Read Online The Gilded Cage by Lucinda Gray - Free Book Online

Bath,” I say. “Matt said his horse was gone first thing.”
    Henry shares a look with Grace.
    â€œWhat is it?” I say.
    Henry clears his throat. “Croxley came back to the stables an hour ago. He was cold with wandering, but Matt’s seen him right.”
    I fall back against the couch, shaking my head.
    â€œHe must have thrown your brother on that bridge before running off,” Henry continues. “He could be wild, that one. He damn near toppled me once.”
    Grace tsk s her tongue at the profanity, and in the hush that follows, all eyes watch me with unspoken pity. Except John, who lowers his gaze. Dr. Ebner rattles through his medical bag before producing a small bottle of something that I can tell will be sickly sweet just by looking at it.
    â€œI will examine your brother’s body, Lady Randolph,” he says, “to determine whether it was the fall or the water that killed him. But you mustn’t trouble yourself with such unsavory things. It’s imperative that you take something to calm your nerves.”
    My energy spent, I allow him to administer the syrupy medicine. Grace asks him in quiet tones whether the body must truly be examined, and Henry retreats to the fire, to stand close by Jane.
    The room seems suddenly terribly full with people. As the medicine takes effect, my mind grows fuzzy at the edges. I sense more than see John steal toward me, and then cover me with his coat. Its familiar smell of horses and wintry air fills me with such grief I feel weak.
    As I drift into sleep, I hear two servants by the fire, speaking low. “You won’t catch me going outside after dark again,” one mutters. “Not now that the Beast of Walthingham has claimed another.”
    *   *   *
    I’m alone now even in my sleep, too drugged and exhausted for dreams. When I wake, it’s still dark. Clutching for John’s coat, I find the silken coverlet of my own bed. Someone’s carried me upstairs and stripped me down to my smallclothes.
    By the fire’s dying glow, I can make out a sleeping shape on a chair next to the bed. My heart expands—then contracts like a fist when I see that it’s too small to be a man. After a moment I understand that it’s Jane. Stella, splayed across her lap, rouses for a moment, then twitches back into sleep.
    My mind flies to my brother, lying in cold solitude at the far end of the house. Can he really be gone? It seems impossible. A cavernous loneliness yawns below me as I shift to sitting, shivering despite the closeness of the air.
    I shroud myself tightly in a trailing blanket and steal from the stifling room, pinching at the ache between my eyes. Silently I make my way toward the west wing, averting my gaze from the door that leads to my brother’s former chambers. I’ve only ever seen the damaged wing from the grounds. A hastily built temporary wall separates it from the rest of the house; when I unlock the workmen’s door and step over the threshold, drafts bite at my skin.
    Moonlight through uncurtained windows illuminates sheet-covered shapes and shining patches of incongruously ornate wooden floors. There’s a slight scuttling sound in the walls; I pause a moment, and it fades away. After a few wrong doors, I find my way to George, laid out in a small parlor.
    They’ve placed him on a high, spare table, so perfectly suited for his long shape that I can’t imagine what use it had before this. I drop my blanket and move to his side. The house breathes around us, full of silent, sleeping life, and I can’t stand the thought that George alone will never wake.
    My daredevil brother thought himself invincible, it’s true. He was known to ride without a saddle, to dive into shady pools without checking their depth, to wander too close to animal dens in pursuit of the perfect vantage for painting. But he was no fool. Why would he ride in bad light on an icy