-CHAPTER 22-
"Get up!"
Listlessly, she hauled herself up with the staggering flail of someone who could collapse face-first at any second right onto the concrete… and never rise again. Her spine arched at an angle from the elbow, which throbbed shakily beneath her, the barbed cuffs cutting too close to her wristbones. Shivering like one with a cold, a short, unyielding whimper escaped the slight parting of her cracked, moisture-starved lips.
"Up, I said."
That cutting voice came again, sharp, carrying the same edge, slicing through her at full force. Estella bobbed her dizzying head left and right, eyes crinkled semi-shut against a beam so overwhelmingly bright she couldn't place the voice that had called—twice now—from somewhere deep in the glare. Were they a figment of her imagination? Was the light real… or just her brain playing games with her?
Swoosh.
Bone-chilling. Cold as ice. Frozen stiff.
Estella became them, every inch of her shuddering to the bone. Her still-disoriented mind couldn't make out what had just happened. All she knew was that something earthily mucky had slipped into her throat from sniffing back snot, making her double over as if to retch. She coughed her heart out, feeling the burn blast up her lungs.
"Oh, quit with the drama and get back up! Should I ask them to flood you with rainwater this time? A simple bath's not enough—you want to drown in it? Be up before I count to three. Don't test my patience so early in the day."
Estella pried her eyes open with great effort, straining through the water crashing down her eyelids to make out the figure standing at the centre of the doorway, hand on her hip, giving her the evil eye.
"You and you, get her."
Before Estella could properly register who had said that, iron hands—firm as rock—clamped down on her forearms, each one wrenching tight until her bones popped. A muffled screech caught, stuck fast in her throat.
Then, suddenly, as if some fierce passion ignited inside her, she started to wriggle, slithering her body back down to the ground against their best efforts. One of the men clicked his tongue in frustration, a sharp sound that sent a shiver down her spine, reminding her just how vulnerable she was. Still, she refused to let them move her about so easily without first knowing where they were taking her.
"Behave!"
Theodore barked, but Estella ignored him. She could make out the figure from before now. The voice matched. Georgina. There was no reason Georgina would be the one sent to get her instead of Lovetta. That alone made her squirm harder.
"Estella!" Theodore cawed, but she still wouldn't commit.
"What is the matter here?" came Georgina's voice, almost a hiss under her breath. "You want to be left alone? You like it here in this black hole and are fine continuing to stay here?"
Estella wished she had the strength to scoff. Look at Georgina, pretending to care, acting all maternally kind as if it mattered whether she rotted in that place. She and Geraldine didn't care for her; no one in the family did. No use pretending here.
"Fine. Let us go. I'll have Father report back to the Duke that the thief refused to admit her crime and would not willingly surrender herself also to be judged fairly in his court."
Estella's face released its tension all at once, the tight pull expelling in one breath. Her body also eased, and her joints burned back to life. Did Georgina mean what she thought she did? Were they truly going to send her off—alone—to be tried by the Duke? Could that mean… she might finally escape their lives forever?
…
She allowed Theodore to lead her outside, and Estella, inhaling deeply, felt it in her throat, how different the air outside was. She had missed it. Moist and brutally cold, yes, but she still preferred it to the stale stuffiness of the place she'd barely crawled out of.
How long had she been in there? With no one coming to check on her and the door sealed shut, she had no way of knowing. How long had the baroness' rage burned a wildfire? A day? Three? More?
How had she even survived all this time without food?
Harbouring the thought cracked open a hole in her gut. A rumble, loud enough for all three to hear, echoed across the open field. Estella clutched at her stomach. Her eyes trailing down her hands until they landed on the sharp dents about her wrists. She fought a lost battle not to break into a sob. (Bothwristswerescarredforlife.)
"Shut it!"
Georgina hissed, and Estella sniffed back her sob. They continued toward the house, Theodore and the other man slipping away from the group, leaving her with nothing but the estate and the back of Georgina's head.
It was a hell of a lot more difficult to cover that much distance without any form of support. Estella sulked. Georgina knew this and had ordered the men to leave regardless, still charging Estella to keep up the pace and not keep "Father waiting." What business did she have with her father?
When they finally reached the house, Georgina entered some fifteen minutes before Estella. The girl walked like a ghost, passing the living room corner where the baroness and Geraldine tilted their well-enamelled heads toward her. They took in her scroungy hair, sore wrists, blood-caked back, and the weary look that settled on her face. They should pity her, if only a little, but Estella knew better. Seeing her all crushed and beaten down probably gave them a guilty pleasure. It was the kind of sight that got them wildly excited. Sadists, all of them.
Estella padded to her room, ignoring the smell of her father's cologne, which told her he was nearby. She could not stand that man. She hated him for all the hurt she'd had to endure in her seventeen hard years of life.
Thinking back brought tears to her eyes, pooling a dam inside her lids and blinding her for a solid minute. Just as she was about to turn down the long, winding corridor toward her room, Georgina's voice shrieked loudly, echoing in her wake:
"Make sure you are out and ready in five minutes. The coach is waiting!"
Estella heard her but didn't answer.
"And be sure to cover up those hideous scars with makeup! You can go into my room to take some. But return after use!"
Estella dragged herself forward, her limbs heavy like dead weight. They burned like something cooking over a roaring fire. She finally made it to her room.
Once inside, she locked the door and crumbled to the floor, crying into the hardwood. It would be her last tears in this house, she told herself. And then she cried even more.