It was three days into Nurse Gretchen’s regime. The nursery felt less like a sanctuary and more like a sterile containment unit.
Victoria sat up in bed, the room spinning violently. Her hands felt tight. She looked down; her fingers were swollen, looking like sausages. A dull, pounding headache throbbed behind her eyes.
She pressed the call button.
Nurse Gretchen entered instantly, tablet in hand. “Yes, Mrs. Croft?”
“I don’t feel right,” Victoria murmured, rubbing her temples. “I’m dizzy. My hands are swollen. I think… I think I need to see a doctor. It might be preeclampsia.”
Gretchen walked over and barely glanced at Victoria’s hands. “You are anxious. Dr. Aris warned us about psychosomatic symptoms. It is just stress.”
“It’s not stress,” Victoria insisted, fear spiking. “I need you to call William. Please.”
“Mr. Croft is in a board meeting,” Gretchen lied smoothly. “He gave strict instructions not to be disturbed by your… episodes.”
“Episodes?” Victoria gasped. “I am sick!”
“You are hysterical,” Gretchen corrected. She pulled a small paper cup from her pocket containing two blue pills. “Dr. Aris prescribed these to help you sleep. You need to calm down for the baby’s sake.”
“I won’t take them,” Victoria tried to push past her. “I’m getting William.”
Gretchen caught her arm. Her grip was iron-strong, painful. She forced Victoria back onto the bed. “You will take the medication, Mrs. Croft. Or I will report to Lady Beatrice that you are endangering the heir, and we will have to use restraints.”
Victoria looked into the woman’s cold, dead eyes. She realized with a jolt of horror that Gretchen wasn’t there to nurse her. She was there to be the jailer.
Defeated and dizzy, Victoria swallowed the pills. As the darkness dragged her down, she realized the lock on the door wasn’t keeping the monsters out anymore. It was keeping her in.