The Duke’s Guests Laughed as the Maid Fell Into the Lake — She Said, “I’ll Remember Every Face”
Chapter 22
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Lord Vane let out a long, slow breath, and for the first time in weeks, his shoulders relaxed. "And the letter?""The boy said it was gone from the stable. If she doesn't have it, who does? Nobody, my lord. I'd wager the old mare kicked it into the straw and it was swept out with the muck. It's gone."Lord Vane nodded slowly. He looked into the fire and smiled. "Tomorrow at 11:00, my daughter becomes the Duchess of Ravensworth," he said. "And then this whole estate belongs to my family. Every penny of it.""And the girl, my lord?"Lord Vane took a long sip of his brandy. When he spoke, his voice was perfectly calm: "After the wedding, the girl goes into the river. No one will miss a maid."Clara lay on the cold stone floor of the mill and listened to the river. It was very loud. The old wheel had broken years ago, but the water still rushed past beneath the floorboards, fast and dark and deep.She knew exactly what Lord Vane had planned for her; she had heard enough of the men's talk on the cart to understand: after the wedding, into the river. A poor maid who had lost her place, lost her mind, and thrown herself into the water. People would shake their heads for a day, then they would forget her, and her father's name would stay dirty forever."No," Clara whispered into the darkness. "Not like this. Not after 15 years."Her hands were tied behind her back with rough rope; her wrists were already raw. She rolled over onto her side and looked around the mill in the thin moonlight: broken barrels, old sacks, a pile of rotting wood, and there, near the wall, the great rusty iron axle that had once turned the mill wheel. Its edge was jagged with rust and broken metal.Slowly, painfully, Clara dragged herself across the floor. It took her a long time. Every movement hurt. When she reached the axle, she turned her back to it and pressed the rope against the sharpest piece of rusted iron.Then she began to rub: up and down, up and down. The iron scraped her skin as often as it scraped the rope. She bit her lip until she tasted blood so she would not cry out.Outside the door, she could hear the guard coughing and stamping his feet against the cold. Once, he opened the door and shone a lantern inside. Clara lay perfectly still against the axle with her eyes closed, like a girl who had cried herself to sleep. The door closed again.Up and down, up and down. It took her nearly two hours. The sky outside the high window had turned gray with dawn when the last thread of rope finally snapped.Her hands were free.Clara sat up and pressed her bleeding wrists against her skirt. She did not let herself rest. She looked up at the broken window. It was high, far too high to reach, but the pile of rotting wood was right beneath it. She climbed. The wood creaked and shifted under her feet. One plank broke, and she nearly fell, but she caught the edge of the window frame with her fingertips and pulled herself up.