“I’m sure witnessing Filey and Monks at work on your dog will jog your memory. You remember how…thorough they can be.”
Lord John gave his stick a peremptory tap on the flagged floor. The door opened and Filey sidled in, cradling a freshly bandaged hand to his chest. He’d clearly been waiting just outside.
“Aye, your lordship?”
Matthew sucked in a breath of the fresh air that poured into the room. It cleared the mist of pain from his head, even though his ribs still felt like they were on fire. He needed to do something to save Wolfram. But what?
Christ, he loathed his uncle.
“Fetch me the mongrel.” Lord John lifted the collar of his coat against the faint breeze through the open door.
“Aye, your lordship. Right away, your lordship. He’s skulking in the woods somewhere. Bit me when we was holding down…looking after Lord Sheene.” An expression of shifty pride crossed his jowly face. “But happen I put a bullet in his sorry tail as he took off.”
“You shot my dog, you bastard?” Matthew shouted, struggling yet again against his bindings and just as uselessly.
Hatred rose to gag him. His muscles tensed to agony. If sheer rage could free him, he’d be knocking Filey’s teeth down his neck right now. He pulled so hard against the leather ties that the skin of his wrists split and hot blood trickled down over his hands.
“Aye, happen I did. And not before time, my lord.” The undercurrent of satisfaction in Filey’s voice made Matthew vow yet again to kill him. But promises of vengeance wouldn’t halt the coming abomination. If Wolfram was still alive to be tortured. He sent up a brief prayer that his dog was dead. Even while the thought made his heart kick with angry grief.
The idea of Wolfram crawling off into the undergrowth to suffer a slow, miserable death turned his stomach. Although given his uncle’s abhorrent plans, it would be better if Wolfram died before Filey found him. Acrid sorrow flooded Matthew as he recognized that his dog was yet another innocent victim of Lord John’s iniquity.
An expression of chilly anger crossed his guardian’s face. It was the most emotion he’d shown since Matthew had opened his eyes. “If the cur is dead, I will be most displeased, Filey. Most displeased.”
Filey’s pasty face developed a sickly hue. “Aye, your lordship,” he muttered. “Were only a bit of fun.”
“Burn in hell, Filey,” Matthew said in a low vicious voice, then looked at his uncle. “Let me up so I can look for Wolfram. You can’t leave him out there hurt and alone.”
“Of course I can,” Lord John said indifferently. “Although of course I’ll bring the dog in for your tender ministrations, if you tell me where the slut is.”
His fists clenched, slimy with sweat and his own blood. Hoping against hope that Grace had remained true to their plan and headed toward Wells, then for London, Matthew said in a flat voice, “She has family in Bristol. I assume she went there. She didn’t tell me she was going. She must have seen her chance with the gate open and me out of my wits.”
Lord John frowned, as if considering what he heard. Did his uncle believe him?
“That’s where Filey and Monks found her. Ask him,” Matthew added desperately.
“Bristol?” Lord John said slowly. “It’s possible. It would make sense to find a place where she could mix with the populace. A woman like her could always earn a coin on her back.”
“She’s no whore!”
“If she wasn’t when she arrived, you’ve made her into one,” his uncle said without emphasis.
“Eh, I’m not sure about Bristol, your lordship.” Filey scratched his head with his good hand. “If I remember rightly, the lass said she was lost when we took her.”
“She has family there,” Matthew said. “That’s all she told me. Now let me up to find my dog.”
“Your madness has returned and you must be controlled.” His uncle had the temerity to smile, a brief baring of teeth. “Surely you recall that much from previous fits.”
“I’m not mad. I had a temporary physical relapse that has now passed,” Matthew snapped. “You know that as well as I.”
“How can we be sure?” His uncle’s voice was smooth as oil. “I’ve sent for Dr. Granger. He’ll give us his diagnosis when he arrives.”
Matthew bit back an appalled curse. Dr. Granger was the more brutal of the two physicians who had certified him. For three miserable years, Matthew had endured beatings and purges and bleedings. He was lucky he’d survived.
His uncle permitted himself a small satisfied smile before he turned his attention back to his henchman. “Filey, set the search parties on the cur’s trail. Woe betide you if he’s dead. He’ll be a useful lever if Lord Sheene has lied to us and we need to force the truth from him.”
Filey bowed. “Aye, my lord.”
“Then you and Monks will take two men and ride to Bristol. Someone will have seen the jade on the road if she went that way. Check for Pagets in the city. Check the area where you found her. If you pick up no trace by tomorrow, leave the men to continue searching and come back.” Lord John turned to Matthew. “What was her maiden name?”