Chapter 5 Lines of Captivity

“That path collapsed years ago.”

“Part of it did.”

“It leads to the cliff.”

“It leads to the shepherd’s trail.”

“The trail is barely wide enough for goats.”

“Then I’ll try to think like a goat.”

“This is not funny.”

“I know.”

Clara gripped her hands. “What will happen if you fall?”

Jessie glanced toward the corridor. “What will happen if I stay?”

Clara’s eyes filled with tears. Jessie squeezed her fingers.

“I need a cloak,” Jessie said. “Plain wool. Not mine.”

“You’ll be recognized.”

“Not in the dark.”

“The guards carry lanterns.”

“Then I won’t go near them.”

“When?”

“Tonight.”

Clara shook her head immediately. “No.”

“Clara.”

“No. The rain will make the path worse.”

“The rain will cover my tracks.”

“It will also wash you off the cliff.”

Jessie exhaled. She had known Clara would resist. That was why she needed her. Anyone else would help out of fear or loyalty. Clara would force her to think.

“I’ll take a rope.”

“From where?”

“The stable loft.”

“The stable is guarded.”

“The main doors are guarded. The hay hatch isn’t.”

“You can’t climb to it in the rain.”

“I used to do it when we were children.”

“You were thirteen.”

“I was excellent at thirteen.”

“You broke your wrist.”

“Only once.”

Clara closed her eyes. “This is madness.”

“No.” Jessie looked toward the nearest window. Beyond the glass, clouds pressed low over the fields. “This is the last ordinary choice I have.”

Clara opened her eyes. “What does that mean?”

“It means I run tonight. I reach the shepherd’s trail, follow it north, and cut toward Bellhaven.”

“Bellhaven is fifteen miles away.”

“I can walk fifteen miles.”

“Not in one night.”

“I don’t need to. I only need to reach the abandoned charcoal huts before dawn.”

“And then?”

“There are traders on the northern road.”

“With what money?”

Jessie hesitated, and Clara saw it.

“You don’t have any,” she said.

“I have my mother’s brooch.”

“Your father will report it stolen.”

“It belongs to me.”

“That will not matter.”

“It may buy me passage.”

“Where?”

“Anywhere Maddox does not rule.”

Clara’s expression crumpled. “You don’t have a plan.”

“I have part of one.”

“You have a cloak, a cliff, and a brooch.”

“It’s more than I had this morning.”

“That doesn’t make it good.”

“No.” Jessie’s voice softened. “But it is necessary.”

Clara looked away. Rain tapped against the window beside them.

At last, she whispered, “What do you need me to do?”

Jessie nearly sagged with relief. “Nothing dangerous.”

“That is a lie.”

“Nothing especially dangerous.”

Clara frowned.

“I need you to bring supper to my room tonight,” Jessie said.

“That is hardly suspicious.”

“Bring enough for two.”

Understanding came slowly. “You want them to think I’m with you.”

“For as long as possible.”

“And where will I actually be?”

“In my bed.”

Clara stared at her. “You expect me to pretend to be you?”

“Only if someone checks.”

“They will see my hair.”

“Wear my nightcap.”

“You have red hair.”

“Most people are less observant after midnight.”

“This is a terrible plan.”

“I know.”

“You keep saying that.”

“I don’t have time to make a good one.”

Footsteps approached. Jessie released Clara’s hands as two servants passed carrying a rolled carpet between them. Neither looked their way. When the corridor emptied, Clara whispered, “What if Captain Rowan catches you?”

Jessie thought of his face in the parlor: the shame, the loyalty, and the certainty that he would stop her anyway.

“Then I’ll ask him whether he remembers teaching me how to use a knife.”

Clara paled.

“I’m not going to stab him,” Jessie said.

“That is not reassuring.”

“I’ll leave at eleven.”

“How?”

“The servants’ stairs. Through the old linen room. Across the rear roof to the kitchen courtyard.”

Clara blinked. “You’ve planned that part.”

“I’ve been planning exits since Father confined me last month.”

“And the hunting lodge?”

“I’ll keep west of it.”

“The Baron’s men may patrol.”

“Then I’ll hide.”

“Where?”

“The forest.”

“In the dark?”

“Yes.”

“With wolves?”

“I prefer wolves.”

Clara stared at her for a long moment. Then, despite everything, a tiny laugh escaped her.

Jessie smiled. “There you are.”

“Do not make me laugh. I’m furious with you.”

“You can be both.”

Clara wiped quickly at her eyes. “What happens when you reach Bellhaven?”

“I sell the brooch. I’ll change my name. I’ll find work.”

“You have never worked.”

“I’ve worked very hard at disobeying my father.”

“I don’t believe that is a trade.”

“It should be.”

They returned to Jessie’s room before Pritchard noticed their absence. The rest of the afternoon moved with unbearable slowness. Jessie attended luncheon, discussed flowers with her father’s housekeeper, and allowed two maids to test arrangements for her hair. At dinner, she ate roasted pheasant while Lord Vale reviewed the guest list.

She nodded in the proper places. She asked whether the Baron preferred red wine or white. Her father watched her with open suspicion, and Jessie smiled sweetly. Afterward, she retired early.

Clara brought a supper tray at half past nine. At ten, the corridor quieted. At half past ten, Jessie changed into an old brown dress and pulled on a pair of riding boots. She braided her hair tightly and hid it beneath a servant’s cap. The plain cloak Clara had found smelled faintly of onions. Jessie considered that a useful disguise.

“You still have time to stop,” Clara whispered.

Jessie fastened her mother’s brooch inside the dress. It was shaped like a silver bird with tiny green stones for eyes.

“I don’t,” she said.

Clara held out a small kitchen knife. Jessie looked at it.

“For wolves,” Clara said.

Jessie took it. “Of course.”

“And men.”

Jessie slid the knife into her boot. “Especially men.”

At three minutes before eleven, they heard Pritchard’s steps in the corridor. Jessie slipped behind the bed curtains while Clara climbed beneath the blankets wearing Jessie’s nightcap. The door opened without a knock. Jessie held her breath.

Pritchard stood in the doorway with a candle. “Lady Jessie?”

Clara made a sleepy noise. Pritchard waited. Jessie could see the glow of his candle through the fabric. At last, the door closed and his footsteps faded.

Clara threw back the blankets. “I hate you.”

“You were magnificent.”

“I made one noise.”

“A convincing noise.”

Jessie hugged her. Clara clung to her for a moment.

“Please come back if the path is too dangerous,” Clara whispered.

Jessie closed her eyes. Coming back meant the dress, the altar, and the Baron.

“I’ll be careful.”

“That is not what I asked.”

Jessie stepped away. “I know.”