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the night is young and maggie finds herself in the company of lucy and alex once again. it happens like this, she’s come to realise, for alex has spent the past two weeks since maggie’s arrival, at the lane estate. or perhaps it is only in the evening that alex materialises, wandering into the smaller of two libraries that maggie has taken to spending her days in. even after the kindest and gentlest weeks of her life, maggie’s body is still far from recovered. walking for great distances proves a challenge for her lungs and leaves maggie wondering just how exactly it is that she survived to make it to the lane estate from miles away. it is not only her lungs that trouble maggie, her stomach too finds itself unused to the bounty and richness of the food so frequently presented to her. lungs, stomach, and her ribs as well still protest at most movements maggie makes. those that seem most offensive include jolting upright in bed, heart pounding, and in far more infrequent moments – laughter. lucy makes maggie laugh, alex too when she appears in the evenings. as a pair, they make jokes at the others expense and share fond smiles between them. it’s impossible to miss how much they care for each other and that is a fact maggie has filed away in a deep corner of her mind. something to be considered at another time. for now, maggie accepts each day as it comes. considering that each day is a miracle. “maggie,” a soft voice says from near, and maggie looks up from her chair by the fireplace, taking a second to orient herself to place and time and location. it’s only lucy. lucy who has a sketchbook folded in her lap and fingers smudged with charcoal. there’s a streak across her cheek and maggie wonders if lucy knows of its presence. “you’re looking better.” lucy says “how are you feeling?” maggie considers her answer before speaking. in herself she feels as better than she has in months, years perhaps even. new wounds are becoming old wounds. old aches are fading, and it seems that each night maggie manages another few minutes of consecutive sleep. yet in comparison to lucy, who seems to be up before the sun most days, maggie feels hopelessly behind. she became most painfully aware of her limitations when walking through the gardens with lucy only two days before. the air was cool and her arm was folded with lucy’s for stability and warmth. they had taken lunch together and then lucy offered to show maggie the gardens, as the weather had finally broken and the sun was shining through. maggie had accepted and true to lucy’s word, the gardens were obviously well kept. there was not much in bloom during the last stronghold of winter, but all the same, the skeleton of the hedge labyrinth was attractive in a structural sense. the walk had, in maggie’s opinion, been tainted by her near constant need to stop and find her breath. “i’m,” maggie starts, “better.” she settles on “the rest is doing me good.” “good,” lucy smiles “you can take as much of it as you need. there is no haste.” perhaps not, and maggie knows lucy is being kind. she knows that lucy is doing everything in her power to remind her that this world is a far cry from the one maggie has only just escaped. that is true, of course, but only to a point. in the greater world, maggie is still considered a murderer. she is still wanted. she is, by all rights, a fugitive in this house – still trapped. she does her best not the consider the reality of her situation, for this house is no prison and lucy is no cruel guard. it is the rest of the world that wants her head, her blood. this is a train of thought that catches maggie most often in the dead of night, when the thoughts are at their most potent. “maggie,” lucy says, her voice laced with concern “are you okay?” she asks. maggie coughs, winces and nods “okay.” she assures, not wanting to burden lucy any further. the mere thought of the risks that she must be taking in hiding maggie here are dizzying. the implications of what could happen to her if she was found out leave maggie sick, they leave her itching to run and take her chances with the open road. this too is a thought that haunts maggie in the dead hours of the night. whispers that start in the darkest corners of her mind and set root, whispering what a burden she must be, what a risk, what a nuisance. more than once maggie has slipped out of bed and stood there, in the dark, half convinced that fleeing would be the right move. she considers and considers and what her mind slips back to is, is the pain. not the pain of her current circumstance, no, for maggie has none but those calling from old wounds. there is a memory that lurks far clearer than the rest. it is a memory that maggie wishes away, wishes could be forced into a box and locked away for the rest of time. old scars tingle and burn during her remembrance of the consequences that followed the first time she ran. there were shackles that bruised and battered her wrists and worse, worse there was a thick collar around her neck. there was certain brutality in her punishment that left maggie fear death. at that time such a fate would have been favoured to the pained existence she had then been in. the memory surfaces each time maggie has convinced herself to leave, and the question comes with it
if that is what they did to runners, what fate would befall a murderer?
maggie knew what the events would culminate in, however, she had little desire to learn about the in between. yet it was her fear of the in between that persuaded her back to bed, that encouraged her to remain in the safety of the lane estate. for how long lucy’s kindness would last, maggie did not know but – a knock on the library door and then it’s being pushed open. this is the return of alex with fresh bandages for maggie’s arm. the pattern is a new one, maggie notices, no more of the peacock or turkey debate. this one is edged with stitched bunches of colourful flowers. except maggie’s attention does not remain on the fresh bandages for long. alex is stepping aside and someone else is with her. someone maggie doesn’t recognise “look who i found,” she’s saying. it’s a man, standing some six feet. he is dressed in breeches and a jacket that is damp from the turning weather. it’s clear he’s just come from the outside. he’s wearing riding boots and there’s a small dagger sitting tucked into his hip. his gaze catches on maggie and she feels like she’s going to be sick. “maggie,” alex says, noticing her blanch “maggie it’s okay.” she explains “this is james. he’s safe.” safe. james. his name is james “lucy,” he says, letting his gaze skate from maggie, to lucy now “lucy we’ve got to talk. it’s urgent.” lucy stands from her chair, letting the blanket pool around her ankles. she takes her time, setting her sketchbook down before speaking “james,” she says with a smile “this is unexpected – i thought you would be busy with the white gala preparations.” maggie reads the situation as quickly as she can. it’s clear that both lucy and alex are well acquainted with james. it’s clear in the way they both welcome him into the space, even as alex shifts. and this, maggie notices, is something alex has taken to doing, to placing herself between maggie and the unknown person. no matter the person, if alex is present she often finds a way to be a physical presence between maggie and the person or people she doesn’t know. it is a move now that maggie appreciates. james’ gaze keeps flickering back to her, and there seems to be some sense of urgency in the way he stands “i am.” he says “as far as lord white is concerned my nights are my own. although if you must know, i told him i would be out riding.” “not a lie.” lucy notes “just not the whole truth.” she adds “you obviously come with news, do you want to sit?” james shakes his head “i think i’ll stand here,” he says, nodding towards maggie. maggie stiffens. “james.” alex says and her voice is half a warning “tell lucy what you told me.” lucy’s eyebrows furrow and she studies james “what is it?” she asks, concern obvious in her words. “it’s about her.” he says, nodding at maggie. alex tenses and her arms fold across her chest and she takes a half step further in front of maggie, almost blocking her view of james entirely. lucy noticeably tenses as well “james,” she warns “be careful.”