-Chapter 14-
If begging for mercy would spare her from getting sent to that hell, Estella was resolved to do it. Determined, she clasped her hands firmer around the baroness' shoes; her face pressed deep into the curve of her own elbow. She was desperate. She could not afford to be sent to that hell.
"Let go of Mother right this instant. I command you!"
Estella was too focused on her own pain to determine which sister had said it. Legs were facing down and spread shoulder-width apart, and one sister was stationed at either side. They pulled at her legs so hard that Estella feared her hips would soon be out of joint. She powered through, all the same, even more determined.
"Get your wretched hands off her!"
Again, she heard but wouldn't bulge.
"At the count of one to three, get your hands off. One! Two!…"
"Mother, please…" Estella pleaded between sobs as though she hadn't heard a thing either sister had said. "Give me any other verdict than getting sent to that place."
"Now, girl, are you ready to speak the truth?" the baroness said in an icily chill voice. "Will you admit to stealing from the duke, or will you continue to deny knowing anything about the missing items?"
"I don't know about… about anything missing," Estella said, her voice breaking into harsh sobs. "I really don't. I don't even know that man—"
"Foul, Mother!" That was Georgina, Estella was sure. "She just told a big fat lie! Who would believe a word that comes out of this bloody girl's mouth? All she is good for is lying, Mother—"
"And stealing," Geraldine supplied.
"Estella," the baron called calmly. Estella sniffled. Of course, he was calmer now, she thought, after instigating this ridiculous accusation of her stealing from the duke. He should be proud of himself, watching her be torn apart by the wolves he had thrown her carcass out to.
"Look here," the baron said. "I want only the truth from you. Why else would His Grace travel all the way here and specifically demand to see you if you didn't already meet him and leave him with a bad impression of you—of us!? Why not own up to what you did and tell me what it is you stole?"
If she wasn't crying a river onto the baroness's favourite red shoes, Estella thought she would get up and spit in her father's face. God, she hated him. She knew, too, that deep down she wouldn't dare spit in his face — but she wished by God she could. It was a different kind of pain to know that her own father couldn't take a stand for her for once in his life.
Wild ire simmered in Estella's gut just from stomaching what he had said; it crawled up her chest, clawed at her throat, and charred its way through her insides until it seared her tongue, burning it to a crisp. She snapped her head up, the words tearing out of her before she could stop them.
"I didn't take anything from that man, Father! What else do you want from me? I already said I didn't! And deep down you believe me — you know I didn't do it. I have never taken from anyone something that didn't belong to me. Never!—"
A heavy blow landed on her back from Georgina before she could even think of finishing. Hot tears burned at the corners of her eyes, and she drew in a final, shaking sniff. This time, she would not cry.
_
Before long, wet giant hands reached for and snatched her away from her now kneeling position and away from the baroness' condescending glances. Those hands belonged to Theodore and another of the baron's henchmen, whom he had summoned should she insist on making a scene.
But Estella did not stir. She wilfully surrendered herself to being carried from the house like a sack of potatoes out into the reddening sky, which told, with quiet cruelty, how night was fast approaching.
Once outside, Theodore fastened her wrists with a barb. She didn't so much as flinch as the iron bit into her skin. She had resolved to take her punishment in good stride. Let this be her sentence for boldly kissing the duke at all and moving on to blackmail him. She would accept it.
Seeing that she didn't necessarily struggle—also studying her dried-out, hollowed eyes—Theodore dismissed the other man with a look, and together, he and Estella began their long walk across the vast, empty land to the far back of the house.
Where he was taking her was a place she knew all too well. She would describe it as something between a prison and a slaughterhouse if asked. No windows made it feel more or less like a mental asylum. A place where no one would hear you scream. And even if they did, they wouldn't care to intervene.
She had been there twice before, once at age six and again at age thirteen, and both times had ended badly, leaving her sick to the bone and feverishly shaking.
"Why did you do it?" Theodore asked suddenly with a voice so out of place it nearly startled her. She had never heard him speak so softly to her before.
Estella set her jaw firm regardless. Her lips clenched shut as she decided not to engage with him. No matter how she tried to look at it, he wasn't her friend. Maybe he was just following orders, but that didn't change the fact that he was the reason her back was still burning from before.
Luckily, Theodore held back his tongue and didn't say anything more until they reached it.
The crooked black door rose in front of them — misshapen, old and awful-looking. She could already smell the inside stuffiness from out there.
Estella watched in silence as Theodore drew the keys to open the door. A breath left her in a weak, powerless sob. She could not help it.
"You could have lied about it," he said again. His voice was not unkind. "Admitting you stole even his handkerchief would have spared you worse. Why couldn't you just say so?"
"Because I didn't do it!" Estella spat through gritted teeth.
A thick, sour silence hung edgily in the air about them for a minute, during which Estella hugged herself from the night chill, eating at her bare back skin beneath her ripped fabric.
Theodore smacked his lips then and, without warning, shoved her inside the house, slamming the door shut behind her. The lock turned like a knife, carving out a nice little hole in her already bleeding heart.
Estella sat crumpled on the cold floor and then sighed. He hadn't even remembered to unbind her wrists, which were now practically bleeding.
This was her life now. She sulked.
The baroness had not even told her how long she would have to stay here—well, technically, she had. She would remain there until she provided what she'd stolen from the duke.
Estella heaved another frustrated sigh, soaking in the pitch-blackness around her. With no windows and not even a crack in the wall, she would not even know the days passing her by. And it went without saying that food was out of the question.
Maybe it wasn't so bad after all that she was getting sent off to marry the Viscount the minute she turned eighteen, which was barely two weeks away. Maybe life would be better there, she thought before crying herself to sleep.