Free Fragile Mask by Elizabeth Bailey

place in this house.
    ‘ Do get a move on, Miss Verena,’ Betsey hissed from the
bottom of the sweeping stairs, straightening her own black pelisse
that had become disarranged from her exertions.
    ‘ We are coming,’ Verena returned, but oddly the staircase
began to seem endless. Mama’s physical weakness slowed her down,
and her progress, step by painful step, began to rack Verena’s
nerves.
    She must have sensed the danger. For barely had they
reached the last stair, Mama setting her foot to the patterned
quarry-tiled floor of the wide hall of the Manor, than a flurry of
activity and a hoarse shout outside startled them both into
immobility.
    ‘ Dear heaven, what is it, Betsey?’ Verena whispered,
clutching at the maid’s arm.
    ‘ Nathaniel!’
    The cry, shot through with alarm, issued from Mrs
Peverill’s lips. The three women froze at the foot of the stairs,
three pairs of eyes fixed fearfully on the open front door. Verena
herself, thrown by Mama’s voice of conviction, found herself
temporarily devoid of resources. Her thoughts whirled.
    It could not be Nathaniel! Not now . Oh, pray heaven, not
now. He was meant to be away until this afternoon. Adam had told
her so — promised her. Though indeed he was ignorant of their plans. She’d
had to keep him ignorant, for he would be left to face Nathaniel’s
wrath. And she could not permit him to become involved. Fittleworth
was Adam’s inheritance, his future. She could not have jeopardised
that. But he had seemed so sure — she had invented the
only too plausible excuse that Mama was in need of a day of quiet.
There was no need to explain further to Adam. It could not be
them.
    But Squire Peverill was now even walking through
the front door, his son at his heels. Both were in riding dress,
booted and spurred. Nathaniel stopped dead, glaring upon his
wife—all but fainting at sight of him and clinging to
her daughter—as he took in the significant apparel in which she was
dressed. Verena saw consternation in Adam’s face. Should she have
told him? Had he known, he might have done more to keep his father
away.
    Nathaniel found his tongue. ‘What in Hades are you doing,
Abigail? That coach outside—is it awaiting you? Where are you
going?’
    Long habit, or perhaps present necessity, moved Mrs
Peverill to be the first to speak.
    ‘ P-pray don’t be angry, Nathaniel,’ she quavered, releasing
her daughter, and holding out suppliant hands.
    The abject sound, the sight of her mother cringing before
him, forced Verena out of her immobility. Not that! Not one more
time could she bear to see Mama’s pride in the dust.
    Stepping forward, she threw a protective arm about her
mother’s shoulders, and faced Nathaniel, showing him a countenance
blazing with determination, underlain with the fierce rage that
consumed her. It was, although Verena had for the moment forgotten
her habit of docility in his presence, an expression that he had
never previously seen.
    ‘ I am taking her away from this house. Away from
this life. Away from you .’
    Nathaniel frowned. Then he laughed—a disbelieving
laugh.
    ‘ Have you run mad, girl?’
    ‘ No, I have not run mad,’ Verena told him in a shaking
voice. ‘But I will do so if I allow Mama to remain in your power
for one moment longer. We are going. We are going this moment. And
there is nothing you can do to stop us.’
    His face changed. Verena saw the lean cheeks
darken, and shock come into his eyes. He believed her! What would
he do? Her heart began to pound. Could they still go? They must, for if not, they would have lost the advantage of surprise
and he would be on the watch for another escape. But how, when he
stood there looking like a gaoler?
    A familiar scowl had drawn Nathaniel’s thick eyebrows
together, and his lips were twisting into a snarl. Like a wild
beast, Verena thought frenziedly. Mama had married a
beast!
    Mrs Peverill, recognizing these signs, visibly quailed,
giving vent to a protesting whimper