Madness (31 page)

She smiled up into his handsome face. "That's the spirit." She thrust the weapons into his hands.
 

“Here, you stand at the ready with the pistols behind the door, just in case. Let me just get those shirts off the wash line….”

All was well with Simon and Gabrielle in his cell until five that evening, when the guard, just coming up for air after the talented Angela had kept him entertained for a goodly while, opened the door and presented him with a tray of food fit for a king.

“Well, well, what have we here?” Spence said. “Brought straight from one of the local eateries while it was still hot. What a feast."

Simon stared at the repast in blank incomprehension. Eventually he recognized the long-forgotten delicacies.
 
There was roast chicken with stuffing, applesauce, vegetables, even a creme brulee and some meringues.

But Simon could sense something was amiss at once and pushed it away. “I can’t eat it. I’ll only be sick. You’ve been looking after me so well, you have it.”

Spence shook his head, though it was easy enough to see he was sorely tempted by the sumptuous feast. “Oh no, really, I couldn’t. This is just too good for the likes of me. I suppose your family must be coming around to you after all? I mean, the women and the food and all?”

“No, I don’t think so. If they were, the food would choke me. No, you tuck in. I insist,” Simon said, even though he knew he was sending the unsuspecting man to his death.

Life and death. Imprisonment or escape. Safety or danger.

“Thanks, mate. You’ll be sorry, but I just can't say no--”

“No regrets here, my friend.”

He backed out the door with the tray. “You’ll be sorry, I’m sure, but I can’t bear to see such good food go to waste.” He closed the door and locked it, and Simon said a prayer for his soul.

As soon as he was gone Gabrielle put her head in through the hole.

“Are you thinking what I’m—”

He nodded.

“What are we going to do?”

“We need to think. I’m sure that food was poisoned, or at least drugged with something else besides opium. They might be wanting to kill me, or will be coming shortly to take me away, to God knows where. I know it’s hard to believe, but I could end up in an even worse place than here.”

She knew he was right, and did not even try to argue. “Then it’s definitely time to leave.”

“But what about your sister?” he asked worriedly.

“I’ve already decided. My cousins will help. We’ll bribe her husband, try to get her out of here, get her a divorce. She’s ill, but not in danger at the moment. We can alway come back for her, and Clarissa will be happy to keep visiting...”

Gabrielle choked off her words mid-sentence when the most God-awful caterwauling arose from her sister’s chamber. Gabrielle ducked back into the cell and scrambled off her hands and knees, looking all around her.

Lucinda was lying still and silent in bed as was her wont, but Gabrielle gazed in horror at the twitching bundle of fur on the floor. It thrashed about once more in agony and then lay still.

“Oh God, Kit!” she gasped.

She knelt down and picked up the lifeless animal, only inches from the food tray which had been delivered to Lucinda, and contained roast chicken and stuffing also.

“Kit? Kitty?” Lucinda asked, rousing from her slumber at the commotion, unable to grasp what had happened.

Gabrielle sighed, blinking back the tears. “It’s all right. Kit caught something, but he’s gone to sleep now. You should too.”

She stared at the chicken, saw the tiny teeth marks. She felt her heart hammering in her chest and sweat break out underneath her arms and all along her spine.

My God, they had not only tried to kill him, but her sister too, in order to make sure there had been no witnesses to anything Simon might have said or done in the time he had been there. And her lover had just given his tray to Spence the guard…

She scanned the pile of things they had left in Lucinda's room quickly, stuffed a few more items into their now bulging valise, and said, “I’ll be back soon, Lucinda. You just sleep, all right? And don’t eat a thing. Promise me.”

“Yes, Gabrielle,” she said obediently. “I promise.” She lay flat and closed her eyes.

Gabrielle tucked the poor dead kitten inside a pillow ticking, and hid it under the bed, then ducked back through the hole.

Simon was immediately on the other side of the wall, looking panicked, and asked what had happened.

“Her kitten. It’s dead, Poisoned. The same type of dinner you had. The poor thing nibbled the chicken and well--” She took a ragged breath and shook her head.

Simon’s eyes widened, and he swayed. “Oh God, that was so close. We need to get out of here. But how—”

“Clarissa will be here soon. Pray God she isn't late."

"Aye. It wasn't a drug, it was poison. They'll be here soon enough to make sure they've done their work. We need to be gone by the time they get here.”