“i’m not the one who needs to exercise caution.” he says “there are whispers.” he says “whispers that you’re hiding her here. i’m not here to cause trouble,” he adds “you know that. you know me. but there are powerful people who are very,” he debates his words “agitated about her escape.” “let them be agitated.” lucy bites and she takes a breath “you have no idea the truth of the story,” she says “of what she’s been through.” james holds his hands up in surrender “i’m not here to take her away.” he says “i’m here to warn you that others might. i don’t want you to get hurt.” “ “let them come.” lucy states with such fierce anger in her voice that maggie’s breath catches pause in her chest “or have they forgotten what happened to the last people who tried such an offensive?” maggie assumes she is speaking of her own capture, her own hellscape and whatever retribution her father laid upon those who were careless enough to be involved. “that,” james concedes “is perhaps the only thing holding them back. there are rumours that your father is coming home.” “for spring,” lucy nods “he’ll be back early next week.” she says “you can tell them that.” she adds “those who are so agitated.” “you’re going to get in trouble.” james says “you could get hurt.” he glances to alex “you all could find injury, or something far worse.” he explains. maggie doesn’t know what he’s trying to get across to lucy, but it’s clear in the softness behind his eyes that he cares a great deal for lucy. “i’m not scared of them, james.” lucy says “i’ve experienced their far worse and i’m still here to talk about it.” she continues “let them come and they’ll learn just how much like my father i’ve become.” “i’ll warn you if i can.” he says, and then “i would check in on your huntsman. it’s he who informed certain interested parties.” a storm settles on lucy's shoulders “thank you for telling me.” her voice is lightening “are you sure you don’t want to stay, at least until the weather improves.” james shakes his head apologetically “i’m afraid i can’t. there’s too much to do at the white estate.” there’s a pause and then he swallows hard, shifting so he can get a more direct view of maggie “and,” he says “ma’am, i’m sorry our first introduction had to be like this.” he shifts, uncomfortable, looking as if he wants to say more and then, not. “be safe.” he says to lucy, then nods at alex “as ever, doctor, it’s good to see you.” alex only nods.james leaves after that, pulling the door closed after him. the room descends into a comfortable silence where the crackling and popping of the fire carries on around them. maggie’s heart is beating through her chest it feels, there is an underlying tension that simmers and roils. she can feel it, can see the tension across lucy’s shoulders. in alex too, who is still standing between maggie and the door, there is a stiffness to her frame. it feels like long seconds before either lucy or alex make a move to sit and all the while maggie’s mind is racing. she thinks of the men she has angered before. she thinks of their fists and their fury, she thinks of their relentless nature. her eyes flutter closed, trying not to picture angry men with swords and knives and guns storming the lane estate with one thing on their mind. “maggie,” a voice cuts through her imagination run amuck “maggie,” and it’s lucy who is speaking. “do you think they’ll come for me?” maggie asks, her words wavering as she finds herself unable to control her fear. “they will not lay a hand on you.” it’s alex who beats lucy to a response. alex glances at lucy before continuing “we won’t let that happen.” she continues. “the men,” lucy says “they are all talk. they know better than to pick a fight with the general. especially in his absence. but,” she continues “i meant it when i said let them come.” her voice is darker than maggie has ever heard it. this is not something that makes sense in maggie’s head. lucy is risking stature and possibly far more by housing her here, keeping her safe and protected. the woman has known her for barely more than a fortnight and yet she seems ready to lay far more than her life on the line. “i’m sorry,” she says, her voice dropping, her gaze drifting towards the fire. it will be easier, she thinks, to say these words to the dancing flames “i’m sorry for putting you in this position. i-i shouldn’t have.” her stomach twists “this is too big a risk for you, for either of you to be taking. you’re, you’re people of stature, of position. you shouldn’t be in this position because of me.” “maggie,” lucy says and her words are gentler now. from the corner of her eye maggie can see lucy slipping back into her chair “maggie, i am not in any position that i don’t want be in.” she says “you are not a burden, you are not imposing. you are welcome here.” there’s a moment's hesitation and then “you’re a friend.” this of, all the things being said, makes the least sense to maggie. she blinks quickly and keeps her gaze fixated on the fire “if they come,” she says “if they threaten you or,” she fumbles. “can i show you something?” lucy asks quietly, interrupting maggie’s worrying. maggie drags her gaze away from the fire and studies lucy for a moment. there is no fear reflected back at her. instead, maggie sees only grim determination and an unwavering steadiness to lucy’s shoulders. there is tension, sure, and concern to match. however, maggie sees nothing that indicates lucy is willing to yield to anyone who comes to the doors. maggie is not sure what she did to deserve such certain and fierce protection, but it seems that she has been granted it. this is nothing to say of being called a friend – that is something maggie cannot even begin to consider the implications of right now. instead, she nods once, she says “of course,” and watches as lucy stands. lucy moves past alex, whose fingers trail along the back of lucy’s palm for a moment. it’s a nearly invisible gesture, but maggie catches sight, sees the way lucy’s fingers twitch, as if to take alex’s hand in response. maggie’s heart squeezes, a distant, locked down part of herself begins to stir. such thoughts are distracted however, as lucy moves to the door and says lightly “i’ll be right back.” as she leaves, alex takes this chance to slip into the chair lucy had previously been occupying “would you like me to change your bandages?” she asks. “please.” maggie says “what patterns do you come with this time?” alex laughs and slips from the chair and moves across the space to kneel in front of maggie “well,” she says, reaching into a satchel at her hip “they were supposed to be flowers i think, but,” she shows the bandages to maggie in full and maggie cannot help but break into an amused smile “things did not turn out as expected.” alex continues “kara says she bought the tablecloth from an exceptionally drunk woman in a market. clearly, she saw something of me in this.” she gestures down the former table cloth, now torn into neat strips. kneeling in front of alex, she waits for maggie to offer her arm. time and time again alex follows the same pattern. she waits for maggie to extend her arm, and before even touching her, she provides warning. she provides warning and light touches as she rolls up maggie’s sleeve. never does she just push the material up around maggie’s elbow, although there is little doubt that maggie’s frame is still slight enough to do such things. every action she takes seems well thought out, well prepared, well forecast so maggie may prepare herself. no touch is unexpected. “may i ask you something?” maggie asks, watching alex’s fingers work old bandages clear. “of course,” alex murmurs, her gaze fixed on how the bandages peel from maggie’s skin “anything.” maggie swallows hard, “why is lucy so willing to risk so much?” alex folds the old bandages on themselves and dips a fresh one in some water, running it over the scabbed and scarring scratches before speaking “i think,” she says “and this is me just speaking, but lucy has some notion of the lengths her father, her friends, what we went to in order to secure her safe return. i think she feels as if, with you, she can pass that on. she can protect you fiercely and keep you safe.” alex’s gaze flickers up to meet maggies “you’ve suffered far too much already.” she says “not to mention,” alex says “we both consider you a friend.” maggie chokes lightly at that, coughing and wincing before saying “you both must be mad.” “why?” alex challenges, no venom to her voice, genuine curiosity. “i’m just, i stumbled in here from the woods. i’m, i’ve killed someone. i’ve, i’m not from money or class like either of you.” “so?” alex presses “what does that have to do with you being our friend? you deserve friends, and” alex says “and that may be hard to believe, but it’s true. you have me, you have lucy. we’re your friends.” there’s a single knock on the door and then it’s lucy stepping in once again. in her arms she carries a decorative wooden box. maggie catches alex’s eyes widening as she register what it is that lucy has retrieved. whatever the box holds, alex is clearly well aware of the contents. maggie isn’t unnerved, so much as intrigued. she marks this as another sign of growth. plenty of those who have had intentions to harm her have pulled many a terrible tool from boxes or bags. maggie does not fear such pain from lucy. rather, her curiosity is piqued and alex has paused her changing of bandages in favour of watching lucy kneel and set the box down on the small table by the fire. the light from the flickering of flames catch in the metal hinges that open silently as lucy works some unseen mechanism in the front. the lid opens seamlessly, silently and inside, maggie’s eyes go wide. lucy picks up the first of the flintlock pistols “my father taught me how to shoot these.” she says “after,” she pauses “after my return he took it upon himself to teach me how to more properly defend myself. my sister and i both were adept with swords, knives, fists, but,” she swallows hard “he had these made for me. had them made for me and taught me how to use them.” lucy explains, and then she looks at maggie seriously “i’m not afraid to use them, and the men who want you, they know that. they know that the generals daughter has taken after her father.” maggie doesn’t quite know what to say to that, so she just stares. some part of her registers the soft touch of fresh bandages against her wrist, but the rest of her is focused on what lucy has just said and all that she implied. “they won’t just leave me alone.” she says quietly “these men, they’re relentless. they, they want blood. they want my blood. they won’t just drop this.” she pauses “you know what i did,” she says “they won’t just forget that.” “they will.” lucy says with a grim expression “in time.” maggie shakes her head “lucy,” she presses “i-,” she grips at the arm of her chair “i murdered a man. no one will just forget that.” “you’d be surprised.” alex says gently. “not to mention, you, you were acting in self-defence. that man, he was doing terrible things to you and all you were trying to do was survive. what you did was not murder.” maggie shakes her head, her hands are shaking “they’ll never just leave this alone.” she says “they’ll never just leave me.” “they will.” lucy says “okay? we will figure it out.” “how?” maggie asks, desperate, to understand where their certainty is coming from, for she has none. “my father will be home soon.” lucy says “in the next few days at the latest. we will go to him.” “i, no, lucy, i can’t-“ maggie shakes her head, feeling a band ratchet around her chest “lucy, that-“ fingers circle along the back of her hand lightly. alex.alex doesn’t speak, just lets her fingers travel incoherent patterns along the back of maggie’s hand. in the other chair, lucy curses herself. another misstep taken. she’s triggered maggie now, triggered her into panic and fear, which was exactly what she didn’t want to happen. she feels herself trapped with the impossible task of explaining how her often distant and emotionally indecipherable father can be the answer to all this problem. she knows from all outward appearances that her father comes across as a military man born and bread, and that is not an incorrect fact about him. rather, it’s the fact that lucy knows, she knows he cares deeply about her and her sister. lucy knows that once she sits him down and explains maggie’s story, she has no doubt that her father will help. it’s just, she can’t blame maggie for her reaction. after all, how can she ask maggie to trust a man in authority, when no man before has done her any sort of favours? lucy had only a taste of the hell maggie has lived through, can only imagine some of the violence and violation she has endured. she exhales softly and reminds herself that just because maggie trusts her and alex, trusting complete strangers is too much of an ask “it’s okay.” lucy promises “i won’t make you, he won’t make you.” she says. her mind drifts back, to how her father bent backwards to accommodate in those first weeks after her safety. she remembers him offering guards, offering her to move anywhere she pleased. she remembers him offering their home to alex, when it became clear that lucy’s friend was a positive and stabilising force. “we’ll figure it out.” lucy continues “okay? and you won’t, if you’re not comfortable, he’ll understand.” she says, tries to explain. maggie lets out an exhalation and nods “okay.” she murmurs “you, you really think he’ll help me?” “i know it.” lucy nods. they just have to hold on until he arrives, although part of lucy is itching for a fight. she dares these men to come to her doorstep because she will bring them a fight. and not just her, but alex. alex, who has a violence deep inside her, just waiting for an appropriate target. lucy knows she should not hope for such things, yet, yet here she is.
----- CHAPTER BREAK -----
