Chapter 22
Chapter Twenty-Two
Ellen jerked out of her doze as the rusty shed door creaked open.
She tensed in the darkness, listening for any clue as to what might happen.
She didn’t know how long she’d been in this muddy pit.
Her backside had gone numb, and vomit stained her dress.
I’m likely a hair’s breadth away from catching pneumonia.
Heavy, pained breathing filled the small space. A thud echoed around the small tin box, something dumped onto the wet, dirty floor. Then the rustling of clothes, as if someone was crouching.
She bit her lip to cut back her cries as she twisted her hands. The rough rope tore into her already-bleeding wrists, and she let out a shaky breath. It was too tight. The knots around her ankles were just restricting.
A grunt of pain filled the thick, wet air, then more rustling. Through the open shed door a tiny shaft of light lit the interior just enough for her to make out O’Malley’s silhouette.
“What are you doing?” Her voice cracked.
“Taking care of you,” O’Malley grunted, one heavy boot thudding in the mud toward her.
Ellen’s heart raced. “You’ll have to let me go. My husband will report me to the police. I’m too well known in this neighborhood for you to get away with this. Everyone knows how much you hate me.”
“Shut it!” His fists clenched at his side.
“They’ll hang you if you murder me,” Ellen blabbered on, panic clogging her throat along with the acidic aftertaste of vomit. “My husband will track you down.”
He laughed, and the sound sucked all the air out. “Your husband is right here.”
Ellen’s stomach dropped. “Is he dead?” Her numb fingers couldn’t make a fist.
“I suppose we’ll find out if he hasn’t woken in a few hours.”
“If you kill us you’ll certainly hang.” Ellen twisted in the mud, fighting for anything she could use to free herself or throw at him. There was nothing.
“It’s been raining for nigh on a week. Plenty of drowned bodies will float down the Thames over the next few days. I don’t see why you both can’t be among them.”
All the air left Ellen’s lungs. “Please,” she croaked. “Let my husband go. I know you hate me, but you’ve no cause to hurt him.”
O’Malley laughed again. “I’ll see if you’re still alive in a few hours.” He slammed the door shut behind him, and over the rain on the leaky roof she could just make out the noise of a key in a padlock.
She slumped against the splintery wood wall.
A puddle grew a few feet from her, and Ellen had watched it grow nearer and larger until the sun had set.
The spongy softness of the mud seeped around her.
Can I dig my way out? But no, her hands were tightly bound behind her back, and there were no sharp objects to cut the rope with.
After some time—perhaps moments, but it felt like years—a soft groan came from the dark corner of the shed.
“Mark?” Ellen scrabbled against the mud, fighting to turn toward the sound. “Mark!”
“Ellen?” His voice was slurred. “What...what happened?”
“It’s Seamus O’Malley, Mark. You were right. I’m so sorry. You were right about watching out for him. He kidnapped me and somehow he got you and I think he plans to drown us in a few hours and we’ll be fish food in the Thames.”
Silence reigned for a moment. Then, “I thought I had him. I slipped in the mud.” He spat. “It’s disgusting.”
Giddy relief at his voice made her shiver, and she actually giggled. “Mud wouldn’t taste very good,” she agreed.
“My naval commander can never know I lost a fight because I slipped in mud. Are we in the shed?” Mark’s voice was tight, perhaps from pain.
“Yes. Did he hurt you?” Ellen wished she could crawl over to him, to feel his cuts and bruises with her hands, to soothe him with her touch. He’s here because of me.
“I’ll have a black eye tomorrow. Definitely a bruised jaw.” Mark paused. “Has he hurt you?”
“Nothing major. He tied me up tight enough I’ve lost feeling in my feet, and I’m fairly sure my wrists are bleeding from the rope.”
“I’ll kill him,” Mark vowed. “No one hurts my wife.”
Despite their circumstances, a spark of pleasure trickled down her spine at his rough words.
“I wasn’t sure you’d come,” she confessed.
“We parted on such bad terms. I…” She trailed off, not certain what to say.
I’m sorry? I was wrong? I’m glad you’re stuck here with me?
Thank God you’re alive but this doesn’t solve our problems?
Mark shuffled, as if he was feeling around their prison. “Of course I came for you, Ellen.”
The declaration made her heart warm, despite the chill in her limbs. “It’s a small shed,” she told him. “Just the one door, near you. No windows. You can feel the roof leaking. You’re probably about a pace away from me. I’m tied to a stake in the ground so I can’t join you.
“I said some things I should apologize for,” Ellen blurted.
“I was so shocked, and I let my mouth run on, and I’m sorry.
