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Authors: Patricia Simpson
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lady,” he exclaimed. “In a detention center or an insane asylum.”
Elspeth sucked in a breath, damning her faulty judgment in having said too much to the wrong person.
“But I can assure you, Shutterhouse, that you will not leave this house until the Overseers have been notified.”
“Please do not betray me,” she begged.
He frowned, pursing his lips over his prominent teeth as he regarded her with his watery but sharp regard. “I have no choice. It was high-handed know-it-alls like you who caused all the trouble in the first place. It appears that you have learned nothing from history.”
She had, but not from the history the Overseers had fed them.
Elspeth swallowed and glanced around the room. She was trapped for certain if she didn’t take a move before Mark returned.
She dashed around the old man in his wheelchair.
“Where are you going, young lady?” Ramsay shouted. “Come back here!”
Elspeth sprinted down the hall, ran past the stairs and yanked open the front door of the townhouse. She fled across the street to Scotland Yard and plunged into a grove of yews, just as the first flakes of snow began to fall.
Chapter Six
Elspeth sat on the hard bench of her cell, a piece of paper in her hand, and her stomach churning with anger. After being pursued through Londo City like a dog, she had been captured two days later and thrown into the detention center near her aunt’s house. Wet, cold, and exhausted, she had been dragged into the same cell as before. They hadn’t given her dry clothing or shoes and had left her to suffer the cold and to reflect on her transgressions. Hours later, an agent of the Overseers had delivered their decision.
The document in her hand ordered her—on the pain of death—to attend her wedding ceremony. She would be transported there by two guards, who would make sure she did not run away. Her aunt would be allowed to bring her a dress for the occasion, but that is all the contact she would have with her family until after the ceremony. They deemed the marriage punishment enough for her rebellious behavior—and they were right. Tying her to a man was the worst prison sentence she could imagine.
Elspeth’s dinner sat untouched on a tray on the small table near the wall. She had no appetite, both for the food and for the day to come. She would be married at Boswellian Bower tomorrow afternoon at 4:00.
She sat there, tired, angry and frustrated, and barely took notice when two people approached her cell. If more agents had come to preach to her, she would cover her ears, curl up against the wall, and refuse to recognize their presence.
“Shutterhouse,” a familiar voice called.
Shivering, Elspeth raised her head, shocked to see Mark Ramsay approach the other side of the bars. Words fled. She couldn’t even utter a greeting. He was dressed in his usual black traveling coat, unbuttoned now, and displaying black and white eveningwear, set off by a white cravat tied at his throat. His family must be celebrating his brother’s wedding by going out for the evening—a rare occasion for anyone these days. He must have come to mock her or upbraid her for disturbing his great-grandfather. Why else the thunder in his expression?
“Why hasn’t this woman been given dry clothes?” Ramsay bellowed, glaring down at the guard.
“It was what the warden ordered.”
“Get her clean things at once!” Ramsay pointed at the corridor behind him. “A blanket as well. And make it quick.”
“I can’t leave you here alone with her.”
“You’ve searched me. I pose no threat. I’m only here to speak to her. Now off with you, before I report such inhumane treatment to the detention commissioner.”
The guard scurried away as Elspeth rose, grateful for Mark’s intercession but surprised to see him all the same.
“Good Lloyd,” he grasped the bars and stared down at her. “Look what you’ve got yourself into, Shutterhouse.”
“The worst is yet to
Elspeth sucked in a breath, damning her faulty judgment in having said too much to the wrong person.
“But I can assure you, Shutterhouse, that you will not leave this house until the Overseers have been notified.”
“Please do not betray me,” she begged.
He frowned, pursing his lips over his prominent teeth as he regarded her with his watery but sharp regard. “I have no choice. It was high-handed know-it-alls like you who caused all the trouble in the first place. It appears that you have learned nothing from history.”
She had, but not from the history the Overseers had fed them.
Elspeth swallowed and glanced around the room. She was trapped for certain if she didn’t take a move before Mark returned.
She dashed around the old man in his wheelchair.
“Where are you going, young lady?” Ramsay shouted. “Come back here!”
Elspeth sprinted down the hall, ran past the stairs and yanked open the front door of the townhouse. She fled across the street to Scotland Yard and plunged into a grove of yews, just as the first flakes of snow began to fall.
Chapter Six
Elspeth sat on the hard bench of her cell, a piece of paper in her hand, and her stomach churning with anger. After being pursued through Londo City like a dog, she had been captured two days later and thrown into the detention center near her aunt’s house. Wet, cold, and exhausted, she had been dragged into the same cell as before. They hadn’t given her dry clothing or shoes and had left her to suffer the cold and to reflect on her transgressions. Hours later, an agent of the Overseers had delivered their decision.
The document in her hand ordered her—on the pain of death—to attend her wedding ceremony. She would be transported there by two guards, who would make sure she did not run away. Her aunt would be allowed to bring her a dress for the occasion, but that is all the contact she would have with her family until after the ceremony. They deemed the marriage punishment enough for her rebellious behavior—and they were right. Tying her to a man was the worst prison sentence she could imagine.
Elspeth’s dinner sat untouched on a tray on the small table near the wall. She had no appetite, both for the food and for the day to come. She would be married at Boswellian Bower tomorrow afternoon at 4:00.
She sat there, tired, angry and frustrated, and barely took notice when two people approached her cell. If more agents had come to preach to her, she would cover her ears, curl up against the wall, and refuse to recognize their presence.
“Shutterhouse,” a familiar voice called.
Shivering, Elspeth raised her head, shocked to see Mark Ramsay approach the other side of the bars. Words fled. She couldn’t even utter a greeting. He was dressed in his usual black traveling coat, unbuttoned now, and displaying black and white eveningwear, set off by a white cravat tied at his throat. His family must be celebrating his brother’s wedding by going out for the evening—a rare occasion for anyone these days. He must have come to mock her or upbraid her for disturbing his great-grandfather. Why else the thunder in his expression?
“Why hasn’t this woman been given dry clothes?” Ramsay bellowed, glaring down at the guard.
“It was what the warden ordered.”
“Get her clean things at once!” Ramsay pointed at the corridor behind him. “A blanket as well. And make it quick.”
“I can’t leave you here alone with her.”
“You’ve searched me. I pose no threat. I’m only here to speak to her. Now off with you, before I report such inhumane treatment to the detention commissioner.”
The guard scurried away as Elspeth rose, grateful for Mark’s intercession but surprised to see him all the same.
“Good Lloyd,” he grasped the bars and stared down at her. “Look what you’ve got yourself into, Shutterhouse.”
“The worst is yet to
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