Page 59 of The Curious Life of the Unfortunate Duchess
It was a cold, dank place, a root cellar, she guessed, and although she was kept in the dark, enough sunlight filtered through the slats above to display shadowy jars on wooden shelves.
Elizabeth was unsure how long she had been inside the cellar. She had been knocked unconscious and had awakened bound to the chair.
She had mistakenly believed that the ruffians were taking everyone along with them, and her instinct to protect Frances and Catherine had overridden her wits. Taken over by her will to survive, she had lashed out, kicking one of the men in the face with the sole of her shoe.
“You wretched wench!” the injured man howled, as she scrambled to get back to her sister and friend. “How dare you?”
But Elizabeth was not fast enough and as she thrust her body toward Catherine, Frances’ shrieks filled the night sky and the second robber seized Elizabeth by the waist.
“You have nowhere to go, strumpet! Stop your fussing!”
That had been the last Elizabeth recalled, the blow to her head causing the world to fall into blackness. Upon waking, relief filled her when she realized that neither Catherine nor Frances was with her. She prayed they had not been taken.
Dear God, please let them be alive,she thought.And the coachman, also. None of them deserve such a terrible end.
Elizabeth knew she could not waste her strength mourning what could have become of her companions. She needed to find her way out of the cellar before something terrible happened to her. She did not know why she had been taken but it was clear that nothing good could come of her captivity.
If the men were willing to rob and kidnap helpless ladies, what else might they do?
Elizabeth again moved the thought away. She could not afford to lose her wits to histrionics.
“Hello?” she yelled out. “Is anybody there?”
She paused, listening for footfalls from above. While she thought she heard a mild scuffling, she could not be certain if the pain in her head was causing her to hear something which was not there.
“Hello?” she called out again, her throat dry, her mouth seemingly filled with cotton. “Can you hear me?”
Although Elizabeth had never known any such trouble, and knew very little about the comings and goings of highwaymen, she was relatively sure that if they meant to abduct her, she would not be held in a place where she could be easily heard by passerby. Still, that did not stop Elizabeth from raising her voice. Her windpipe ached at the scream she let forth.
“Help me!” she howled, her voice cracking. “If there is someone there, please, set me—”
“Shut your brazen little mouth!”
Elizabeth jumped in her seat, not realizing that someone had already let themselves into her underground prison. She moved her head back slightly but not so much that her captor might realize that she could see. It was the one she had kicked in the face. She could make out the faint line of her shoe in red along the left side of his cheek. He no longer wore the kerchief and she examined his face, committing it to memory as his features registered in her mind.
She did not know the man, she was certain. That would be a benefit to her later, she was sure.
“You must be daft if you think anyone but us can hear you.”
He had an Irish brogue. Elizabeth remembered some of her father’s laborers had the same. She tried to recall if the other one had it also but her head was throbbing too much for her to dredge up the sound of his voice.
“I need water, please,” Elizabeth told him. “My throat is raw.”
He was taken aback.
“You do not give the orders around here, Miss. You will get water when we give you water. Now stop your hollering before I give you another whack on the noggin.”
“Please, sir!” she called out again, desperate to keep him if only for another minute. “Will you tell me what became of my sister and friend? Are they alive?”
She heard him grunt.
“Of course they are alive! What do you take us for?” he grumbled. “You would not have been on the wrong end of that knock if you had just done what we told you. Instead, you kicked me in the face. How is that for ladylike?”
Elizabeth sobbed yet she nodded gratefully.
“Thank you,” she mumbled. “Thank you for sparing them. I am sorry about your mouth.”
She was not sorry in the least but she was not going to gain his trust by letting him know such a thing. Again, he paused, eyeing her uncertainly as though she was not precisely what he had expected.
