Book in hand, Clara scurried across the width of the hall, slipped behind the billowing drapes, and settled upon the floor with her knees tucked against her chest. She suppressed a laugh. Nestled between the window and the golden curtains was a world of warmth and light, soothing and cozy. This was no waterfall, as she first supposed. Nay, this was the castle ballroom illuminated by the glow of a hundred thousand chandeliers, and here Cinderella would dance—or read, as it were. She opened the travel guide and proceeded to twirl through it, word by word.
Page by page.
Chapter by chap—
The curtains flew open, and a man loomed over her.
Clara’s heart leapt to her throat, shoving out a shriek. The high-pitched noise echoed through the hall, and she clamped a hand over her mouth. Pulse pounding, she blinked, and her vision clarified on Mr. Arthur, who looked down on her with a countenance both dumbfounded and amused. Heatengulfed her cheeks. “Good heavens, sir! Why must you sneak about thus?”
Mr. Arthur gaped. “I never sneak. Makes a chap look suspect. Why did you screech at me like a banshee?”
“I didn’t screech. I cried out in warranted fright.”
He quirked a fair eyebrow. “You screeched. Vociferously. Prague’s dead have thus been awakened to roam the streets in confusion.”
The flame of embarrassment grew scalding, and Clara fumbled for the book she’d dropped. “I merely startled. As would anyone who thought themselves alone, only to be set upon by a looming shadow.”
“Set upon? You make it sound as though I ambushed your village with torches and pitchforks in the dead of night. If one of us has the right to be startled, it is I, my lady. One moment I’m sent forth by Mrs. S. to ascertain your whereabouts, and the next, my unsuspecting ears are impaled by a piercing scream. All because I made the unfortunate decision to investigate the incongruous protrusion of these curtains. Now that we’ve established who frightened whom, would you care to explain what exactly you’re doing down there?”
Making a fool of herself, that’s what. “Nothing ... nothing at all.” Her bungling fingers at last grasped the book, and she clutched it to her chest.
“And so engrossed were you by ‘nothing’ that you failed to hear a man with a metal leg clank in your direction? Come now, Miss Stanton. If you’re going to spout falsehoods, at least fabricate a tale that’s somewhat plausible. Unless ... you’d rather save yourself the trouble by telling me the truth, which is usually more interesting in any case.” One hand resting atop his crutch, Mr. Arthur knelt upon his good leg and met her gaze, green eyes brightened with curiosity. “What were you doing down here? Really?”
Trying to relive a simpler time long past ... to recover apart of herself long gone. Neither of which was possible. Neither of which she wished to share with him.
Clara pulled back her shoulders, willing her rectified posture to restore a measure of decorum, and thus, a fraction of her dignity. Something Mr. Arthur’s unwavering gaze seemed intent to deny. If only he would take his inquisitiveness and leave so she might flee to a darkened corner and snuff her flaming cheeks in the pages of a book. “Where have you left my mother?”
The question sliced with a hidden blade of accusation she’d not intended to brandish, but Mr. Arthur didn’t withdraw from its sharpness. On the contrary, he inclined toward her and stripped his voice of jest. “Miss Stanton, do you still truly believe I’d intentionally place that precious woman in harm’s way?”
Her gaze fell to Mr. Arthur’s arm draped across his knee, to the cracked knuckles that had not yet begun to scab. Rose to his bruised face, now a deeper shade of purple.“Better me than you,Mrs. S.”Gracious, she was being unfair. What had happened to giving the man a chance?
She exhaled a long breath that took the starch right out of her posture. “No, Mr. Arthur. I can’t say I believe you capable of such actions any longer. Please forgive my curtness. I ... I’m afraid I have an unpleasant tendency to lash out in fright or fury when jarred from an engrossing book.” She held up the copy ofTour of Athens.
A grin tugged at Mr. Arthur’s split lip. “Done. And noted. You know ... I toured Athens myself, once. Years ago. Sailed into the port of Piraeus.” He nodded toward the book. “Have you visited the Parthenon yet?”
Clara couldn’t curtail a sheepish smile as she presented her place in the handbook, a chapter entitled “Lessons Learned at the Parthenon: The Necessity of a Parasol.”
“Right-oh, then. Far be it from me to keep a lady from exploringthe wonders of the ancient world.” Mr. Arthur tossed her a wink and closed the curtains upon her in a dramatic swoosh of silk. The familiar pairing of his prosthetic boot and crutch echoed through the library, signaling his departure. Clank-tap. Clank-tap. Clank-tap.
Alone once more, Clara stared at the golden drapery. She ought to put this mortifying incident behind her and pray it be soon forgotten. She ought to dust her skirts, returnTour of Athensto its assigned shelf, and position herself for the appearance of Grand’s next invention. After all, she’d frittered away enough time as it was, and the pocket watch was sure to sound at any moment.
Her gaze dipped to the open book propped on her knees. But it had not chimed yet ... had it? She pursed her lips. Perhaps Cinderella might twirl through a few pages more. The first chime of Grand’s watch would return her to reality soon enough.
Clara leapt back into chapter six and flitted about the Acropolis. She pirouetted through the Athens Observatory, admiring constellations that shone with beauty and mythos, though not brightly enough, for her eyes squinted and strained amid the darkness. Her stomach gurgled. How could she be hungry? Had she not just dined on fish with olives and—
Her stomach growled, demanding to be noticed.
Clara clutched her bodice and something thudded at her side. Bother, she must have dropped her book, but where was it? She couldn’t make it out amid the shadows. Shadows? Good heavens, where had the daylight gone?
Flinging curtains left and right, Clara reoriented herself by the glow of dozens of candles now flickering throughout the Klementinum library. She blinked. Oh no ... she couldn’t have wasted an entire day without noticing. Could she? She snatched up the watch on her chatelaine and checked thetime. She gulped. Apparently, she could. Why hadn’t Grand’s watch chimed? Unless ... had she failed to hear it?
Clara stood on shaky legs that pricked and pinched with every movement and wobbled across the library in search of Mum and Mr. Arthur. She found them seated in an alcove, playing a game of cards by candlelight. As she approached, she stumbled over the trio of carpetbags situated nearby and barely managed to catch herself before her face crashed into the wall. “Why didn’t you fetch me?”
Without lifting her gaze from the game, Mum placed a five on a six. “Because you don’t need a third in double solitaire, and we lacked a fourth for whist.” Fred squeaked, nudging her chin with his nose. “We’ve been through this, Freddy. The last time you played fourth at the whist consortium, you beheaded the queen of hearts, and that ended badly for all concerned. Alice still isn’t speaking to me, so proud was she of that hand-painted deck from Italy.”
The vein along Clara’s temple began to twitch. “Mother. It’s nearly eight o’clock.”
Mr. Arthur topped a two with an ace and casually consulted Grand’s pocket watch. “Right you are, Miss Stanton.”
