Chapter Twenty-One
Helen paced back and forth across the faded rug, talking out loud to herself, but too loud. She suspected Parker was lurking about, listening for any sign she’d break and if he heard her muttering, the butler might go to Galway, and claim Helen had gone mad.
“He’d send me to an asylum.”
Nearly three days she’d been trapped in this room. Three long days in which Parker arrived at regular intervals to bring her a tray, consisting of a piece of bread, broth and if she were lucky, tea. The bread was stale. The broth and tea, tepid at best.
She was to be starved into submission.
“Despicable,” she said of Galway. “My betters. Ha.”
She saw no one but Parker, not even Galway. He’d wait at least a week, when she was hungry, dirty and becoming desperate before he’d stop by. Galway wanted Helen’s complete surrender, but first he’d enjoy her humiliation.
“A truly detestable human being.”
Helen could hear the maids as they bustled up and down the hall, careful to whisper in hushed tones as they passed, but no one ever stopped.
Did they all assume she’d taken the pendant?
Even Kate? The thought of the young maid thinking Helen had done such a thing and blamed her, was unthinkable.
If nothing else, she hoped Kate knew her better than that.
The door was locked. The sole window in her room wasn’t an option.
Too far off the ground and Helen had no desire to break her neck attempting to scale down the brick.
There was no one to miss her save Cerise and her absence in the world would go unnoticed except perhaps by the Duchess of Roxboro.
She would eventually seek Helen out, but Galway would put her off.
Fletcher might…want to see her again.
She paused in her pacing, toeing at the rug with one foot.
No, he won’t come.
Because he thought Helen had betrayed him, or planned to.
That knowledge hurt worse than being trapped so neatly by Galway.
Fletcher was a thief, likely a bit more given the state of his knuckles.
His speech suggested a rookery or at least a far less favorable part of town than Grosvenor Square.
She should be repulsed, and rightly so, at the things she’d allowed, but Helen was not.
She wanted Fletcher, warts and all. And now she wouldn’t have the chance to tell him because of Galway.
The click of the lock signaled Parker’s arrival carrying the usual tray of broth, bread, and cold tea. He marched inside without looking in Helen’s direction, placed the tray on the table beside her bed, and exited without a word.
“Always so engaging,” she said as the door shut. “Run back to your master with a report on my condition.”
Snatching up the bread from the tray, Helen gnawed on the edge, considering her predicament once more.
There had to be a way to escape this room.
Maybe she could push Parker and run while the door was unlocked.
Whack him with the tray which would be satisfying but unlikely to aid her escape much.
Besides, she was sure the footmen had been instructed to stop her.
The bread, quite stale, had a strange consistency. Like paper. Frowning, she peered at the chunk of bread in her hand.
It is paper.
There was a small hollow in the bread, carved out carefully so Parker couldn’t see it. A note had been folded into a tiny square and tucked inside. She’d nearly eaten it. Hands shaking, Helen unfolded the paper, glancing at the door in case Parker returned.
Tonight.
She turned the small scrap over in her hand, but there was nothing else. No signature. No indication of who might have sent the note or who meant to help her.
Helen tore the square up into the smallest bits possible, hiding them in the base of her armoire. Galway refused to have a fire lit in her room so she’d shiver all night.
But not tonight.
Helen would be ready. Her rescue was at hand.
*
Hours later, Helen sat, leaning against the headboard and stared out her window, watching as twilight and then night descended on London.
In preparation for what she assumed was rescue, and granted, she’d debated that this might be a trick on Galway’s part, she’d changed into her battered muslin.
The dress wouldn’t attract attention, was comfortable and didn’t require a corset, which allowed Helen to move freely.
And after a week of near starvation, a corset wasn’t required anyway.
Her shabby half-boots completed her ensemble.
She had no funds as Galway had taken her purse.
Hours later, when the moon had risen high, Helen pinched herself to stay awake though according to the clock beside the bed, it wasn’t all that late. She’d heard the sound of a carriage leaving earlier, probably Galway headed out for the night with Cerise. But nothing since.
