Dark Season Read Online Free PDF Page A

Then she would throw herself into the Thames. She refused to be locked up, studied as she beat her heels on the floor and chewed through her cheeks, forced to live when she had decided she should die.
    It was sin to destroy oneself. But not to let the river swallow what God had already destroyed.
    She thrashed her head on the pillow. The knuckles pressed against her forehead again, succeeded by a cool washcloth.
    “Be still, miss. Be easy. You’re safe now.” The woman’s voice was kind. “Easy. Easy.”
    And with something like ease, Ella slipped into the shadows.
    When next she woke, it was morning. She could smell the faint odor of freshly baked bread. Birds were making a small racket. She opened her eyes. She had a blurred impression of blue and gold, which, blinking, she resolved into flocked wallpaper with a bright floral motif. She was in a well-appointed bedchamber. A wardrobe stood against one wall. A tidy fire glowed in the fireplace. An empty writing desk was positioned near the window. And in the blue damask chair a young maid, round and neat, was watching her closely.
    “You’re awake?” The maid sounded uncertain. “Shall I fetch your breakfast? And send word to Mrs. Trombly?”
    Ella nodded, unwilling to trust her voice. The maid was not inclined to linger. She almost leapt from the chair in her haste to leave the room.
    I’m awake
, Ella thought,
so don’t fear, little rabbit, the monster is sleeping.
She couldn’t blame the maid. Not really. She must have looked frightening enough last night, contorting or, at best, rigid on the bed. “Biting and knocking”—she’d once heard her episodes so described, by maids talking in the hall. Biting and knocking. Horrible. It was a small mercy that she couldn’t see her own face when the seizures struck. Alfred had seen it. She’d had an attack one summer in the rose garden during his visit. She fell on the path right at his feet.
    You didn’t even look human. You looked like a beast.
    She ran a finger over her teeth. Mercifully, they were all there, unchipped and firmly lodged in her gums. She touched the back of her head. The birds singing outside the window could find far worse lodgings than her hair. It had been burred into impossible knots, nests upon nests of snarls. She rolled her wrists and her ankles, articulating the joints. Every muscle in her body felt strained.
    The maid was back with the tray. Tea and biscuits and hot slices of ham. The smell made Ella’s mouth water, but she knew she had to eat sparingly. Even her organs felt tender. Ella pushed herself up, arranging the pillows behind her. She was dressed in bedclothes, she noticed. Bedclothes not her own. It was hardly worth blushing about, considering.
    “Mrs. Trombly will be up to see you when you’ve finished,” said the maid as she set the tray across Ella’s lap. She hesitated by the bed. Her light eyebrows were knit and her lips pursed. Clearly, she wanted to mine Ella for information, some tidbit she could bring downstairs to share with the rest of the servants. The house must be in an uproar. It couldn’t be every night that a young woman out of her senses was carried through the front door. Well, Ella wouldn’t oblige her. She had nothing to add. She spread butter on a biscuit and took a cautious bite.
    “It’s heavenly, thank you,” she said. Her throat was raw, but her voice was strong. The maid opened her mouth then shut it again, turned swiftly, and bounded into the hall. Like a jackrabbit, she was. A lively thing. The picture of health.
    What must she think of me?
    Ella ate slowly, washing down each mouthful with tea. She tried to focus on chewing. But she couldn’t keep herself from casting back, struggling to recall the events that had led up to her waking in this house. Every time, she reached a yawning black gulf that frightened her.
    Breathe
, she told herself.
Stay calm.
    She would get them back—these missing moments—she always did. When the maid