Read The Gilded Cage for Free Online Page A

Katherine.”
    My cheeks redden, and she smiles, moving forward and cupping her hand beneath my chin.
    â€œSuch pretty roses,” she says. “It’s an accomplishment to bring color to your cheeks so easily.”
    At her touch, the memory of the drunken soldier’s fingers at my throat ripples through me, and I close my eyes against it. Grace moves her hand from my chin to my forehead. “And now you’ve gone pale as can be. Katherine, do not move too frequently from the heat of the fire to the chill by the windows. It will make you ill quicker than anything.”
    Just then a racket of birdsong and shrieks from the distant aviary rends the air. As I hurry to the window, the distant shrilling fades into silence.
    The air outside is lightly silvered with snow. Nothing stirs on the grounds or in the still woods just beyond. I wonder what startled the birds so.
    Grace’s voice comes sharp behind me. “Katherine.”
    I whirl quickly and find her clutching the necklace I wore the night before, which I’d left draped across my dressing table so it wouldn’t tangle.
    â€œThese items need to be locked up,” she says, then lowers her voice to a theatrical whisper as Elsie’s footsteps come tripping down the hall. “No matter how close we may keep them, servants cannot be fully trusted.”
    I wonder if I should tell her now about the fan. She would not approve, I’m sure.
    â€œSurely we can trust Elsie, Aunt Grace. She’s been here since she was just old enough to work, has she not?”
    â€œNo matter, my dear. More than a few of my late mother’s pieces have gone missing. Not even the most valuable ones, but often the prettiest. That’s how you know it’s a maid’s fingers at work.”
    Arranging her hat more firmly atop her head, she goes to the door. “I’m off to visit a few friends who were not well enough for last night’s ball. If I’m not back by the time you leave for London, I wish you a pleasant trip.”
    She says it in a way that suggests she’s anything but happy I’m going to the city. Grace has repeated several times that she doesn’t think London’s the place for an “impressionable” young girl.
    I glance at the enormous traveling case beside the bed, which Elsie helped me pack. “Thank you,” I say. “I’m well prepared for every eventuality, as you can see.”
    As I settle back down in front of the fire, the clock in the hall strikes nine, and I resolve to give George just one more hour in bed before I wake him myself. We can’t miss the midday coach from Bath if we’re to make the overnight stop in Reading.
    Putting my letter aside, I spend the next hour reading by the fire. We had books on the farm, but nothing like here. The housekeeper, Mrs. Whiting, a sallow older woman with fading red hair, looked suspicious when I asked for a key to the library, but she grudgingly gave it all the same. Most of the volumes I came across were monstrously dull—collections of legal papers, or obscure histories of European culture—but among them I found the novels of Defoe and Scott.
    I’m racing toward the end of Robinson Crusoe when the gilded grandfather clock in the hall strikes ten. Annoyed, I ring for Mr. Carrick to ask if he’s seen George.
    â€œI believe he’s left for London, my lady,” he says.
    â€œLeft? Without me?”
    â€œHe took breakfast early.”
    â€œBut we’re leaving together,” I say.
    Carrick frowns. “It seems that is not the case. May I help you in any other matter, my lady?”
    When I shake my head, still mulling my brother’s departure, Carrick swiftly takes his leave.
    *   *   *
    George isn’t in his rooms. The fireplace in his bedchamber is empty, and the room is bathed in a cold gray light that makes me shiver.
    Someone’s walking over my grave , I think, and