Two hulking men she didn’t recognize from among the household staff of Thursley Manor rushed into the room. She tried to dodge them, but they trapped her in the corner and dragged her from the room by her arms.
“Lock her up!” George’s shout followed them down the corridor.
Her mother called out weakly for her, but no matter how Harriet screeched and fought, they wouldn’t let go. She was taken to an empty bedroom and shoved inside. The door was locked with a clack of cold iron. Shivering hard, her shoulder and hip still sore from her fall, Harriet threw herself at the door, but she was too small to break the sturdy oak.
Her mother’s warning had come too late. She wouldn’t turn twenty for another month, and George was already taking control of her, just as she feared he would. There was nothing he couldn’t do to her, stranded as she was at Thursley. They were too far from the town of Faversham for anyone to come this way except on purpose. She had no friends, no one who would worry about her, which she now suspected with dread was what George had wanted all along.
The dark bedchamber was bracing in its chill. No fire had been lit in the small hearth, and she knew no one would come to see to the task. There was only one small oil lamp on the side table next to the bed. She dug around in the drawers of the side table until she found a pair of steel strikers. She used the strikers to light the lamp. The light blossomed into a healthy glow, but it offered no warmth. Outside the storm seemed to build as rain joined the howling winds.
She had to escape. Harriet attempted to pry the windows open, but nails were driven deep into the wooden frames. She even studied the lock of the door, trying to use a hairpin to see if she could twist the tumblers in a way that would set her free, but nothing worked.
A few hours later, footsteps echoed in the corridor. A key jangled in the lock, and a latch lifted. She tensed, her muscles tightening as she expected to see her stepfather or one of his men. But she saw only the cook, Mrs. Reed.
“Thank God you’re all right, lass.” The tall Scottish woman placed one hand on her bosom. “I was worried to death when I found out he had locked you up.” Mrs. Reed spoke in a whisper and glanced down the darkened hall behind her, as though fearful of being overheard.
“Mrs. Reed… My mother… Is she…?” Harriet choked on the words.
“No, not yet, lass, but there’s no time. You must go. Now.” The cook came into the room and cupped her face the way Harriet’s mother used to. “I know you dinna want to go, but you must.”
“I can’t leave Mama here, not with him.”
“You can and you will. Your mother told me when she fell ill that she feared she wouldna be around to protect you. She made me promise that I’d help you escape,” Mrs. Reed insisted. “The master has plans for you. Plans I cannot abide, you ken. He means to hurt you, to use you like a…” She shook her head as though the rest of what she might have said was too awful. “He wanted me to drug you. But I drugged him and his men instead. We dinna have long.” The cook put an arm around her shoulders and dragged her back down the servants’ stairs and into the kitchens. A scullery maid named Bess was cleaning a pot and looked up at them as they entered.
“How are they, lass?” Mrs. Reed asked the girl.
“Still asleep,” Bess whispered, her eyes wide with fear. “Mr. Johnson has the coach ready. He thinks he can take Miss Russell as far as Dover, despite the storm.”
“Dover?” Harriet repeated in shock. That was so far away.
“Aye, lassie. You’ll take this.” Mrs. Reed pulled a leather pouch of coins from a pocket in her dress. “Buy passage to Calais.”
“France?” Harriet trembled. To travel alone as a single woman was to invite trouble, possibly even danger.
“France will be safe. The master could have you tracked from here all the way to the bloody Isle of Skye in the north. ’Tis best if you leave England.”
Harriet swallowed hard and nodded. She knew some French and could learn more when she was there. Her father had relatives