Haunted by the Earl's Touch - By Ann Lethbridge Page 0,34
drastic action. Panic clawed its way back into her throat. Then she must not sleep.
It would not work. No one could remain awake all day and all night. She had to find a way to block off the entrance.
She tried putting a chair in front of it, then the dresser, but nothing seemed substantial enough to hold back a chunk of stone wall.
Perhaps she needed a different tack. Something that would warn her the moment the door started to open. Give her time to hide. Or run. Something loud. The crash of a set of brass fire irons like the ones standing on the hearth, perhaps. She gave them a push and they went over with a satisfying clang and a clatter.
Perfect. She stood listening, waiting to see if anyone had heard. Would the sound carry down that tunnel to the earl? Would he come to investigate?
Not by the secret tunnel, surely? She glared at the now-perfectly positioned wall. Oh, no. He would not come that way. He would not want her to learn he had easy access to her room. She strode to the chamber door and turned the large iron key.
Her panic started to fade and her mind cleared. She looked at the fire irons from several angles. They needed to fall at the very first movement, but they had a wide base and needed a good push at the top to make them topple. Something more precarious was required.
The slender vase on the dressing table, perhaps. She stood it beside the crack in the wall and carefully balanced the fire irons on top. It took a few tries to get it to stay in place. She nodded grimly. One push and it would topple.
She flopped down on the edge of the bed and stared at her odd structure. Now what?
Now she needed to plan her escape. Where she would go, she wasn’t quite sure, but anywhere was better than here. Anywhere was better than the house of a man who talked of drastic action and getting his money, when the only way the money would go to him was if she died.
An ache filled her heart. Everything she’d ever known was gone. Sally. The school. Her girls. She would have to start all over again.
For a moment, she’d let herself hope she might belong here. That she might actually have found a family. The old longing clutched at her heart. Such a childish thing, to want what could never be.
She must have bats in her belfry. Her father hadn’t wanted her—why would anyone else? Certainly not Beresford. All he wanted was his rightful inheritance. And who would blame him? She really wished there was a way she could give it to him before he resorted to drastic action.
She climbed beneath the sheets, fully clothed, ready to run at a moment’s notice, and lay concocting a plan of her own. A way to turn the trip to St Ives to her advantage.
Chapter Six
The visit to St Ives had turned into a family outing. The earl had ridden ahead with his cousins, while Mary and Mrs Hampton had travelled by carriage. Mary spent most of the journey parrying the older woman’s questions about her past and she could not have been more glad when they arrived at their destination.
The carriage pulled into the courtyard of a small hostelry. ‘We always walk from here,’ Mrs Hampton announced.
The footman let down the steps and Mary followed her companion out of the carriage into a bustling courtyard. The air smelled of the sea and fish. At any other time, she would have been eager to explore the town, but finding a way to depart claimed her immediate attention, since on the other side of the inn courtyard a sign proclaimed ‘Ticket Office’.
While the men saw to their horses and Mrs Hampton chatted with an acquaintance who had rushed over to offer condolences, Mary wandered casually over to the wicket below the sign and, with her heart picking up speed, smiled at the man inside.
‘Can I help you, ma’am?’ he asked.
A quick glance told her the earl was busy seeing to the horses. He looked every bit the Earl of Beresford today, in his close-fitting riding coat and muscle-defining doeskin breeches. She was positive, if she tried, she could see her face in the highly polished Hessians. To the manor born. Though it was the intensity of his expression as he dealt with the head groom, the square jaw and firm