Muriel considered running away, but that would cause more problems than could be solved. The dishonor she'd place on her family could be far too much to handle. The baron might cancel the betrothal. People would stop socializing with her sisters. Her father might even be refused some business over this stupidity. All of this might not happen if Muriel was running away from a normal aristocrat, but Muriel's mistress was a princess and the mother of the Crown Prince!!
She couldn't even imagine a proper plan for running away. She was often watched, and she couldn't exactly switch clothes with a maid in her bedroom. None of the maids were loyal to her. They wouldn't risk their jobs for her.
There wasn't a way out.
On the afternoon after the princess made her frightening suggestion, Muriel was asked to go up to a floor she had never been to. Doctor Bergson escorted her there. His hair was in a tight ribbon. His green eyes were a bit taut.
On this previously forbidden floor, they went to a long hallway that had one door at the end and many more doors on each side. The floor had gray tiles and no rugs, as if the occupant here wanted to hear all the footsteps in the area.
"Normally, all the doors here would be locked from the inside," the doctor explained. "Servants are sent here once a week to sweep and dust the hallway. Every two weeks they would be allowed in some rooms, but never all the rooms at once. The door to His Highness' bedchamber is always locked. He cares for his room on his own."
The prince cleans his own bedroom? That was almost sad in Muriel's mind. She wondered if the prince was bitter about that. She hoped he didn't take his frustrations out on her.
Especially since she was about to be helpless.
Muriel folded her arms and quivered.
The last room on the right of the hall, that was where Doctor Bergson stopped walking. Muriel had to stop too. The doctor pulled the door open. The creaking hinges sounded like a dying little creature whining its despair to the world.
There were no windows in the room. The walls had exposed stones and bricks. The floor was stone. In the center, there was a wooden chair with a light cushion in the seat and a tall back. A basket with a lid was on the floor near it. A cord hung from the ceiling close to one of the chair's armrests. On Muriel's left, facing the chair, there was a lit fireplace. To the fireplace's right, there was a tall and empty bookcase against the wall.
Muriel believed that if the prince was using hidden corridors and such to navigate and secretly look at people, then he would likely use some kind of entrance behind the empty bookcase to get to this room.
She looked back for a short moment. There was a sliding lock ready to keep the door tight when needed.
Doctor Bergson guided her to the chair even though Muriel didn't need to be guided. She smoothed out her skirts and sat down. She was wearing a casual outfit with a smaller skirt. She only had a pillow-like bum roll to make her skirts a little round.
"I'm going to your ankles first," the doctor softly warned. Muriel sighed.
He knelt down and gingerly took one of her ankles with his fingers. Her shoes were low. He arranged her ankle right against a chair's leg. "Right there," he said. She kept her ankle at that spot while he went to the basket.
He pulled out some ropes.
Her ankle was tied to the chair's leg. The other ankle was tied to the other leg. "Are you uncomfortable?"
"No, Doctor."
"Is it too tight?"
"No, Doctor."
He lightly pulled on the ropes. "If they're too tight, tell me this minute. You're not to be injured in any manner."
"I'm fine, Sir."
"Fine, then I'm going to your wrists."
It was predictable. Her wrists were bound to the chair's armrests, her hands were turned down. She was wearing small gloves. She felt the rope on her skin. It wasn't a frayed or rough material, surprisingly.
Near her left hand, there was the hanging cord. "See if you can grip it with your fingers," the doctor coolly instructed. Muriel stretched her fingers up, pinched and twirled the cord around, and tugged. She heard a bell faintly ring somewhere. "That's good," said the doctor. "If there's an emergency, ring the bell, and I'll come right away."
"What sort of emergency are you imagining?" Muriel asked with a weak voice.
The doctor shrugged and made a smacking noise in his mouth as he got to a firm standing position. "I don't know. Say His Highness has a heart attack or some other ridiculous thing. He's never had heart problems, by the by. Or, what if a fire starts and His Highness can't free you for some reason? You should never be unable to run away from danger."
So ... he didn't think the prince might do something violent?
Muriel gulped down a lot of saliva and worry.
The doctor reached back into the basket. When his hand rose, he was holding a black blindfold.
"Are you ready, Miss?"
"Yes, Sir."
She closed her eyes. He put the cloth over her eyelids and snugly tied it around her head. Thankfully, her hair was in a high topknot. She could put the back of her head against the chair's back without any obstruction.
The most disquieting darkness! Even though there was warmth before her, Muriel was frigid.
The doctor's voice followed his hard footsteps. "I'm going to wait outside the door for the knocks. Do you need anything?"
"No, Sir."
"Alright."
Muriel heard him go to the door. Then the door was loudly opened and closed.
Then ... grinding, sliding, rough movement. Judging from the noise's direction and distance, Muriel believed that the empty bookcase was in fact a hidden door of sorts.
Soft yet big. Clapping against the stone floor. Footsteps? Feet that ... were probably covered in leather? Muriel didn't exactly understand.
The steps went to her left, where that door was. There were three knocks with significant pauses between each one. Then there were two rapid knocks. She heard the doctor's muffled voice. "I'm leaving now."
Metal sliding against metal.
The sliding lock.
Muriel's toes pressed together. Her fingers curled and pressed into the armrests.
She was blindfolded, tied to a chair, and locked in a room with a man she didn't know much about.
Her lips opened a little, and her tongue twitched as she thought to lick her lips, but then she thought that doing such a thing might be considered bold or even vulgar.
Footsteps again, moving back towards the right.
