The Madness of Miss Grey by Julia Bennet

Author:Julia Bennet
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Entangled, Amara, Historical European Fiction; Victorian Historical Romance; Historical Mystery, Thriller & Suspense Fiction; British Historical Literature; Gothic Romance; Romantic Themes Medical; Romantic Heroes Doctors; Victorian Romance; Historical Romance; imprisoned; asylum; Yorkshire; doctor; patient
Publisher: Entangled Publishing, LLC
Published: 2019-03-26T16:00:00+00:00

Chapter Eleven

They’d agreed to meet at midnight outside Sterling’s office. Will checked his pocket watch, his eyes straining to see the face in the dim light of a single paraffin lamp turned low: a few minutes past midnight.

The longer he lingered in the dark, the greater his chance of discovery. If he didn’t need someone to hold the blasted light steady, he’d never have asked Helen to help. Where the hell was she? He wasn’t worried for himself. If anyone came around that corner, he’d say he couldn’t sleep and that prowling about the house, dark neo-Gothic monstrosity that it was, relaxed him. But if she’d met with trouble somehow, they’d punish her.

A floorboard creaked. He held his breath.

“That lamp reeks,” Helen said, or rather stage-whispered. “I don’t think you’re cut out for this sort of thing.” She materialized out of the shadows, and the white of her nightclothes in the feeble light added to her ghostly appearance.

So, she did own a robe. Where had that been the night she came to his room?

“You’re late,” he whispered.

“Sorry. It took Elsie forever to drop off.”

“You’d think she’d be exhausted keeping up with you,” he said, his clipped tone masking his relief. He didn’t want her to know how nervous the prospect of tonight’s work made him, not when she was so certain he was out of his depth. “Here,” he added, thrusting the lamp her way. “Turn that up.”

“Very well, but I’m still unclear on what precisely you want me to do, besides hold the light. I take it from your businesslike demeanor we’re not here to make mad, passionate love.”

She stepped closer, bringing with her a faint waft of carbolic soap. Somehow he knew he’d never smell its tar-like aroma again without remembering her words and the thoughts they inspired: her spread-eagled across Sterling’s desk, Will over her, pressing down on her…

Stop, or risk becoming the only man in the world who develops an instant erection at the sight of carbolic soap.

“You’re going to hold the lamp steady while I pick the lock,” he said for his own benefit as much as hers. “Then you’re going to go back to your room, and I’m going to search the office.”

Her silence was loud with disbelief, presumably because she still wasn’t convinced he could do what he claimed. He fumbled in his pocket for his tools, though “tools” was perhaps a grandiose term for his one and only tiepin—the end now tragically bent at a right angle—and a long, thick needle.

“So, you’ve really done this before?”

“Is that so shocking?”

She gave a little shrug. “Frankly, yes.”

He didn’t have time to argue the point now. Encircling her wrist with his fingers, he guided the lamp until as much light as possible shone on the lock. He hadn’t done this in years, and succeeding seemed like the most important thing in the world. Not since he’d sent Sir Clifford his first letter home from boarding school had he felt so keen to impress someone.

He knelt and slid the now knackered tiepin into the keyhole, slipping it past the wards.

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