two days have passed since james’ warning and still the general has not arrived home. nor, to maggie’s relief, has anyone else come knocking. she has found that in lingering by the windows in her room she can obtain a view of the main drive to the house. perched here, on the window seat, she has taken to whiling away the hours. the space is comfortable for her still aching body, and in the afternoon the sun sets her room ablaze. it is such a time now that maggie finds herself in, the sun warms her face and arms. there’s a blanket wrapped around her shoulders, falling down over her arms and she is indescribably comfortable. she allows herself the luxury of existing through this moment in time, aware that even a week ago anxiety would have coursed through her. she is not free from worked up nerves, rather, in this quiet space, with lucy absorbed in her sketchbook, they have faded to the background. “lucy,” maggie finds herself saying, breaking the silence “can i ask you something?” lucy, fingers once again smudged with charcoal, looks up from her current sketch and nods “anything.” she encourages. “have you always sketched?” maggie asks, then feels the tips of her ears redden in response to feeling silly for even asking – she feels a swell of nerves, as if some boundary has been crossed by asking her question. except, lucy smiles and closes her book and looks across the space at maggie and says “i haven’t,” she replies “in fact, i didn’t see the appeal until i found myself in your position.” maggie blinks and it takes a moment for her to piece together exactly what position of hers lucy is referring to. then all at once she understands and she exhales a soft “oh.” and then “i’m sorry, i didn’t mean to bring up memories.” “you haven’t.” lucy soothes “i’m happy to share this with you.” she waits until maggie’s shoulders drop back down and maggie is once again settled in the afternoon sun “james,” she starts “who you met, he paints in his spare time. i could never understand how people became interested in such things. i mean, james painted with his father, it was something they shared. but, my father and i share other things. art is not one of them,” she laughs “but, after, well, after, my recovery was slow. my body weak and noncompliant. something i’m sure you understand.” maggie nods, for she does. except her memory does not stretch far enough back to a time when there was not some level of noncompliance within her muscles or bones. nonetheless, lucy continues “it was frustrating for me, to be so limited in what i could do. i wanted to do so much more, but being confined to my bed or my room, i was going mad.” she explains “so james, he came over once with his charcoal and a sketchbook. he gave them to me and i laughed in his face.” lucy says with a soft smile “but he knows me. he knew what to say to persuade me to give it a chance. once i started,” she says “i took to it quickly. it was an area that i could make progress in. i would draw the same book again and again until i was happy with it. then i would pick a new book or a new angle of the same book. it was something to occupy my mind and pass the time while my body recovered.”“and it stuck then?” maggie asks. lucy nods “it did.” she says “i find it a convenient way to pass the time, to give my mind something to do when my body needs rest, and i enjoy it.” she says simply “james has tried to persuade me to explore a more colourful pallet, but i enjoy the simplicity of charcoal. i like the contrast of black and white and being able to blend my own greys.” she says “unfortunately it does have a habit of getting everywhere.” she holds up her hand for maggie to see. indeed, there is charcoal everywhere it seems. “would you like to try?” lucy asks. maggie blinks, taken aback “i couldn’t.” she says “i wouldn’t be very good.” “it’s not about being good.” lucy says “i promise you, my skills are not anything special. but i don’t sketch for anyone but myself and my own enjoyment.” maggie considers. in the past, there was never the time to consider exploring such artistic talents. even before she became a pawn to settle her uncles' debt, life was busy. chores abound and an ailing aunt to take care of, maggie stops her thoughts when she realises where they’ve wandered. it has been, well, weeks or perhaps months since her thoughts drifted to those of the place she was born, and to those she used to call family. she wonders if her aunt was ever told the truth of her what happened to her, or if her uncle explained it away as a running away. just as he had with maggie’s cousin. it wasn’t until maggie found herself being bundled away that she realised her cousin had not fled but instead had been condemned to a fate far worse. she realises now, that her silence has drifted on and she lifts her head, glancing in lucy’s direction “sorry,” she says distractedly. “don’t be.” lucy replies, her words even and her smile soft “if you want to share what’s on your mind, you may.” “are you sure?” maggie asks before she can stop herself. “of course,” lucy nods “anything you want to alleviate, you’re more than welcome.” maggie swallows hard “okay.” she nods, then lingers, caught on her thoughts before finding a moment of bravery “i, uh, when i was eight my dad sent me away to my uncles house. he said they had enough mouths to feed and didn’t need to be worrying about mine as well.” she wraps her arms around herself, focusing hard at the join between the window and the wall “i thought, i thought it would be better out on their farm. they had more animals, horses and sheep. i, i was a kid, i romanticised it you know. away from six other siblings, only my cousin, i didn’t understand why my parents didn’t want me, but i thought my uncles place was so cool.” she pauses to draw breath and shakes her head “it wasn’t.” closing her eyes for a moment, maggie seeks control. she seeks a steadying of her nerves. she doesn’t find it, but she carries on anyway. “my uncle was a drunk on his better days. what money he made was spent on the bottle or gambling. i was fourteen when my cousin disappeared. he said she’d run away with a boy from town but,” maggie shakes her head again “i knew that wasn’t true. she didn’t, my cousin would rather have been a spinster than run away with a boy from town.” maggie does not say that she too would rather be a spinster than run away with a boy from town, but she doesn’t. instead she carries on “but she was gone and i couldn’t find her. i tried, i looked everywhere, asked around. no one knew.” she swallows hard “five years later i found out the truth.” lucy isn’t breath, her hands are stilled and she is watching maggie speak, nearly breathless herself. there is a sinking in her stomach, a twisting in her gut as she realises where this story is going. “my uncle had debts.” maggie says “and none of the money to settle them.” she says and her hands shaking as she twists them together under the blanket. she wishes for something more to do, to move, to pace, but her body is still fragile and her energy gone from the anxiety of explaining this story “my aunt was dying, i was staying to look after her. i couldn’t abandon her, she had always been so kind. but,” her voice wavers “my uncle took me out one night, told me we would be picking up some new mares for the farm, but, but he lied. he had made a deal to square his debts.” “he used you.” lucy breathes, the realisation hitting her all at once and making her stomach turn. she hates that she can imagine the type of man who would do that to his own kin. she hates how terribly familiar she is with that brand of evil. she wants to do more than just hold maggie’s hand. she wants to pull maggie into a hug and sooth those tears but even this contact can strain maggie. so lucy restrains herself and instead focuses on being a sturdy stable thing for maggie. thankful she doesn’t have to say it, maggie nods and blinks back tears. it’s not that she can’t face the reality of how she was betrayed, it’s that having to voice such betrayal rips open the old wound even further. “i was eighteen. it’s been,” she closes her eyes for a moment, then “eight years, nine, of being property. of being,” she shrugs “i assume that’s what happened to my cousin.” her breathing wavers and stutters. lucy burns. maggie becomes aware of lucy’s presence beside her. she feels the brush of lucy’s fingers across the back of her hand and all in a rush understands that she wants to hold lucy’s hand. their fingers tangle and maggie closes her eyes, hot tears burning.