cooked in sweet Norman butter and doused with a creamy cider sauce—we retired to the sitting room where there was still a space on the wall for the missing Monet.
“Can’t you persuade Sebastian to bring it back?” George asked. “I can’t bear the room without it.”
“And I’m affronted that he no longer appreciates our taste,” Madeline said. She was happy and well- balanced, no signs of her illness tainting any facet of her personality. Her mother, however, had not joined us. She, George had told me, was in the midst of a bad spell, and was keeping to her room, where a nurse tried to calm her by reading aloud.
“I promise I shall ask him about it when next I see him,” I said. “He’s off with Colin now.”
“Saving the world,” George said. “And thank heavens someone will do it. I’m not capable, but I am tired of feeling as if our little slice of paradise is tainted by these murders.”
“It’s deeply unsettling,” Mrs. Hargreaves said.
“But we’re not going to think about it tonight!” Madeline said. “Let’s play cards until it’s dark enough to light the lanterns. I’ve had enough of worry and misery, and now want only to enjoy the company of good friends. Do you like bezique?”
“Only two can play that,” George said. “You ladies divide up and I’ll float between tables giving bad advice to everyone.”
I was not familiar with the game, but Cécile was a huge proponent, and soon she’d taught me the rules. We took one table and Mrs. Hargreaves and Madeline the other, laughter erupting with great frequency as George bounced between us, stealing cards and generally making mischief. Some time after we’d switched partners and I was paired with Madeline, a footman came into the room with a telegram.
George glanced at the envelope and handed it to me. I tore it open. “It’s from Colin,” I said. “He’s well. They’re close, he says, to having the final bit of evidence they need. He doesn’t think it will take more than three days and he’ll be back with us. And he says we’re safe where we are, that there’s no need for any worry.”
“This could not be better news,” George said and turned to the waiting footman. “Take Lady Emily’s reply, my good man, and then bring us a bottle of champagne.”
“You don’t think to celebrate now is premature, my dear?” Madeline asked, concern tugging at her pretty face.
“Only if you object to celebrating again once the madman has been apprehended and jailed,” George said.
“I do not understand, monsieur,” Cécile said. “Objecting to celebration? Is such a thing possible?”
We all toasted and drank to Colin’s efficient success, giddy with relief that the end was all but in sight. I was proud of my husband, delighted with the speed of his success, and eager to return to London. George was about to open a third bottle of champagne when Madeline stopped him.
“Look,” she said, pointing out the window. “They’ve lit the lanterns. Let’s go outside.”
Glasses still in our hands, we stepped into the garden, brilliantly bathed in dancing light, and made our way to the maze. George raised his hands to silence our chattering when we reached the entrance.
“Madeline and I have a tradition of racing each other through the maze,” he said. “Which does, of course, mean we’re starting on unequal footing here, but there it is. I say we all set off at once. And I warn you, I may lead you astray should you try to follow me. First one to the center and back wins. There are five scrolls in the center— pick one up and bring it back with you. I’ve written poems on each and when we’re done we’ll read them aloud.”
It was an excellent idea for an entertainment. We quickly split up after entering the labyrinth hedge, none of us at first wanting the others too close by. Laughter drifted through the night air, Madeline’s louder than the rest. I’d never been particularly good at mazes—I’d forget which direction I’d taken when and found the only way I could make my way through was by not paying too close attention to the fact that I would have to encounter every dead end on my way to the solution.
After more than a quarter of an hour I still hadn’t found the center. As I reached yet another stopping point, a feeling of panic filled my chest, and it seemed as if the dark hedgerows were closing in on me. I slowed my breathing and turned around, continuing on. When I again dead-ended, I retreated back to the last junction I’d been at and tried to remember which way I’d gone before. Making the best guess I could, I marched on, finding myself in the same dark spot I’d been in only moments before. Back at the junction, I turned what I thought was the other way, but wound up yet again in the place I’d started.
Unless it was an identical dead end. I felt trapped, more scared than frustrated, my breath coming faster and my heart rate increasing. Surely I couldn’t have been going back and forth to the same place over and over again all this time? I dropped my handkerchief to the ground and returned to the junction, where I closed my eyes, concentrated, and went in the direction opposite from whence I’d come.
The white linen of my handkerchief struck my eyes like a blow. This time, I marched back to the junction and kept going, but the path only returned me to where I’d been. I’d somehow become trapped in a portion of the maze that went nowhere. I stopped, the feeling of claustrophobia pressing in harder now, and fear gripped me. I couldn’t get out. Couldn’t find my way. Couldn’t even backtrack. I was about to shout for help when I heard Cécile and Mrs. Hargreaves chatting in the distance. Reassured, I reminded myself this could not be so difficult, and set off for another try.
Only to find, once again, my handkerchief.
I could no longer hear my friends, but far away in the distance rose the sound of a thin wail, growing louder and louder as it came closer to where I stood. Shaking, I reached into the bushes, wanting to push my way through them and force my way out, but they were too thick. Running now, I retraced my steps, determined to escape.
This time, I didn’t find my handkerchief. Instead, crumpled on the ground in front of me, I saw a blue satin ribbon. The keening sound had followed me, weak and sad, and I felt as if it was nearly upon me, its eerie moan a plea for help or release.
Against all my principles and everything I believed in, I did something I abhorred with a passion.
I fainted.
31
I woke up to the sensation of someone tenderly rubbing my forehead. I opened my eyes, expecting to see Colin, surprised to find George instead. I parted my lips to speak but he covered my mouth, gently, with his hand.
“Don’t exhaust yourself, Emily. You need your rest now.”
“Rest? I only fainted,” I said, groggy and confused. “I’m fine.” I tried to sit up and realized that I’d been bound to the bed on which I lay. Leather straps at my ankles and wrists secured me, and instinctively I pulled against them. “George! What is this?”
“Just one more, my friend,” he said, and tightened something around my forehead. What a mistake to have thought I’d been awakened by sweet ministrations.
“Where are we?”
“In the tower I’ve convinced Madeline is unsafe. It’s the only way I could ensure privacy for my work.”
“Work? What work?”
“There’s no need to worry about that now, dear.” He stroked my cheek. I flinched.
“Where are the others?”
“At the house, resting happily after drinking the laudanum-laced brandy I poured for them after we came inside. There’s no danger any of them will wake up until morning.”
“What do they think became of me?”
“You, my friend, succumbed to a fit of the vapors after getting lost in the maze. I found you and carried you to your room, where everyone believes you are sleeping peacefully. Cécile herself tucked you into bed. I didn’t move you here until they were all asleep.”
“Our rooms are adjoining. She’ll check on me.”
“She won’t wake up.”
“Why would you do such a thing?” I asked, my heart racing.
