by Anya Wylde
Lucy skidded to a halt.
It was all too possible. A shoeless woman with long matted hair could have slithered out of one of the abandoned rooms.
Hungry for tea she would have meandered down the hallway when all of a sudden she would have paused and cocked her skeletal head … She had heard something … a snore … a dark, treacherous snore emerging from Lord Sedley's ill-omened nostril.
She would have smiled, her front tooth would have twinkled, and a dagger would have appeared in her hand—a long silver dagger with a sharp edge that glittered along with her twinkling tooth.
The dagger had shimmered, the tooth had twinkled.
The tooth had twinkled and the dagger had shimmered.
Dagger, tooth … dagger, tooth … tooth, dagger … tooth, dagger and—
Stab, stab, stab, slash.
Lord Sedley was dead.
After the horrible deed, she would have wiped the knife clean on her moth eaten, filthy dress, stolen a piece of cake, two spice biscuits and a cigar lying on the study table and slithered back to her room.
Lighting the cigar, she had puffed away enjoying the peace that the act of murdering a nincompoop had brought to her soul.
She had puffed and puffed and puffed while the smoke from her cigar had formed visions in the air. They reminded her of the happy days when she had been Lord Sedley's mistress.
The smoke had curled and reformed to throw up darker memories that spoke of neglect and abandonment.
The grey mist had then swirled faster and faster becoming dangerous like a gathering storm as she recalled how she had threatened to tell his wife of their affair.
Lord Sedley, with all his faults, had loved his wife. He had locked away his mistress in one of the many empty rooms of the manor to prevent the truth from coming out. He had kept her like a bird in a golden cage until one fateful day she found a way to escape her room—
Lucy ran into a standing armour and her fantastic tale came to an abrupt end. She rubbed her bruised head waiting for the stars floating in front of her eyes to disappear completely before making way towards her bedroom.
This new line of thought where someone hiding in the manor had murdered Lord Sedley seemed to ring right. She pondered over this new discovery for a while. She dissected the thought, upturned it, peered at it from side to side, bottom to top and then back again.
Her face was flushed and her brow fevered by the time she had finished thinking. The sweat on her skin seemed to mock the flecks of snow that had replaced the noisy rain outside.
She entered her room and walked up to the basin filled with icy water. She quickly splashed her face and wiped her face dry with a muslin cloth before the muscles in her face could freeze.
Refreshed, she once again began plucking at the thought that a stranger was residing in Rudhall Manor. A stranger filled with bitterness and hate who skulked around in the dark and went about stabbing people.
And while she plucked away at the thought, teased it and unravelled it, her eyes landed on a beautifully carved wooden box sitting in the middle of the bed.
It was a medium sized rosewood box, hard to miss against the white bed sheet. The top of the box was painted in muted greens and soft pinks, while the catch was polished gold.
She gulped.
A pretty box, a box that looked expensive—a box that was not hers—was sitting in the middle of the bed.
She looked around the room and swayed. Her green travelling dress was draped on the back of the chair. Her grey slippers sat neatly in one corner. The half-finished letter to her bosom friend Charlotte had ended up on the floor.
It was definitely her room, but—her eyes swivelled back to the bed—the box … the box was not hers.
With trembling legs she moved closer to the box. It was as if she was terrified it would suddenly leap into the air and bite her.
She lurched forward and bravely touched the lid.
She was afraid of opening it and confirming her suspicions ….
But it had to be done.
A deep breath later she snapped it open and stared at the contents.
Her entire body started trembling, her breath came in shallow gasps and her eyes widened in horror.
Someone gasped behind her.
She turned around to find the butler staring at the box.
A moment later, he gave a full throated cry which rang through the house. "I found the thief, I found the thief, I fooouuund the jewel thieeeeef!"
Lucy's knees gave away and she collapsed on the bed. She had been looking for the jewels all over the house, and here it was, the very same jewellery box relaxing in the middle of her bed, staring up at her, looking mighty pleased with itself.
She was doomed.
The thick noose hopped over and began knocking insistently against her frightened head.
Chapter 32
What sort of a daft fool would leave a fortune on her bed, Lucy wondered. If only the butler had not come upon her at the moment of discovery, she would have shot out of Rudhall Manor, escaped to the nearest port and set sail for exotic lands.
She wondered if she would have liked living in France. She could have fashioned herself into some sort of an English countess, found a dashing lord to marry … or perhaps Spain. Spain was warm and she did so love Spanish oranges. All day she would sit on the porch eating oranges upon oranges and then some more oranges spitting out the pips trying to shoot them as far possible—
Lord Adair touched her elbow and pulled her back to the present.
"We need to tie her up," Elizabeth was saying. "I cannot have a loony murderer running around the mansion while I sleep."
Everyone had congregated in the morning room. Sixteen cups of coffee had been consumed while all shapes of eyeballs had tried to pierce Lucy's nervous skull.
"Is there no way we can send her away tonight, Lord Adair?" Lady Sedley asked. She was sitting on the sofa, or rather half lying on it. Her pale hand was resting on the back of the sofa, the other draped artistically over the arm. Her thin white robe had slipped off one shoulder and her left ankle was on shameless display.