She must have eventually dozed off because she jolted out of her sleep at the sound of the lock clicking and the door opening a crack.
“Miss Cosgrove.” A voice whispered. “Hurry now.”
Helen rolled from the bed, nearly sick with anticipation, careful not to make a sound. Squinting at the shape moving by the door she whispered, “Kate?”
“Shh.” The maid hushed her. “Hurry. Lord Galway and Lady Cerise are out for the night at a ball, so Parker has finally gone out to the gardens to enjoy one of his cigars. We don’t have much time before he finishes.
Cook is plying the footmen charged with watching the doors with apple pie.
” Kate reached out and took Helen’s hand. “Quiet now till I get you out.”
Helen squeezed her fingers in reply.
Carefully, they moved through the house, pausing at intervals to listen for any sounds of discovery, but Cook made an excellent apple pie.
The sounds of laughter came from the kitchens as the staff indulged in a rare treat echoed through the house.
Parker would most likely stop there before coming inside. He was not immune to Cook’s apple pie.
Reaching the door at the side of the house, one only the servants ever used, Kate pulled a key stuck inside her bodice and opened it, before ushering Helen out into the velvety darkness.
“How did you get in my room, Kate?” Helen finally said, deciding it was safe to speak now that they were outside. “If Parker finds out, you’ll be dismissed. I’m so grateful but—”
“Don’t you concern yourself, Miss Cosgrove.
Parker forgot there’s a spare skeleton key hanging on the kitchen wall.
Opens all the doors in his lordship’s house, this one included.
Could have been any one of us. I’m hoping Galway will dismiss Parker for his carelessness.
And even if I am sacked, well, my mum wants me to come home to her anyway.
Turns out, I don’t care for London at all.
Nor could I continue to work for Lady Cerise or Lord Galway, not after what they done to you. ”
Helen felt her eyes water before pulling Kate into a hug. “Thank you.”
“I know you didn’t take the pendant, Miss Cosgrove. Nor try to blame me. Cook and I agreed.”
“I would never. Please thank Cook for me.”
A door slammed shut somewhere in the house.
“Hurry now, Miss Cosgrove. That’ll be Parker coming back inside. I’ve got to get to the kitchens and have some pie. He won’t notice you’re gone until tomorrow. Nor will Galway. Godspeed.” Kate spun about and hurried back inside, shutting the door quietly behind her.
Helen pressed a hand to her heart, so grateful she had at least two friends in the world, Kate and Cook. And as far as Parker, he deserved Galway’s wrath. Her only regret was that she wouldn’t be here to see him dismissed.
Gathering her skirts in one hand, Helen started off, unsure as to what direction she should take to avoid detection.
The Duchess of Roxboro was the only person who would offer her sanctuary.
She knew Helen wasn’t guilty of theft. Cerise had pointed out Roxboro’s enormous mansion weeks ago, after the Stout ball, declaring how grand a home she would one day preside over.
Idiot.
Helen had barely listened at the time, not willing to be party to Cerise’s delusions, nor did she want to hear any more about Roxboro. But Cerise had pointed out the duke’s residence often enough that Helen knew the street and the general direction.
“Thank goodness Cerise enjoys repeating herself,” she murmured, turning left towards Curzon Street, careful to stay in the shadows.
The sound of a carriage approaching had Helen darting in between two large shrubs in front of another home.
Ducking her head, she waited, counting her breaths until the carriage passed.
What would she say to the duke and duchess? More importantly, what if they were out for the night? She must find a way to convince their staff to let her in to wait.
Once she was certain no one else was about, Helen took a step out of the safety of the shrubs, only to gasp in shock as an arm wrapped tightly around her waist. The smell of cooked onions met her nose as a dirty palm pressed to her mouth to keep her silent.
Helen thrashed, kicking and slapping her assailant, but to no avail.
He dragged her in the opposite direction to the other side of the street, where a hack waited.
“Well, what have we here?” A nasty voice whispered around her ear. “A pretty little ladybird, out for an evenin’ stroll.”