A Dreadful Splendor (98)

I was at the bottom of the dungeon.

I thought of the bone I saw that night; I wasn’t the first to be in these chains. The water reached higher with the next wave.

My hand went to the wall, crusted with barnacles. I looked up and saw the high-tide line was a few feet above my head. I knew the chains would not reach that far. I pictured myself standing on tiptoe, chin pointed to the roof, nostrils flared, hoping for one last sip of air until I had nothing to breathe but the sea.

A sob escaped my shivering lips. I cried a bit, but that only added more salt to my grave. I became angry with myself. I couldn’t give up so easily. “Pretend they’re Constable Rigby’s cuffs,” I said.

I pulled out a handful of hairpins from my curls. There was a throbbing twinge as I rubbed my thumb over a large bump. It was covered in a thick layer of crust I believed to be my own dried blood. I remembered seeing the snake head of Mr. Lockhart’s cane.

The waves nudged me off balance again, reminding me I had to work fast. Luckily, the chains were long enough for me to reach across and hold the pin with one hand while I worked on the lock of the other.

My fingers were practically numb, but desperation kept the blood pumping. My sobs were close to the surface, but I swallowed them down. The first pin broke after one twist, the second couldn’t advance, and the third and fourth bent like dried grass. The iron was so rusted over, even if I’d had a key, it probably wouldn’t have worked.

I had to think!

I bent down and picked up a rock and pounded the chain with all the strength I had. It did nothing more than send jolts of pain up my arm.

“That won’t work, Jenny,” a woman said.

I turned around, searching the dark. There was the swish of water as she walked closer. Then she stepped into the circle of torchlight. Her nightdress was still dirty, and her matted hair hung past her shoulders, but her face was clean of the blood. At that moment I knew exactly how the Hartford family must have felt when I ran from the séance with a bag of their jewelry. I had been conned.

Ghosts were not real, but people pretending to be dead were.

“Lady Audra,” I said, weary.

“I hope you don’t mind that I called you by your nickname,” she said. “Even though this is our first meeting, I already consider us friends. I’m so pleased to finally make your acquaintance.” Then she gave me the slightest of curtsies. I noticed she was holding Mr. Lockhart’s cane. “Although I wish it were under different circumstances.”

“Me as well. You don’t have the key, do you?” I asked, raising one cuff.

“I can give you a hand.” She tossed the skeletal arm I’d seen her point toward Mr. Pemberton. She laughed again. The sound echoed off the rocks and resounded inside my skull. “A dungeon affords a lady all kinds of props,” she said. “Something I’m sure you can appreciate in your line of work.”

She lit another two torches along the wall, bringing more of the space into view. There were other sets of handcuffs fixed to the rocks. How long had they been here?

Audra seemed impervious to the bitter temperature of the water. “Tonight went much better than I expected,” she said. “How much have you figured out?”

“None,” I said. “Other than you’re still alive.”

“Come now,” she said, pointing the cane at me. “You know half the story already. You met all the main players in my little mystery. And you read my diary. It was so exciting to watch you discover it.”

“It was a fake?” I asked. The water level had risen to my hips, swirling around me like a fatal embrace.

She looked insulted. “No! Every word was the absolute truth. I’m glad I made a record. Anyone reading it would be able to see how I was wronged. You understand now.”

It wasn’t a question, but I answered her. “I’m not sure what I understand at the moment.” I was confused and horrified by this flesh-and-blood version of Audra. Where was the selfless young woman who was so kind to everyone, who only wished to be safe and loved? Where was the woman I had been determined to seek justice for?

Her head turned with a snap. “Stop it!” she yelled to the wall. She kept staring, then sighed and returned her attention to me. “Grandfather would be proud. Apparently, nerve skipped my father’s generation. He couldn’t stand up to Mother. I would never forsake my child the way he did with poor William. Oh, I know I shouldn’t feel too badly for him, but he had such a difficult start, didn’t he?” Her tone was relaxed, as if we were old friends sharing tea in the library. “It was my father’s cowardice that set this in motion. So if you want to blame anyone for your being in those handcuffs, it should be him.”

“That’s fair,” I said, sensing I would need to appeal to her pride. “I can see how much stronger you are than your father ever was.” I tried to make it a compliment, but all I could think of was how wrong the version of Audra I had created in my mind was compared to the real woman in front of me, dressed in a bloodstained nightgown and devoid of remorse.

Her expression softened. “It’s been enjoyable watching you this past week. I have a fondness for your plucky spirit.” Then she wrinkled her nose at my cuffs. “Shame I had to use those, though.”

A tremor rattled all the way up my body; my hair stood on end. “What happened after you left your room that night?” I asked, hoping to keep her talking. If she was willing to stay with me, I still had a chance to get out of this.