Chapter Nine
One Half of the Truth
Isadora tried to escape the house before she was caught by either Milo or her husband but she could not be so lucky.
No sooner had she stepped foot out the back door than Milo’s voice rang out.
“What have you done, you wretched wench?” he howled, lunging after her as she tried to slip away. “Have you told him the scheme?”
“I have told him nothing!” she screamed but he pressed a hand across her mouth and yanked her toward the work shed, pushing her roughly inside.
“You told him something. He is suspicious of me!”
“He is suspicious of you because you are incessantly present! You do not behave as a proper butler. He has been suspicious of you since the day you arrived here!”
“Or perhaps,” Milo hissed, his face inches from hers, “you have been whispering lies in his ears while he sleeps.”
She thought of the questions Desmond had asked that morning and she wondered if she had spoken Milo’s name in her sleep. She grew dizzy with apprehension.
I cannot do this. We must leave this place before Desmond learns what Milo has planned.
“Our story is weak at best, Milo,” she told him softly. “We must leave here before he begins asking questions and—”
“He is already asking questions!” Milo exploded. “And you have yet to deliver any substantial amount of money. I did not travel by that monstrosity for six weeks to come here empty-handed. You will find the money due to me and only then will I consider taking you from here.”
“No.”
The single word caused shivers to spike down her spine but it was too late to recant it, not when Milo had so clearly heard what she said.
“No what?” he demanded, his eyes becoming icy orbs.
“I will not steal from him. I cannot do this, Milo. I want to leave.”
“You want to leave?” he leered, reaching his hand up around her throat. “Or you wish to stay here, Mrs. Waters?”
Of course, the answer was obvious but she did not admit to anything. All she knew was that the moment she got any significant amount of money in his hand, Milo would kill Desmond and he would be gone forever.
“I will not do it. If you wish to steal from Desmond, I will not help you. I want to leave.”
His fingers closed around her throat and she gasped for air.
“I do not give a horse’s tail what you want to do, Clara. You belong to me and you will do what I say if you wish to live to see another day.”
“Unhand me!” she choked, slapping out at him but he did not release her.
“Not until you agree to get the money as we schemed.”
Black spots began to stain her vision and she realized she had mere seconds remaining before she fell into unconsciousness, but she could not bring herself to agree.
“I… do… not belong… to… you…” she managed to gasp, although how, she was not sure. Her eyes closed and she was certain she was dead when the blackness fell, her final thought that she had died in the arms of her captor, not her lover.
Because I am not Isadora Waters or Isadora Childs. I am Clara Chapman and unworthy of love.
~ ~ ~
She heard birds chirping and as her eyes fluttered open, Clara thought she was in heaven. There was nothing but whiteness and the cool, sweet smell of grass wafting through her nostrils.
“Oh, thank heaven!” Bridget muttered, her face appearing overhead. “You are awake.”
It took several seconds for Clara to realize that she was in her old bedchambers, the curtains from the canopy swirling slightly in the breeze of the open windows.
“W-what happened?” she whispered but her throat was far too parched for her words to make any coherent sense.
“I will fetch you some water.” Bridget disappeared but no sooner did she step away than Desmond appeared. Her heart paused in her chest and she struggled to sit up.
“You are all right,” he said, relief coloring his dark features but he did not lose the frown on his face. Bridget returned with a cup and offered it to her, which she took eagerly.
The feeling of cool liquid seeped down her throat and she nodded gratefully at the house servant before turning her eyes toward her husband.
“How did you manage to fool my father?” Desmond asked quietly and fear prickled through her body.
“I do not understand,” she muttered, rubbing her throat cautiously. “Fool your father?”
“You may cut the act, Clara. I heard you in the work shed. How do you think you managed to get here? He left you for dead, I believe. If I had not come for you, the rats would have.”
She suddenly found it very difficult to breathe and Clara opened her mouth to explain it all but no words escaped.
Where would I start with such a tale? How can I expect him to believe anything I say?
There was so much regret, so much sorrow washing through her body, Clara could do nothing but sob as the reality flooded her.
“Forgive me, Desmond,” she managed to whisper after several moments. “I have never had a choice in these matters.”
“Matters?” he echoed, staring at her in shock. “This has happened before?”
She instantly realized her mistake and clamped her mouth closed.
“How many others have you done this to?” he demanded, his face flushing with fury. “We are not even wed, are we?”
She closed her eyes as though willing the entire scene away.
“You cannot ignore me, Clara!”
His voice was laced with anger and the sound of her true name made her heart break into a hundred more shards. She reluctantly opened her eyes again and stared at him with woe.
“There have been six and yes, we are married.”
“How?” Desmond scoffed. “You cannot marry endlessly at will. How could I have been so foolish?”
