Chapter 175

Whitmore remained expressionless as he stepped aside, allowing Edmund an unobstructed view of the door.

The shuffling inside the cell continued, growing louder as whoever was trapped within drew closer to the entrance.

"Please," a voice pleaded. "Please, can you hear me? Help me, I beg you. I don’t know where I am."

The desperation in her voice sent a chill down Edmund’s spine. He had never heard anyone sound so utterly terrified, so helpless. There was something deeply unsettling about the girl’s frantic pleas, the fear in every word she uttered.

Before he could think better of it, he found himself moving towards the cell, drawn closer by the desperate voice of the nameless girl trapped within. He wanted to help her. He wanted to call out and assure her that someone had finally come, that she was no longer alone.

Whatever strange circumstances had brought him to this place, he could not simply turn his back on her. The urge to do something gnawed at him, growing more insistent like an itch under his skin.

He could understand, to some extent, how Mr. Linton had ended up in his present predicament. The man must have done something to incur Whitmore’s wrath, and the injuries he had sustained were presumably the consequences of his own choices.

Edmund might have found the punishment excessive, but at least there was an explanation he could grasp.

The girl was different. What could she possibly have done to deserve such a fate?

Whitmore might condemn Mr. Linton for his actions, no matter how cruelly he chose to punish him, but Edmund could not begin to imagine what this girl might have done to warrant being locked away in a place so dark that she had lost all sense of time.

He glanced at Whitmore, hoping for some explanation, but the older man merely watched him in a way that was deeply disconcerting. He seemed content to wait and see what Edmund would do, as though his reaction mattered far more than the suffering of the person behind the door.

This was undoubtedly another test, and one for which Edmund was woefully unprepared.

The girl continued calling for help, her voice rising in pitch as her pleas went unanswered. He could hear her shuffling about inside the cell, her movements growing increasingly frantic. She reminded him of a frightened animal trapped in a cage, desperate to find a way out but unable to see where to turn.

"Hello?" Edmund called tentatively, his voice betraying some of the uncertainty he felt.

Her response came almost immediately.

"Oh, thank God. Please, please help me. Can you open the door? I can’t see anything. I don’t know where I am. Please, I want to go home."

Edmund leaned towards the open hatch, peering into the darkness in a futile attempt to make out her features. He strained his eyes, hoping to catch even the faintest glimpse of the person on the other side, but it was just too dark.

His mind struggled to make sense of what was happening.

He wanted to calm her, to assure her that he would find a way to get her out. Yet he had no idea whether he possessed the authority to make such a promise, much less the means to fulfil it. He did not know who she was, why she had been imprisoned, or what Whitmore expected him to learn from her suffering.

"I—" He stopped, the words dying on his tongue. He could think of a dozen things to say, but he could not bring himself to offer her hope when he had no certainty that he could do anything to help her.

A light touch on his shoulder interrupted his thoughts. Edmund turned his head and found Whitmore standing beside him, his hand resting there to prevent him from moving any closer. The older man showed no concern for the girl’s distress. He did not even appear particularly interested in her frantic cries, let alone inclined to release her.

"I don’t understand," Edmund muttered, turning to face him. "Let her out. Why is she there?"

"Who would have thought a man like you was capable of feeling pity? It is rather astonishing that you can cast your own sibling aside yet find yourself moved by a stranger. Someone you have never even laid eyes on. The human mind is a curious conundrum." Whitmore clicked his tongue disapprovingly. "A bleeding heart has no place in the pursuit of success, Edmund. And here I was, under the impression that we were cut from the same cloth."

"Please don’t leave me here!"

The girl’s renewed plea tightened something in Edmund’s chest. His unease had little to do with the dim corridor or the oppressive atmosphere of the place. It was the sheer terror in her voice that left him shakened, the awful knowledge that she was counting on him to help her when he might be powerless to do so.

"But I already know your potential. Soon, I will mold you into something great."

With that, Whitmore reached past him and slid the hatch shut.

The small opening vanished, cutting off what miniscule light had reached the cell. The girl’s voice became muffled behind the iron door, but her cries did not cease. Edmund heard her pounding against the metal, her hands striking it repeatedly as she screamed for someone to let her out.

"That’s enough for today," Whitmore said.

He turned and began walking back along the passage, evidently expecting Edmund to follow.

Edmund remained rooted to the spot, staring at the closed hatch, making it harder to convince himself that he could simply walk away. His pulse hammered against his ribs, and sweat gathered in his palms as he struggled with the knowledge that he was about to leave someone to suffer in the dark.

He turned to Whitmore, who was already several paces ahead. "Sir?"

Whitmore did not stop.

Edmund cast one final glance at the cell, still torn on what he ought to do.

In the end, he made his choice, though whether it was a sensible decision or a cowardly one depended entirely on whom one asked.

Drawing a deep breath, he hurried after Whitmore.

"What about her?" he demanded when he caught up with the man, falling into step beside him.

"She’s still in there," Edmund pressed when Whitmore continued walking without acknowledging his question.

"And that is where she shall remain for the foreseeable future."

Edmund struggled to make sense of the answer. "But what did she do to you to deserve this?"

"Nothing," Whitmore replied with disarming honesty. "But needs must. She is a necessary casualty, that is all."

The response troubled Edmund, but what troubled him even more was the casual manner in which Whitmore spoke of such cruelty. The man seemed to regard human lives as little more than expendable pieces in a game only he understood.

What sort of vile creature could subject another human being to such treatment and dismiss it as a necessary casualty?

"What is going to happen to her?" Edmund asked, dreading the answer even as he sought it.

Whitmore stopped when they reached the main entrance and turned to face him. The faint light fell across his features, revealing neither anger nor impatience, only the same unnerving calmness he had maintained throughout their visit.

"Everyone has a price to pay for success, Edmund. Today, I have trusted you enough to show you mine. We all have our parts to play." He said. "As for the girl, she shall be put to good use. I detest waste."

For several seconds, Edmund could find nothing to say.

He could leave. The thought came to him with startling clarity. He could refuse to return, abandon the promise of Whitmore’s patronage, and distance himself from whatever atrocities were being committed behind the doors of that abandoned manufactory.

But what would he be returning to?

Ashford House, where his father demanded his obedience and his mother judged the family’s standing by the opinions of the other socialites.

He would remain the heir to a name that had afforded him neither the grand wealth nor the influence he so desperately desired, condemned to watch others advance while his own ambitions remained frustratingly out of reach.

And then there was his fool sister. Cassandra’s marriage had elevated her status, granting her opportunities and advantages that Edmund could only envy.

How was he expected to accept his own stagnation while that wretched woman continued to rise above him? The thought alone was enough to sour his mood, reminding him of everything he had yet to achieve and everything he believed he deserved.

Whitmore had offered him a way out of that existence. A chance to become something more than the disappointing heir to a family whose expectations he had never been able to satisfy. The path ahead was far darker and more treacherous than he could ever have anticipated, but it was still a path towards the life he wanted.

He could not bring himself to abandon it. Not yet.

The realisation left him deeply uncomfortable. What did it say about his character that he could witness such horrors and still find himself weighing the benefits of their arrangement?

A woman was being held against her will, subjected to God knew what, and his thoughts kept returning to his own ambitions. Even now, his greatest concern was what he stood to lose if he walked away.

Edmund had no answer for that question, and he was not certain he wanted to discover one.

Neither man spoke again until they reached the carriage.