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Authors: Meredith Moore

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BOOK: Fiona
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CHAPTER 30

The drive there is painful.
I'm sitting next to the guy who nearly kissed me last night in a room full of strangers, and now he's turned away from me, staring out the window as if I'm not even here, mere inches from him. Because he thinks I killed his little sister's horse.

If I weren't so hurt and terrified, I would laugh. Because this whole situation is just so insane.

We pull up in front of a small official building, and I realize it's the same hospital in Beasley where Blair supposedly miscarried.

“I thought we were going to the . . . facility in Twicken?” I say to Charlie.

His eyes are filled with caution as he looks at me, as if I'm an unexploded bomb. “It's too far away, and Mabel says they
stopped accepting new patients for the night. So Dr. Furnham has agreed to do your consultation here. Depending on what he says, we'll take you to Twicken tomorrow.”

“Fine,” I say, trying to sound reasonable and compliant.

I get out of the car and follow Charlie inside. Albert says he'll meet us at the front desk.

We walk into the waiting room, and I see the same doctor from last time, Blair's doctor, standing there. Waiting for us, I realize, as Charlie approaches him.

“Miss Smith,” he says, shaking my hand with a firm grip. “I'm Dr. Furnham. Nice to meet you.” He looks beyond me, and I follow his gaze to see Albert, who's just walked in. Albert is looking at him with a blank expression on his face, and he doesn't introduce himself.

Dr. Furnham looks back at me. “I understand you've had a rough day. If you'll follow me into my office, we can talk there.”

“I'll wait out here,” Charlie says, and I look up at him, horrified.

“You're not going to come with me?” I ask. I hate how desperate my voice sounds in the cold stillness of the room.

Charlie glances at the doctor, then back at me. “I think it's better if you two talk alone. Albert and I will be right out here.”

I have to be strong
, I remind myself.
Strong and sane. I can handle this.

I pull my shoulders back, nod, and follow the doctor into his office. It's small, with only a desk and one bookshelf stacked with thick medical books and a few framed photographs of him and a woman—his wife, I assume.

He gestures to the chair across from his desk, and I settle into it. It's more comfortable than the chair in Mabel's office, at least.

“So you're a psychiatrist as well as an OB/GYN?” I ask before he can say anything.

He shifts in his seat. “I'm a general physician, Miss Smith. I have training in many areas of medicine. There aren't many specialists in this part of the country, I'm afraid.”

His temple is beaded with sweat. He's nervous. Is it me? Is he worried about what I might do or say in here?

“So, tell me, Fiona. What exactly happened last night?”

I try to answer as succinctly as I can. “I came back from the ball, and I had a mug of tea and read a bit. I was asleep by midnight.”

“What were you reading?”

“A book about Bonnie Prince Charlie.”

The doctor raises his eyebrows at the name, and I hope I'm not blushing. “Is he a favorite subject of yours?” he asks.

“No,” I say quickly. “Poppy's studying him in school, so I wanted to do some research so I could be more helpful to her.”

He nods slowly. “Okay. So you went to bed,” he prompts.

“And then I woke up in the morning with a headache and a bloody knife in my hand.”

“That must have been disorienting,” he says, his tone mild.

“It was
terrifying
,” I correct him. “I felt as if I'd been drugged. As if someone drugged me and put a knife in my hands in the middle of the night.”

“Who would have done something like that?”

“I don't know,” I say as calmly as I can.

“I spoke to the head housekeeper, Ms. Faraday, on the phone.” He must mean Mabel. “She said you believed Ms. Rifely, Blair, did this? That she was trying to frame you?”

I twist my hands together but try to keep my voice steady. “Yes, I mentioned something like that to Mabel, but she seems to have exaggerated my words. I only know what Gareth said—that he saw a woman running out of the stables, and when he went to check on the horses, he found Copperfield, stabbed. I don't know if Blair was involved—all I told Mabel was that, based on what Gareth saw, we can't rule her out.”

“There are several women who work and live at the castle, are there not?” he says. He's clicking his pen, out and in, over and over. I want to reach over and stop him, grab the pen, but I focus all my energy on staying still.

I grit my teeth. “Yes, there are. Blair was just the first one
who came to mind, that's all. But I suppose it could have been any of them.”

“Why this fixation on Blair? Why do you think she'd want to frame you?”

I lift my chin. “There's no reason that I know of. I don't know why I said her name. Really. All I know is that I did not hurt that horse.”

“Have you experienced anything like this before? Episodes where you've lost time or memories?”

“No,” I say emphatically.

He asks me several more questions, trying to get me to say anything that proves I'm crazy and unstable, like: Have I ever had violent fantasies? Do I often think people are trying to target me? Do I ever hear voices?

