If the family did not keep him near their quarters, then where would they put him? Serena stood still and closed her eyes to think. If Edward’s mind was truly disturbed, might he make tremendous and frightening noise? Her eyes shot open as she gasped in realisation. That scream she’d thought she heard so many days ago! Might it have been Edward? Yes, and if the family did not wish for people to hear such a blood-curdling sound, they must hide him somewhere away from listening ears. Deep in the earth would be safest. Serena drew in a sharp breath. The cellar.
With her slippers making little more than a breath of sound on the smooth floors, Serena tip-toed down the stairwell by the kitchen. As expected, she found the cellar door bolted, a great brass padlock ensuring it would not open easily. She pressed her ear to the door, her fingers splayed against the rough wood panelling as though she might sense his presence on the other side. Did she dare call out?
‘Edward?’ Not much above a whisper. ‘Are you in there?’
When no answer came, Serena swallowed her fears and tapped with her knuckles, raising her voice a little. ‘Mr King? It’s me. Serena.’
She turned her ear back to the door and this time heard a rustle, the shuffling of feet across the floor. Then a rattle as the door shook on its hinges. ‘Serena? Help me. Help me, please.’
His voice was feeble, scratchy, not his usual sound.
‘What can I do? The door is locked. I have no key.’
A thud came against the door. Not as though he attacked it in aggression, but as if he slumped against it. ‘The key.’ Muffled words followed that she could not make out.
‘What is it you are trying to say, Edward?’
‘I cannot think. Mind is foggy. Where is the key?’
‘I don’t know where it is.’
‘Where is the key?’ He mumbled again.
Serena shook her head. At a loss, she turned and leaned her back against the door.
‘It’s on the hook.’
‘What?’ She straightened again. ‘What hook?’
‘Hook.’ There was a long pause. ‘In the kitchen.’
The kitchen. Determination surged through Serena again and she hurried back up the stairs. With the candle held high, she searched for a hook with a key, or keys, on it. The flickering light fell on pots, pans and utensils, all reflecting an eerie gleam. At long last, when she feared the thumping of her heart would surely wake the household, she saw the key. Lifting it from the hook so as not to make any clunking or jingling noise, Serena then raced back to the cellar.
‘I’m here, Edward. I have the key,’ she murmured against the door.
She needed to set the candle on the floor to manoeuvre the lock in its flickering light. After much fumbling and jiggling, Serena recognised the click as the lock released, and she removed it then pulled the bolt. She retrieved her candle, then pushed open the door and stepped inside.
An ache wrapped around her heart at the sight she beheld. Aside from the common cellar occupants—bottles of wine, wheels of cheese, fruit and vegetables, and the odd rat—a paltry cot filled the corner, on which lay a dishevelled Mr King. The damp and cold of the cellar made her draw her robe tighter. The air in the underground room was dank and stale.
Serena sank to her knees beside Mr King, horror filling her chest. How could the family lock him in the darkness, alone? By the odour drifting from his shirt, they had not given him the chance to bathe either. ‘You poor man.’ The words jerked from her throat, almost resembling sobs, and she clasped one of his chilly hands in hers, pressing it to her cheek.
Edward groaned and rolled toward her. ‘Serena.’
Even in the light of the single candle, she saw the glaze over his great dark eyes. They were clouded by blood shot veins. Drugged. Sedated. Imprisoned. The knowledge that his family did this to one they loved shocked and hurt her more than the knowledge that Mr King might be insane.
‘You ... angel. My angel.’ He smiled up at her.
Oh dear. He was delusional. How much of the drug had they given him? And what drug was it? Common sense told her laudanum. She’d seen the effects of it before on her mother. The memory of Mama assailed her then. And all that her death had meant for her family. So much loss. Serena had told Mrs Jones she would leave in the morning, and part of her wanted to do just that. To be with her family. To escape from this terrible house. But another part of her couldn’t leave knowing Mr King was suffering. She let out a long sigh.
‘I love you, Serena,’ Mr King mumbled, his words slurred. ‘Marry me.’
Serena pressed her lips together in a grim line. Even in his delirium, he persisted in making advances. It both pleased her and made her ache even more. She wanted to laugh and cry at the same time. ‘What am I to do with you?’
‘Rescue me. Save me. That’s what angels do.’
When he told her his mind was foggy, he had been understating it. Serena sighed again. Delirious. She released his hand. ‘Only God can truly save. But I can help you to your suite where you will be comfortable. Can you get up?’
In response, he pushed himself to a sitting position. Serena gripped his arm as he stood up, steadying him. Despite his apparent weakness, the muscles beneath her fingers felt firm, tense even, making her catch her breath. Touching him did strange things to her stomach.
Ignoring those flutters, Serena slowly led Mr King to his room where she let him sink onto his bed. He groaned. In pain or relief, she wasn’t sure. As she busied herself making him comfortable, she wondered how the family would react come morning. Indeed, what would she say to them?
It may
