Thirty-Six
Panic stole Beau’s breath. How had he not noticed her? She was only a few yards away from him.
If she screams… his mind yammered. If she runs or calls for Valmont …
The woman was standing across the room, to the right of the windows, her back to him. Beau saw that she was holding a silk cape in one hand, stroking it with the other.
His mind worked fast. Is she a maid? One of Arabella’s ladies-in-waiting? he wondered.
“Oh, hey. I’m sorry if I startled you,” he said nonchalantly, trying to make it seem like his presence here was no big deal, like he always walked around the castle on his own late at night.
The woman said nothing but inclined her head toward him. A pale shaft of moonlight caught her hair. Beau saw that it was styled high on her head, and so white and flossy, it looked as if it were made of cobwebs.
“So …” he said, giving her a dimple-deepening smile. “Have you seen Valmont? I’ve been looking for him for …” He laughed. “I don’t even know! An hour?”
The woman’s head swiveled. She turned toward him jerkily, like a marionette in the hands of a clumsy puppeteer. Moonlight raked across her body now, but her face was still shrouded by shadow. Beau saw that she was skeletally thin. The way her tattered gown hung off her shoulders, like a ragged coat off a scarecrow, unsettled him.
“You serve the mistress, no? The lady Arabella,” he asked, his voice rising a little.
The woman released the cape she was holding, letting it drop to the floor. “I am Lady Garconera, and I serve the true mistress here,” she said haughtily, drawing herself up to her full height. “We all do.” She laughed then. It was high and screeching, and Beau found himself taking a step back.
As he did, the woman swept a bony hand out before her. “Brocade, satin, velvet, lace … Have you ever seen such finery?” she asked, taking a step toward him, her skirts sweeping through the dust on the floor.
Beau strained to catch a glimpse of her face, but the shadows kept it hidden.
“Everything she owned was exquisite, but it was just a veneer—heaven knows the outside didn’t match the inside—but what does that matter?” the woman asked. “Sparkly surfaces are all this world cares about.”
She passed under the high windows, still moving toward him. As she did, the moon’s rays finally revealed her fully. Beau’s heart lurched. He wanted to run, but horror held him captive.
Her face was a mosaic of broken mirror shards; her lips a slash of rouge; her eyes jeweled buttons. Her towering hairstyle didn’t merely look like cobwebs, it was cobwebs, and as she came closer, it started to shudder.
As Beau watched, still rooted to the spot, a slender, bent black leg poked out from the sticky white strands, feeling for purchase. It was followed by another, and another, and then a large black spider crawled out. As the creature made its way down the side of the woman’s face, she smiled, revealing a mouthful of sharp, shiny, broken-off scissor points.
And then she lunged.
Beau’s thief’s reflexes saved him. He twisted to his right and ducked her clawlike hand. Then he ran, crossing back over the threshold and skidding into the hallway. He reached back for the doorknob and slammed the door shut behind him. With trembling hands, he ripped his bundle of lock-picking tools from his waistband and shook it open. The tools clattered onto the floor.
“Come on … come on,” he whispered, grabbing the pickle fork and screwdriver and jamming them into the lock.
Jangling laughter carried to him from the other side of the door. He twisted the fork frantically, hoping it would catch, but it scraped uselessly over the lock’s innards.
A split second later, there was a loud, shuddering crash as the woman threw herself against the door. Beau scrambled for the knob, desperate to hold the door closed. As his hand closed on it, a movement to his right caught his eye.
He turned his head and saw the child. Hope. She was running.
Straight toward him.