one of the maids. Jinny or Hana.
As for Mrs. Minthy, as kind as she’s been to me, I doubt she’d be disloyal to him.
However, the red-haired cousins are new, young.
The problem is, if they can’t hear me when I tell them I’m being held captive, how could they help me escape? I fear nothing I say will help my case.
I turn my attention to the plate of sweets and fruit and bite into an apple aggressively.
Instead of bribing Jinny or Hana, I could just overpower one of them.
Not hurt them, but grab them and tie them up with something.
My eyes drift around the room, to the wardrobe.
I could use the sash from the cream dress.
This newest idea has merit. So long as I’m not caught escaping… it could work.
I go to the wardrobe, pull the dress out, and lay it on the bed.
Then, lacking scissors, I use my teeth to rip the belt loops.
I tug on the blue sash, testing it. It’s skinny but strong.
I could knot it, and it would hold, not for long, probably, but long enough.
Unless they scream. My resolve wavers as I consider this.
I’d have to gag them. The thought is unpleasant—they’ve been kind to me.
But I can’t wait around for the demon to find mercy and just let me go.
I’d be waiting forever. He would snap my bones between his teeth before he did me a favor.
And if not him, that terrifying creature he bowed to.
Escaping may not be easy, or safe, even once I’m out of the mansion.
The demon may come after me, I know this.
I’m not that naive. I can only hope that I’ve been such a bother, that he hates me so much, he may just never want to set eyes on me again.
The thought settles me considerably. Now that I’ve decided on a reasonable way of escaping, I can hardly wait to go. I grasp the sash gratefully.
Mr. Brown bangs open the door, making me jump.
“Could you stop that?” I frown, annoyed at his entering without knocking. Yet again. I’ve only just relieved my bladder! What if I were naked? Indignantly, I snap, “What if I were changing?”
Mr. Brown smirks at my nightgown and dressing gown. I was going to change into my dress for dancing after my meal. “I don’t care one way or another what you wear. He wants to see you. He’s waiting in the ballroom.”
“But it’s not time to dance. And I’m not ready.”
“I don’t think it’s for dancing.” His voice holds a warning. “He wants to talk to you.”
I remember how I snuck out of my room. Remember how I yelled at the demon.
What if he knows I’m planning to escape the mansion?
What if he can read minds? The thought never occurred to me before, but now, thinking of all the horrible things I mentally called him…
. During my performances, ever since the night he screamed at me, he’s been frigidly silent, but what if he was only lying in wait. Readying to pounce.
As I step reluctantly toward the door, I ask Mr. Brown, “Has he killed a lot of people? Really and truly?”
“How many is a lot?”
“I don’t know,” I answer. “More than ten?” I say, just as he says, “A hundred?”
“A hundred!” I cry.
He laughs at my horrified face. “I’m guessing.”
A hundred? He has to be kidding. “But you must have an idea….”
“Well, one band for every person.”
“Band?”
“On his arms.”
It takes me a moment to comprehend. “You mean his tattoos. Each band represents someone he’s killed?”
Mr. Brown doesn’t answer, though his leathery face holds an amused smile.
I sputter, “But his arms are almost solid ink! Black from elbow to wrist!”
Jerking his head toward the door, he ignores my outcry. “Let’s not keep him waiting.”
My heart is racing, blue belt still bunched in my now clammy hand.
I won’t be tying up a maid now. I could very well be on my way to my death.
I certainly made the demon angry enough the night the woman came.
And though he’s not shown his temper since, neither has he indicated any appreciation for my performances.
Or my very presence. Has he finally had enough of me?
Blood spattered on his white shirt flashes again in my mind.
Following Mr. Brown through the third floor, with each step I search around with wild eyes. What can I use? How can I get away? The hall is empty. Nothing but sconces on the walls. I can’t very well rip them off without him noticing. What can I hit him with that will make enough of an impact?
Then the first staircase is upon us. Mr. Brown is ahead of me, taking the first step down, and there’s nobody else in sight.
Now is my chance. I can’t wait. Whenever I go down for dancing, there are never other servants in sight, as though they’re all off doing other tasks during that hour—even though it’s earlier than normal, I pray that’s the case now.
This might be my shot to run without someone catching me.
The demon will be waiting in the ballroom.
I drop the blue belt and reach my hands out toward the unsuspecting butler.
I push him. Hard.
He doesn’t make a sound. Just tumbles forward silently.
Down, down, down, like a rag doll. He somersaults as I run, gripping the banister lest I fall too, hopping over where he lands.
I turn back once to look at him. Slumped on his belly, he doesn’t lift his head.
A sickening feeling swoops in my gut, but there’s no time for regret.
I race through the second floor, past the bedrooms, down the grand staircase.
In my bare feet, red slippers left behind and tugging at me from two floors above.
It’s the most irrational thought: I should go back for them.
I run on.
This is it. I’m so close. I’m so quiet. Nobody even knows I’m heading toward the door.
I’m almost there, cutting through the foyer, which is finally outfitted with a large pedestal table, glass vase of flowers in the middle, their powerful scent sucking the air from the room, making me woozy.
I hold my breath and lunge toward the door.
Just as my fingertips graze the doorknob, a voice in my ear. His.
“Going somewhere?”
I jump about fifty feet, then whip around, meeting the demon’s face.
I look up at his great height, the feeling of him like a wall opposite me.
Choking down a cry, I step back like a trapped animal, until my shoulder blades press against the door.
He moves closer yet, standing directly in front of me.
My chest heaves so hard I expect he can hear the beat of my heart, but silence hangs around us for what seems like centuries.
I look away from his horrible eyes but find myself drawn back.
To the dark, the warning of his shining gaze.
The rest of his face is impassive, but there’s a cold rage radiating from him that has me cowering. I wait.
Going somewhere? he had asked. To my death, probably.
Then, I change my mind. Answer his question aloud.
“Yes,” I say, in a haughty way, straightening up tall, though the top of my head hardly grazes his collarbone.
I lift my chin to meet his stare, though it pains me.
“You obviously don’t care for my dancing, so there’s no reason to stay.
Now, if you don’t mind, I’ll be leaving.
” I hope he doesn’t catch the tremble in my words, the haughtiness melting to a feeble proclamation.
That obsidian gaze is piercing. “I think you’ve misunderstood the terms of your captivity, Miss Bell. You cannot just come and go as you please, hence our prior discussion about the hairpins. You are being punished for stealing.”
“But you know that wasn’t my fault!” I try not to get hysterical. The door is at my back, freedom within reach.