Chapter 402: Reap what you sow
The next day, no noble who had attended the ball remembered who Isabelle was. They took Lady Althea’s death to be a tragic accident that had nothing to do with Belle, and that morning became the day of her burial, where many went dressed in mourning attires.
Only one person, who had left earlier before the mass compelling in the ballroom, still held the memories of the entire event the next day. His excitement for the morning had made him refuse to stay with the grieving guests, who had wanted to hear the outcome of the king’s decision from last night. Instead, he had left the palace the very moment he was given permission to take charge of Lady Isabelle’s execution.
Hence, this morning, Jamie Marchant left his house in his carriage and headed straight to the madhouse to get the criminal to the execution center. He had prepared the kerosene and wood to burn her last night after leaving the palace.
He knew men would already be waiting for him in the asylum to take Lady Isabelle to where she would face her death. She would die a madwoman with no one to stand up for her, and he would watch her burn away for breaking his arm and almost killing him, had it not been for Lady Althea being there.
"Hurry with the ride, will you?" he urged his coachman impatiently, unable to wait to reach the madhouse and get this over with.
Only when Lady Isabelle died would he be at peace, because her being alive held the risk of people finding out that he had, indeed, purposely pulled his wife-to-be in front of him to take the fire, and that he could have stopped the fire by pulling off a curtain and covering her with it to save her life, but instead had let the fire consume her until she burned down to the very flesh and bones.
Last night, after Althea had run out of the room burning, he had seen in Belle’s eyes the look of horror and the dawning understanding of the situation, that he had pulled the woman to save himself. She had understood it enough to want to run out after the burning lady to help her, almost forgetting him entirely until he pulled her back. And that was how they had ended up on the floor, struggling, him trying to avoid her frantic hits with his good hand, and her desperately trying to reach for the tinderbox to light him on fire again.
"You let her burn, just like you did to me, Deven! You are a monster!" she had screamed. Whatever that meant, Jaime had held her down until the guards rushed in, and he reported her crime to them.
Now, inside his carriage, he smiled again at his luck in life.
When they reached the gate of the enclosed building of the madhouse, where everything from the windows to the doors was bound with thick iron to prevent any escape from the insane, Jamie got down from his carriage and walked to the entrance.
He was slightly taken aback when he didn’t notice any palace guards waiting for his arrival, nor any of the eager nobles who wanted to witness Lady Isabelle’s death. But then he brushed that away and made his way into the house, where, immediately upon entering, he could hear screams echoing from the underground section where the insane were tortured back to their senses like it should be.
He walked to the clerk’s desk, where the young man greeted him and then informed him, "It’s not the visiting or viewing hours, sir. You can’t be here unless you have come to admit a mad person," said the young clerk, who had his ears stuffed to block the screams coming from below.
Jamie looked at the clerk as if he couldn’t believe who the man thought he was speaking to with such a casual tone. But he let it slide, too eager for the purpose that had brought him here to waste time dwelling on the disrespect or dealing with the young man.
"I am Baron Marchant," Jamie said firmly, straightening his shoulders, "and I am here under the king’s direct order to carry out Isabelle Dawson, who was admitted here yesterday. The palace guards should already be here, waiting for my arrival."
The clerk frowned, then let out a small, disbelieving laugh. "I may be just a man who works in a place like this and rarely steps out, but I keep up well enough with society matters to know there has never been any Baron Marchant in Aragonia. And as for yesterday, no Isabelle Dawson was ever admitted into this institution. Are you certain you know what you’re saying, sir?"
The clerk began to eye Jamie suspiciously, trying to consider whether the man was one of the many people in the asylum who had claimed they were kings when, in truth, they were commoners who had gone insane and forgotten their identity.
Jamie, who ever since he was granted his title had demanded respect from commoners, as if he had never been one himself, didn’t like the way the young clerk regarded him or how easily he brushed off his words.
"Get me the head doctor," Jamie snapped. "I spoke with him last night when Lady Isabelle was brought here. You must be new to this institution, not knowing that I was titled Baron and—"
"Sir," the clerk interrupted, keeping his tone polite but firm, "with all due respect, I assure you I was here last night, and you are no Baron. The true Baron is Lord Wexford. There was no Lady Isabelle admitted here, nor any order from the king—"
Jamie lost his patience. With his good hand, he grabbed the clerk by the collar and pulled him forward. "Don’t talk smart with me, young man. Do as you are told, unless you want to lose your position. I can report your insolence directly to the king." He shoved the clerk back, releasing him, and barked, "Now, go fetch me your head doctor."
The clerk didn’t even argue, realizing the man wasn’t sane. They had been taught never to argue with a madman, hence he put a smile on his face and said, "Yes, my Lord. I will get the head doctor." Then he rushed away.
But instead of getting the head doctor, he went to confirm whether the doctor had indeed talked with someone named "Baron Marchant."
"I have never heard of such a name. I thought the Baron title is with the Wexford family?"
"I thought so too, sire, which is why I believe he is not sane. I have never seen a madman walk himself into the asylum; they are usually dragged and drugged here. What shall we do with him, sire?"
The doctor, who, like every other important figure in Aragonia, had been compelled to forget not only Isabelle but also that there had never been a Baron Marchant in Aragonia, looked thoughtful for a moment before he said,
"Get the men and give him a room in the house. We can’t let a person like that go around the land believing he is something he’s not."
"Yes, sire." The clerk bowed and then hurried back to Jamie, this time with two bulky men behind him carrying chains.
Jamie, who was looking down at his pocket watch impatiently, looked up at the sound of footsteps. "About time you—" His words trailed off when he noticed that instead of the doctor, the clerk had come back with men who worked as guards.
"Where is the doctor?" he demanded, looking from the clerk to the men behind him with a frown on his face.
"Follow us; you will meet the doctor soon enough," said one of the men as they came to stand on both his sides. Jamie sensed something was off immediately and shot a deadly glare at the clerk.
"Don’t you know who I am, to dare bring men to escort me out when I am here on the king’s signed order?"
"I know exactly who you are, sir, which is why you should go with them," the clerk said in the polite, calm voice used to coax mad people into believing that whatever their heads had imagined was true until they were led quietly into the rooms.
Jamie, however, still didn’t realize they were treating him as a madman. He thought the men had only come to escort him out of the place in disrespect, not to restrain him as if he were insane. Seeing that there were no palace guards around, he decided it was best to leave and return with the king’s signed order in hand. He would teach this insolent clerk a lesson.
"You will regret this, young man; mark my words," he warned and turned to leave, but he didn’t get to take a step before one of the guards pulled him back.
Jamie jerked his hand violently in an attempt to shrug off the man’s hold, but the man took that as the wild violence of the insane and landed a solid punch on his face that threw him off his feet.
"Tie him up before he starts to fight!" the clerk shouted.
"What the hell—" Jamie gasped as he received another blow to the stomach while trying to rise to his feet.
The clerk stepped aside and watched the supposed madman get restrained. He didn’t scream like the others often did, only because the multiple blows had already weakened him, but he still spat threats.
"You don’t know who you are messing with! I will make you all payyy—ahh!" He was slapped and dragged as he shouted, trying to tell them he wasn’t a madman and that they were making a mistake.