Dark & Dawn by Suzannah Rowntree

Author:Suzannah Rowntree
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Bocfodder Press
Published: 0101-01-01T00:00:00+00:00

Chapter XIII.

That night, having seen me to my room, Mrs Lister duly locked the inner door as she departed. She was, of course, unaware that Mimi had unlocked the French doors on the previous night, thus giving me an easy mode of egress to the loggia. As tired as I was from the day’s upheavals, I had no trouble remaining awake. As the grandfather clock downstairs tolled each passing hour and quarter-hour, I comforted myself that I should soon be in the chapel telling Mimi how desperately glad I was to see her.

By the time the clock struck three-quarters past eleven, I was ready, dressed in the same damp, mud-spattered white garments and waterlogged boots I had taken into the garden with me that morning. It seemed foolish to muddy a second set of petticoats, not to say likely to arouse suspicion with Mrs Lister and whoever handled the laundry. To this attire I considered adding a dark coat, the better to conceal me among the shadows; but this proved much too warm and I discarded it reluctantly. I must simply pray that I was not spotted; or that if I was I could pass myself off either as one of the house’s many ghosts, or as the traditional mad heroine. If I was to be press-ganged into a gothic romance, I might as well turn it to my own advantage!

Carefully, thankful that the shutters did not creak, I opened my French doors and stepped outside. High above the house, ragged clouds blew past the moon, providing a fitful light. As I closed the doors with infinite care behind me, a patch of moonlight strengthened upon the loggia floor, and I beheld the prostrate form of a man at my feet!

My heart leapt into my mouth as I gazed down upon him—the beachcomber, I saw at once from the shape of his hat. For an endless moment I stood there, waiting for him to arise, and then—what then? I must get to the chapel—Mimi would be awaiting me there. But the man did not move, and after a moment, beneath the sighing of the wind, I began to detect his soft, steady breathing. Mr Bone was asleep.

I am not ashamed to admit that it took a moment or two to pull myself together after this shock. My heart was a drum-beat, labouring so hard in my breast that I pressed a hand against my mouth for fear of its disturbing the sleeper. At length, moving very softly and deliberately, I latched the shutters behind me, picked up my skirts, and stepped across Mr Bone’s sleeping body. As I tiptoed away I congratulated myself upon my escape—but my ordeal was only beginning. When I stepped upon the cast-iron stair, the metal groaned beneath my foot. There was no other way down, and so I was compelled to take it anyway, as softly as I might; but the stair creaked, and I quivered, with every step. No doubt this was the way in which Mrs Lister had been alerted to my sleepwalking on that previous occasion.

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