Chapter 66 A way Out at Dawn

Chapter 66 A way Out at Dawn
Beatris

By the time I made it back to my room, I was shaking so badly I could barely close the door.
The latch fell into place with a sharp click that sounded far too loud in the silence. I stumbled backward at once, pressing both hands over my mouth as if I could force the panic back down if I only held myself tightly enough.

Clara.

The name hit me properly only then.

My knees nearly gave way beneath me. I caught the edge of the bed before I could fall, then sank to the carpet anyway, my back striking the mattress as I slid down beside it.

"No," I whispered.

The word came out broken. No, it could not have been her. Clara had left. She had told me she was leaving. I had believed her.

Even after Elin's strange silences. Even after the fear in the servants' faces. Even after everything this house had shown me, some part of me had clung to that one foolish, desperate hope, that Clara had escaped.

And now I knew. She had never left. Elin had tried to tell me in the only way she dared. No one leaves. But I had not wanted to hear it.
I pressed the heels of my hands against my eyes until stars burst behind them.

Clara.

I could still see the dress. The body hidden behind the crates. The terrible stillness of her. A sob tore out of me before I could stop it.

My shoulders shook. My breath came too fast. I curled in on myself beside the bed, one arm wrapped around my middle as if I could hold myself together by force alone.

How long had she been there?

How long had she been hidden beneath the house while everyone above moved through their days as if nothing had happened?

Was that what happened to Adora? To Lydia? To all the others whose names the house swallowed so easily?

The thought hit so hard I felt sick. I bent forward, one trembling hand flattening against the carpet.

This place was worse than I had imagined. Not just secretive. Not just cruel. Rotten. Buried right through the center of it.
And I had been walking its halls like a fool, thinking the worst thing hidden here was Alexander's hunger.

Another sob rose in my throat. I bit it back, but tears were already spilling faster than I could stop them. I pulled my knees closer and buried my face against them, breathing in broken, uneven pulls that did nothing to steady me.

For a long time, I could do nothing except sit there and cry, too frightened to move, too horrified to think clearly.

Then, all at once, the panic shifted. But sharpened into something else. I lifted my head, breath catching in my throat.

Agnes.

I had to get to Agnes.

The thought struck so hard it pushed me upright before I had fully understood it. My hand caught the bedpost to steady myself as the room swayed for a second.

Alexander not being here... That had to mean something. That had to be my chance.

I wiped roughly at my face, dragging the tears away with both hands. My breathing still shook, but beneath the horror something colder had begun to settle.

Resolve.

"I have to get to town," I whispered.

The words sounded hoarse. Barely mine.

"I have to find Agnes."

Saying it aloud made it real. I pushed myself to my feet too quickly. Pain flared through my side, but I ignored it and stood there in the middle of the room, chest rising and falling too hard, trying to force my thoughts into order.

I crossed to the balcony doors and stepped out into the night air.
Somewhere beyond the estate, beyond the trees, beyond the reach of this house, was the town.

And Agnes.

If I could just reach her, perhaps she could tell me what no one else would. Perhaps she could make sense of Eudora, the ring, the western woods, the bodies hidden beneath the floor.Everything happenings.

My fingers tightened around the cold stone railing.

"One way or another," I said softly, more to myself than to the dark below, "I'm getting out."

The words gave me something to hold. I turned back into the room and began pacing, forcing myself to think.

I can’t go through the front gates, or the obvious corridors. Not any path Alexander would expect me to take.
Then another thought struck me. The supply bus. It always came and went.

Food. Wine. Coal. Linens. Everything the house needed passed through it. If anything could leave this estate without drawing attention, it was that.

But not like this. I looked down at myself, the fitted bodice, the shape of privilege Alexander had wrapped around me and expected me to wear.

If I tried to slip away dressed like this, I would be seen instantly. A corset was the first thing anyone would notice.

I needed different clothes. A maid's dress.
Something plain enough to disappear in. And a scarf, something to cover my hair, my face, enough of me to let me pass without a second glance.

The thought steadied me almost at once. That was where I would start. I crossed to the door and rested my hand against the handle.

This was madness. But madness had begun to feel cleaner than waiting.
If I stayed here, if I sat still and let Alexander's house decide what happened to me next, I would become another girl whose name survived only in whispers.

The supply bus always came in the morning. That much I knew.
If I was going to use it, then I had to be ready before dawn, before the kitchens came alive, before the maids began crossing the corridors with baskets and linen and the whole house slipped back into its careful routine.

I could not wait until first light to start thinking. I needed the dress now.