They might claim that they were lawyers—but they were more and less than that. As much as that policemen, they had been sent to make sure she didn’t escape, to make sure she was delivered into captivity, a prisoner of her parents’ lack of foresight and the implacable will of a woman who was a complete stranger.
And so she wept, as darkness fell, and the carriage rolled on, and her captors, her jailers, watched her with the cold eyes of serpents in the night.
Chapter Eight
THE carriage rolled on through the night, long past even the most fashionable of supper-hours; evidently the Unholy Trinity were taking no chances on Marina making a bolt for freedom. The carriage rattled over roads not improved by the snow, swaying when it hit ruts, which would have thrown her against her unwelcome seat-mate if Marina hadn’t wedged herself into place. She continued to huddle in her corner, as far as possible from them, back to them, her face turned into the corner where the seat met the side of the carriage, aching legs jammed against the floorboards to hold herself there. By the time darkness fell, she was no longer weeping and sobbing hysterically, but only because she was too exhausted for further emoting. Instead, she stared dull-eyed at the few inches of window curtain in front of her nose while slow, hot tears continued to burn down her raw cheeks. After sunset, she could no longer see even the curtains. The lawyers didn’t bother trying to talk to her; leaning forward to put their heads together, they whispered among themselves in disapproving tones, but said nothing aloud. Apparently it was enough for them that they had her in keeping.
They can’t keep me from writing, can they? They can’t stop me from sending letters—
Well, actually, they could, or rather, her Aunt Arachne could just by refusing to allow her pocket money for postage. It was very clear from the Trinity’s attitude that they had been completely appalled by the household that they had found her in. Evidently Margherita, Thomas, and Sebastian were considered disreputable at best, and immoral at worst.
The Trinity would not have come as they had and acted as they had done if her new guardian had any intention of allowing her contact with the old ones, that much was blindingly clear from the way she had been handled—or, rather, manhandled. Whatever they had expected when they arrived, her situation had evidently fed right into their prejudices and preconceptions. They had expected to find a loose, disreputable, eccentric household quite beyond the pale of polite society, and that was exactly what they’d seen. Which probably contributed to the speed with which they bundled her out of there… their narrow little minds must have been near to splitting, and they must have been frantic to get her away.
And if Aunt Arachne ever finds out I was posing for Uncle Sebastian, she’ll use that as a further weapon against my family.
Given how quickly she’d been hustled away, she could well picture the absolute opposition to any attempt on her part to return. She could see no way that she could win back home—not until she was of age and could do what she wanted.
Horrible little respectable minds!
Three years—it seemed an eternity. She stared into the blackness in front of her nose and tried to think. What to do? Was there, in fact, anything that she could do?
No. And imprisoning me is going to be “for my own good.” How can you possibly argue with that? Worse, everyone, absolutely everyone, would agree with them! Taking me away from “corrupting and decadent influences,” because everyone knows what artists are like.
More tears flowed down her face, and her throat and chest were so tight she had trouble breathing.
It took her a moment to realize that the carriage was slowing; moment later, it came to a stop. A hand tapped her elbow peremptorily.
“Miss Roeswood, we have paused for a moment at a post-tavern,” a cold voice said distantly, its tone one of complete indifference. “Have you any—ah—urgent requirements? Do you need food or drink?”
She shook her head, refusing to turn to look at him.
“Then each of us will take it in turn to remain to keep you company while the others refresh themselves,” the lawyer said, and settled back into his seat next to her, springs creaking, while the other two clambered out of the coach. Since she was wedged into the corner furthest from the door, and facing away from it, all that she saw was the reflection of a little lamplight on the curtains as the door opened. There was a little, a very little, sound of voices from the tavern itself, then the door shut again. She might have been alone, but for the breathing of her unwelcome companion.
She wondered what they would have done if she had needed to use a water closet. Probably escorted me to the door and locked me inside, she thought bitterly.
Her guard was shortly replaced by one of the other two, who had brought food and drink with him by the smell of it. She wasn’t interested in anything like eating; in fact, the strong aromas of onion and cold, greasy beef from his side of the carriage made her feel ill and faint. He ate and drank with much champing of jaws and without offering her any, which (even though she had refused to move and had indicated she had no needs) was hardly gentlemanly.
Her stomach turned over, and she put one hand to her throat to loosen the collar of her cape. Her head ached; her eyes were sore, her cheeks and nose felt as if the skin on them was burned or raw. She shut her eyes and tried to shut her ears to the sound of stolid jaws chewing away at a Ploughman’s lunch and a knife cutting bits off the onion and turnip that were part of it.
They were not going to stop for long, it seemed. The second lawyer returned to the carriage as well in a few moments, and then, hard on his heels the third joined his compatriots. Once he was inside, the third banged on the roof of the conveyance by way of telling the unseen coachman to move on, and the carriage lurched back into motion again. They really weren’t wasting any time in getting her away.
She rested her burning forehead on the side of the carriage and pulled her warm cloak tighter around her shoulders, not against the chill of the night, but against the emotional chill within the walls of the carriage. Were they going to travel all night?
Evidently, they were.
The next stop, a few hours later, brought the same inquiry, which she answered with the same headshake. It also brought a change of horses, as if this carriage was a mail coach. No expense was being spared, it seemed, to make sure she was brought directly into the control of her new guardian.
I hope she’s paying these horrible men next to nothing. From the type of food they’d brought into the carriage—the cheapest sort of provender, a Ploughman’s lunch of bread, pickle, onion, a raw turnip, and a bit of greasy beef or strong cheese—it seemed that might be the case.
I hope it turns to live eels in their stomachs. I hope the carriage makes them sick. She wondered, at that moment, if there was something she could do magically to make them ill, or at least uncomfortable. But she hadn’t been taught anything like that—probably because Elizabeth wouldn’t approve of doing something that unkind even to automatons like these three.
Her spirits sank even further, if that was possible, when she realized that she couldn’t even use magic to communicate with her former guardians. She hadn’t been taught the direct means. There were indirect means, messages sent via Elemental creatures, but hers weren’t theirs. The Undines, in particular, wouldn’t approach Uncle Sebastian—theirs was the antagonist Element.
But—what about Elizabeth?