CHAPTER FORTY

A Disaster

January 10th, 1827—While writing about my plans for escape in my journal yesterday evening, I sat at my desk in the sitting room. Mr Huntingdon was present, but, I thought he was asleep on the sofa behind me. He had stood up, however, and been reading the journal as I wrote. As I finished writing, I put the pen down when he put his hand on my shoulder, saying, "I'll just read a bit of your journal, dear," as he took it from me.

"It's rather long," he said, "perhaps I'll read it another day, but please give me the keys to your desk."

"Why?" I asked, quite frightened.

He then took the keys from my hand and opened my desk, and quickly removed the painting supplies. He then began throwing the supplies and my beloved paintings into the fire. He then took the money I had saved, and threw the keys at me. I then returned to my room in shock and fear. How would I save my son now?

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