I lie when I answer that last question, telling him I've never heard voices before.

“How would you have been drugged?” he asks finally.

I've been asking myself that same question ever since this morning. I think back to last night. I ate dinner with the staff in the kitchen before the ball. After that, I had nothing to eat or drink. Until . . . “The tea,” I say finally. “Someone must have slipped something in my tea. I drink chamomile tea every night to help me sleep. Everybody at the castle knows that.”

“You've been having trouble sleeping?”

“No. Not
trouble
trouble. I'm a light sleeper, so I sometimes wake up in the middle of the night and have trouble falling back asleep. But the tea helps.”

He nods, disinterested. “Tell me a bit about your family history.”

“My family history?” I repeat.

“Yes,” he says, peering at me closely. “Do you have any family members who suffer from any illnesses? Specifically mental illness?”

I eye the stack of files on his desk. Is one of them mine? Does he have access to my family's medical history?

I meet his eyes. “There's nothing that I know of on my dad's side. My aunt never mentioned anything.”

“And your mother's side?”

If I lie, and he knows the truth, I'm guilty. Insane. But if I tell the truth, how on earth would I be able to convince him that I haven't inherited my mother's schizophrenia?

“I don't know of anything on her side either,” I whisper.

He glances down at the sheet of paper in front of him, and I hold my breath.

“Ms. Faraday informed me that, prior to her death, Lady Moffat told her that your mother was a paranoid schizophrenic who committed suicide.”

I close my eyes and feel my entire world crumbling around me.
Mabel knew? This whole time she knew about my mother?

“I didn't—I mean, what I meant by that was that I'm
nothing
like my mother. I won't turn out like her.”

Of course Mabel knew. Lily would have wanted her to know, so she could watch out for any signs that might affect Poppy. And now she thinks I'm the same.

The doctor asks me a few more questions about my mother, but I'm barely paying attention anymore. It's all over.

Finally, Dr. Furnham stops asking questions and stands up. “Why don't we rejoin Lord Moffat outside?” I stand up and follow him listlessly to the waiting room.

Albert's not there, but Charlie sits in a dingy plastic chair, his hair looking more tousled than usual. He's worried. Is he worried about what will happen to me? Or about what a danger I'd posed to Poppy?

“I think Miss Smith would benefit from an extended stay at the Twicken facility,” Dr. Furnham says, “especially considering her family history. We'll keep her here overnight and take her there in the morning.”

“Sorry, what family history?” Charlie asks.

Both of them look at me. “My mother,” I say quietly. “My mother was schizophrenic.”

Charlie doesn't recoil. His eyes don't fill with horror. He doesn't look at me with a grimace of betrayal or disgust. Instead, he hugs me close to his side. “I'm so sorry, Fee. I didn't know.”

I sink into his hug, allow it to comfort me. But he's still calling me Fee.

I step out of his arms. “Watch over Poppy, okay?” I say, meeting his eyes finally to show him how serious I am. “Keep her safe?”

“Of course,” he says. “She'll be fine, Fee, I promise. And so will you.”

I nod. “Then let's see the padded room,” I say, trying to part on a somewhat lighthearted note.

I turn around and let Dr. Furnham lead me. I don't want to watch Charlie leave. I can't. But I feel his presence leave just the same, and then, once again, I'm all alone in this life.

CHAPTER 31

The doctor leads me
to what appears to be a standard hospital room, no padded walls to be seen.

“I'll need you to give us your permission to strap you to your bed with soft cuffs tonight. They won't hurt, I promise. It's just to keep you safe.”

“Do I look like I'm having a psychotic episode?” I ask, my voice a defiant snap. “I absolutely
don't
give my permission.”

The thought of being chained to the bed, like a rabid animal, makes me queasy.

He looks like he wants to say something more, but he stops himself. “A nurse will be in soon to check your vitals,” he says.

I nod, sitting down on the bed and looking away from him.

He leaves the room, and through the small window on top of my door, I see him standing at the nurses' station across the
hall, filling out paperwork. I walk to the window and flip the blinds closed.

For a moment, I stand in the middle of the room and let all my doubts wash over me. What if all this is really happening? What if I'm spiraling into schizophrenia, the way I've always feared I would? I'm the right age; I'm experiencing my first period of great stress. It all makes sense.

You're not crazy
, says my mother's voice in my head. But it just makes me feel worse. I hear voices. I feel my mother's presence everywhere. And this morning, I woke up with a bloody knife in my hands.

I sink to my knees and finally,
finally
, I don't push aside the thought I've been trying to avoid like hell for the past three months.

What if I'm going crazy?

