‘Enough games,’ he said, low and no longer from the corner.
She found her voice. ‘I could say the same to you.’
‘It isn’t safe to go into other people’s rooms when you’re not invited.’
She knew it wasn’t, but she’d gotten this far without getting caught. She wasn’t caught now, since she had said nothing and she could leave.
Except it was dark, and somehow she’d lost the direction of the door. Already she could feel her heart racing, the spent candle in her hands slipping.
Don’t think about the darkness.She had to distract herself.
‘How do you know that?’
‘How do I know what?’
‘That my being here isn’t safe,’ she said, swallowing against the tightening her voice.
If she could keep talking maybe he would too. Then the darkness wouldn’t matter.
‘I’m merely a guest,’ she continued. ‘and I wandered in here by accident. You wouldn’t know it’s not safe. Not unless you know something. Who exactly is playing games here? Tell me, how do you know?’
Absolute silence. Darkness closing in.
‘I’m the one asking questions...’
Strong arms grabbed her. Alice gasped. The candle fell to the floor. The familiar scent of pine, snow and steel enveloped her. A moment of struggle before she realised it was futile. When she stilled, he let out a sound—half-surprise, half-satisfaction.
‘You’re trembling. Scared? Good—you should be. So which is the true you? Are you about the dresses now or helping the children?’
Not these questions. Not lies. Not in this darkness. ‘Let go of me.’
‘All those parties you’ve attended, all the times you disappeared—is this what you’ve been doing?’
‘Let go of me!’ She lashed out until he did—easily, as if he had never held her—then stepped back.
Without Hugh’s arms, without his hands on hers, the darkness surrounded her. She bit her lip, held back a cry, reached out in the direction he was. To find some safety from the darkness.
Alice’s hand suddenly gripped his tunic sleeve. Her fingers, like daggers, felt the full length of his arm, and pulled him towards her. Her gasps were nothing more than desperate pants for air. Her trembles were now shudders. Hugh pulled her in tighter and felt the fast thumping of her heart. She was terrified—but not of him.
‘My God, Alice. After all this time?’
Hugh cradled Alice in his arms and her trembling body shook him. He hadn’t thought at all about the darkness when she’d entered the room. When he’d laid the trap, and said the words. He never would have done so if he’d known the candle would go out.
Then as he’d talked to her, he heard the fear at the edge of her voice. The stridency of her tone as she gathered herself. He had encouraged her fear. Those who were afraid often confessed.
Had he made it worse for her? He held her, but it wasn’t enough. Her body was rigid with fright, her trembles turning to shivers and back again. He heard her sniffle, give a great hiccupping gasp.
He held her closer. Held her as he had always meant to hold her. With all his body, his arms tightly wound around her back.
‘I’ve got you,’ he whispered against her hair. ‘You’re safe.’
He brushed at her hair, her cheeks, felt the evidence of her tears. He brushed them away too.
‘There’s light here, Alice. See it between the slats of the floorboards? There under the door?’
He felt her move her head, her breath hitching softly as she made each discovery.
‘You see it?’ he repeated.