Lord Adair ignored the ankle and the exposed white neck. "I am afraid it is late. Besides, the roads are blocked with snow. The carriage won't be able to leave the village. I don’t want to take a risk in case she escapes during the journey."
Lucy widened her eyes, silently appealing to all those around her. She tried to move her facial muscles to look as innocent as possible. She begged them to take one look at her forlorn face, to dive into the depths of her pupils and splash around a bit to judge the truth for themselves. She had not stolen anything or murdered anyone.
"Her old room," Lady Sedley said stifling a yawn, "is on the first floor and has a sturdy lock." She pulled out a bunch of keys from the pocket of her robe and tossed it towards Lord Adair. "Lock her in. We can deal with her in the morning."
"Lord Sedley," Lord Adair asked turning to Peter, "do you approve of the plan?"
Peter looked up, his expression anguished. "You should have told me you had the jewels," he said looking at Lucy. "I could have done something … anything. It wouldn’t have come to this."
Elizabeth gasped. "You are feeling sorry for this creature?"
"Love has blinded you," Ian said in sympathy. "I understand all too well." He sighed heavily.
"Perhaps," Peter said softly, his eyes refusing to leave Lucy's face.
Lucy blushed and looked away. This was awful. A man was declaring his love for her for the first time in her life, and all she could wish at the moment was to silence the blithering, love-struck idiot.
Couldn’t he see this was not the hour to spout such nonsense? She stood accused of crimes, and instead of saying he did not believe she could commit such acts, he was moaning about how he loved her in spite of her penchant for murder and theft.
She glared at him. He could save her instead of gently nudging her towards a high cliff and then lovingly pushing her off.
"I
am going to bed," Elizabeth said. She stood up, eyed Lucy like she was a loathsome insect one final time, before gliding out of the room.
Lord Adair gripped Lucy's resigned elbow and gently steered her out of the room.
Head bent low she allowed her elbow to be led towards her old room. A room she would have been happy to see again had the circumstances been different.
Outside the room, Lord Adair tilted her chin up and asked gently, "Do you need anything from the basement for the night? Your nightgown or a book?"
Lucy shook her head. She doubted she would be able to sleep at all.
He searched her face. When she refused to meet his gaze, he let his hand fall.
She stepped away watching him test the keys to check which one fit the lock.
The keys jangled loudly as he sifted through, and taking advantage of the din, he said softly, "I know you are innocent."
Lucy swivelled her face towards him so fast she made herself dizzy.
"Eh?" She wasn't sure if she had heard him correctly.
The key turned in the lock, and he gestured towards the door. "This is necessary. Have patience."
"I will be dead by the time you solve this crime," Lucy whispered bitterly.
Footsteps sounded behind them.
Lord Adair pressed his lips together and slightly shook his head in warning.
She was not a halfwit, she growled to herself. She knew when to keep silent. He did not need to be so patronising. She marched into the room, her head held high.
"Do not try and do anything foolish, and do not worry," he ordered quietly just before slamming the door shut and locking her in.
Lucy worried.
If Lord Adair knew who the culprit was, then why didn’t he catch the person, torture him a little bit and get him to confess the truth? Or was he trying to indulge her, telling her he knew she was innocent while he coaxed her all the way to the continent.
"I am getting married," Aunt Sedley announced whizzing into the room.
"Congratulations," Lucy said sourly.
"You can be a little more enthusiastic," Aunt Sedley grumbled. Her upside down face danced in front of Lucy's unhappy eyeballs. "I have never been married before."
"I didn’t know ghosts could marry," Lucy replied.
"Well they can. It is in a fortnight, the wedding I mean. I wish you could attend, but only the dead are allowed to witness the ceremony. Besides you can't fly and I am getting married on a cloud—"
"I will attend your wedding."
"How?"
"I would be dead too. A ghost flying around. It doesn't seem so bad. I can attend your wedding. I already know a spirit … The noose will hurt, but after that—"
Aunt Sedley flipped in the air to stand upright. "Did something happen tonight?"
"The thief left the box of jewels on my bed. The butler caught me with it."
Aunt Sedley whistled making the pillow leap in the air, roll onto the ground and cower under the bed in fright. "Now what?"
Lucy shrugged. "We plan your wedding."
Aunt Sedley clucked sympathetically, "Make sure you wear a pretty dress when you die. You will have to wear it for the rest of eternity. We can't change clothes."
"Anything else?"
"I will find you a handsome spirit to marry. A dashing, dangerous one who will float you off your feet."
Lucy nodded.
"Miss Trotter," Aunt Sedley said gently, "you don't have to hang. You have a way out."
Lucy closed her eyes. "I know."
Aunt Sedley patted her on the head. "I have to go now. Mr Brown had something important to tell me … Will you be fine on your own?"
Lucy forced a smile.
"Well, then … I will see you later. And, Miss Trotter, don't worry. If things don't go your way … being a ghost is not so bad."
Lucy stayed silent.