"We just have to stay calm and make the most of the time we do have," she said firmly, as she gathered the last of her herbs and medicines into a basket and a few more changes of linen. “We just need to pray she gets here soon, and that she can get a key to be let in. Because I think we've just killed Spence as well. So for the moment, my love, we're all well and truly trapped.”

Simon paced up and down, agitated almost beyond endurance. He clutched the pistols so tightly she had to pry them from his fingers and put them at the top of the basket she had also packed in preparation for their escape from Bedlam.

To her infinite relief, a few minutes later she heard her friend’s brisk trot, and was just about go into Lucinda’s cell to tell her what happened when she heard a male voice accost Clarissa.

Both Simon and Gabrielle held their breath.

“Miss,” Spence said. “I say, Miss, I’m feeling awful. You’re a nurse. Anything I can take for food that’s too rich?”

Clarissa was about to reply when Spence began to retch violently.

“Gabrielle!” Clarissa shouted.

She looked out the peephole and saw him began to foam at the mouth and convulse.

“Clarissa, keys, quick. They’ve tried to poison them both.”

“What, Lucinda too?” she gasped.

“Aye. We need to get out of here.”

“We can’t just leave—”

“He’s nearly dead already. They killed Kit too."

"What?" she asked, pausing mid-search to stare up at her.

"Hurry. Kit nibbled the food intended for my sister, poor mite. So no more buts. Grab his keys and get Simon’s door open. We need to get out of here, all of us. They’ll be coming soon. We have only two pistols and Lucinda isn’t in good shape. Come on, hurry.”

Clarissa yanked the keys off the writhing man's belt, and with trembling hands tried key after key until she found the right one.
 

Gabrielle crawled through into Simon's cell, dragged the body in, and then shut the door. She quickly began to strip off Spence’s clothes.

“Simon, get undressed. Put these on. Hurry.”

She handed him the wool trousers, jacket, waistcoat and shirt, discarding the dirty cravat. All the while, poor Spence continued to convulse and vomit.

"I'm sorry, so sorry, sir," she tried to apologize.

"Not your fault, lass," he wheezed and choked. "Get him out of here. No one deserves to be treated like this, no matter what they say he did. I'm sorry too.

His stertorious breathing slowed, and with one last huge convulsion, he lay still.

By that time, Simon was already changed, and grasped the basket they had readied, both pistols in easy reach. He handed it to Clarissa. “Anyone comes down that corridor and looks at you the wrong way, shoot them. And I hope you know how to reload.”

“Trust me. I do.”

He grabbed Spence and put him in the cot, hauling his discarded shirt and trousers over his bareness. He lay him down under the blanket with his sandy hair covered, so that he looked for all the world as if he were Simon asleep in his bed.

"Go look in Lucinda's room to see if there's anything else you need. Clarissa, go around the other way, and find the key to get the door open."

"Aye."

Simon heard her jangling the ring and door lock, trying key after key as if her life depended on it.

He looked around the room for any last minute essentials, and Gabrielle did the same.

“All set. Nothing left behind to give away that you were in there with me. I’ll get Clarissa to lock the door once we're out."

"Got it," they heard from the other side of the wall.

"Good girl, Clarissa," he called. "Lock my door again. We're coming through the wall. Go on, love."

He gave her a pat on the rump, and followed on close behind. Then he turned and grabbed the leg of his cot, and pulled with all his might, covering the hole between the cells, leaving poor Spence looking as though he were sleeping facing the wall with a pillow over his head.

“Can you carry her?” Gabrielle asked, gesturing to Lucinda.

He nodded. “If I have to, aye. I’ll hold her on my left side. Clarissa, you walk on her left. Gabrielle, you’re on my right with the basket in your left hand, pistols at the ready. Get her cloak on, and let’s go.”

“Remember, we’re three tarts and you’re our pimp,” she said, undoing the bodice of her gown and yanking her chemise down to show several inches of ample cleavage.

Clarissa's eyes widened, but she did the same.

“I’ll do my best. But you have to promise me, if there’s any trouble you take Lucinda, and run like hell.”

“I’m not leaving you. And how far do you think we’re going to get with her barely able to stand?”

He sighed heavily. "All right, we're not going to argue. Let's go."

They assembled just as he had said, waiting only for Clarissa to lock his door again from the outside. Hopefully by the time anyone raised a hue and cry and discovered it was not Simon in his cell, but the poor poisoned Spence, they would be long gone.