He turned away and began to pace the room as Bridget held her head down, avoiding Clara’s eyes.
“I did not have a choice,” she begged him. “You saw what he can do, Desmond. I have been at his mercy since I was a girl, sold by my master.”
He froze before turning slowly to stare at her.
“Sold?” he echoed and she could see that in spite of all he had learned, he still cared for her.
“Please,” she whispered. “My intention was never to see harm come to you, Desmond. Milo was not supposed to have followed me but he did somehow landing here…”
“That is quite odd, is it not?” Desmond agreed, his brows raising slightly as though he just realized the oddity. “Quite strange.”
“Has Milo run?” Clara squeaked, her eyes darting toward the door. “Or have you punished him already?”
Desmond shook his head slowly.
“Milo knows nothing about this,” he replied quietly. “And it shall remain that way until I can figure out what to do with you.”
She hung her head miserably, tears flowing freely down her cheeks. She had not expected that he would forgive her for such a terrible transgression but she had hoped…
“Let me see your neck.”
He perched at the bedside and looked at her throat, his face darkening with rage.
“You will remain here under Bridget’s care. Milo will not come within five yards of this bedchamber without my knowledge. Is that clear, Bridget?”
“May I stay in our bedchambers?” Clara whispered. “I would feel much safer there.”
“We do not have a bedchamber as we are not man and wife,” Desmond spat back. “You will stay here. Do not leave for any reason whatsoever.”
“Desmond,” she moaned. “We are married. None of the others…”
She trailed off, uncertain if her next words would make her case stronger or cause Desmond more distress.
“None of the others what?” he growled, rising from the bedside. “Had any meaning to you? That does not annul a marriage.”
“None of the others are alive.”
Bridget gasped, a hand flying to her mouth.
“How can it be that you have outlived six husbands?” he demanded but something in his face told Clara that he understood precisely what she was telling him.
“Milo,” she mumbled. “You must secure him, Desmond. He already believes you are suspicious of him and he will only act irrationally when cornered, not unlike a trapped animal. Please, no matter what you think of me, you must not permit him an opportunity to harm you.”
Desmond’s mouth became a snarl and to her surprise, she did not read a modicum of fear in his face.
“I would very much like to see him try,” Desmond growled, spinning toward the door.
“What will you do?” she cried out after him. “Do not be impulsive, Desmond!”
Yet her husband was gone before she could plead another word, leaving her alone with Bridget.
“I am sorry, Bridget,” she sniffled. “I did not wish to be here. I have not wished to be part of any of it.”
“Does Milo pay you well?”
Clara looked up at her and laughed mirthlessly.
“Pay me?” she repeated. “We live in a gypsy camp, in tents and wander the countryside. I only sleep in houses when I am married and I only eat well then, too.”
“He does not pay you a cent?”
“No!” Clara cried, fresh tears filling her eyes. “This is not a matter of money! I have nothing, no one. I have never felt truly loved before coming to Darkbrook, and now…”
She gestured helplessly around as if to depict all she had lost. A glimmer of pity sparkled in Bridget’s eyes and Clara sank back into the pillows, her heart pounding.
“I wish you had confessed the truth to me when I had asked,” Bridget told her finally, quietly. “If you had told Mr. Waters about Milo when he arrived…”
“And risked that Milo kill us all? I could not!”
“You were simply going to permit Milo to murder Mr. Waters?” Bridget was aghast.
“Of course not!” Clara cried, springing back up into an upright position. “I would never permit anything to happen to Desmond. I love him!”
I do love him but he will never love me again. How could he?
Bridget sighed heavily and shifted toward the bedside.
“You must rest now. There is little else to do while you wait for word.”
“Bridget, I cannot simply lie here, knowing that Milo is a murderer. Desmond is stubborn but Milo is cunning. He will cause the death to seem an accident.”
To Clara’s amazement, a slight smile touched Bridget’s lips and she shook her head.
“You must rest,” was all the house servant said and Clara eyed her.
“How can you possibly smile at a time like this?” she demanded.
Bridget sighed and cast her a long look. “I have no doubt in Mr. Waters’ ability to defend himself,” she replied quietly. “You need not fret about him.”
“But—”
Bridget held up her hand and shook her head again.
“I will not discuss this matter further, Mrs. Waters. I have my orders from Mr. Waters.”
Clara knew arguing was futile but she was curious as to where Bridget’s confidence had sprung from and she decided to ask.
“How can you be so nonchalant about the matter, Bridget? I am beside myself with worry.”
Bridget sighed and smiled.
“Because, Mrs. Waters, you are not the only member of Darkbrook who carries murderous secrets,” she replied.
It was not a response to ease Bridget’s mind.