The House at the End of the Moor by Michelle Griep

Author:Michelle Griep [Griep, Michelle]
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 9781643525754
Publisher: Barbour Publishing, Inc.
Published: 2020-05-14T16:00:00+00:00

Chapter Eighteen

Time stops. So does my heart. One cry—nay—one small shuffle of Mrs. Threadneedle’s feet and Oliver and I will be exposed. Our lives are wholly in the hands of an overworked, underpaid, grey-haired matron who loves to talk.

Beside me, Oliver shakes his head at the woman while lifting a finger to his lips. Her eyes follow his movement—but her mouth opens. My lungs burn for want of air. Will she give us away?

Mr. Groat’s and Mr. Barrow’s voices continue to rumble. My name, Oliver’s too, bandies about like a shuttlecock between them.

Mrs. Threadneedle’s mouth gapes wider.

And I pray—or rather plea—for God to clamp her lips as effectively as those of the lions in Daniel’s pit.

Oliver edges away from me, towards her, and whispers something in the woman’s ear. The longer he speaks, the farther away the footsteps in the passageway travel, and the more Mrs. Threadneedle’s lips draw together. By the time Mr. Groat’s keys jangle and his office door swings open, Mrs. Threadneedle is grinning—and a blush deepens on her cheeks.

It’s my turn to gape. What charms has Oliver worked to effect such a change?

He pulls back from her. She winks at him, flutters her fingers at me, then hustles out the door.

Straight toward Mr. Groat’s office.

I whip my gaze to Oliver, a field of questions nettling my tongue, but before one can sprout, he hurries me out the passageway. Mrs. Threadneedle’s voice trills from inside Mr. Groat’s office, loud enough to hide our footsteps. Oliver leads me to the stairs and we dash down. At the bottom, he makes to cross the stage. I plant my feet and yank him back, a sharp shake to my head. The manager’s office directly overlooks the stage, and my dressing room is in the opposite direction.

Now I am the leader, winding through narrow corridors that are secret to the public. One more flight of stairs and we are beneath the stage—safe from the prying eyes of Mr. Groat and Mr. Barrow.

I fumble in my pocket for my key and shove it into the lock on my dressing room door. It doesn’t click. It doesn’t need to. The door is already unlocked—a door I always kept secure. Frowning, I enter.

We stand in a war zone.

The drawers on my dressing table hang open, a scarf dangling from one, a broken chain of beads on another. Cosmetic pots are tipped over. My wardrobe is empty, one door askew because the bottom hinge is broken. All the gowns are gone. A single silk stocking sprawls like a corpse on the floor. Whoever searched this room didn’t care about me or anyone else noticing.

“Are you always this careless with your belongings?” Though humour lightens Oliver’s tone, I am anything but amused.

I race to the dressing table to search the bottom drawer for my mother’s locket, but my fingers meet only air and wood. My heart catches in my throat. Has someone stolen it? Why, oh why, did I not tuck my precious keepsake in my

Download

Copyright Disclaimer:
This site does not store any files on its server. We only index and link to content provided by other sites. Please contact the content providers to delete copyright contents if any and email us, we'll remove relevant links or contents immediately.