Chapter 30
Darkness surrounded Anne as she inched through the musty passageway. The lamp provided little comfort. Instead, the light cast menacing shadows that loomed at her approach. Narrower than the generous expanse she had imagined, she recoiled each time her arm brushed against a dusty wall.
As she followed the confined inner hallway, she discovered it branched off at the end. She decided to go right, because why not? Right was right after all. She let out a nervous giggle at the thought.
She halted and squinted. Farther up and to her left, a small shaft of light cast a ray into the darkness. With tentative steps, she approached.
When she rose on tiptoe to where the beam of light poked through the darkness, she peeked through. The familiar sofa sat in the middle of the—currently unoccupied—blue parlor.
“I knew it.”
Thinking she might have missed another entrance, she pushed against the wall and felt for another latch, but her attempt was unproductive. After making a mental note to come back at a later time, she continued down the passage.
Floorboards creaked and groaned under her steps. Something scurried behind her, and half turning to glance back, she raced forward.
When she redirected her attention in front of her, a sticky substance hit her in the face. She yelped, then performed a frantic little dance before pawing the substance away with one hand. She lifted the lamp closer. Silky strands of a spiderweb clung to her fingers.
“I hate spiders!” And their webs. Images of giant eight-legged creatures coalesced in her mind as she gazed at the dense and enormous webs her outstretched lamp illuminated.
Rather than moving forward and through the rest of the arachnid architecture, she turned around and retraced her steps to the fork in the passage.
With a momentary stop at the juncture, she worked out the directions. Left would lead her back to the safety of Colin’s study. Straight would take her where she had not yet dared to explore.
As narrow as the other, this path seemed better traveled and—thankfully as far as she could tell—if not entirely cobweb-free, no massive traps awaited her. Onward she braved.
Minutes later, her courage vanished. A squeak and the scurrying of tiny feet propelled her forward, and she hoped with all that was holy not to run into more spiders or their webs. Her foot landed on something squishy. She lowered the lamp and gasped at the decaying mouse.
Dead, glassy eyes, or rather one eye, stared up at her. The other eye was missing as if something had decided it was a rather tasty dish and had taken a bite. Stomach roiling, she shuddered and hurried past the poor creature.
Although she did her best to take care where she stepped, more fallen comrades of the mouse littered her path.
As she stepped over the mice, floorboards groaned in protest. Crack.
Without warning, one of the boards gave way under her weight, and her foot slid downward, nearly sending her off balance.
Panic seized in her throat as her arms flailed, and her grasp tightened around the lamp.
With a sigh of relief, she yanked her foot free before it became wedged in the crevice.
Recovered, she hurried forward. The passage ended at another fork, reminding her of the maze at Hartridge House. Only she didn’t have Colin with her to show her the way.
With a huff, she proceeded. She didn’t need Colin. She could find her way around herself.
Once more, a small beam of light broke through the darkness. As she grew closer, the dim light from the lamp illuminated a shape of something ahead. What is that? A tight, watchful knot formed in her stomach. She kept a keen eye on the object lest it move and rush toward her.
Thankfully, it remained stationary, and her tension eased at a table resting against the wall.
Was the silly thing taking her in circles?
No. A box of lucifer matches lay next to another finger lamp on the table. She held the lamp and had taken the matches with her in case her lamp blew out.
Muffled voices came from behind the wall. On her tiptoes once more, she peered through the hole. In the middle of the library, Greene and Mrs. Campbell were deep in conversation.
“Let me see that.” Greene snatched a paper from Mrs. Campbell’s grasp and read.
Mrs. Campbell darted a glance over her shoulder, her voice so low, the words came in bits and pieces. “ . . . Manning . . . dismiss us . . . finds out.”
Anne pressed her ear against the opening and squeezed her eyes shut as if that would help her hear. Which, surprisingly, it did.
“Then we can’t let him find out.” He paused, and Anne peeked to make sure they were still there. “ . . . knew it!”
Knew what? She wished he’d read the blasted paper aloud.
Mattie entered the library, a feather duster in her hand. “Oh, pardon me. Should I come—”
“Leave us!” Greene barked, the tone so sharp Anne flinched.
“And close that door!” Mrs. Campbell wasn’t any kinder.
