Eloisa's Adventure (19 page)

Thankfully, although Simeon had knocked the candle over when
he had launched into the study, it had not been extinguished. She
lifted it and began to search around the door for a way to get into
the study, and out of the cold and draughty corridor. It was
horrible to even look at the suffocating blackness behind her. The
thought of having to go back down there all by herself made her
feel sick. She just couldn’t do it; she had to get into the
room.

“Please,
Simeon?” She thumped the door but knew he had left her. Even
through the thick stone walls, she could hear him yell at the
intruder that he knew him. His voice was faint and undoubtedly came
from another part of the house as he chased after the
intruder.

“Keep
calm, keep calm, keep calm,” she chanted aloud. The sound of her
own voice did little to solve her problem, but it did help her
focus on getting herself out of there.

She
glanced down at her feet and wondered if she should go back to the
servant’s corridor. She couldn’t remember Simeon closing the door
there, and it might just be the way out she so desperately needed.
After several moments of careful study, she still couldn’t see a
lever she could use to get the door to the study open and so gave
up. She could wait for Simeon to notice she wasn’t where she was
supposed to be, but couldn’t bear the thought of being found by the
intruder instead. There really was nothing else she could do except
retrace her steps again.

After a
deep, fortifying breath, she squared her shoulders, kept her eyes
dead ahead, and marched toward the thin shaft of light that was
barely visible.

“Thank
heavens for that,” she whispered when the door to the servants’
quarters came into view. It was still slightly ajar having not been
latched properly when they had left it.

She
almost wept with relief when she stepped into the bright light of
the servants’ hallway. The distant sound of running footsteps
accompanied by vicious curses echoed hollowly around the walls, but
it was impossible to know if they were coming toward her, or
heading away.

With
nothing else to do, she hurriedly tried to find her way back to the
study. Unfortunately, one corridor turned into the next, until she
was thoroughly lost and confused. Silence, and her own thoughts,
were her only companions; accompanied only by the high winds that
continued to howl hauntingly around the huge building she wandered
through.

“Simeon?” she called, but got no answer. “Where are you
Simeon?” she asked quietly as she studied her surroundings. The
corridor she was in had six doors in it. She knew that if she
wanted to find a way to the study, she first had to identify where
she was.

“What’s
in here?” she whispered to herself. She felt incredibly foolish
talking to herself, but it helped her feel not quite so
alone.

She
studied the empty, oak panelled room before her with disinterest
then quietly closed the door and moved on to the next
room.

The
second door opened with long, low squeak which sounded loud in the
silence of the corridor. There was nobody but her around to hear it
though. She tentatively peered into the room only to sigh in
consternation to find that empty as well. Although it had been more
lavishly decorated than the first room, it was still devoid of all
trace of life, and bare of furniture, paintings and the
like.

“What’s
going on?” she asked when she opened the door to another room,
which appeared to be smaller than the rest, and found it stacked
full to the rafters of what appeared to be the contents of the
other two rooms combined.

She
wandered absently into the room and studied the portraits,
candelabras, ornaments and family heirlooms stacked neatly into
piles according to size.

“Good
Lord,” she whispered as she stroked one chilled finger along a
candlestick, and studied the faces in the portraits. The room
appeared to be an old sitting room of some kind with French doors
to one side which opened out into the gardens at the rear of the
house. She mentally placed where she was and knew that the study
was on the opposite side of the house, but how could she get
there?

She
studied the contents of the room for a moment. Were these the items
Simeon thought had been stolen? She frowned at that. They hadn’t
been stolen though because they were still in the house. Nobody had
taken them anywhere. Why had they been stacked together like this
though, and by who? Were they intended for storage?

What on earth is going on?
She
mused. With more questions than answers, she tried to memorise the
layout of the garden so she could find the room again and made her
way to the door.

CHAPTER
ELEVEN

“Argh!”

She
screamed when she pulled the door open and looked into the dark,
feral eyes of the intruder. Dressed head to foot in black, he was a
sight that was nothing short of evil.

“Seen
enough?” he growled darkly as the seconds ticked by but neither of
them moved.

Eloisa
swallowed. “Where’s Simeon?” she whispered. “What have you done
with him?”

She
realised then that she still clutched the poker. Her fingers
tightened around the handle and she eased it behind her skirt so he
couldn’t see it. She backed away as far as she could when the man
curled his lip and began to creep toward her. Once inside the room,
he stopped and studied her.

“Who are
you?” she whispered with a frown. “I have seen you somewhere
before.”

“It
isn’t any business of yours,” the man growled.

She
stared at him as she listened. Although his words were rude and
churlish, they were spoken in a voice that was as cultured as
Simeon’s. Indeed, if it wasn’t for the man’s dark garb, he could
have been Simeon. There was something in his dark eyes; eyes that
almost the same as Simeon’s that warned her he was a relation of
some kind.

“It
involves me when you are trying to murder me,” she declared flatly.
Her eyes narrowed, and she tipped her chin up defiantly. “I have
seen you somewhere before; when you were throwing stone objects at
me that could kill me.”

He
smirked and threw her a dismissive glance that was more than a
little patronising. Eloisa wasn’t about to be thwarted though and
whirled to face him when he stalked arrogantly past her into the
room.

“You are
a thief,” Eloisa snapped.

“I am no
thief,” he challenged.

“You
don’t own this house and shouldn’t be here,” she argued. “Not only
that, but you have been moving these items around the house that
aren’t yours to touch.”