I should’ve given you the benefit of the doubt.
I know you didn’t force me to have a baby.
And…and if you truly love Oxford, we can make something work.
I’d hate being apart from you, but if that’s your dream, then perhaps you can visit me on the weekends. ”
“Ellen.” His quiet voice interrupted her, but she kept talking, wanting it all out before she lost her courage.
“Mark, I love you. I’m so scared to love you again, but it’s too late, and I do and I will trust you, I promise. We’ll figure out all of this together.” She thought back to his stricken expression at the breakfast table, how he’d seemed genuinely shocked and confused.
“Ellen.”
“I know I hurt you earlier, accusing you of things you didn’t do, and I’m sorry.” He hadn’t been withholding from her to manipulate her, but to keep stress from her. Especially if he believed he’d resolved the issue. Even if that was a rather stupid lack of communication.
“Ellen.”
Her heart pounded in her ears. “Yes?” she whispered, steeling herself for a gentle reproof.
“Can we talk about this after we get out of here?”
Heat crawled up her neck, staining her cheeks. “Oh. Yes. Sorry. Of course.”
She fell into miserable silence. Maybe she was that vapid, shallow girl he’d grown to hate all those years ago.
The silence grew unbearable, a heavy weight that began to crush her. “Are you…?” She couldn’t think of how to finish the sentence.
“I’m thinking.”
“Right. Take all the time you need to think about it. I can wait. We have a few months before you’re offered a fellowship, and—”
“I’m thinking about how to get out of here.”
Ellen leaned her head back against the rotten wood. “Sorry,” she whispered.
After a moment, Mark sighed. “Sweetheart, I’m sorry. I don’t mean to be short with you. I’m worried about you and the baby in the cold weather. You’ve been here in the mud longer than I have, and you said your feet are numb. I’m terrified if I don’t get us out of here soon enough, I’ll lose you.”
“You won’t lose me,” she said breathlessly, hope stirring in her heart. “Never, Mark.”
“When we get out of here I’m going to pick you up, get you in a warm bath, and kiss you senseless.” Now his growl sounded far more arousing than annoyed. “I love you, Ellen Hanson Glenfall. My only agenda is to love you and be by your side. I swear it.”
Ellen sniffled.
“Are you crying?” he asked desperately. “Ellen, my love, hold on. Don’t despair. I’ll get us out of here.”
“I’m crying at your speech,” she squeaked. “I’ll never let you out of my sight either.”
By the squelching noise, Mark rolled on the ground to reach the door.
“I need you in my arms, under me, surrounding me,” he told her, and kicked the door with both his tied feet.
“I’ll get us out.” He slammed into the wood again.
Unfortunately, the door was of newer, better quality than the walls. It held against his assault.
The roof, however, shook each time he rammed his heels into the door.
Ellen glanced up, nervous. “Mark?”
He grunted, pounding again and again.
Something creaked above her. The wood at her back shuddered. “I think we need to be careful,” she began. And then it happened. There was a great, cracking noise above them and wooden beams, shingles, and clapboard collapsed on top of them, followed by great rivers of water.
Ellen ducked her head, curling into as tight a ball as she could, and coughed at the pungent smell of mold and rot.
Wooden fragments covered her legs, and the rain slammed into the mud beside her.
Shingles lay scattered about. Ellen breathed slowly, checking herself mentally.
Her legs were numb, which wasn’t good, but wasn’t all that terrible.
She was still tied in the corner, and grateful for the support the stronger corner walls had given her.
A mound of rubble separated her from Mark.
“Mark? Mark!” she screamed. “Mark, are you there?”
Most of the four walls still stood, but the roof had fallen and cut her off from any means of escape, if she ever could get the ropes undone. Ellen writhed against her bonds, beyond caring about the pain. She shrieked in rage and desperation, kicking at the weight on her feet.
“Ellen,” he gasped, barely heard over the pounding rain.
“Oh, Mark,” she sobbed. “Mark, you’re alive.”
“Yes,” he wheezed. “Did anything fall on you?”
“Yes, my feet, but I’ll survive,” she told him. “I was in the corner, and it protected me. What about you?”
“Probably a cracked rib or two,” Mark got out, pain threading through his voice.
“What are we going to do?” Ellen fought to take deep, slow breaths, to still her body and not panic.
“Well...if I can get these beams off my chest, there’s a hole in the wall beside me.”
Ellen perked up. “Is it big enough to climb through?”
“Yes. The blasted door is still up, but I can get through the hole.”
“Do it!” Elation surged through her veins. “Can you get the beams off?”