“let it out.” lucy coaxes “you can let it out.” so maggie does. she cries and cries and lucy does not waver. she stands, she keeps her fingers tangles with maggies and stands strong. she stands even though her heartaches and a burning rage threatens to consume her. she wants to find the man and shoot him herself, he condemned maggie to a terrible fate and likely did the same to her cousin before. part of her register that maggie has shared this part of herself. before this maggie seemed tight-lipped about her past, something lucy could not fault her for. she hopes that this sharing marks something of a milestone, something towards maggie settling in here. it’s been two weeks but lucy wants her to stay. “i’m sorry,” maggie apologises, her voice thick and wet “you-“ “i’m glad you told me.” lucy says quietly “no one should have to carry that burden alone.” “you’re very kind to me.” maggie says, and before lucy can go about answering that, there’s a knock on the door. lucy turns, squeezing maggie’s hand once as the door opens. the butler steps in “ma’am,” he says, and lucy can tell at once that something is wrong “ma’am, lord maxwell is here.” gerard’s gaze flickers to maggie and lucy understands without him needing to say more. unfortunately, so does maggie. or perhaps it’s the name that sparks palpable fear. her entire being seems to tense, her breath catching in her chest. the trembling starts at once and lucy feels anger rise within her. she had been expecting this, of course, but part of her had hoped that her father would have arrived by now. she also wishes alex were here. another person on her side. “gerard,” lucy says, taking control of herself and the situation with a breath “maxwell is not to leave the downstairs study. i don’t care what he says or what antics he pulls. that is where he is to stay. also, can you send word to the danvers estate, alex’s presence will be required in one way or another.” she takes another breath “and it may be in the best interest of any of the staff to leave maxwell and i to our conversation.” “i have already sent a stable boy to the danvers’.” he says “and, not to cast doubt upon your capabilities but,” “i can pull a pistol faster than maxwell.” lucy says confidently “i do not want anyone else running the risk of getting caught in the crossfire.” “is violence really the best answer here?” gerard poses. lucy shrugs “i doubt maxwell plans on leaving here emptyhanded, which is precisely what he'll be getting. and he tends to throw tantrums when he doesn’t get his way.” “may i strongly advise you be careful.” gerard says. “noted.” lucy nods, aware that behind her, maggie is petrified “stay with maxwell until i arrive, and then you should also stay out of the way.” “is that a direct order, ma’am?” “the last thing i want is you getting hurt.” lucy says “so if it has to be, then it is.” gerard nods, moving out of the room. silence settles and maggie feels like she’s going to be sick. “maggie,” lucy says “maggie i need you to trust me.” she says urgently “i will not let anything happen to you. there’s somewhere i want to take you, somewhere to hide you, okay?” maggie can barely manage to nod. lucy kneels down, brushing her fingers along maggie’s jaw “i promise, they’re not going to take you. i will not let that happen. but i want to hide you just in case, maxwell plays dirty and i would not put it past him to pull some trick.” maggie feels like she is going to be sick. her stomach has twisted itself into knots and knots again after that. her hands are shaking and she cannot get the name gerard said out of her head. she doesn’t think it’s man she’s encountered herself, but amongst the other girls she found herself suffering with, it was a name they murmured. it comes as no surprise that he is a man of some stature, a man that lucy seems to know well and finds herself unafraid of. although if maggie is being honest, there does not seem to be much that she’s afraid of. lucy’s fingers have moved from her jaw to her arm. she makes not move to make maggie stand, just provides a reminder that time is of the essence here. maggie slips from the window seat and stands on wavering legs “lucy,” she exhales in a pained murmur “lucy, i can’t do this.” “you can.” lucy reassures, an arm wrapping around maggie’s waist “you can, i promise. no one will find you where i’m taking you.” maggie finds herself forced to grip at the fabric of lucy’s shirt just to stay upright. fear has shattered her progress of the past few weeks and she feels like a spring fawn, stumbling on uncertain limbs. lucy is sturdy beside her. she is solid, yielding to maggie and forming around her, becoming a solid presence for maggie to lean against. it is like this that they make their way from the bedroom upstairs. there are distant voices and maggie blanches further for outside of gerarde there is a voice she recognises. never before had she been able to connect it with a name. to be able to do so now brings her little satisfaction, only serves to trigger her further. memories are flooding forward, transactions being made, sales and deals. she can hear all of them being made, while some more distant part of herself is aware that lucy is practically carrying her now. she can feel lucy’s strength, but also lucy’s rushing. she can feel the forced calm lucy is putting forth as her façade. they arrive on a landing and maggie presses herself into lucy’s side “trust me.” lucy murmurs “i will keep you safe.” she has so far and maggie can’t help but nod. she does trust lucy, just none of the rest of the world around her. maggie realises they are standing on a landing, facing a dead-end hall with no rooms or doors to speak of. maggie imagines some tiny hold for her to be hidden in. she imagines the dark, she imagines a cramped space. she imagines a hundred other times she has been locked away somewhere like that, with no certain promise of escape. where lucy takes her is nothing like maggie imagines. part of the wall slides away, and a full room is revealed. an honest to god full room. there’s a bed and a fireplace and stacks of books. maggie is floored, allowing herself to be lead to the bed. there are thick velvet curtains that hang, floor to ceiling across the windows. there are messy stacks of books, some of which seem far to medical for lucy’s tastes. the bed is neatly made, but there is no fire to speak of and the room holds a chill as a result. “here,” lucy murmurs “into the bed, okay? no one will find you here.” maggie does as bid, climbing into the expanse of a bed and letting out a half breath “lucy,” she says and maggie realises then she doesn’t know what to say to lucy. she doesn’t know what to tell her, what words exist that could possible describe how maggie is feeling now in this moment. no one has so willingly gone to war for her. so maggie settles for simple, she murmurs “thank you.” lucy breaks into a soft smile, she squeezes maggie’s hand “i’ll be back to get you.” she says “there are plenty of books if you want distractions, although many of them are alex’s, i will admit. i like the drawings they have, to practice my sketches.” lucy takes a breath “it will be okay.” she say “okay?” “okay.” maggie nods, unsure if she believes lucy or not. she wants to believe lucy. she wants to believe that the fire in lucy’s eyes will scare maxwell away. yet maggie has interacted with men like him before and know their wants and needs will be stopped by very little. maggie finds it hard to imagine that lucy will be able to procure a miracle for her this afternoon. maggie starts preparing herself for this to be it.for this to be the beginning of the end. they would not let her death come quickly, no, but at least her body has had some time of reprieve and healing. maggie readies herself for that fate and watches lucy leave the room.
