There was no convenient tree to climb down, but there was a pile of canvas-covered building materials directly under the eave of the house. Praying that it was more thatch and not lumber and nails, she crawled over the edge, dangling in the air for an endless moment. The she let go.
She hit the canvas pile with a thump. Though her hope that it was more thatch was probably correct, it didn’t really matter since it felt like she had landed on a pile of lumber. Testing each limb gingerly, she gave thanks that at least all her bones appeared to be intact. Grimacing, she moved off the pile, stepping carefully on the muddy ground. She made her way to the side of the house.
Holding her breath, she peeked around the corner. Thankfully there was no sign of either guard. Picking up the hem of the coat, she ran to the shelter of the trees on the left side of the house. She kept running until she was deep in the woods.
Chapter 7
Despite Isobel’s familiarity with the woods, her wild flight in the dark ensured she was lost for nearly an hour. It would have been much longer if she hadn’t stumbled on the stream that bisected the woods into northern and southern halves. She followed the stream for nearly a mile before coming to the hollow fallen log where she had hidden her insurance policy.
There were two bags, one filled with clothing and a much smaller one with a few essentials. It was in this second one that she dug into first, pulling out a jar of salve she’d made from one of her grandmother’s recipes. Trying to be quick, she spread some on the cuts and scrapes on her arms and neck with numb fingers.
Thankfully, her smash cash hoard was also present. There were ten pounds in notes and coins at the bottom of the sack and an additional twenty sewn into the lining. It represented all of the money she’d earned in her current and former positions as well as the sad remnant of what she’d inherited when her parents died.
For a moment, Isobel bowed her head, the weight of tonight’s events pressing down on her.
It’s going to be all right.
Her foresight in hiding these things in the woods meant she had a real chance now. Of course, never in her wildest nightmares had she imagined that these would be the circumstances that led to her flight. She’d always imagined an accident would lead to her exposing her abilities, necessitating a swift departure.
Well, in a way some aspects of that fear had come true, she thought, pulling out a black dress and petticoats from the larger bag.
Dressing in the clean drawers, wool stockings, and flannel chemise was a trial in the dark since she’d had to abandon the warmth of the stolen great coat to do so. The icy wind bit into her flesh, slowing her progress as her trembling hands hurriedly donned the rest of her clothing. Yanking an extra pair of her own socks over her feet, she put on the new low leather half boots she’d spent a month’s wages on.
At the time, she’d thought them an exorbitant addition to her escape provisions, but now she thanked the impulse that had made her buy them. With one last regretful glance at the greatcoat and muddy socks, she pulled on her hooded cape and gathered her belongings.
Wrapping the stolen items together, she bent low to shove them into the log. It would have been nice to keep the coat longer since it was still raining, but if they pursued her then she wanted to ensure they would have as few possible signs of her direction as possible. And it wasn’t like she could take it with her. A woman wearing a man’s garment would attract too much attention.
Streaks of light were starting to lighten the sky. Any minute now, the guards would come to collect her body and discover Matteo—alive?—on the floor and her gone.
She needed to be as far away from this place as possible.
Chapter 8
Matteo’s head felt like it had been split in half. Disappointment and despair flooded him. It wasn’t the headache that disturbed him. He deserved the pain, but feeling it meant he was still alive when by rights, in a just world, he should have been dead.
He didn’t want to open his eyes. If he did, he would see what he had done. He wasn’t sure what that was. His memories of being the monster were always vague and shadowy. Some days he woke up to himself with no recollection of the night before. But there would be no escaping the reality of what he was when he found the body.
And there was always a body. There was no way he would be here now, aware and conscious-stricken, if there wasn’t. He couldn’t be himself without death.
If his father loved him, he would let him die. But he was his father’s only heir and Aldo Garibaldi never gave up, no matter what the cost. The price didn’t matter to his father, but it mattered to him.
He had to find a way to die.
This desperate voyage to England had given him hope for a brief time. There had been a plan and chance for a cure. But days after their arrival had seen those hopes dashed. For a time, he’d ignored the truth and pretended. He lied to himself, crafting a little fantasy over a pair of more green-than-hazel eyes and auburn hair.
A shooting pain in his chest stole the air from his lungs.
Isobel.
A hazy memory of her wide and frightened eyes came back to him.