"I will see you later," Aunt Sedley soothed one final time. "Don’t forget you have a way out … way out … way out …."
After the spirits departure, Lucy pulled open the curtains and stared at the moon. It was full and bright and happy looking.
How many more moons would she get to see from earth?
The three stars standing together in a row twinkled down at her. Don't be so bloody morbid they seemed to advise her. Save your bacon they continued.
She stared at the dark frosty ground, the dew twinkling in the moonlight on blades of grass and the endless forest in the distance.
Aunt Sedley had been right. She had a way out and she would have to risk it.
She had but one choice left. She would have to run away tonight.
Chapter 33
Lucy had never enjoyed snuff, but currently she would have given anything for a sniff of the stuff. She needed something heartening. Some sort of concoction to bolster spirits, to instil courage and to put the wag in the unhappy tail.
She would have given half a leg for a bottle of brandy, even if it was the cheap stuff. But, alas, the room had been cleared out. Not a cigar, not a cigarette, not a drop of morphine lurked in any corner.
She was doomed to push on without mind numbing solids or liquids. She had to prepare to leap into the unknown, trickle down a makeshift rope, dash across the moonlit garden and make her way through the dark forest until she reached a far off civilization.
She would live on birds and leaves. Drink from a stream and nibble on sweet berries. She would light a roaring fire every night using wood she had collected all day and chirrup with the birds that she had not eaten.
She would work as a maid in an inn, saving up the pennies until one day she would escape the English shores. Escape the monsters who were looking for her, who wanted to hang her for a crime she had never committed.
And then … and then she would stow away on a ship to India where a rajah would be befogged upon seeing her beauty and whisk her off to his palace. She would marry him and have twelve little children in twelve warm cots with twelve capable nannies.
The rosy daydream ended as she made the final knot in the bed sheet.
She had tied two curtains and a bed sheet together and added knots at various intervals to make a ladder. It was something she knew she was good at considering the number of times she had wriggled out of her room at the orphanage and hopped over the neighbour's garden to steal apples.
Next, she bound the rope around the leg of the heavy writing desk, clambered on top of the desk, threw open the window and flung the rest of the rope out of it.
She poked her head out inspecting the ground below.
The end of her rope had disappeared into a bush.
She dashed back to the bed, shoved two pillows under her dress which she could use as a cushion, warming pan or smothering tool depending on the circumstances, knotted a shawl around her endangered neck and considered herself completely prepared for the adventure ahead.
A deep breath later she vibrated down the rope and tumbled into the bush below.
It was cold. The ground was covered in ankle deep snow, while the full moon was gazing down at her disapprovingly.
She stuck her tongue out at the moon and started walking.
The night was bright and she could be easily spotted. She wondered where the blasted clouds were when she wanted them.
She chose to stick close to the hedges and crouching low darted forward hoping the shadows would conceal her.
She scuttled forward for some time flitting from one looming shadow to another, but it wasn't long before her bended knees started to complain.
Her knees demanded to be straightened. They wailed loud and high about being misused. Soon the distressed knees threatened to stiffen and play dead if things continued to go on as they were.
She had no choice. She was forced to straighten the protesting joints.
She walked upright for a while, and soon with each new step, her fear began to diminish. And the reason for her rapidly abating fear was her internal monologue where she was trying to see the positive side of things.
Sure, a wild animal could attack her at any moment, but she was strong. Stronger than many people supposed she was. She could easily defeat the animal, lug it over her shoulders and roast it later for a late night supper.
Or a deadly bandit could be creeping along the boundary of Rudhall Manor. She raised her chin in the air. A deadly bandit or a mangy crook couldn’t frighten her. After all, she was one of them at the moment.
She would tell them about her plight and they would sympathise … yes, they would sympathise with a fellow outlaw and offer her a dodgy hand and swear to protect her imperilled head.
She would become friends with these new found robbers. Join them in their mission and become the smartest, sharpest and the most infamous woman in the world.
Miss Lucy Anne Trotter, the glamorous jewel thief. It sounded right.
Her cautious steps became more confident, her fearful shuffle turned into a confident strut and her brisk walk started warming her up as she continued to daydream.
She would wear her hair up at all times, studded with diamond pins that could unlock anything in the world. She would swirl her skirts a certain way every time she robbed someone successfully and perform an enchanting little dance. She would mingle with the likes of the regent, the king and even the world renowned highwayman, the Falcon—
Scratch, scratch, scratch, a sound whispered through the still night.
She froze, her eyes swivelling in all directions. Her brave little heart faltered and her brave little thoughts scampered away.
Shuk, shuk, shuk, a new sound started a moment later.
Fear in all its roaring glory slammed back into her.
Skreeeek whispered through the air.
It was close, whatever it was. Was it an animal or human, she couldn't tell.
Thump.
She jumped out of her skin and then pulled it back on. That sound had been loud enough to dispel any thought that it was her imagination.
Heart pounding, she started inching forward and soon quickened her pace. She didn’t want to wait around to be discovered.
It wasn't long before she was pelting down the path.