----- CHAPTER BREAK -----
there is no part of lucy that wants to leave maggie alone in the hidden room. no matter how secure, no matter how undetectable it truly is, lucy can only begin to imagine the wash of emotions maggie is beginning to experience. lucy could feel maggie’s fear, it was visible in the way her entire being seemed to tremble. it had been the small murmur of thanks, so resigned, that had broken lucy’s heart and in turn, stoked her rage. it is this rage she focuses on now, allowing it to course through her veins and ignite every fibre of her being. she knew maxwell was dirty, she knew that his business flirted with the less than legal parts of the world, but she had always imagined him to have at least some moral standing. turns out she was mistaken. the realisation a grim reminder for lucy of the darkness in the world around her. so she prepares herself, making one last stop before going to greet her guest. she walks to her own room and takes a moment to embrace the silence, overtly aware that the events to follow could change everything about her life as she knows it. she is, lucy knows, ready to kill to keep maggie safe. it is a fact that settles in lucy as she manipulates the clasp of the wooden box containing her pistols. resting next to them on the shelf is a custom leather holster and lucy slips it around her waist, taking a moment to work the supple leather into position.the weight of the pistols on her hips is familiar and comforting as much as it also presses lucy closer to the edge. she knows that at this time there is no one else to help her. no father, no alex, no anyone but herself. a small part of lucy is glad she finds herself alone, this is a chance to take a stand and prove to herself, as well as to others, that her past does not define her. more than that, this is a moment for lucy to take a stand as the head of the house in her fathers' absence. often the preceding of his reputation is enough to keep most with ill intentions at bay. often, but not always. leaving her room, lucy heads for the stairs and prepares herself for the confrontation.around her, the house is eerily quiet for the time of day. on any other afternoon the house would be abuzz with people, each with a task to be carried out. as lucy descends the stairs, she becomes more aware of her own heartbeat, of her own sweaty palms. it seems that gerard has done as asked and kept all those who could be caught in crossfire, out of the way. lucy will not risk anyone getting injured or plucked into the mix as a pawn. the silence settles lucy’s nerves, it gives her a second of control over the situation because maxwell is in her house. he came into her domain with whatever silver, poisoned words he deems fit. lucy wants to laugh at his brashness, his bold assumption that he can come and go as he pleases. lucy pushes open the door to the lounge and catches her first glimpse of maxwell. he looks, as ever, overdressed and trying too hard to project his power. a tailored suit and shining boots, but for lucy, the pistol at his hip or the hilt of a dagger peeking out from the top of his boot do not go unmissed. what makes lucy laugh is the silver-tipped cane he has tucked under one arm. “i can’t say,” lucy starts as maxwell turns around “that i remember inviting you.” she pushes the door shut with a heavy thunk and checks that the handle is unlocked. it is not that she is planning an escape, but merely being in the room with this eel of a man leaves lucy suppressing feelings of discomfort. maxwell gives her a confident, twisted smile, looking down on her without saying as much “well, my lady, i must confess that this visit is not particularly social.” “of course not,” lucy nods “you don’t do social unless you think you have something to gain, and because you’ll never be getting into my bed…” she trails off, watching maxwell shift and squirm and takes some triumph from his flash of anger “do enlighten me into the reason for your visit,” she concludes her sentence by standing not ten feet from the man with one hand resting on the heel of her pistol. maxwell’s eyes flicker down and then back up “you’re not a stupid woman,” he says “and i dare say by your preparation, you know precisely why i’m here.” “enlighten me anyway, maxwell.” he pauses and then “the woman.” he says “you obviously are aware of the crime she is wanted for.” “why don’t you tell me?” lucy says, standing tall with her shoulders back, maintaining the air of someone who has all the time in the world, instead of someone who has to restrain herself from landing a blow. the longer lucy’s in the same room with this man the less afraid of him she becomes. “must we do this?” maxwell sighs “it would be in your best interest to simply hand her over. there’s no need to besmirch your families good name over some whore.” lucy bristles and swallows her rage “i would be careful who you call a whore, maxwell.” she says “there are rumours a plenty about where your insatiable taste in women gets you.” she lets her words land and then “i will make this easy for you, maggie is not going anywhere. there are mitigating circumstances and then some, surrounding the act of violence perpetuated and it’s not worth your trouble to try and take her.” “see that’s where you’re wrong.” maxwell all but sneers “there is a pretty price on her head, and her capture would curry good favour amongst the authorities.” “i’m sure it would.” lucy agrees “but if you make a move against her, you are making a move against this house and i am well within my rights to act accordingly.” she taps the heel of her gun once. “bold words for one girl.” maxwell presses, taking a step forward “what is to stop me from calling in an army and having them rip this house apart? you father isn’t here to protect you, and maybe you’d even see some old friends.” his eyes shine maliciously and lucy has to fight from feeling sick. “have you forgotten,” she counters, stepping forward fearlessly “what happened to the last man who threatened this estate?” maxwell laughs callously “i heard he got some very good head.” several things begin to unfold before he has never reached the end of his sentence. first, there is the throwing open of doors on well-oiled hinges that startles both lucy and maxwell. second, a sick feeling twists violently in lucy’s stomach as maxwell words hit her and she is near consumed by a violent desire to shoot him. he knows what happened and he proceeds to throw it back in her face, lucy seethes, focusing on her rage instead of her desire for a shower. third, maxwell pales significantly and lucy can see him scrambling for posture and prowess. his fear and his posturing tells lucy all she needs to know, the general is home. “say it again, boy.” general lane