“You are
presuming a lot, little lady,” the intruder growled. “Who says I
moved them?”

Eloisa
stared at him. “Well, they hardly walked here by themselves, did
they? Simeon hasn’t ordered them to be moved and, given that he has
inherited the house, and its contents, he is the one who should
decide where they go, not you.”

“Shut your mouth,” the man ordered. His eyes slid up and down
her lithe frame insultingly. “You are nothing more than one of
Simeon’s floozies. How dare you have the audacity to come in here
and tell
me
what
to do? You are nothing but a little trollop, the likes of which
Simeon will undoubtedly grow tired of, just like all the
rest.”

Eloisa
felt a flash of jealousy surge through her at the thought of Simeon
bringing another woman to the house, ostensibly to have an affair
with her.

“I am
not his floozy. I am merely here because -” Somehow, she didn’t
want to explain to this man why she was in the house, and lapsed
into stoic silence. This only drew his mirth because his lips
curled into a derogatory smirk. He threw her another insulting look
and quite pointedly turned his back on her as if to tell her that
she had nothing to say that he was interested in listening
to.

Eloisa’s
gaze dropped to his hands. They were clenching rhythmically as he
sauntered almost absently around the room; a sure sign that he
wasn’t as confident as he was trying to appear. She glanced at the
doorway and wondered if she could get through it before he caught
her but she couldn’t bring herself to try.

“What do
you plan to do with it all now that you have moved it in here? It
is going to take a lot of carts and horses to get that lot out of
here, isn’t it?” She swallowed a squeal when he whirled on her
again.

“It’s
nothing to do with you,” he growled.

He
suddenly lunged toward her with a snarl of rage on his face, and
continued to advance on her when she dodged out of the way. His
clawed hands lifted toward her throat as he stalked her around the
room.

The evil
intent in his eye, together with the ruthless menace on his face,
was enough to force her reluctant limbs into movement. She knew
that the door was too far away for her to reach, and tried
desperately to think of another way out. She couldn’t bring herself
to turn her back on him, and back-stepped away from him until her
back bumped against an item of furniture she couldn’t see. In that
moment she knew she had little choice but to lift the poker. She
squeezed her eyes shut as tightly as she could and waited for him
to reach her. As soon as she felt his breath on her face, she
brought her weapon down heavily on his head.

To her
horror the heavy blow didn’t stop him. He threw himself at her
again, this time with a steady trickle of blood oozing down his
face. Eloisa stepped sideways and twisted around to keep herself
out of reach. The fierce anger on his face warned her that this was
a man who would stop at nothing to get what he wanted. She knew
then that she had to take drastic measures if she wanted to get out
of the room alive.

When he
moved toward her again, she lifted the poker and tried to hit him a
second time. He wasn’t prepared to be struck again though and
yanked it out of her hands before she could strike him. He threw
the poker casually across the room without taking his eyes off her
and continued his advance.

Eloisa
didn’t wait for him to reach her again, and ran for the door. She
screamed when she felt a faint tug on her dress and practically
threw herself out of the room. She slammed the door closed behind
her, desperate to flee while she had the chance, and raced down the
corridor without a backward look.

“Simeon!” She screamed as she went from one corridor into
another in the general direction of the front of the house.
“Simeon! Where are you?”

Without
any way of knowing where she was going, all she could do was hope
and pray that she didn’t run into a dead end. If she did, she would
truly be at the mercy of the man who was now chasing her. She could
hear heavy boots running somewhere, but couldn’t tell which
direction they came from.

“Simeon!” She cried, hoping and praying that the footsteps
she could hear belonged to him. She gasped and looked around her
frantically when the intruder’s dark voice broke the silence. It
was far too close for comfort. Where could she go? Where could she
hide? What should she do? She didn’t have the poker anymore. She
didn’t have anything with which to defend herself. She was at his
mercy, and was undoubtedly going to die.

“You
can’t get away from me, little lady,” the man called.

Determined to evade him, she tried to block out the sound of
his taunting voice as she turned down yet another corridor. To her
horror, he suddenly materialised just a few feet ahead of her. She
realised then that he was using the hidden corridors to chase her,
and would head her off whenever he wanted to. The feeling of being
hunted suddenly weighed heavily on her because she knew she was
hopelessly outmatched by his knowledge of the corridors she
couldn’t even see.

“Simeon!” she screamed, as loudly as her voice would
go.

“He
can’t hear you. He is on the other side of the house.” The man
patted the solid wall beside him. “It’s the pleasure of living in a
stone castle. The walls block noise.”

“You
don’t live here though,” Eloisa challenged.

“You
know nothing about me,” the man countered. “So I suggest you shut
up.”

Eloisa
backed away but continued to stare at him while her mind raced to
think of a way to thwart him.

“I know
who you are,” she declared thoughtfully. “I know where I have seen
you before.” Her cold declaration was enough to make the man
hesitate.

“You
know nothing,” he challenged.

“You are
Renwick Calversham,” she accused. “George Calversham’s
son.”

The
snarl of vile hatred that swept over what was left of the man’s
face confirmed that she was right. Inwardly, a thrill of delight at
her success swept through her, but it was quickly replaced with
outright fear when the man started to saunter arrogantly toward
her.

“I am
right, aren’t I?”

“Shut
up.”

“I am
not wrong though, am I?” she persisted.

“I said,
shut up. I am no relation of that curmudgeonly old man. George
Calversham is not my father.”