Page 87 of The Curious Life of the Unfortunate Duchess
“I am hurt, not ill,” she promised. “I only need to find my way to Pembroke.”
Her words escaped in uneven rasps and Elizabeth could not be certain if Mama understood them. If she did, she made no indication and instead ushered Elizabeth along toward the street. A small group had gathered and it did not take much effort to guess that they were there to gawk at Elizabeth. Word of her arrival had spread through the street and all the shop owners peered at her speculatively, whispering without discretion as they stared.
I cannot escape scrutiny anywhere I go,Elizabeth thought grimly but it truly was the least of her concerns in the moment. She did not much worry about what the folks in a town she did not know had to say about her. Her only objective was returning to Brookside, to show her family and Leonard that she had survived.
Mama led her into a small, windowless store up a set of perilous stairs. For a moment, Elizabeth froze, unable to breathe. She was reminded of the root cellar.
“Come along now,” Mama insisted. “You have nothing to fear with me.”
The words inspired some confidence in her and Elizabeth managed to make her way up the steps, the woman flanking her side. The children had located the supplies Mama had ordered, a small pile of blankets and a pitcher of water sitting on a careworn floor inside the dank room.
“Drink,” Mama instructed, gesturing at the carafe but Elizabeth was already stumbling toward it. She gulped back large sips until Mama cautioned her to go slowly.
“You will make yourself sick.” Instantly, Elizabeth felt her stomach lurch and she pulled the pitcher from her mouth. She stared sheepishly at the peasant woman who returned her stare, unsmiling.
“Who are you?” she demanded again. “You say you have been kidnapped but we do not know you.”
“Miss Elizabeth Follett, second daughter to the Viscount of Gordon.”
Mama’s eyes grew wide with recognition and her spine straightened.
“Miss Elizabeth!” she gasped. “I did not recognize you!”
Elizabeth continued to watch the older woman but she could not place her.
“You know me?”
“I know of you,” Mama explained. “I am Mrs. Rachel Cutler. I have seen you about town on occasion.”
“This town?”
“And others. I am a seamstress. I have worked in Gordon frequently.”
Elizabeth nodded but little was making sense in her over-exerted mind.
“Am I in Gordon?” she asked, confused but suddenly she thought of the woods where she had been held and how they had been oddly familiar.
Could I have been in Gordon all along? Was I close to home?
“No, Miss Elizabeth. You are in Wakefield.”
“In Argonshire?”
“Yes, Miss. Please, sit and get warm. You are chattering with cold. I will find some food for you.”
I am not far from Pembroke,Elizabeth realized.Argonshire is where Miss Priscilla hails from.
She sank onto a nearby chair and Rachel rushed to drape a blanket about her shoulders.
“I must return to Pembroke,” Elizabeth finally said. “My father believes me endangered still.”
“You cannot travel until you are examined by Dr. Mallory,” Rachel told her firmly. “And you must eat. How many days has it been since you have touched food?”
The memory of eating was hazy and Elizabeth knew she was right. It would serve no good to start out again when she was in such terrible shape.
“Who took you, Miss Elizabeth? Have you been defiled?”
The pointed question sent a blush to Elizabeth’s cheeks and she frowned slightly but the expression on Rachel’s face was only of concern, not nosiness. Suddenly, the woman appeared much less sour-faced than hardened by life.
