Page 47

The guard must have waved Bash through the gate, because the cart rumbled again.

The wheels thumped over the threshold, causing her to bang her head on the top of the barrel.

She inched her fingers above her head to rub the spot and hopefully block further injuries as she desperately tried to figure out what was going on outside her barrel, but all were speaking low or mumbling, and only Bash’s voice rang true. “Which way to the kitchens?”

She gasped as the barrel was knocked to its side. She braced herself as best as she could as the barrel rolled. Spots dotted her vision, and she swallowed against her churning belly. Please don’t let me cast up my accounts.

The top flew open, and Bash’s arms reached for her. “Sorry it took so long. I had to make it look convincing.”

Her legs tingled from being bent for so long, but Bash’s arms tightened about her and kept her from collapsing.

She rested her head against his broad chest, nearly releasing a sigh of contentment before recalling herself and the task ahead.

She shook her right foot, and as the feeling rushed back she gingerly tested it with her weight, wincing at the sensation of embroidery needles poking her. “I think I can manage now. Let’s go.”

He kept her hand in his as he guided her through the maze of dingy gray halls to the women’s ward, using the guard’s keys a few times to get past doors to reach the next section of the hall.

As they passed door after door, the sounds of despair filled the air, a shriek piercing through every few moments and sending chills down Vivienne’s spine.

At last they reached the women’s wing, which was guarded by a lone man.

He sat at his desk, an open ledger before him as he read his newssheet.

Bash approached with confidence, Vivienne following closely behind. She attempted to mirror his stance. Cross arms, stand straight, and puff out chest. She glanced down and caved her shoulders in. Don’t puff out chest. Slouch.

“Looking for Mrs. Larkby. She should have arrived recently.”

The man lifted his gaze, sheer boredom in his eyes. “And I care why?”

“We’re fetching her. Her family is sending her to Bedlam. Apparently they felt guilty, since they are flushed in the pockets with the old lady’s money.”

He snorted. “Remorseful, are they? That would be a first.” He flipped open his ledger and ran his finger down the list, pausing when he reached her name. “Never seen you two before.” He eyed them. “You say you are with Bedlam?”

“We are new.” He shrugged. “The other fellow got sick before his shift.”

He eyed the kerchief covering Vivienne’s head. “Where’s your hat?”

“Head lice,” Vivienne mumbled.

The man’s nose wrinkled in disgust. “She’s in cell forty-two on the left side.” He tossed him a ring of keys. “Bring the keys back. I do not want to come looking for them when I finally have gotten comfortable on this wretched chair.”

Vivienne was at once appalled by the lack of protocol and grateful for St. Luke’s incompetence.

With the keys and direction, they pressed onward.

Someone rammed into the door beside her, and Vivienne nearly jumped into Bash’s arms but remembered herself at the last moment.

Bash nodded to her, silently asking if she were well.

They kept going, only pausing outside the door marked 42.

“Can it possibly be this easy?” Vivienne whispered in front of the door with a little latched access square at the bottom, which she supposed the staff used to deliver food.

“So far so good.” He unlocked it, an eerie creak releasing from the hinges as he pushed the door open.

Vivienne gasped at the sight of the grand lady’s silver hair streaming to her waist as she stood barefoot in a thin nightgown, her head lifted to the small barred window set high in the wall, as if waiting for dawn’s light to reach her.

A small wooden bed with strewn hay was the only furniture.

Vivienne’s throat tightened over the poor souls condemned to live here.

“Grandmother?” Bash whispered from the doorway.

She faced the window yet and shook her head. “I’m hearing voices now. This place truly is designed to make you mad. I won’t be long now, Lord.”

Bash held the door, and Vivienne crossed the room. She rested her hand on the dear lady’s shoulder. “You are well in body and strong in mind. Do not fear on that score. I told you I would come for you.”

She turned and blinked at Vivienne and then Bash.

Her lips quirked into a smile. “I would think I was imagining you coming to save me, but the sight of Vivienne dressed in Bash’s clothing is beyond my imaginings.

” She wrapped her arms about them both, her body quaking.

“Let us make haste from this place. The very walls cry out from sorrow and abuse. I want to go home—I need my husband’s roses about me. I need his roses.”

“We will see you free from here,” Bash promised, pulling her into an embrace. “But, Grandmother, you must act as if you do not know us. We are supposed to be from Bedlam.”

Grandmother’s lips pursed. “I see. Well, I was always praised for my skills in tableaux as a girl. This should be no problem.”

Vivienne placed a firm hand on her shoulder, as if she were nothing to her, and guided her into the hall, past the many doors, and to the guard’s station.

“W-who are you?” Grandmother moaned, blinking rapidly and muttering under her breath. “Where are you taking me?”

Bash tossed the keys to the orderly with a nod of thanks. “Have a good morning.”

“Is there such a thing in this place?” The man gritted his teeth. “Good luck with that one. She fought me like a wildcat when I locked her up.”

Good for Grandmother! It was a relief that she had fight in her yet. Perhaps the journey to the asylum had awakened her again.

When they rounded the corner, Bash wove his fingers through Grandmother’s, guiding them through the asylum. Thank goodness Bash was able to memorize the path. She shivered at the thought of attempting the rescue on her own. Even she could not imagine herself capable enough to attempt it by herself.

When they reached the trio of barrels in the hallway, Bash lifted Grandmother in his arms. “My apologies, dear heart, but it is the only way past the guard, as we have no credentials to prove your removal.”

She nodded weakly, and Bash nestled her inside and set the lid atop. He moved to Vivienne, his hands at her waist. “Ready?”

She bit her lip, nodding sharply. The idea of being confined again sent her heart to racing.

Lord, help me through this. Let me not give in to my anxiety.

She closed her eyes and focused on the verses Bash had shared from 1 Peter 5.

But the God of all grace, who hath called us unto his eternal glory by Christ Jesus, after that ye have suffered a while, make you perfect, stablish, strengthen, settle you.

She drew in a deep breath and exhaled slowly, training her focus to Christ and the knowledge that Bash would protect her better than any man since her father’s passing.