Mike Shevdon - The Road to Bedlam

She went hunting in the clothes drawers. "What are we going for today?" she said to herself. "Is it the beached-whale look or are we going all-out for the crashed blimp?"

She laid out trousers with an elastic waist, a T-shirt and a smock top – it wasn't the most elegant attire but then her choices were limited. She collected underwear and socks and set them to one side. In the bathroom, she brushed her teeth and then collected a toothbrush, toothpaste and hairbrush and wrapped them in a cotton flannel.

She looked up and saw her vague reflection in the misted mirror. She turned away, but then stopped and turned back. She breathed gently on the edge of the mirror and it misted lightly, then slowly cleared. The mist in the centre of the mirror was still there, though. It didn't clear. She wafted at it gently with her hand. It remained unchanged. She placed the back of her hand softly against the mirror, testing the temperature in the centre and at the edge.

"Why would the mirror be colder in the centre?" she asked herself. "Shit!" She pressed her hand over her mouth.

She left the bathroom and went to the other mirror over the dresser. It was clear. She breathed soft on the mirror until it misted and then watched it slowly clear. Then she breathed on the edge of the mirror. It cleared much faster there. Both of the mirrors in the room were colder than they should be.

She shook her head and whispered to herself, "Don't they tell you in the Seventh Court that it's rude to spy on a lady?"

She went and collected a shoe from the floor and hefted it in her hand. She walked over to the mirror and held the shoe up ready. A tap from the door stopped her.

"One moment."

She replaced the shoe and went to the door. "Who is it?"

"Steward. Mister Garvin said that you would take breakfast in your room."

Blackbird opened the door cautiously, finding the steward, a trolley and no one else.

"How long have you been a steward here?" she asked the girl in the white apron and double-breasted jacket.

The girl looked uncertain. "Two years, or thereabouts. Is there a problem?"

She opened the door. "Maybe not."

The steward propelled the trolley into the room, took a cloth from the bottom shelf and draped it over the table with a flourish.

"A beautiful morning, isn't it?" she said.

"Is it?" said Blackbird. "I haven't been out."

"Makes you feel alive, a morning like this." There was a trace of an Irish accent in her voice. "Would you like the balcony windows open? It'll let some of the fresh air in."

"Maybe later," said Blackbird. "When I've dressed."

The steward laid a single place, setting out pastries, toast and a small dish and then a pot which she placed on a warmer. "Mr Garvin said that you might like to try the porridge, and to bring you apple rather than orange juice as you weren't to have anything too sharp."

Blackbird raised her eyebrow, "Is that supposed to be some sort of joke?"

The girl stopped, looking genuinely puzzled. "I'm sorry, Miss, have I said the wrong thing?"

Blackbird shook her head slowly. "I think Mr Garvin is having a joke at your expense. Would you give him a message for me, word for word?"

"I'm not sure, Miss. I don't really like these sort of games." She finished setting out the table, glancing uncertainly at Blackbird.

"Tell him that apple juice is fine and that Miss Blackbird sends her compliments and hopes that one day soon he will grow up."

The girl smiled and shook her head. "I don't think I can say that, Miss."

Blackbird followed her to the door. "Oh, I insist, and if he says anything to you, tell him I said he should come and talk to me about it."

"Very well, Miss. If you insist."

"I do. Thank you…" Blackbird tipped her head to one side.

"Lesley, Miss. My name's Lesley."

"Thank you, Lesley. I'll leave the trolley outside the door when I've finished with it if that is acceptable?"

"That's fine, Miss. Please enjoy your breakfast."

"I will, Lesley. Thank you."

As soon as the door was shut, she uncovered the basket of pastries, wrapped two of them in a napkin and set them aside. She gulped down a small glass of apple juice and turned back to her clothes.

Sitting on the edge of the bed, she tried to pull on socks despite the hindrance of her swollen belly. She found that she could only reach her feet if she didn't try to breathe at the same time. She got one on, slightly twisted, and then had to wait a moment before she could attempt the other.

"Oh, for goodness sake!"

She leaned down and tugged the other sock on, struggling with it until she was pink and cross. She frowned down at her belly, but then her expression softened. She stroked her hand slowly down the bump. "Soon," she whispered.

Once dressed she took her bag and stuffed a change of clothes into it. Never intended as an overnight bag, it bulged rather, but she wanted to carry as little as possible. She collected the rolled-up flannel with the items inside it from the bathroom and tucked those down the side. Then she took the napkin containing the pastries and placed that on the top.

She broke the end off one of the remaining pastries and washed it down with apple juice. "Too sharp, indeed."

She hunted through the limited cutlery and selected a butter knife that would be no use as a weapon but might prove useful as a tool. She tucked that into the other side of the bag.

She drained the juice glass, then went into the bathroom and used the toilet. She washed and dried her hands while she looked around the bathroom. Next to the bath was a long-handled back brush with a rope on the end.

"Right," she whispered to herself. "If you want something to listen to, we'll give you something."

Flushing the toilet again to create some ambient noise, she climbed into the bath and, taking the brush, reached up to hang the rope loop over the shower head. She climbed carefully out and drew the shower curtain across. When she turned the shower on, the brush swung around in the jet of water, making a convincing noise of someone showering. She grinned and turned it off again.

She left the bathroom, put on her shoes, collected her bag and placed it by the door. Taking the blunt knife, she went back into the bathroom, turned the water on full and pulled the shower curtain across. She watched the mist spread across the mirror. Then she quietly left the bathroom and, using the knife, turned the slotted bolt on the door from the outside, so that the door was locked. She listened to the sound of splashing water and nodded to herself.

Checking the corridor was clear, she turned away from the main hall, walked to the end of the hall and took the small stairway down to the servants quarters. It had the advantage of avoiding the main hallway and was the place she was least likely to encounter Raffmir and his crony. While she was sure they were aware that there were back stairs and servants' quarters, she doubted they'd ever deigned to visit any of them.

She pressed herself into a wood-panelled doorway when one of the stewards came past. He didn't see her, but then he wasn't looking for an absconder. She waited until he'd gone, then slipped down through the back of the house and came out through a disused pantry with piles of old boxes and the tang of ancient newspapers lining the shelves.

What used to be the stables was now a garage, but that wasn't much good to her since she couldn't drive. She did consider stowing away in the boot of one of the cars, but there was no way of telling which of them were going out and which were staying in the garage. She didn't want to end up trapped in there.

A better opportunity presented itself with the delivery van. The side was emblazoned with an array of cartoon cabbages and carrots with 'Coutler's Fresh Fruit and Vegetables' circled around it. The driver wasn't with the van, but the van wasn't locked so he couldn't have gone far. The back of the van had racks for trays of vegetables in it and nowhere to sit, so she went up front, climbed in and made herself comfortable. She kept a careful eye on the rear-view mirror, watching to see if it misted up. Once they discovered she'd flown the nest, the hunt would be on. She hoped they were enjoying listening to her in the shower.