The dreams had seemed harmless at first. Just images, really. Of a smiling, laughing young lady, with fashionably styled dark hair, dressed in a beautiful gown of gold silk as she’d twirled about the room with another lady, older, but so like the first that they had to be mother and daughter. A seated gentleman had looked on and smiled at the two of them indulgently.
Then had come the overwhelming sadness as that image had faded and she’d seen the young lady again, dressed in black this time, her face ravaged by grief.
And she’d known, without a doubt, that the young woman in the dream was herself, and that she stood at the graveside of the same man and woman who had looked so happy in the previous image. She’d known instinctively that the man and woman were her father and her mother.
&nb
sp; That image had faded to be replaced by hands reaching for her in the darkness. A hand placed over her mouth. The warning not to scream, before something, a cloth of some kind, had been placed over her mouth and her eyes, and she’d been dragged kicking from her bed before something had hit her on the side of the head and she’d known no more.
She had tried then to wake herself from the terror she’d felt, but she had not succeeded, that terror only increasing as instead the next image had been of waking to the painful jolting of a travelling carriage as she’d lain huddled and bound on the hard floor, unable to see, speak or move.
Even so, she’d known she was not alone in the carriage, had been able to smell an unwashed body and hear another person breathing, sometimes snoring, as they’d slept, but never speaking, except when the carriage had stopped and she had been dragged outside and told to relieve herself. She had refused at first, having had no idea where she was or who was watching her, but had roughly been warned she would be left in her own mess if she did not do as she was told.
The dream gave her no idea of time, of how long she had been in the carriage when it had finally stopped and she’d been dragged outside. There had been the sound of a door opening and closing, a degree of warmth, before she had been pushed to the floor and she’d felt ropes being twined about her wrists and ankles as she had been secured in place. The cloth about her mouth had been ripped away and she’d gagged as some stale bread had been pushed between her cracked and dry lips, followed by blessedly cool water.
She’d had images then of being forced to eat more stale bread, followed by that delicious cold water.
Even the smell of unwashed bodies had become normal as the time had passed and she’d known herself to be a part of that smell. As all she’d known had been that fear and hunger and cold. Until her jailer had been joined by another. And that was when the pain had begun.
The man’s rough voice would ask her questions, and another person, someone who remained absolutely silent, had administered the kicks and slaps when she’d failed to give them the answers they’d seemed to want from her.
All that had existed for Bella was sitting alone in the darkness, being forced to eat the stale bread and water, followed by those questions being repeated over and over again. Followed by the painful kicks and slaps. The abuse had been accompanied by the harsh warnings of the first jailer when Bella had cried out that she did not understand the questions let alone have the answers they wanted.
Her nightmare, if it was a nightmare, and not actually a memory, had seemed to go on endlessly. Pain, cold and hunger.
Until Bella had finally awoken to the sound of her own screams as she’d sat up in the bed. Those feelings still with her even though she was now fully awake; the shaking of her body beyond her control.
Pelham had burst through the bedchamber door first, quickly followed by the housekeeper, the two of them doing all that they could to soothe and calm her.
Except Bella could not be calmed or soothed. Not once she’d accepted that she had not been dreaming. That they were memories that had returned to her.
Along with the knowledge that her beloved parents were both dead.
So what did her captors want?
What did she overhear?
Who had she told?
Tell me, tell me, tell me!
She sat up suddenly, eyes wide as she turned to look at a grim-faced Griffin. ‘Jacob,’ she breathed harshly. ‘The man who held me prisoner was called Jacob!’
Chapter Five
Bella’s, or rather Beatrix’s, gasped statement was not what Griffin had been expecting to hear.
She had been so caught up in her nightmares still, so lost in those awful memories, that Griffin was sure she did not realise she had been talking out loud the whole time as she’d recounted the details of the visions that had caused her to wake screaming.
And as she’d remembered Griffin had felt himself becoming angrier and angrier at all she had suffered. It was a cold and vengeful anger, which he knew would only be assuaged when he found, and punished, the two people responsible for having treated Beatrix so cruelly.
Yet hadn’t he also been guilty of mistreating her? By refusing to trust her and treating her with suspicion?
Admittedly, his many years as an agent for the Crown had created a deep cynicism and distrust within him. To the point where he was now wary of anyone who was not family or a close friend. This left him with a very small circle of people: his grandmother, the Dangerous Dukes and their wives, and Aubrey Maystone. And recent events had only added to his distrust and wariness.
However, was it possible that she was innocently involved in his own reason for being in Lancashire? ‘Jacob?’ he repeated softly. ‘Could this man you refer to possibly be called Jacob Harker?’
She gave a pained frown. ‘I never heard his last name, only his first, and I believe even that was by accident.’