The Court of the Thorn Tree (Classic Gothics Collection Book 5) by Blake Jennifer

Author:Blake, Jennifer [Blake, Jennifer]
Language: eng
Format: mobi
Tags: Romance
Publisher: Steel Magnolia Press
Published: 2013-08-20T16:00:00+00:00

6

“Amelina!”

For a single second, Margaret was too stunned to move. Then she plunged after the girl.

As she entered the porte-cochere she heard the clang as the smaller pedestrian door set into the great wrought-iron gate slammed shut. The sound was followed by running, quickly receding footsteps. She reached that gate, fumbled an instant with the unfamiliar latch, swung it open.

The street was quiet, almost empty. The watchmen posted at the gate must have gone inside to join the servants' party. The loiterers standing about to watch the guests arriving at the party had departed as well. The curfew gun had sounded long before. Most ordinary citizens were in their beds. Only the elite and the dregs of society roamed the city.

Two blocks away, a city policeman waded across the intersection and leaped the wide puddle caused by an overflowing gutter. Margaret opened her mouth to call out for his help but bit back the cry. Charles would not care to have the authorities involved, she suspected. He and Raoul would follow soon to help her, she was sure of it.

From the west came a grumble of thunder. A gust of wind whipped down the street, tossing the street lamps slung on ropes between the buildings and sending a shop sign a few blocks away shrieking as it swung on its chains.

As if startled by the sound, a small figure darted from the doorway beneath the sign. It pelted along the banquette, rounded the corner and disappeared.

“Amelina, wait!” Margaret clutched up her skirts in one hand and began to run.

Her footfalls pounding on the uneven sections of wooden sidewalk echoed down the deserted street. The wind tugged at her hair and molded her dress against her. She turned the corner, but was only in time to see a flicker of white as Amelina disappeared down an alley.

Precious minutes were lost before Margaret was on the trail again. At that moment she was glad of the rain that had fallen earlier, turning the streets into quagmires that forced her fleet-footed quarry to keep to the noisy wooden sidewalk.

Turning a corner she ran into a pair of flatboat men far gone in rum who tried to block her way. She spun away from their clumsy grabs, leaving only one of the knots of ribbon from her sleeve behind her.

The incident stretched her nerves to the breaking point. Though a stitch was developing in her side, she could not allow herself to slow down.

She was nearing the cathedral, with its rounded black towers like twin sentinels outlined against a flare of lightning, when she lost the sound of Amelina's footsteps. The Place d'Armes with its double row of sycamore trees loomed before her. She was relieved to feel the beaten earth of the parade ground, too hard to turn to mud, beneath her slippers.

She crossed it quickly, avoiding both the sharp spikes of Spanish Dagger growing there and the hulking shadow of the scaffold where condemned criminals were hanged. Beyond lay a stretch of

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