Did Bea feel up to bathing and dressing in one of her new gowns before joining him for dinner?
It would certainly be a normal activity, in a world that now seemed even more alien to her than it had before. Besides which, her afternoon spent alone had resulted in those mind-numbing nightmares, and she wished to avoid the possibility of experiencing any more of those for as long as was possible.
‘Dinner downstairs would be lovely, thank you,’ she accepted equally coolly, fully intending to ask Pelham if she might have a bath before then. She felt unclean after the vividness of her dreams, as if some of that filth and squalor in which she had been kept prisoner still clung to her.
Griffin gave her a formal bow. ‘Until eight o’clock, then.’
Bea kept her lashes lowered demurely as she gave a curtsy, and remained so until she heard the door quietly closing as Griffin left her bedchamber.
At which time she released a heavily sighing breath.
Her dreams had truly been nightmares.
Her fragmented memories, of her parents, her abduction and imprisonment, the frantic madness of her flight from her jailer, were even more so.
And there was still that lingering doubt that she might have been physically violated by her captors.
If so, was it possible she might have buried that particular horrific memory so deep inside her it might never show itself again?
Until such time as she married and her husband discovered she was not a virgin bride.
If she ever married.
And if she ever remembered who she truly was.
* * *
‘You are looking very lovely this evening, Bea,’ Griffin complimented politely once the two of them were seated opposite each other at the small round table in the family dining room.
Bea did indeed look very beautiful; the housekeeper had managed to find a gown the colour almost the same deep blue as her eyes. Her hair was fashionably styled upon her crown, with several enticing curls at her temples and nape. She was a little pale still, but that only added to her delicacy of appearance, which bordered on ethereal.
Griffin felt heartily relieved that it was not yet dark enough for Pelham to light the candles in the centre of the table; a romantic candlelit dinner for two would be the height of folly in the circumstances.
‘Thank you,’ she accepted lightly. ‘You are looking very handsome this evening too.’
They sounded like polite acquaintances passing the time as their dinner was served, when in reality they were far from that. After leaving Bea earlier he had gone immediately to the library to send an urgent letter to Maystone, prompting the other man to use his considerable influence and acquaintances to ascertain any and all information he could about a missing young lady named Beatrix.
It would take several days but Griffin had felt better in the knowledge he had at least done something positive in that regard.
His estate manager had also asked to see him earlier, as he believed one of the disused woodcutters’ sheds in Shrawley Woods might have recently been inhabited. Griffin had immediately ridden out to look for himself.
It was situated about a mile from where Griffin had found Bea, and whoever had stayed in the barely furnished shed had attempted to cover their tracks. But it was impossible to hide the stench of unwashed bodies, or the presence of a bloodstained bucket in the corner of one of the downstairs rooms—the same bucket Bea had struck Jacob Harker about the head with?
Griffin believed it was and his rage had grown tenfold as he’d stood and looked about him. The shed consisted of just two rooms, the floors were of dirt, just a single broken chair and table in one of the rooms, and no other furniture. The roof overhead sagged, and no doubt leaked in several places too. Several dark rags had been draped over the single square cut out of one of the wooden walls. No doubt to prevent anyone from looking in. Or out.
There was nothing else there to show recent habitation, no ragged blankets, fresh food or water, but it was impossible to miss the recent odour of unwashed bodies, or the stench of rotting food.
And the distinctive smell of fear.
Bea’s fear...
Griffin had given Reynolds a grim-faced nod before leaving the shed to ride back alone to Stonehurst Park, an impotent rage burning deep within him. And as he’d ridden the heavens had opened up, as if the angels themselves cried for all that Bea had suffered.
He had not told her as yet that he believed he had discovered the place of her imprisonment, and he was not sure that he intended to. She appeared so composed this evening, and was so elegantly attired, and Griffin had no wish to disturb that composure by once again taking her thoughts back to her imprisonment.
It was impossible to deny it had happened, of course; Griffin could still see some of the bruises on her shoulders and arms, although she had attempted to fasten a cream lace shawl over them in an effort to hide the worst of the abuse she had suffered. Matching lace gloves covered her bandaged wrists, and the length of her gown covered her bandaged ankles.
Covering signs of her abuse that once again incited Griffin’s displeasure.