Page 71 of Grave Expectations
It was pointless arguing with him. He wouldn't listen. His mind was closed, and perhaps touched by the fever, madness, or both.
There were few passersby, and none seemed to notice my peril. I didn't scream or plead for help. Holloway was just mad enough to kill me there on the street. I wanted to glance back to see if Seth and Gus had seen, but I didn't dare.
He shoved me. "Up."
"You want me to drive?"
"We're going somewhere safe. Somewhere far away so I can exorcise the beast from you without disturbance."
I plopped down on the seat and grabbed the reins. He stretched his arm around my shoulders and placed the barrel of the small pistol at my throat. My coat collar hid it, but no one was looking anyway.
"I don't know how to drive," I said lamely.
"Flick the reins."
I did and the horse moved off. Another coachman shouted abuse when he had to pull up quickly to avoid a collision. When he saw that a woman drove, he shook his head. "You should be in the home! Leave the drivin' to them who can manage!"
The horse followed the traffic at a steady pace. I spotted Gus rounding the corner. He didn't see me and I didn't shout out. He would soon notice the coach gone. I felt some sympathy for him and Seth. They would go into a panic when they found me gone.
But I wouldn't try to fight Holloway, nor would I summon my imp. Not yet. I had the perfect opportunity to ask him who'd helped him escape from prison, and I wasn't going to waste it.
I only hoped he wouldn't try to kill me first.
Chapter 14
"Who helpedyou escape from jail?" It was the third time I'd asked, and Holloway no longer bothered to answer. The first time, he denied having help, and the second time he said it was none of my business.
Once we'd left behind the busy streets of central London, driving had become easier. The first half an hour or so had taken all of my concentration to control the horse. Holloway had offered little assistance, only telling me to go faster when the horse slowed.
"I've never driven before," I snapped at him when he once again told me the pace was too slow.
"Don't lie to me. I know your whoremaster taught you to ride."
"First of all, he is not my whoremaster. Or anyone's, for that matter. Secondly, yes he taught me to ride, but not drive." Although I had picked up a little of the technique by watching him and the others. "Where are we going?"
"Be quiet," he growled. "I taught you to speak only when you're spoken to."
"Along with a number of other foolish things. 'Novels will corrupt your delicate mind,' is a particular favorite of mine."
He grabbed my jaw and forced me to look at him. His thumb dug into my skin, mashing my teeth against the inside of my cheek. "Stop it," he hissed.
I jerked away, only to drive the barrel of the small pistol into my neck. I sucked in air as it bit into my skin. "You're hurting me."
"Good. The devil only responds to pain."
He let me go and I remained quiet. I didn't want to risk his ire. He might want to save me, but if I became difficult or a burden, I didn't know what he'd do. His eyes were bright with the fever, his lips pale and his skin glossy. The hand that held the gun at my throat shook. Despite his illness, he seemed alert. He tensed whenever I moved, and that cold metal gun barrel continued to press against me. I couldn't have touched the pendant at my chest even if I'd wanted to.
We headed north and east through London until the houses became smaller and then gave way to industry altogether. High factory walls lined the road on both sides. Enormous chimneys spewed smoke into the already gloomy sky. We passed an ironworks, a rubber works, dye factory and even a piano maker, with a showroom attached. The air in London was never clean, but here it was thick with the odors and sooty smoke of manufacturing. I could feel it on my face, settling into my skin. The few people out on the street in the miserable weather kept their heads bowed and took no notice of us.
I'd never been to this part of the city but I'd taken careful note of our route, and I felt confident I could make my way out again. That's if we stopped soon. I began to worry that Holloway wanted me to drive forever when he finally directed me to enter a lane. It was home to more workshops and factories, but on a much smaller scale, each one jammed up against its neighbor to stake its claim on the street.
"Pull over here." He pointed to a low, brown-brick building squashed between an upholsterer and a French polishing workshop. "Tie the horse to the bollard near the trough."
"What if someone tries to steal him or the coach?"
He didn't answer me. He took the reins and got down first. I followed slowly, not taking my eyes off him. Once on the ground, I touched the pendant at my chest. I could say the words and the imp would save me, but then I wouldn't get answers.
I needed those answers. Who hated me enough to release Holloway from jail and set him upon me? Was this Lady Harcourt's doing too? Or was it someone outside the committee altogether? Either way, finding out would go a long way to proving my worth to them.
