soon.
She heard the key grating in the lock of the heavy metal door, but there were dozens of other prisoners in the cell, and it wasn't until her name was called that she looked around.
"Bryony Wentworth," said the bullet-headed jailer, tapping his ring of keys against his greasy leather apron. "Somebody 'ere to see ye. And bring that brat o' yers with ye."
Madeline was too weak to walk. Bryony lifted the child's frail body in her arms and carried her out into the dim, stone-flagged passage. She followed the jailer down the corridor, up a short flight of steps, down another hall, and into the room where she had once met with Felix Fraser.
There were three people already in the room. A middle-aged servant woman named Potter, whom Bryony remembered from Peyton Hall, sat on a straight-backed chair near the window. She held her hands primly folded in the lap of her starched uniform, her mouth sour and disapproving.
Near the woman stood two men, their backs turned, talking. At the sight of Felix Fraser, Bryony's hopes soared. He must have heard back on her petition. Oh, surely—
Then the man beside the lawyer turned, and in the instant before he raised his scented handkerchief to cover his mouth and delicately pinched nose, Bryony recognized the thin, severe face of her uncle, Sir Edward Peyton.
She hadn't seen him in four years, not since the day she'd eloped with Oliver when she was sixteen. Other than for instructing his solicitors to release Cadgwith Cove House to Oliver's control and sending Felix Fraser to consult with her after her arrest, he'd refused to have anything to do with Bryony since the day of her marriage.
"Uncle Edward." She looked from him to the lawyer. "Mr. Fraser."
Madeline began to cough again. Bryony hugged her daughter to her. "It's all right, darling. It's nice and warm in here, isn't it? Everything will be all right," she said. But her uncle had turned away from her again, and with growing dread Bryony raised her eyes from Madeline's head to the lawyer's solemn face. "You've heard back on my petition?"
"Yes." Felix Fraser fiddled with his watch fob.
Bryony shifted the little girl's weight, so that Madeline's legs were wrapped around her mother's bulging waist and her head rested on Bryony's shoulder. "And?"
"It's been refused."
For a long moment Bryony could only stare at him. Horror and utter disbelief mushroomed within her, welling up and up, squeezing her heart, pressing against her lungs until she thought it might suffocate her. It seemed to spread like terror throughout her body, to her arms and legs, numbing her, bringing a ringing to her ears and a dimming of her vision.
"I have discussed the situation with your uncle, and he has agreed to assume the child's guardianship," said Felix Fraser, his voice brisk, his watery gray eyes sad and worried. "He is here to take her home with him."
"But—" Bryony looked wildly from the lawyer to her uncle's thin, stiff back. "But, surely... something. We must be able to do something? Could we not appeal? You will authorize it, will you not, Uncle Edward? Perhaps if—"
The lawyer shook his head. "There simply is no time, my dear. The Indispensable sails from Gravesend next week. You are to be transferred by coach to London tomorrow."
"Tomorrow!" Bryony's grip on her daughter tightened so hard, Madeline lifted her head and murmured in protest.
Sir Edward Peyton turned and spoke to her for the first time since she'd entered the room. "Give the child to Potter," he said, his voice devoid of all expression.
Bryony stepped back. "No." She shook her head slowly, once, from side to side. "I won't let you take her."
Uncle Edward's breath fluttered the handkerchief he still held fastidiously protecting his nose. "You have no choice." He nodded to the woman with the stiffly starched cap and dour expression. "Potter—"
"No." Bryony backed against the wall, hugging Madeline to her as if by sheer force of will she could make the child a part of her
She heard the key grating in the lock of the heavy metal door, but there were dozens of other prisoners in the cell, and it wasn't until her name was called that she looked around.
"Bryony Wentworth," said the bullet-headed jailer, tapping his ring of keys against his greasy leather apron. "Somebody 'ere to see ye. And bring that brat o' yers with ye."
Madeline was too weak to walk. Bryony lifted the child's frail body in her arms and carried her out into the dim, stone-flagged passage. She followed the jailer down the corridor, up a short flight of steps, down another hall, and into the room where she had once met with Felix Fraser.
There were three people already in the room. A middle-aged servant woman named Potter, whom Bryony remembered from Peyton Hall, sat on a straight-backed chair near the window. She held her hands primly folded in the lap of her starched uniform, her mouth sour and disapproving.
Near the woman stood two men, their backs turned, talking. At the sight of Felix Fraser, Bryony's hopes soared. He must have heard back on her petition. Oh, surely—
Then the man beside the lawyer turned, and in the instant before he raised his scented handkerchief to cover his mouth and delicately pinched nose, Bryony recognized the thin, severe face of her uncle, Sir Edward Peyton.
She hadn't seen him in four years, not since the day she'd eloped with Oliver when she was sixteen. Other than for instructing his solicitors to release Cadgwith Cove House to Oliver's control and sending Felix Fraser to consult with her after her arrest, he'd refused to have anything to do with Bryony since the day of her marriage.
"Uncle Edward." She looked from him to the lawyer. "Mr. Fraser."
Madeline began to cough again. Bryony hugged her daughter to her. "It's all right, darling. It's nice and warm in here, isn't it? Everything will be all right," she said. But her uncle had turned away from her again, and with growing dread Bryony raised her eyes from Madeline's head to the lawyer's solemn face. "You've heard back on my petition?"
"Yes." Felix Fraser fiddled with his watch fob.
Bryony shifted the little girl's weight, so that Madeline's legs were wrapped around her mother's bulging waist and her head rested on Bryony's shoulder. "And?"
"It's been refused."
For a long moment Bryony could only stare at him. Horror and utter disbelief mushroomed within her, welling up and up, squeezing her heart, pressing against her lungs until she thought it might suffocate her. It seemed to spread like terror throughout her body, to her arms and legs, numbing her, bringing a ringing to her ears and a dimming of her vision.
"I have discussed the situation with your uncle, and he has agreed to assume the child's guardianship," said Felix Fraser, his voice brisk, his watery gray eyes sad and worried. "He is here to take her home with him."
"But—" Bryony looked wildly from the lawyer to her uncle's thin, stiff back. "But, surely... something. We must be able to do something? Could we not appeal? You will authorize it, will you not, Uncle Edward? Perhaps if—"
The lawyer shook his head. "There simply is no time, my dear. The Indispensable sails from Gravesend next week. You are to be transferred by coach to London tomorrow."
"Tomorrow!" Bryony's grip on her daughter tightened so hard, Madeline lifted her head and murmured in protest.
Sir Edward Peyton turned and spoke to her for the first time since she'd entered the room. "Give the child to Potter," he said, his voice devoid of all expression.
Bryony stepped back. "No." She shook her head slowly, once, from side to side. "I won't let you take her."
Uncle Edward's breath fluttered the handkerchief he still held fastidiously protecting his nose. "You have no choice." He nodded to the woman with the stiffly starched cap and dour expression. "Potter—"
"No." Bryony backed against the wall, hugging Madeline to her as if by sheer force of will she could make the child a part of her
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