“We lost all contact after I left the Legion. He did, however, keep in touch with Edith. I read all of his letters while she slept—she hid them in her headboard. Eventually, I decided I could use him to lure her away from the asylum.”

“Why did you want to remove her from Dr. Girard’s care?”

“Girard was making no progress with her, so I talked to him, asked him to consider more radical treatments. But it was to no avail. I’d studied enough to have learned of the potential benefits of medical electricity, and the fact that Madeline and Edith were nearly the same age and build…”

“You befriended Edith so that you might use her to test treatments for Madeline?”

“Can you fault me for it? Would you not do the same for your own husband?” he asked.

“How did you convince her to leave?”

“I told her Vasseur and I had arranged to bring her to live with him in Étretat. I thought it would be dead easy, but she refused to go unless Lucy was with her. She’d told me about the girl early on in our friendship. I would have preferred not to be saddled with her, but Edith grew quite hysterical on the subject, and I knew that Lucy might prove useful herself, so I found her and brought her to Edith’s window on the night we fled. She did not hesitate for an instant once she saw her child.”

“Did Vasseur know what you were doing?” I asked.

“Not at first,” he said. “But Edith managed to send him a letter begging him to meet her in Étretat. He realized her parents didn’t know where she was going, and I suppose felt it would be safe, at last, for him to try to be with her. A terrible misjudgment on his part.”

“You killed him.”

“I tried not to. I explained to him that I wanted to help Edith—to find a treatment that would cure her. But he wouldn’t agree to let me try even one course of electricity on her. He left me no choice, Emily.”

“Please tell me where Lucy is, George.”

“She’s here and safe. I tried to place her at a school in Rouen not long ago, but she cried so much on the way we never even made it to speak to the headmistress. Once things have calmed down here, I shall try again. Madeline and I will visit her, but Lucy will not come here until enough time has passed for this scandal to be forgot.”

“Murder goes beyond scandal.”

“No one will ever connect me with murder.”

The irrationality of this statement pushed indignation ahead of fear in me. “My husband will notice I’m missing, George.”

“Not quite, Emily. He’ll notice you’re dead. When you’re unconscious, I will drop you off this tower, and he will believe you could no longer bear the pain of the loss of your child.”

“He’ll never believe that.”

“Of course he will. You left a note.” He waved a page taken from the diary I’d brought with me to the house and left in my bedroom—I could not read the words, but could guess it was something I’d written in the dark haze of mourning that paralyzed me after my days in Constantinople.

“It won’t work. He’ll recognize it as being from my journal.”

“He’ll be consumed with grief and more malleable than you can imagine.”

“That’s a risky assumption,” I said.

“I’m confident,” he said. “He’s got nothing but a clear mind now and is convinced Laurent Prier killed Edith. If he does decide you were murdered, Laurent will be found guilty of that as well.”

I needed time. Time to get away, time to find Lucy, time to get Cécile and Mrs. Hargreaves away from this house. “We’ve had a raucous, celebratory evening,” I said. “No one would believe I’d kill myself after such a night.”

“You collapsed in the maze,” he said. “You were frightened and overwrought and slipping into madness. Everyone knows you’ve been seeing ghosts, that your grasp on reality has become more and more elusive over these last weeks.”

My situation was beyond dire. “When are you going to do this?” I asked, not bothering to fight back my tears. “Can I at least have time in private to make peace with myself?”

“I’m not a monster, Emily,” he said. “Of course you can. I’m going to check on the others and make sure they’re sleeping soundly—though I can’t imagine laudanum would let me down. I shall return in less than a quarter of an hour and we shall begin. I know it’s hard to accept such a fate, but I beg you to focus on the good that will come from it.”

“Do you have a Bible?” I asked. “It would give me comfort to read.”

“I’m afraid I can’t unfasten your hands so that you might hold a book. I understand all too well how strong the instinct to survive is—you forget I saw how Edith fought. Pray, cry, do what you must. I will return shortly, and promise to be as kind and gentle as possible.”

32

I heard the lock snap into place as he turned the key after closing the door behind him. Knowing I had extremely limited time, I forced all fear, all thoughts of what might lie ahead of me from my head and focused on the only task that mattered: freeing my hands. I twisted and wriggled against the leather straps, but to no avail. They weren’t tight enough to cut off my circulation, but they were too tight to allow for escape. Tears stung in my eyes, but I ignored them, working harder on the leather.

Stretching it seemed the only hope, so I mustered all my strength and pulled as hard as I could, over and over until I could feel the slightest hint of a gap forming between the straps and my wrists. It wasn’t enough, though. Now, instead of trying to free both hands, I expended my energy all on the right, using the whole of my body to tug against the rails on the side of the bed to which I was attached. The leather was bending to my will, but not quickly enough.

And then I heard it. The wailing. The sad sobs, the small voice. Was Lucy up here with me? I was not going to see her lost to the clutches of a maniac like George Markham. I would find her, I would save her, I would return her to Madame Sapin, the only mother she’d known. I felt as if something primal in me had kicked in, enabling me unlimited strength to defend this child.

Only my strength fell somewhat short of unlimited. Nonetheless, with repeated, brutal tugs, I finally managed to slip my right wrist, bloodied and battered, through the binding strap. With a shaking hand, I unbuckled the cuffs on my other hand, ankles, and forehead. Lucy’s cries were fading again, and I rushed in the direction of them, pausing when I realized that if I did not first stop George, there would be no escape for either of us.

I assessed the space around me. There was little furniture, and no hope I could block him out of the room for long. The door opened inward, so I dragged the bed in front of it, figuring its presence might buy me at least a few extra seconds. Then I turned my attention to George’s strange machine.

I’d heard of the use of electricity in medicine, but never paid much attention to the topic. My mother had once mentioned that a long-ago Duchess of Devonshire had been a proponent of it. That, unfortunately, was my entire knowledge of the subject. The device looked simple enough—turning the crank had to provide the power, so I began working on it at once, figuring I would need as much stored up as possible—and I knew George hadn’t been turning it when he shocked me. I then moved the contraption to the bed. Electricity needed metal, so I wrapped the wire George had used to shock me around the tarnished doorknob.

And then I had to figure out how to turn up the current. I played with the dial on the flat surface of the machine’s base, carefully touching the wire. Nothing happened. Frantic, I studied the object before me again, finally seeing a small switch. I threw it, touched the wire, and recoiled at the shock. I then turned the dial farther to the right and touched the wire again. A harder shock.

I spun the dial as far to the right as it would go, made sure the switch was still on, and was careful to touch neither the wire, nor the doorknob. I stepped away from the bed and steeled myself for George’s return, hoping the shock he got would knock him out, even if only momentarily. He’d said he’d not gone even halfway up with Edith, so surely full strength would have a diabolical effect on him.

The thin wail of Lucy’s cry filled the room again. Startled and on edge, I spun around, taking better stock of

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