Poor Mattie backed away and hurried from the room.
With the door closed, the two continued their conversation, and, to Anne’s benefit, they no longer bothered to lower their voices.
“It would appear our new mistress,” Mrs. Campbell spoke the word mistress as if it were the worst of profanities, “is a title-seeking lightskirt.”
Greene nodded. “As we suspected from the first report in The Muckraker.”
Hah! The lying rag! Anne stilled as Greene and Mrs. Campbell turned in her direction.
Anne held her breath and waited. She sighed—inaudibly, she hoped—when Mrs. Campbell continued.
“She’s not fit to wipe mud from Lady Manning’s shoes. God rest her soul. But what can we do?”
“We wait. Once she serves her purpose and produces a son, we make her life a living hell. Quietly of course. Without proof, Lord Manning will not dismiss us. But she isn’t made of sturdy enough stuff to withstand ill-treatment. She’ll run back to wherever she came.”
“From what I’ve heard, a child should be on its way soon enough. They’ve been at each other like rabbits. I even saw them on the folly the other day. Disgraceful.” Mrs. Campbell shook her head. “Lady Manning would never have done something so inappropriate.”
The housekeeper’s words stung like a thousand bees. Had Colin grown cool as soon as they had coupled at the folly because she had served her purpose?
Fists curled at her sides, Anne wished to pound against the wall, scream like a banshee, and scare the daylights out of the villainous pair. Instead, she remembered something Andrew once said. “Forewarned is forearmed.” She would catch them at their game and gather the evidence to present to Colin.
And she would take great satisfaction in doing so.
“Hide that paper,” Greene said. “I have to go make sure Alan has sealed the panel in the study. I’ve stalled as long as I can, but his lordship demanded it be completed by the time he returns today.”
Anne reeled back. Nausea, sudden and violent, overtook her. What? No! No! No!
She waited, forcing down the bile rising in her throat, until Greene and Mrs. Campbell left. With the room empty, she frantically searched for a latch or a door. She needed to get out of there. She’d had enough adventure for one day. At least within the confined space of the passageway.
There! A seam to the left of the table with the lamp and matches. There had to be a way to exit. Slowly, she ran her hands down and next to the sides of the seam, finally finding the blessed latch. Click.
Thank goodness! When the door didn’t pop open, she gave it a little push. And harder. Harder still. She pressed her shoulder against it and used her whole body weight. The darn thing wouldn’t budge. Sealed.
She hurried back, not caring if Alan, Mrs. Campbell, or even Greene discovered her. She was Viscountess Manning, for goodness’ sakes, and she would not allow them to bully or mistreat her. This was her home, not theirs.
When she arrived at the fork, she couldn’t remember which way she had turned. The disgusting mice had sent her speeding forward without taking care of her direction.
“Right or left?” She stood only a moment and, shuddering, remembered the dead mice. If she didn’t come across them, she would retrace her steps and go down the other way.
Only halfway up, the path was mice-free. Time was running out. She needed to get back to the study. Her heart pounded, and she spun around. The lamp sputtered out. Her throat went taut with fear.
Her fingers shook as she removed the lamp’s glass chimney, then fumbled for the box of matches. How could she hold the lamp and strike the match? She needed more hands! The glass shade slipped from her fingers and shattered on the floor, and the box of matches followed.
“Damn!” She glanced around, ashamed at her curse, then gave a nervous laugh. Even if someone were there to hear her, she wouldn’t care as long as they would get her out of this horrid place.
Rather than search for the box and risk cutting herself on the broken glass, she raced forward and ran her hand against the grimy, dusty walls to feel her way through the passage in the dark.
At the fork, she edged forward as carefully as she could.
Where was that broken board? Using the toe of her shoe, she felt for it, only to push against a smaller object.
The mouse! Her stomach churned again, and she quickly stepped away from the decomposing rodent.
Another floorboard broke away, and the gaping hole swallowed her foot.
She fell forward and landed face down, her eyes adjusting to the darkness just enough.
A dead mouse lay precariously close to her nose, and she screamed.
Pain radiated up her leg, and she struggled to free her aching foot, but it wouldn’t budge.
She screamed again, hoping someone would hear her before she joined the mouse in endless repose.