Chapter 43
An Extremely Rude Awakening
“I lived in perpetual fright at that time, and had all manner of imaginary complaints from not knowing what to do with myself …”
Jane Austen, Persuasion
“Rosalind.”
Her head hurt—threads of pain seemed to have been woven into her skull, and they were all squeezing at once.
“I know, dearest, I know, but you must wake up.”
Adam.
“Look at me, Rosalind.”
He was afraid. He was insistent. How could she refuse him?
Rosalind opened her eyes.
Adam was leaning over her. He held a candle high. The light made her wince.
“Where are we?” she croaked.
Adam didn’t answer. Instead, he gathered her into a one-armed embrace and held her like that for a long time.
At last, he let her go. It was only then Rosalind realized they were both sitting on a dusty floor. Adam put his hand under her chin, bringing the candle close and peering anxiously at her eyes.
“How is your head?” he asked. “Does it hurt?”
“Some, yes.” The words rasped against her throat. Her mouth was dry and her tongue felt leathery. Rosalind swallowed, and swallowed again.
“No blurred vision? Are you seeing double?”
“No. I don’t think so.” She moved his hand away from her chin, but squeezed it gratefully. She wanted to see past him. She wanted to understand what was happening. “Where are we?”
Adam sat back on his haunches. “I don’t know. I only came to myself a bit ago. I suspect that the blows we took were assisted by laudanum, or something similar.”
Now that her eyes had adapted and her mind had stopped spinning so rapidly, Rosalind could see fresh bruises around Adam’s neck. A surge of anger burned through her and she was glad of it, because somehow it also lessened the pain in her head.
“Someone tried to strangle you.”
“And nearly succeeded.” Adam rubbed the dark spots ruefully. “I heard you cry out, and I turned, and the blackguard came at me from behind. I twisted ’round and grappled with him, but he got his hands round my throat.”
Rosalind found she was having difficulty breathing. She could not think about Adam being overpowered. Adam being hurt. Adam being dead.
I will not think about this. I have enough to think about.
“They’ve taken my clasp knife,” Adam was saying. “And my notebook, and my watch.”
“I’m sorry.” That watch had belonged to Adam’s father and he held it dear. It was a small matter at such a time, but it was one she could actually wrap her thoughts around.
He shrugged irritably. “At the moment, I’d rather have the knife back.”
“As would I, I must admit,” she said. “Will you help me stand?”
Adam stood carefully, so as not to extinguish the candle. He reached out his free hand. Rosalind grasped it and pulled herself to her feet. The effort blurred her vision, but Rosalind gritted her teeth and, although she swayed briefly, she found she was able to quickly steady herself.
Now she could see better, not that there was much to see.
They were alone in a small, narrow room.
A low door waited at one end of the room and a shuttered window at the other.
The air smelled of damp, and dust. Filthy whitewash covered the rough walls.
There was no ceiling, only roof beams and timbers.
Cobwebs filled the corners and trailed ghostly streamers down the walls.
The rustling from the shadows said that the mice, and perhaps the rats, were active overhead.
Rosalind decided this was something else she did not need to think about, and instead went to the door. Adam carried the candle to the little window at the opposite end of the room.
“Locked.” Rosalind rattled the doorknob. It turned freely, but the door wouldn’t budge. She bent down and ran her fingers across the wood. “From the looks of it, there was a hasp lock here, but it’s been removed.”
“This has been nailed shut.” Adam straightened up and glared at the window. “And recently. If we needed any more proof that our abduction was planned in advance, we have it now.”
Footsteps thumped on the other side of the door—the unmistakable sound of people trudging up a set of stairs. Rosalind retreated to Adam’s side and he pushed the candle toward her. Rosalind took it and backed away, sheltering the flame. Adam faced the door, and flexed his hands.
There was a jingle of keys and the sound of metal scraping against metal. A moment later, the door opened and Elizabeth Kinsdale walked in, followed closely by a man Rosalind did not know. He had a long, hard face and thick hands.
One of those hands clutched a wicked looking knife.