Page 2 of The Rebellious Lady and the Phantom Lord
The dandy stepped inside, his long nose sniffing the air with distaste as he leveled his quizzing glass at Phaedra. His lady clung close to him, shaking out the polonaise loops of her gown and ducking her head so that her powdery mountain of frizzed hair did not brush against the doorframe.
“Oh, Danny,” the creature wailed, blanching beneath the layers of rouge. “This one’s not even chained.”
“Perfectly all right, miss.” Belda grinned. “She’s quiet most of the time, though she’s been known to get wild. But I’m here to see she behaves herself, ain’t that right, dearie?”
The matron prodded Phaedra’s arm with one pudgy finger. “Say good morning to the nice lady and gentleman.”
“Go to perdition,” Phaedra said, her fingers clamping down harder upon the mattress.
“Naughty, naughty.” Belda pinched Phaedra’s chin until her eyes watered. “Mind your manners. We wouldn’t want to have another session in Dr. Crowley’s tranquilizing chair, would we?”
No, we wouldn’t, Phaedra thought as she yanked her head aside. She would not let Belda goad her into a display oftemper this time. Too often, she had provided the spectacle visitors craved, throwing herself forward to beg for help or railing at them for their heartlessness in coming to gawk at the unfortunate inmates. It was worse when she recognized her visitors, as she did now. The foppish man was Lord Arthur Danby.
He and the lady stood just inside the door, looking her over as if she were one of the animals in the Royal Menagerie. Her tray of food was within reach. How would those two white-powdered heads look with some of Bedlam’s gray stew dripping down into their ears?
Out of the corner of her eye, Phaedra caught Belda’s malicious grin. No, that was just the excuse the matron was looking for. Phaedra gritted her teeth and forced her hands to lie folded in her lap.
Lord Arthur Danby swung his quizzing glass by its string. “Well, she’s hardly worth having paid an extra shilling to see.”
His companion pouted her agreement, unfurling a painted chicken-skin parchment fan before her face.
“I liked that skinny man downstairs much better.”
“The one who kept exposing his privates? Charmelle, you nasty gel.” They both went off into a fit of giggling which Belda interrupted by seizing Phaedra’s hair and forcing her head back.
“But look. This one is a famous noblewoman, Lady Phaedra Grantham. The demented thing tried to take her own life. Threw herself into the river.”
Phaedra pursed her lips to keep from crying out. It’s a lie. I was pushed. Someone tried to kill me. Such statements only ended with her being bound and gagged until the “mad humor” had left her.
“Phaedra Grantham?” Danby stepped forward for a closer inspection.
“Oh, Danny, do be careful,” Charmelle cooed. “Her green eyes look so wild.”
Lord Arthur scratched at his neck beneath the edge of his wig. “But stap me, Charmelle. I believe I’ve met this woman somewhere before.”
Of course you did, you fool, Phaedra thought as she glared up into Danby’s vapid face. The cloying reek of his orange flower-water scent made her stomach chum. You passed out on the floor of the Gold Room the night I first suspected Armande of trying to destroy me, using you as his tool. But I daresay you were too drunk to remember.
Danby scowled as if she had spoken the words aloud, then shrugged as if the effort of memory was too great for him. “Bedlam is full of attempted suicides. I see nothing so interesting about this one.”
Belda released Phaedra’s hair and rolled her eyes piously heavenward. “Ah, but her wickedness goes beyond trying to throw her own life away.” The matron tugged Phaedra’s gown tight against her frame, revealing the slight swell of her stomach. “She tried to kill her poor babe, too.”
Phaedra wrenched her shift out of Belda’s grasp, the heat of anger flooding into her cheeks. Belda’s large breasts shook with her chuckle. “Aye, a babe and this fine lady’s husband long in his grave. So you know the child be none of his getting, unless her high-and-mightiness found some way of lying with a corpse.”
Charmelle shook her head behind her fan. “Tsk, tsk.”
“Get out of here. Get out of my room, you old hag, and take these dolts with you.” Phaedra leaped to her feet, her hands balling into fists.
Belda tapped a finger significantly to her temple. “Thinks she’s still back at her estate, playing grand lady of the manor.”
All three of them stared at her, waiting as if for the curtain to go up on the farce at Drury Lane. She heard Beldasnickering under her breath. The laugh reminded Phaedra of her grandfather, Sawyer Weylin.
“Your passions will be the ruin of you, girl,” the old man had been wont to tell Phaedra. “The flame of your hair burns clean through your scalp, setting your brain afire.”
No, not this time, Grandfather. She could almost see the old man nod his head in approval. So strange to think that she would probably never see him again. Phaedra sank back onto the cot, closing her eyes tight, wrapping her arms around herself until she felt the anger receding. A disappointed sigh escaped Charmelle while Danby yawned.
“Maybe you should refund their money,” Phaedra said to Belda. The matron jerked back her arm to deliver a blow, then lowered it in frustration. Straightening her shoulders, Phaedra sat more erect, suppressing her triumphant smile. Never since entering this place had she felt so much in control.
Lord Arthur stepped aside to examine her food tray. When he raised the cover from the bowl, the odor of rancid gruel permeated the room; he hurriedly pressed a lace handkerchief to his nose.
