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Books. Change. Lives.
Copyright © 2019 by Amy Sandas
Cover and internal design © 2019 by Sourcebooks
Cover art by Gregg Gulbronson
Sourcebooks and the colophon are registered trademarks of Sourcebooks.
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means including information storage and retrieval systems—except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles or reviews—without permission in writing from its publisher, Sourcebooks.
The characters and events portrayed in this book are fictitious or are used fictitiously. Any similarity to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental and not intended by the author.
All brand names and product names used in this book are trademarks, registered trademarks, or trade names of their respective holders. Sourcebooks is not associated with any product or vendor in this book.
Published by Sourcebooks Casablanca, an imprint of Sourcebooks
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Contents
Front Cover
Title Page
Copyright
One
Two
Three
Four
Five
Six
Seven
Eight
Nine
Ten
Eleven
Twelve
Thirteen
Fourteen
Fifteen
Sixteen
Seventeen
Eighteen
Nineteen
Twenty
Twenty-One
Twenty-Two
Twenty-Three
Twenty-Four
Twenty-Five
Twenty-Six
Twenty-Seven
Twenty-Eight
Twenty-Nine
Thirty
Thirty-One
Thirty-Two
Thirty-Three
Thirty-Four
Thirty-Five
Thirty-Six
Thirty-Seven
Thirty-Eight
Thirty-Nine
Acknowledgments
About the Author
Back Cover
To my son, Ryle. Quietly brave. Strong and clever in ways still undiscovered. May your loyal and compassionate heart always love widely and your charming grin not get you into too much trouble.
One
Perkins family mansion
Beacon Hill, Boston
May 1883
Evelyn regulated her breath to a slow and shallow rhythm. Anything more than that sent streaks of fire across the lashed skin of her back.
She lay on her stomach in the center of her bed. The sheets were drawn down below her hips, exposing her naked back to the kitchen maid who was the only servant in the household allowed to tend Evelyn in the days following one of her husband’s rages. That Matthew Perkins chose the youngest and lowest member of his servant staff to see to his wife’s needs was intentional. Just another way to prove what little consideration Evelyn warranted.
Lettie bathed Evelyn’s back with a soft cloth soaked in cooling water and lavender. It was a ritual they’d developed in the months since Evelyn had married. Matthew was quite fond of what could be accomplished with the elegant strike of a whip. The scars left behind were to serve as a reminder of Evelyn’s failures so that she might be inspired to improve in her efforts to please the man she called husband.
Of course, he made sure that the evidence could always be carefully hidden beneath the fine clothing he so generously afforded her. A secret shared only by the two of them…and the meek young maid who would not dare speak of such private matters.
As Lettie’s ministrations neared the worst of the wounds, her touch became tentative, in sympathy perhaps for the pain her attention would undoubtedly cause.
Evelyn wished she could tell the maid not to worry. After each punishment, she’d become more and more numb. But they weren’t allowed to speak to each other during these encounters, and Evelyn couldn’t say if the numbness was in her nerves or in her mind.
It had also become easier and easier to hold back tears and keep her thoughts of shame and utter confusion concealed. She had gotten to a point where she could acknowledge the pain without really feeling it. It was as though a veil existed between her physical experience and her mental perception of it.
She was grateful for the separation. It allowed her to endure the discomfort of Lettie’s careful attention while she thought of other things. And there was something in particular she needed to focus on.
Because something had been different this last time. Matthew had been different.
And it terrified her.
Though she never knew what might trigger an episode, she had at least come to expect a certain pattern when Matthew flew into a rage. He was nothing if not dedicated to his routines. Once he meted out whatever punishment he deemed appropriate, he would leave her. Without a word. One moment the whip would be slashing at her back, and in the next moment, a door would click shut and he’d be gone.
But last night had been different.
After concluding his punishment, he’d stood behind her as she lay across the bed, another of her fine lawn nightgowns torn to shreds. She had waited with involuntary tears burning in her eyes to hear his retreat.
Instead, his labored breath filled the silence of the room and then he spoke, clearly and concisely. “Your pride will be the death of you, my dear. If I must flay every bit of flesh from your bones, you will learn to be a proper wife. You will learn to beg for my mercy. And if you do not…” The promise in his voice—so cold, confident, and eerily calm—had sent a shock of ice through her body. “If you are incapable of learning the humility I require, I may decide I have no use for you.”
