Going to the washstand, she lifted the pitcher and poured the warm water into the basin. Her mind was her own, and so was her body. Rising, she paused for an instant, confirmed, to her very real relief, that the last vestigial traces of the laudanum had worn off. Which felt strange given she wasn’t overly fond of such places. Getting out of the tiny basement room even for a few hours wasn’t a boon she was in any mood to refuse.Īfter her days in the coach, she’d welcomed their brisk walk through the town, but being incarcerated again in such a small room had made her long for wide and open spaces. Sitting on the bed’s edge, she tried to imagine what ulterior motives might lie behind the unexpected dinner invitation, then decided that whatever they were, she didn’t truly care. Pushing upright, Eliza swung her legs over the side of the bed, listened, and heard the key turn in the lock. They went out and shut the heavy door again. We’ll come back in fifteen minutes to take you upstairs.” “Regardless”- Genevieve nudged Taylor back toward the door -“we’ll leave you to wash and tidy yourself.
“It’s the last night we’ll be babysitting you. Setting a lighted, two-armed candelabra on the washstand, Taylor snorted. “Scrope’s decided you should join us for dinner. “Seven o’clock.” Genevieve turned to her. She struggled onto her elbows, watching as Genevieve set a faintly steaming pitcher on the washstand. A glance at the cold puddle of wax, all that was left of the fresh candle they’d given her when they’d come to take her luncheon tray away, suggested she’d been asleep for some time. Shielding her eyes from the glare of the lamp Taylor held, Eliza blinked awake. Genevieve, with Taylor at her back, shook Eliza from a sound sleep.
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