Gilded Cage (Dark Gifts #1)(64)

‘I’m sorry, Abigail,’ Jenner said quietly. ‘But please understand, it’s easier this way. I think you know where you’re going from here? It’s not far now.’

‘I know where I’m going,’ she confirmed. ‘Thank you. I’ll be at my desk for eight thirty, as usual.’

Abi turned away with as much dignity as she could muster. She strained to hear the moment when he went back to the house, to at least have the illusion that he stood there and watched her go, but any footfall was muffled by the grass.

She wished people had an ‘off’ switch, she thought as she walked. Something you could just flip to shut down thought and feeling, letting muscle memory go through the motions of putting one foot in front of the other. The confusion in her heart was beyond her brain’s ability to solve. What problem in a textbook was more difficult than this? None.

The cottages of the Row were still out of sight beyond the steep rise that hid the slave quarters from the mansion. Abi was trudging up it when something monstrous and snarling plunged down towards her from the crest. She threw herself to one side as Gavar Jardine’s motorbike gouged past, the beam of its gaze dazzling her for one terrifying instant.

The heir was heading off on parliamentary business, Lady Thalia had said. So what was he doing out here? Suspicion blooming in her brain, Abi jogged up the incline.

From the top she saw the long line of whitewashed cottages, almost luminous in the moonlight. And moving towards them was a shape so large and lumpy that Abi at first thought she was mistaken, until she puzzled it out.

‘Wait,’ she called, and her sister turned and stopped.

Daisy had put on every coat from the hallway pegs: her own, then on top of it their father’s fleece and Mum’s down jacket. She carried an immense nest of blankets in which the swaddled form of Libby Jardine was barely discernible.

‘What are you doing out here?’ Abi demanded. ‘It’s freezing. Why did you let him drag you both outside?’

‘He didn’t drag me anywhere,’ her sister said stolidly. ‘It was my idea. He’s being sent to Millmoor again and came to say goodbye to Libby. I said I’d bring her out and told him to wait beyond the end of the Row.’

‘What on earth for?’

Daisy narrowed her eyes. It would have been comical, if what she said next hadn’t been so disturbing.

‘I wanted to talk to him privately.’

‘About what?’

‘Nothing.’ Her little sister shook her head. ‘Might not happen. If it does, you’ll know.’

Daisy wouldn’t be drawn further. She bent over the blankets, fussing needlessly.

‘You know what Gavar’s like,’ Abi snapped, her frustration finally finding an outlet. ‘You know what Silyen told us about Libby’s mother. He’s not someone you should be having secret conversations with. Don’t be a baby; we’re not in a playground now.’

Daisy glared up at her.

‘It’s Heir Gavar,’ she said. ‘And he’s always been good to me. I’m appreciated. Can you say the same?’

Daisy stomped off back towards the cottage, but Abi had no comeback to that anyway.

It was strange – she had been so certain that an estate would be the best way to keep her family together, safe and comfortable during their days. And yet here they were, divided and vulnerable like they had never been before: Luke in Millmoor, Daisy under the sway of Kyneston’s volatile heir.

What have you managed to achieve, Abi Hadley?

Not much, she told herself. Not nearly enough.

She thrust a hand into her coat pocket and felt around. There it was, the small square of metal cold against her fingertips.

There was at least one thing she was doing that made a difference. She turned her back on both the Row and the great house, and began to walk across the frozen grass.

Inside the kennels, the man was doing press-ups, muscles bunching in his arms and across his back. The cage was too small for him to stand up in, and this was the only exercise he got. As Abi’s shadow fell across him he instantly dropped to the floor, motionless. Which meant his exercise routine was covert.

Which meant that he was not entirely broken by his captivity.

‘It’s me,’ she said, edging closer. The light had been on in the Master of Hounds’ rooms in the eaves, which meant that the kennels would be unstaffed, but he would be close enough to hear any disturbance.

‘I’ve got your antibiotics. And something to help them down with.’

Sinewy fingers thrust through the pen and took the palmful of pills. They ignored the offered apple. The dog-man shoved the medication in his mouth and gulped from his water bowl.

‘I thought . . .’ Abi hesitated, not quite able to believe what she was doing. ‘I thought we could take a walk. Not with the leash, I mean. Upright.’

His eyes, when they looked at her, were wary.

‘Yes,’ he rasped eventually.

‘And you won’t run away? Or . . . or, hurt me?’

She hated herself for having to ask that. But during her visits to the kennels she had realized that whatever had been done to the dog-man – she still didn’t know his name, because he couldn’t remember it – had chipped away at not just his humanity, but also his sanity. Occasionally on previous visits he had snarled at her. Once he had even snapped his teeth at her hand. Shaken, she hadn’t gone again for nearly a week.