all but roars, striding into the room still dressed in his travelling clothes. there is mud on his boots and his cheeks are red and windswept. he carries no pistol, although lucy is aware that he possesses a collection. at the present, all he has for armament is the sword at his hip. although it not just any sword. it is the sword he has taken into battle, it is the sword that has taken more lives than lucy cares to consider. it is razor sharp and meticulously cared for by her father, and she knows he could draw it faster than she could pull a pistol from her hip. maxwell does not cower, and he does not stammer – although his shaking hands give away his true emotions. his voice, when he speaks is far less cool and controlled than a moment prior “general,” he nods “welcome home.” her father’s eyes darken “skip the pleasantries” he growls “go back to bandying threats against my daughter.” “oh, sir, i was not-“ “do not play me for a fool, boy.” the general tears his glance away from maxwell lord and over to lucy. she still has one hand resting on the heel of her weapon, the other is bunched into a fist. she too is shaking, but it is not from surprise, nor suppressed fear. it is anger. it is the same anger that bubbled within her as soon as gerard mentioned maxwells name. she knows what her father is seeking out, some assurance that she is okay and unharmed. which, lucy is, more or less. maxwells words are bitter, twisted and piercing, but in this moment, they roll off lucy with ease. lucy watches maxwell’s posture change. she watches the moment he finds his footing in this new dynamic. she can see the settling of his shoulders and his nerves. she sees the same smile settle on his lips, maxwell thinks he can play this game and win “apologies, sir,” he says “my words were callous.” lucy snorts and maxwell eyes her before continuing “but you see,” he says, “your daughter has taken it upon herself to harbour a murderer and has placed your families name forward as protection for the criminal.” lucy wants to hit him. she wants to shoot him, too, but thinks at this moment either option will be frowned upon.the general turns to survey his daughter “lucy,” he says “is what he says true?” maxwell is preening already, sure of his victory, but lucy knows she will persuade her father to see reason. she knows because as much as she is her fathers child, it was her mother who taught her to read, and it was her mother who showed her the stacks of books on law and history that lucy consumed with fervour. lucy knows she can mix words with any man and leave him in the wake of her understanding. this afternoon, maxwell will be no exception. “there is,” lucy says “slight disagreement upon the charge of murder being laid out.” she says “maxwell here, has no doubt been fed some variation on the truth where maggie has been pained as a vindictive and cruel woman with ill intent. however,” she lets her gaze slide to her fathers “maggie has suffered a specific type of cruelty for far longer than i did.” she chooses her words carefully, letting her father grasp the implications of what she is implying “what maxwell and his friends call murder, i call self-defence in the face of a monster.” “it matters not what you think has occurred, the righteous authorities have laid out the charges and the woman is wanted, punishment must be dolled out. the dead man was a father.” “and has anyone asked his wife if she will miss him?” lucy fires back “or do you have your head so far up your own ass that you are naive enough think that a man with such a violent reputation as he would only ever be focused on the women he sought out, outside of his marriage.” maxwell seethes “your opinion matters very little.” he spits, then he looks to the general “the woman is a wanted felon, a murderer, sir. she killed a man with her bare hands. such a heinous act must not be allowed to go unpunished.” there is a moment of silence, where lucy’s hopes hang in the balance of her fathers next words “and what should happen if the act is not punished?” he says, with measured words “the other women you and your friends keep as whores against their will may find themselves with a means of fighting back?” he stares maxwell down as he continues “what a tragedy that would be.” lucy wants to smirk and she wants to gloat in maxwell’s face, but this is far from settled. “sir,” maxwell steps forward “you cannot be condoning the violence that has taken place.” “and why can’t i be?” the general says, stepping forward and letting the full height of himself be matched against maxwells “i have killed in the name of protecting my liberty, my freedom. i have killed men who were of threat to me. i see little difference between the lives i have taken, and the actions this woman has taken in the name of protecting herself.” he pauses “we both know, boy, what your friends get up to. we both know the depths of their depraved tastes, and how, more than once, they have found themselves having gone one step too far. if the rumours are even half true, the woman conducted herself admirably and probably saved her own life in the face of a man like reed.” maxwell goggles at the general “you can’t be serious. you are comparing war, with,” he splutters “life. they are different things entirely.” “i don’t see how.” the general counters “and i will not bandy words with you about it any further.” he says “the protection of this house stands. if you, or any one of your friends, make a move against the woman than i will not hesitate to react as within my rights to. and,” he says, his voice dropping, his hand curling around the hilt of his blade “the last man to make such a move paid for it with his life. i killed him myself you see, buried my sword in his gullet and let him bleed on the ground. it was better than he deserved.” maxwell steps back quickly “i see you cannot be reasoned with.” he glances from lucy to her father and then back again “this is a mistake.” he says “that woman is not worth the trouble.” “forgive me if your words do not frighten me,” lucy says “i know you consider most women to be worth very little, so your opinion on maggie holds very little weight.” maxwell steps forward as if to make a move on lucy, and even as lucy steps forward to meet him, it is general lane who shoves him backwards “leave.” he commands “and don’t come back here or else you too may get the pleasure of feeling your blade between your ribs.” maxwell stumbles backwards, catching himself on the arm of a chair and heading for the door. he says nothing, although it is clear from the burning in his eyes and the bobbing of his throat that he wishes he had the nerve to. he rips open the door and nearly walks straight through alex. alex sidesteps him with a raised eyebrow, her gaze flickering from maxwell’s hasty departure to lucy and the general standing side-by-side. “doctor,” general lane nods “i’m afraid you’ve missed most of the chaos.” alex, sword at her hip and dagger strapped to her thigh, walks into the room “pity.” she says, trying to get a read of the situation “how was the city?” she asks him, aware of his recent trip. “tedious.” general lane sighs “as ever.” he pauses, “and i would dare say that there have been more exciting happenings going on here.” lucy shifts on her feet “i can explain.” she says. “i think it best you do.” general lane says “i will need more information before i can go and correct matters.” “correct matters?” lucy asks carefully, unsure if this is confirmation of what she knew all along to be true – her father would listen and he would