30
When Dowd brought Judith back to Godolphin’s house after the murder of Clara Leash, it was not as a free agent but as a prisoner. She was confined to the bedroom she’d first occupied, and there she waited for Oscar’s return. When he came in to see her it was after a half-hour conversation with Dowd (she heard the murmur of their exchange, but not its substance), and he told her as soon as he appeared that he had no wish to debate what had happened. She’d acted against his best interests, which were finally—did she not realize this yet?—against her own too, and he would need time to think about the consequences for them both.
“I trusted you,” he said, “more than I’ve ever trusted any woman in my life. You betrayed me, exactly the way Dowd predicted you would. I feel foolish, and I feel hurt.”
“Let me explain,” she said.
He raised his hands to hush her. “I don’t want to hear,” he said. “Maybe in a few days we’ll talk, but not now.”
Her sense of loss at his retreat was almost overwhelmed by the anger she felt at his dismissal of her. Did he believe her feelings for him were so trivial she’d not concerned herself with the consequences of her actions on them both? Or worse: had Dowd convinced him that she’d been planning to betray him from the outset, and she’d calculated everything—the seduction, the confessions of devotion—in order to weaken him? This latter scenario was the likelier of the two, but it didn’t clear Oscar of guilt. He had still failed to give her a chance to justify herself.
She didn’t see him for three days. Her food was served in her room by Dowd, and there she waited, hearing Oscar come and go, and on occasion hints of conversation on the stairs, enough to gather the impression that the Tabula Rasa’s purge was reaching a critical point. More than once she contemplated the possibility that what she’d been up to with Clara Leash made her a potential victim, and that day by day Dowd was eroding Oscar’s reluctance to dispatch her. Paranoia, perhaps; but if he had any scrap of feeling for her why didn’t he come and see her? Didn’t he pine, the way she did? Didn’t he want her in his bed, for the animal comfort of it if nothing else? Several times she asked Dowd to tell Oscar she needed to speak with him, and Dowd— who affected the detachment of a jailer with a thousand other such prisoners to deal with daily—had said he’d do his best, but he doubted that Mr. Godolphin would want to have any dealings with her. Whether the message was communicated or not, Oscar left her solitary in her confinement, and she realized that unless she took more forcible action she might never see daylight again.
Her escape plan was simple. She forced the lock on her bedroom door with a knife unreturned after one of her meals—it wasn’t the lock that kept her from straying, it was Dowd’s warning that the mites which had murdered Clara were ready to claim her if she attempted to leave—and slipped out onto the landing. She’d deliberately waited until Oscar was home before she made the attempt, believing, perhaps naively, that despite his withdrawal of affection he’d protect her from Dowd if her life was threatened. She was sorely tempted to seek him out there and then. But perhaps it would be easier to treat with him when she was away from the house and felt more like a mistress of her own destiny. If, once she was safely away from the house, he chose to have no further contact with her, then her fear that Dowd had soured his feelings towards her permanently would be confirmed, and she would have to look for another way to get to Yzordderrex.
She made her way down the stairs with the utmost caution and, hearing voices at the front of the house, decided to make her exit through the kitchen. The lights were burning everywhere, as usual. The kitchen was deserted. She crossed quickly to the door, which was bolted top and bottom, crouching to slide the lower bolt aside.