Had she been held captive here? If so, by whom? What was going on?
Slowly sliding to her feet, she cried out as her knees buckled beneath her. Frantically clutching tightly onto the wooden board, she stared down at it with a dark frown of consternation. She had been lying on a simple wooden board, resting on a table? Why? She turned at the sound of movement by the doorway and watched it swing open to reveal a maid.
Jemima stared at the woman now standing in the doorway. At first she seemed ignorant of Jemima’s presence, only to give a startled gasp when she caught sight of her standing beside the table. Jemima opened her mouth to speak, only for the maid to emit a high-pitched, banshee-like scream and bolt from the room, slamming the door behind her.
Shocked, Jemima slumped back against the wooden board. She wished she had the strength to run after the woman and demand to know what was happening, but the trembling in her knees had increased to the point that she knew she couldn’t even stand up any longer. Carefully lying back down on the hard wooden board, Jemima listened to the screams of the maid disappear into the distance. She gathered enough strength to drag the blanket back over her body just as the thick fog began to weave its way around her again, drawing her back down into oblivion. As she succumbed, she thought she heard a flurry of activity outside the door, but was so cold and tired that she couldn’t summon the energy to keep her eyes open, or call out to anyone for help.
Jemima jolted as a sudden blast of icy air brushed over the bare flesh of her chest. Her eyes jerked open and she stared up in surprise - straight into the stunned gaze of another strange woman. Another maid?
The woman jerked backward, staring at Jemima in horror for a few seconds before letting out the most ear-piercing scream Jemima had ever heard.
It was so high-pitched that it made Jemima’s head pound, and she immediately groaned at the churning in her stomach. Clutching her head, she took a breath to ask the woman what was wrong, only to find herself suddenly alone. She winced as the door to the room slammed shut.
Memories of another woman fleeing the same room came flooding back. As before, she lay listening to the screams of the maid disappearing into the distance.
“Why does everyone do that?” she croaked, holding her pounding head.
Instinctively Jemima lifted a trembling hand to her tangled mass of hair, before tenderly touching her cheek. Did she look that bad? Why didn’t anyone stop to help her? Where was she anyway?
She still had no memory of anything, only her name. What was going on?
Shaking with a mixture of fear, exhaustion and confusion, Jemima eased her legs over the side of the table once more, and paused to allow her sore head to settle to the new arrangement of standing upright. As she did so, she became aware of a commotion outside of the room again, only this time more muffled, as though it was coming from further away.
Slowly gathering the blanket around her shoulders, she shuffled on unsteady feet toward the door.
This time she would get some answers and find out just what was going on, and why she was being kept in a tiny storage room.
Immediately the word ‘cell’ sprang to mind, and once again she felt a surge of fear so strong that she had the urge to run and not look back. Driven by a desperate need to escape the room, she lurched toward the open door.
Holding on to the door jamb for support, she stepped out of the room and paused in what appeared to be a long, servants’ corridor. She found herself staring down the corridor at an assembled group of well-dressed people who were deep in conversation.
Her eyes immediately locked on the slender, elegantly beautiful vision of her sister standing beside a tall, black-haired man Jemima could vaguely remember; only she couldn’t remember where she had seen him before. She watched as Eliza leaned against the tall, startlingly handsome man whose hands rested on her shoulders as he stared down the corridor at Jemima with something akin to horror on his face.
“Sweet Jesus,” Edward whispered, staring down the corridor in shock. His hard hands prevented Eliza from turning and seeing the spectre slowly gliding toward them.
“What the -” Dominic swore, dumbfounded into stunned silence as he watched the spectacle. His eyes wide with surprise, he turned as Peter appeared at his elbow. For a brief moment, their eyes met and held. Peter instinctively tensed, knowing he wouldn’t like this latest turn of events.
“What?” Peter snapped, in no frame of mind for any more ridiculous charades with the servants. Behind Dominic, Edward was staring, transfixed, at something further down the corridor. From his place just outside the doorway, Peter couldn’t see anything, but whatever it was had shocked Edward so badly he looked deathly pale, his jaw hanging open with stunned surprise.
Peter’s curiosity and temper surged, and his hand dropped to the wicked-looking dagger tucked into his belt.
“Is it Scraggan?” Peter whispered to a stunned-looking Sebastian, who slowly shook his head in silent reply.
Dominic suddenly jerked out of his trance and turned to Peter. “You need to -” he paused, clearly stuck for words. He looked askance at his friend, and moved to one side, gesturing behind him with one arm.
With a sigh of impatience, Peter brushed past him and Edward, who drew Eliza to one size and held her head close to his shoulder to prevent her from turning around.
Peter’s world stopped.
His breath locked in his throat.
The ground shifted beneath his feet.
He went cold, then hot.
His heart lurched in his chest, as a wave of shock swept through him that was so strong his fingers tingled and the vision became hazy.
Jemima?