My Bratty Wife
Chapter 231 - Two Hundred And Thirty One

Chapter 231: Chapter Two Hundred And Thirty One

The thin sliver of moonlight that pierced the grimy, high window of the storage room was Suzy’s only companion, her only measure of the passing hours. It crawled slowly across the dusty floorboards, a pale observer of her misery.

She lay huddled in a corner, the rough planks cold beneath her thin silk dress. Every muscle ached, her head throbbed where Jem had struck her with the pistol, and a persistent, gnawing pain had settled in her stomach. Her vision swam in and out of focus.

A strange, bitter smile touched her cracked lips, a "cruel smile" not of malice, but of a desperate, almost hysterical irony. "So this is it," she whispered to the darkness, her voice raspy. "A duchess, reduced to... this. I guess it’s time for me to go... one way or another." The words were ambiguous, even to herself – a flicker of a thought about escape, quickly doused by her profound weakness, or perhaps a darker acceptance of her fate.

Just then, the heavy bolt on the outside of the door scraped back with a protesting screech. The door creaked open, and Jem’s hulking silhouette filled the doorway, blocking out the dim light from the other room.

"Get up," he grunted, his voice devoid of any respect. "Boss wants to see ya."

Suzy tried to push herself up, but her limbs felt like lead, her body protesting every movement. She was so weak, so utterly worn out from fear, pain, and the suffocating confinement. The will to fight, which had burned so fiercely earlier, was now a faint, guttering ember. Jem, impatient, reached in, grabbed her arm roughly, and dragged her out of the storage room, her bare feet scraping against the splintered floor. She was too exhausted, mentally and physically, to offer more than a token resistance.

He hauled her into the main room of the squalid little house and, with a final, contemptuous shove, threw her to the dirt-strewn floor at the feet of another man.

This man was taller than the others, dressed in slightly better, though still coarse, clothes. His face was hard, his eyes like chips of granite, and he radiated an aura of cold, brutal authority. He was, undoubtedly, their boss.

Suzy, dizzy and disoriented, slowly pushed herself up to a sitting position, her head spinning. She looked up at the furious man who now towered over her.

He ignored her for a moment, his angry gaze fixed on Jem. "You idiot!" he barked, his voice like stones grinding together. He struck Jem across the face with a resounding slap, the sound sharp and vicious in the tense room. Jem recoiled, a hand flying to his stinging cheek, but said nothing.

"What in the blazes happened to her face?" the boss demanded, his voice low and dangerous as he gestured towards Suzy’s bruised cheek. "And why is she looking like she’s been dragged through a hedge backwards and robbed of everything but her shift? She’s supposed to be pristine!"

Jem stammered, fear evident in his eyes. "I’m sorry, sir... boss. But she... she was resisting too much. Tried to escape back at the carriage, she did. And again when I brought her here. Had to... subdue her a bit." He cast a nervous glance at Suzy. "As for her... her appearance, sir, her lack of... finery... I don’t know what happened to it. She was like this when I got her out of the carriage for the final leg of the journey here." It was a blatant lie about her attire, but he wasn’t about to admit he hadn’t thoroughly searched the carriage for valuables that might have been overlooked.

Suzy watched the two arguing adults through a haze of pain and nausea, her head still spinning from the earlier blow and her current weakness. The boss’s fury wasn’t for her, she realized with a sickening clarity, but for the damage to his ’merchandise.’

The boss took a menacing step closer to Jem. "If she’s not accepted at the port because of this bruise," he snarled, "if her value is diminished in any way, I’ll personally flay the hide from your worthless bones, Jem. Do you have any idea how much she’s worth? The arrangements for this particular acquisition were... delicate. She’s the best deal I have ever gotten."

Jem and the other four smugglers, who had been watching the exchange with wary apprehension, remained utterly silent, the threat hanging heavy in the stale air.

Finally, Jem, eager to change the subject, broke the silence, his voice still shaky. "When... when are we going to the port, boss? The tide will be right soon."

The boss shot him another withering glare before turning his attention back to Suzy, his eyes appraising her coldly. "We move when I say we move," he stated flatly. "She has to receive her preliminary visitor first. A... private viewing, you might say. It will be anytime now." He then addressed all of them. "In the meantime, get everything else ready for transport. I want no delays once the signal is given."

The men grumbled but dispersed to check on crates and bundles stacked in a corner, their earlier rowdiness gone, replaced by a sullen obedience. Suzy was left on the floor, feeling more like a piece of damaged goods than a human being. The ache in her stomach intensified, and she pressed a hand against it, trying to breathe through the waves of nausea.

A few agonizing minutes passed.

Suzy could hear the men muttering outside the main room, the sounds of ropes and canvas. Then, the front door of the small house opened again. This time, there was no rough entry, no coarse voices. Instead, light, measured footsteps approached – the distinct, confident tread of someone accustomed to nobility and fine surroundings.

A lady of high status, impeccably dressed even for a visit to such a shabby place, walked into the room. Her travelling cloak, though dark, was of the finest wool, her posture regal, her face shadowed by the hood. She exuded an air of cool command that made even the hardened smugglers pause in their work.

The boss immediately straightened, a deferential, almost fawning expression replacing his earlier fury. "Madam," he said, bowing low. "My lady... The... package... is prepared for Shipping ." He gestured towards Suzy. " I hope the deal still stays not withstanding the ’damages’. I believe I still get 100% share of profit?"

Suzy, her vision still blurry, her body trembling with weakness and a new, undefined dread, slowly lifted her head. She tried to focus on the newcomer, on this mysterious ’visitor’ who had come to inspect her. The lady gracefully lowered her hood. The light from a flickering oil lamp fell upon the visitor’s face.

Suzy’s eyes widened, disbelief and a fresh wave of horror washing over her, so potent it momentarily eclipsed her physical pain. Her breath caught in her throat. It couldn’t be. It simply couldn’t.

"Eleanor?" The name was a choked whisper, torn from Suzy’s raw throat, laced with an utter, devastating incredulity. Her mind reeled. Eleanor, here? In this den of criminals, connected to her abduction? The sadness of her situation, her desperate hope for rescue, seemed to curdle into something far darker and more personal.