Once Doctor Burton had pronounced Troy’s injuries nonserious and Portia had seen him off to his bath, she decided a word with Celestine was in order. The silly girl had been entirely too unconcerned about the state she’d come home to find her betrothed in! So she swept up the stairs and, disregarding her own suggestion of a nap, she helped herself into her daughter’s darkened room without knocking. “Celestine!” she proclaimed in her not-to-be-trifled-with voice.
Celestine had, in her panic upon hearing the door open, grabbed a candlestick from her bedside table. She hadn’t the time to set it back on the table after realizing it was only her mother and before Portia had turned on the light, and was caught still gripping it in her hand. Portia laughed haughtily. “Going to club your own mother to death, are you? Do you need your inheritance that badly?”
“Sorry, Mother.” Celestine set the candlestick back in its place. “Bad dream, is all.”
“I’m sorry to hear that.” Portia sat down on the edge of the bed. “But I’ve got to say, I wish I could say the same of your behaviour this afternoon.”
Celestine’s heart leapt in her throat. Had Troy told her everything after all?
No, it soon became clear, he had not. “I don’t know or care what you were up to all afternoon, but to come home and find your beloved in such a state, and you need to be told to help nurse him? My dear, have I taught you nothing about a woman’s role in every marriage?”
“We’re not married yet, are we?” Celestine hoped she might make her mother angry enough to storm out.
“You always did have a most unladylike attitude about you, my dear,” Portia said. “If I couldn’t beat sense into you, perhaps Troy can.”
“Mother!”
“My dear, what choice have you given either of us! How many times have you heard the words: love, honour, obey!”
“I have no intention of doing any of those to Troy and you know it.”
For a wonderful moment, Celestine thought her ploy had succeeded, for Portia stood up hastily and gave her a disgusted but wordless look. “I shall have a few choice words with you over dinner about this, but for now I must go look in on Troy. At least someone in this house has some respect for me!”
But as she brushed past Celestine’s writing desk, she took a second look and stopped in her tracks.
“Celestine,” she said in the tone that had struck fear into her daughter’s heart for as long as she could recall, “Where is your photograph of your father?”
Celestine’s heart leapt, but she kept her tone even as she feigned indifference. “That old thing? It’s around somewhere.”
“That old thing, Celestine?” Portia swung around and glared at her. “Do not be absurd, young lady. Do you think I don’t know what that picture means to you? If it were lost, you would turn this room upside down until you found it. You know exactly where it is, and I want an answer!”
Celestine wracked her brain for a way to forestall her mother’s reaction. But something in her eyes betrayed that she would not be giving her a truthful answer, and Portia took matters into her own hands. “I shall just be having a look in your closet!” she declared. Celestine could do nothing but look on in horror as her mother tore open the closet door to find the shoulder-bag sitting fully packed atop the trunk. “Well, well, well,” Portia said, opening the bag. One look betrayed everything, and she turned back to glare at her daughter. “Taking a trip somewhere, are you?”
“Mother,” Celestine said in her own not-to-be-trifled-with tone. “I have told you time and again I feel no love at all for Troy, and now I know the feeling is mutual. He doesn’t even like me!”
Portia roared with haughty laughter. “You think marriage is about love, do you? You think a woman gets to choose her husband? You don’t understand a single thing about your gender! Never have! I should have put you in the orphanage when your father died!” She snapped up the shoulder-bag in her hand and strode to the door. “I shall be keeping this until I can get you and Troy married! And you’ll be staying in this room until then!” With that she slammed the door, and Celestine heard the detested noise she’d heard every time she’d been in trouble in her life: the bolt turning in the door as Portia locked it from outside.
Lorelei had, some weeks before, accepted a job catering a dinner in town. She had no choice but to leave Dylan on his own to await his true love’s return on his own. “Don’t worry!” she told him on her way out the door. “Celestine is a smart girl, and she’s been putting up with that ice queen mother of hers all her life. She’ll be fine!”
“Thanks, Ma.” But Dylan was nowhere near as sure as his mother was. When seven o’clock arrived and Celestine didn’t, Dylan made himself a sandwich for dinner and sat facing away from the door. He knew if he could see the door, he would spend every bite staring at it. As it was, his heart leapt every time he thought he heard a footfall on the stair, and it took every bit of resolve he had not to jump up and tear the door open.
When he’d finished the sandwich, he picked up every last one of the crumbs to eat. When the plate was as clean as if it were unused, he got up and washed it, and gave up any pretence of not staring at the door.
It never opened.
Just past eight o’clock, the sun vanished over the hills behind the city. It wouldn’t hurt, he decided, to take a walk and look for Celestine.
The night was warm and the pubs and restaurants were bustling, but no one paid Dylan any mind — a welcome development after the afternoon he’d had — and none of them betrayed any sign of Celestine. Of course she wouldn’t have gone to a restaurant, he reminded himself. So he made his way through downtown, to the quieter outer streets, and finally up the hill to Portia and Celestine’s house.
Even from the street, he could see a light in Celestine’s window. This pleased him. She probably just hadn’t made her escape yet. But he wanted to be sure. Of course the guards were on duty by the entrance, but Celestine had taught him years before about the oak tree on the edge of their property that one could climb and leap over the wall, with just enough of an angle against the house that the guards couldn’t see a thing. He had never tried doing it at night before (although Celestine herself had many stories about doing so to evade her mother’s curfew), but he knew the branches well enough that it took just a bit longer than usual. He couldn’t see the ground in the dark, but it was a chance he’d have to take.
After tumbling harmlessly onto the grass, Dylan lay still for a moment to make sure he hadn’t been detected. Once he was sure, he scrambled to his feet and ran across the yard to the trellis outside Celestine’s room. He knew the weak spots and easily avoided them, and clambered up to her window.
He raised his hand to knock on the window, only to see the room was empty. The light was on, the bed was made, everything seemed to be in order, but Celestine was nowhere to be seen.
A rustling breeze in the trees caught Dylan’s attention, and reminded him that he could be spotted at any moment. He leapt to the ground, and remembered to his horror that there was no tree to climb on this side of the wall.