Up until that very moment, she had somehow believed that if she could just figure out what she was doing wrong, he would stop finding reasons to punish her. But something in his vow enlightened her with a sudden, fierce flash of clarity.
He would never stop. Not until she was broken.
But Evelyn’s pride—the thing inside her that refused to cower and cry out when the whip met her flesh, that kept her from revealing the truth of her marriage to friends or family—wouldn’t allow it.
It was her pride that he wanted to beat out of her. And he would always find justification to do so. No matter what she did, he wouldn’t stop. And someday, it would kill her.
That realization hit her with cold certainty.
Having washed away all the blood, Le
ttie set the cloth aside and picked up a jar of salve. While the maid applied the cooling cream, Evelyn’s thoughts wandered back to a time before her marriage. Had it really been less than a year since she been so confident and content? She’d once been supported by her family and loved by two dear friends. And now she felt so utterly alone.
Slowly and in subtle ways undetected at the time, Matthew had started drawing her away from those who cared most about her, even before their marriage.
Her cousin and one of her best friends, Alexandra Brighton, had settled out in the wild landscapes of Montana, and Courtney Adams, the third friend in their tight circle, had followed her westward just last summer. Because of the scandals they had each caused by not going through with their Boston marriages, Matthew had convinced Evelyn to leave them off the guest list for their wedding…for appearances’ sake. It was terribly disappointing not to have her two closest friends present for her big day, but Boston society was an unforgiving one, and Matthew’s position was important and required proper appearances to be upheld. Alexandra and Courtney had both understood.
But that was just the beginning of a separation Matthew continued to orchestrate, not just with her friends but with her family as well.
Though they had never been particularly close, at least Evelyn had always believed that her mother had her best interests at heart. And Matthew Perkins was everything her mother had wanted in a son-in-law. Wealthy beyond compare, respected and revered in the elite Boston society that her mother was desperate to be a part of.
Just as he had with everyone else, he effectively—almost effortlessly—charmed her mother into believing he was truly a prince among men. So, when he suggested at one visit that with all of the constant socializing required of them, he never seemed to have enough time alone with his wife, Judith Reed was more than happy to limit her visits so they could enjoy their time as newlyweds.
To the entire world, Matthew was a bright and handsome gentleman of privilege and distinction. He had a way about him that inspired confidence and admiration.
Evelyn had been just as easily fooled as everyone else.
She’d believed herself half in love with him in the weeks leading up to their marriage and never would have expected him to be capable of making her life the hellish existence it had become.
And now she was trapped.
Sharp, stinging pain suddenly sparked on her back, dragging her focus to the present. It felt as though her nerves had been poked with a burning needle.
It happened again. And a few seconds later, again.
Opening her eyes, she looked over her shoulder at Lettie to see if the girl had noticed anything.
The maid sat stiffly beside her. Her head was bowed over Evelyn’s back as she gently spread the salve over open wounds. A single tear rolled down Lettie’s cheek, glistening for a moment before it fell, causing another point of stinging pain. It was no burning needle awakening Evelyn from the numbness, but the salt of the maid’s tears.
Somehow, the maid’s compassion reached further into Evelyn than anything had in a long time. She lifted her hand to rest it on the maid’s slim wrist.
The girl stilled, raising her sad and frightened gaze. “Ma’am?” she asked quietly, the sound a mere murmur in the weighted silence of the room. She began to shake her head back and forth. “I can’t do it,” she cried gently. “I can’t watch you suffer anymore.”
The words were barely more than a breath, but Evelyn glanced to the door in fear, worried Matthew might hear them and come charging in. But the door remained closed. As was his routine, Matthew had left hours ago, and the house was as silent as a tomb.
“I’m sorry, Lettie,” she whispered sadly. Was she now to lose Lettie as well? The girl was the only source of kindness she had in this household.
There was a brief flash of indecision in the girl’s brown eyes before she covered Evelyn’s hand with her own and shifted to crouch beside the bed. Leaning close, she whispered directly into Evelyn’s ear. “There’s a man I know. He sometimes helps people…disappear.” Lettie paused but didn’t move away. Evelyn held her breath, fearing the maid’s hesitation. “I can talk to him for you.”
Evelyn closed her eyes. The hope that had flared at Lettie’s words died a swift and painful death. “No. It’s too dangerous. You should go,” she whispered to the maid.
The maid remained quiet and unmoving. The compassion in her eyes made Evelyn’s heart ache. Then she stood and gathered her supplies before she swept quickly from the room, leaving Evelyn alone.
