Refuge by Kirsty Ferry

him until they reached the library. Then she threw his hand off her and began to pace around the room.
    ‘I hate being touched,’ she muttered. ‘It’s like him doing it all over again. So, you can go now.’
    She was aware of Montgomery moving over to the fireplace and watching her. She didn’t care. She was remembering Will, realising suddenly that he had left her with barely a backwards glance. If she allowed herself to process the thought thoroughly, she would feel cheapened. Instead, it was nice to recall, with perfect clarity how his hand had felt on her waist and how her skin had tingled as all the nerve endings leapt into life...
    ‘You don’t make things easy for me, Miss de Havilland,’ Montgomery said, interrupting her tangled thoughts.
    Genevieve’s head snapped around and she stared at him. She focussed on him, wondering for half a second what he was doing with her in the summer house. Then her mind cleared. ‘In what way?’ she asked.
    ‘I’m just intrigued. Is there something you wish to tell me? Maybe I can help.’
    Genevieve brightened.  ‘Could you perhaps, erase my family from my life?’ She laughed. ‘Yes. Actually, I think that might solve all my problems.’ She looked down at her wrist and moved over to Montgomery. She lifted her hand up to his eye-level. ‘You saw this. You know what happens here,’ she said. ‘But this is nothing. Believe me.’ She began to pull out her hair combs and clips one by one, letting her hair fall in a dark curtain down over her shoulders. She had no intention of going back into that ballroom tonight. ‘Make my apologies for me. Tell them I have a headache,’ she said.
    ‘If that is what you wish,’ said Montgomery. ‘May I?’ he came closer to her and raised his hand. She flinched. ‘I’m sorry – I just want to help,’ he said. ‘I’m not your brother.’ She felt a pull as a clip was taken out of the back of her hair. Montgomery bowed and presented her with it.
    She paused for a moment, then took it from him. ‘I apologise,’ she said. ‘Joseph is normally much more discreet.’
    ‘It’s not your fault,’ Montgomery said. 
    ‘Thank you,’ said Genevieve, gathering her combs together and flinging them into the fire, ‘but it is. You see, it’s all my fault. Joseph keeps telling me that.’  She turned and glided out of the library, the soft rustle of her dress soothing against the cracking and spitting of the flames in the old fireplace. Halfway up the stairs, her mind went blank. She paused and smoothed her dress down, wondering why it had such burn holes in it. Not to worry. It wasn’t as if she was wearing it for a special occasion. 
    ***
    Once she had reached the top of the stairs, Genevieve hurried along the corridor towards her room. She pushed the door open and it slammed shut behind her. She pressed her weight against it, locking it securely with the big iron key. She left the key in the lock. She’d already learned to do that. Not stopping to remove her dress, she threw herself onto the bed. She thought again about Will and the fact that he was leaving her. What if that evening in the summer house had actually been their last? What if she waited for him and he never came back at all?
    Someone began hammering on her door and shouting through the keyhole. She pulled a pillow over her head and muffled everything out. She knew that eventually she would fall asleep. She always did.

1885
     
    Genevieve woke up with a start, the shouting and noise staying with her. She was still lying on the top of her bed, in her ballgown, although the dress was crumpled and spoilt now. Then she realised the shouting and commotion wasn’t in her dream. It was actually happening in the corridor beyond her room. She crawled off the bed and padded over to the door. She crouched down and placed her ear to the door, trying to make out the shouts that seemed to echo around the first floor.
                    ‘She needs to be