help. “i suspect that the crime committed was not murder, but in fact, was self-defence. it will take only but a little reminding of the troubles reed has brought to the authorities with his, accidents. i have little doubt that the right people will see that his death is not such a loss.” lucy shares a glance with alex and they share some nonverbal exchange wherein alex understands where she needs to be in this moment. she can only imagine one place where lucy would have hidden maggie from the likes of maxwell, and while the general may seek her medical opinion on maggie later, right now alex wants to check in on maggie and assure her that all is well. “excuse me.” she says “maggie has wounds i should check.” the general nods and sinks down into a chair, as lucy does the same. alex can hear lucy take a breath before beginning to explain “she was in the woods a little over two weeks ago.” alex ventures out of earshot and heads upstairs. *it would be a lie if alex told herself that she knew exactly what to expect when she pulled the book that loosened the secret door lucy had shown her all those years ago. she imagined anxiety and fear. she imagines how scared maggie must be, convinced of the path her fate will lead her down. it’s not an unreasonable thought, alex knows, men in power are relentless and cruel when it comes to obtaining what they want, and maxwell lord is one of the worst. she remembers the brief and short-lived courtship, wherein alex in no uncertain terms, told her mother that she would not be seeing maxwell again no matter how impressive his status. it had been a decision not lightly accepted but accepted in the end, and alex reminds herself to update her mother on exactly what it is that maxwell is involved in these days. if only to provide further justification for her prior actions. stepping into the small hidden room, alex is struck by the chill as compared to the rest of the house. she can imagine lucy brought maggie here quickly, imagined there was no time to stoke a fire to help warm the space. it makes alex’s heartache, the thought of the chill only adding to maggie’s fear. she steps further into the room at at first glance cannot see maggie amongst the growing shadows. an irrational part of her brain worries. worries that maxwell found her. that he took her. that she is already suffering some all to imaginable fate. pushing the door shut behind her, alex halts in her tracks. she takes a breath and makes her presence know “maggie,” she says as gently as she can “it’s just me.” she pauses, listening. a second passes before alex’s straining ears can pick out the muffled sound of rapid breathing “maggie,” she coaxes further “i’m alone. it’s going to be okay. no one is going to be taking you anywhere.” maggie emerges from a shadow. she is bundled in a blanket that is wrapped right around her shoulders. even from a distance alex can see that she is pale and shaking. walking on such unsteady legs seems to take effort that alex doesn’t think maggie possesses right now. she wants to move forward and help. she wants to wrap an arm around thin shoulders and hold her clue. she wants to stoke the fire and coax maggie to sit next to it. alex wants to do a great many things, but in this moment she remains still, she watches maggie wobble to the bed, arms pressed against her hips. “maggie,” alex says as gently as she can “you’re safe.” she promises “maxwell is gone and he won’t be coming back.” maggie blinks at her and it’s nearly impossible to miss the tears in her eyes. she struggles for words, running a hand through her hair before letting it fall into her lap. alex’s resolve breaks and she takes a careful step forward “maggie,” she says “maxwell is gone. general lane is going to get the charges against you removed.” maggie blinks like she doesn’t quite understand “how?” she asks quietly, her voice a whisper. alex can hear the disbelief. she can hear all the doubt that must be coursing through maggie’s mind. alex cannot help but wonder what fate maggie resigned herself too, or what horrors she pictured coming through that door. alex has only guesses, but still, she crafts herself into a safe shape, something soft and protective and reassuring. she sinks down onto the bed, occupying the space next to maggie. she places her hand across maggies, waiting for the tension, waiting for the pullback. except she gets none. maggie seems to wobble and lean towards her, as if unsure of exactly what she’s attempting to seek out. yet alex responds in kind, she shuffles across the bed, she moves closer. she wraps an arm around maggie’s shoulders and feels maggie’s weight lean into her almost at once. she is trembling, alex realises. from cold or fear or both, alex finds herself pulling maggie closer, wanting to both warm and calm her. “the general is handling it.” alex murmurs “lucy is explaining everything to him now. maxwell is gone, with his tail between his legs no doubt. you’re safe. you’re going to be safe here.” “how can he just make it go away?” maggie’s head is tucked into the space beneath alex’s collarbone, and alex can feel every breath maggie takes. “he knows people who owe him favours. he’s well-liked and well respected in these parts,” alex explains – not diving into the fact that was not always the case. that once upon a time he had many more political enemies “it’ll be taken care of.” alex strokes the curve of maggie’s upper arm with a thumb, wishing she could do more to reassure and provide comfort. moments of soft breathing pass and then maggie asks “and lucy,” she says “is lucy okay? she’s not hurt, she’s not…” maggie trails off. it a question alex wants to as lucy herself. fear had nearly overcome alex when the stableboy found her in the yard nearly an hour prior. he was red-faced from riding in the wind and his hands were shaking. it had taken him three attempts to get the words out, and when he finally did alex’s blood had run cold. fear had swept through her and kara had noticed at once. she had been keen to help but alex could not risk her as well, not with the threat of maxwell lord at hand. she knew his moral compass lacked a fixed point and the fear of what he would do in the name of profit or power scared alex deeply. a quick read of the room upon her arrival had told alex that lucy was physically unharmed but deeply shaken. no doubt maxwell had refused to mince words. he was purposefully tactless, unyielding when it came to what he perceived as peoples weaknesses. the more she thought about the man, the more alex wanted to grind him into dust and let the dirt soak up his blood. a particularly violent thought, alex knows, but she cannot help it when faced with maxwell lord. too often he was a monster dressed as a man. “she’s unharmed.” alex soothes, pulling herself from her thoughts “she’s talking with her father now.” “oh.” maggie nods and shivers again, curling into alex’s warmth. “how about we get the fire going?” alex offersmaggie casts a glance to the fireplace, with its lavish chairs and she nods “okay.” she murmurs, then, gaze still fixed on the fireplace “i didn’t believe that he would help me.” “the general?” alex queries.maggie nods “i, i don’t understand why he would help.” “because it’s the right thing to do.” alex says “because his daughter cares about you, and he’ll do damn near anything for her.” she explains “you’re worth helping, worth protecting.” alex says. maggie says nothing in response to that, momentarily finding herself overwhelmed once again by the astounding effects of being free and safe and cared about.