For a long time after, as Evelyn lay on her bed in too much pain to move, she thought about what Lettie had suggested. One word slipped persistently in and out of her mind, tempting and tormenting her. The word itself was as elusive as its meaning, easing through her thoughts in quiet whispers and sighs.
Disappear.
Could she do it?
The idea awakened something inside she’d thought long gone. Hope.
If she tried and failed, the punishment would be severe.
But then, even death would be a kind of escape.
If she succeeded, however…
She could start fresh, far away, as someone else entirely.
The longer she lay there with the thought swirling through her mind, the stronger the hope inside her grew.
But leaving would mean never seeing her family or friends again.
She thought of her mother with a clench of regret. Mrs. Reed would likely believe whatever lie Matthew chose to tell of his wife’s sudden absence. But perhaps someday…once Evelyn was assured there was no longer any threat…
No. Matthew would always be a threat. As long as her mother knew nothing of Evelyn’s whereabouts, she could not be manipulated into revealing anything. Her mother’s ignorance would also serve as protection against Matthew’s wrath. It was unlikely he would ever reveal his true nature to Mrs. Reed, but if he thought the older woman was hiding Evelyn, he might become angry enough to do something drastic.
It was safer for everyone if Evelyn simply disappeared.
She could not—would not—live the rest of her life this way. Never knowing when Matthew might decide she had broken yet another unspoken rule.
She’d had enough of his constant manipulations—the way he made her question her own thoughts, the tiny insults and mocking looks that kept her in her place, the subtle and not-so-subtle threats, the control he exerted over every aspect of her life, showing her every day that she belonged to him.
But not for long.
Matthew was a man of consistent patterns and routines. She would take advantage of that to plot her escape. But the current window of opportunity would not be open for long. She had to act swiftly.
As soon as her husband left the house the next day and the servants he set to watch her were conveniently distracted with other tasks, Evelyn secreted a small bag containing a traveling dress and only the most essential personal belongings out in the garden where she hid it beneath a flowering bush near the gate that opened to the alley.
For a successful escape, she’d also need funds, but Matthew refused to allow her even the smallest amount of pin money. All her purchases were made on credit, and he received every receipt. Keeping her clothed in the most elegant gowns and richest accessories, with jewels and fans and the finest of everything, was just another way he declared her one of his possessions—an object to show off to his friends and social adversaries.
There was only one thing for which Matthew required cash.
The monthly casino night at his club.
For some reason, rather than playing on credit as most others did, Matthew preferred to show up with a flashy wad of bills tucked carelessly into his pocket.
Two days ago, he’d withdrawn the cash from his bank account and placed it in his bedside table until he’d need to take it with him to the club on Saturday night.
It was already Friday, and Evelyn needed that money.
The next morning, Matthew left the house at his usual time, precisely nine o’clock.
It was the first Saturday of the month, when many of the household servants took their personal day, leaving the household as close to empty as it would ever get.
Evelyn snuck into her husband’s bedroom, took the stack of bills from his bedside drawer, slipped it into her pocket, then wandered out into the garden where she sat reading on a bench in the back, as was her habit.
She sat there for nearly an hour doing what she could to give the impression that nothing at all was out of the ordinary. Everything in her was ready to flee. But she had to wait the full hour so anyone her husband had watching her wouldn’t see her behavior as odd. The whole time, her heart beat so heavily and quickly that she worried she might faint. It was all she could do to keep her hands from trembling while sweat dripped down her back, stinging the fresh wounds.
Finally, it was time.
Taking a slow, steadying breath, Evelyn lifted her gaze from the book. Matthew’s money was tucked in her pocket, burning against her thigh. The hansom cab that passed by the back alley every day on its route through the neighborhood would be making its way down the street at any moment.
Casually closing her book, Evelyn rose to her feet and strolled her usual path through the garden. Her breath practically stopped as she neared the back gate, tucked behind the fall of a weeping willow tree.
It was now or never.
Two
Union Pacific Railroad Line
Wyoming Territory
The shriek of the train’s brakes being applied with violent force split the air. Several passengers were thrown from their seats by the suddenly halted momentum.
Evelyn gripped the armrest of her bench seat, in part to retain her perch, but mostly in resistance to the terror sweeping through her body like a dousing of icy water. A frantic glance out the windows indicated they were nowhere near a train station. They were nowhere near anything at all. Barren, brown wilderness spread in all directions.
The only explanation that came to mind was not a rational one. Yet Evelyn couldn’t shake it.