It's the simplest answer to so many things that haven't made sense. Hearing whispers at night, my mom's laughter, the voices in my head. The overwhelming, irrational fear I felt in the rain that day in the woods. Potentially killing Copperfield in some kind of fit of psychotic rage so intense that my body won't let me remember it now. I'm breaking. It's all me. There's no evil girl with an intricate plot to get me. My fear of Blair is nothing but the product of a paranoid delusion. The idea that I'm the
only one who can see through her? A delusion of grandeur. I really do need help.

Time in a psychiatric institution can't be that bad. These days, those kinds of places can be really nice. It will be clean and calm and filled with other people who understand what I'm going through. People who won't judge me for suffering from a disease I can't control. They'll give me the medicine I need and teach me how to manage the symptoms. A place like that could have helped my mother—maybe it'll help me, too.

Maybe I should just stop fighting and accept this fate.

But then I think of Blair, remembering all those times her careful control over her expression would slip, revealing a triumphant smile or a hateful glare.

I stand up and wipe away the tears that have fallen down my cheeks.

Maybe I am crazy. But with everything I've seen, all I know about Blair, I need to bet on myself now. I have to.

Of course I can't stay here. I can't just offer myself up for the slaughter like this. Blair has that doctor in her pocket, I know it, and the two of them are going to lock me away somewhere I'll never be able to leave. I won't let her win that easily.

But how do I get out of here? I forgot my cell phone at the castle, and I don't have anyone to call anyway. The nurses'
station outside is continuously staffed. Everyone on duty knows exactly why I'm here, thinks I'm dangerous, and will be keeping a close eye on me.

I go to the window on the other side of the room. I unlock the clasp and slide the pane up only to find a set of metal bars blocking my way.

Past the nurses' station it is.

I have to act fast; someone will be in soon to take my vitals and force me into a hospital gown, at which point I'll be even more trapped than I am now.

I open the blinds and glance out into the hallway. I see two nurses sitting in front of computers, but the doctor is nowhere in sight. I suck a breath in and open the door as quietly as possible.

The nurses don't look up. The hospital rooms are arranged around the station, and I'll have to go halfway across the circle to get to the hallway that hopefully leads to an elevator and the exit.

There are a few patients and family members walking around the floor. I try to blend in with them, walking as casually as possible out of my room and around the station. The nurses never even glance at me, and I start breathing again.

I reach the hall. There's an elevator at the end of it. I'm heading toward it when I notice a nurse look up from a chart
and spot me. She smiles politely, and I do my best to smile back through my almost paralyzing fear.

Suddenly, though, the smile falls off her face and is replaced by a look of dawning recognition.

“Wait,” she says as I slip past her and into the elevator. I push the button for the first floor. “Wait!” she shouts, and I press down frantically on the door-close button. She's running for the elevator when the door slides shut in her face with a satisfying
snick
.

I bounce on the balls of my feet as the elevator sails down to the first floor, and when it opens, I abandon all attempts to act normal and start running. I sprint past a few bewildered nurses and families in the waiting room, and then I'm out the door and free.

I just have no idea what to do now.

I stand for a second in the dim lights of the hospital parking lot and try to figure out a plan.

I didn't pay enough attention during the drive here to know which direction to go. The village of Beasley is slightly larger than Almsley, but still nothing is open at this hour, and I don't have any money.

I have to set off into the wilderness if I want to have any hope of escaping.

I bypass the main road and follow a side street until I'm out of the village. The one-lane road before me stretches out into the darkness. Am I really going to do this?

I should keep to the road, I decide. I know that if I venture into the countryside, I'll most likely become irrevocably lost.

I hop over the low stone wall that runs alongside the pavement and head toward the tree line, about ten feet away from it. I'm close enough to the wall to follow it, but far enough that I won't be seen.

It's a cold night, and while I'm grateful for the thick coat I'm wearing, I'm shivering before long. The rush of adrenaline I felt while escaping has faded away, and I'm more tired than I've been all day. And more frightened. I have no plan, no place to go. What am I going to do?

The night is filled with all kinds of squeaking and scurrying animal sounds, and the wind has grown vicious and wild. The cold air sears my lungs. Each breath becomes a struggle, until it's all I can focus on.

Just as I'm wondering if I'm going to be able to survive the night, a yellow light flashes behind me.

Headlights, approaching fast. Without thinking, I dart into some rough bushes beside me, crouch down, and hide, waiting for the car to pass.

It's warmer here, among the leaves and close to the ground.
I must have been walking for only a couple of hours, but I'm so cold, so utterly exhausted, that I doubt I can get much farther. This will have to do. I curl up on the ground, hugging my coat around me. The ground is soft with bracken, and I thank whatever lucky stars I have that the snow has melted over the last few days. The ground is still damp, but I do my best to ignore it, and soon enough, I'm drifting off to sleep.

BOOK: Fiona
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