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The two hours it took her to get to Kersley Mill was more than enough to gird her loins. It was still early in the day, given Melisande’s crack-of-dawn start, and while the driver was loath to drop her off in what seemed like the middle of nowhere, the purse she thrust on him more than made up for any misgivings. It was a warm afternoon, though the day was overcast, and she waited until the coach was out of sight before she found a copse of trees and proceeded to don the monk’s robes.
Unfortunately her petticoats were too full, and she had no choice but to reach under her skirts and untie the tapes that held them. By the time she slid out of all three of them the dull monk’s robe sat a little closer to her body, though she wasn’t sure it would pass close inspection. The trick, then, was not to let anyone get too close.
According to Rohan’s idle conversation on their last trip to Kersley Hall, the original Heavenly Host allowed for certain members to attend ceremonies merely as watchers. If they wore a monk’s robe and had a white ribbon around their arm then they were allowed to pass among the assembled celebrants with a vow of silence, and no one conversed with them nor expected them to partake of the depraved activities. She hadn’t bothered to ask him how he knew of this particular variation—he’d assured her it had been the case some forty years ago, and considering he hadn’t been born back then she took leave to doubt the veracity of that notion, but she had no choice. She could hardly mingle as Charity Carstairs, do-gooder and semivirgin. The only way she was going to find Betsey was if she went in disguised.
She’d overestimated the improvement in her ankle. By the time the ruins of Kersley Hall came into sight she was moving very slowly indeed, and she could only hope she wouldn’t be called on to run for it. She’d be in big trouble if she was.
She’d almost waited too long. It was Saturday—tomorrow was the night of the full moon, the night of virgin sacrifice that Melisande suspected had absolutely nothing to do with the old pagan religions and everything to do with the twisted mentality of the humans involved in this degenerate organization.
The gloomy ruins of Kersley Hall looked as abandoned as they had a fe
w days ago, when she and Rohan had ridden there. Of course they’d run into two of the members that time, even though there’d been no sign of them, so there was no guarantee the place was deserted this time, either. She could see the area where the tunnels had collapsed and they’d fallen through. The collapse could have been caused by the heavy spring rains just as easily as trespassing humans, and she could only hope the members who’d already found it had attributed it to natural causes. Otherwise there was always the devastating possibility that they’d changed their location.
Pulling the cowl up around her head, she moved forward, trying to disguise her limp. She was usually acutely aware when someone was watching her, and thankfully that feeling was absent, but it didn’t hurt to be as circumspect as possible. There was no way she was going to slide back down into the collapsed tunnel—her only way back into the caves was through the abandoned dairy.
She moved carefully, holding her breath as she came up behind the building and peered in the smoke-stained windows. No sign of anyone. Her heart was hammering, her palms were sweating and she wanted to turn back. But running from Benedick Rohan was one thing—that was no one’s business but her own. There was no way she could run from someone in need, no matter how dangerous the situation.
She moved around the front of the building, pushed open the latch and stepped inside. Even in the brightness of the midday sun the room was dark and shadowed, and it took a moment for her eyes to adjust. She started for the doors leading down to the tunnels and then stopped.
The door was barred and locked, an ancient padlock the size of a platter holding an equally heavy chain in place. There was no way she was getting past that.
Which meant she had no choice but to see whether she could climb back in using the cave-in, this time without landing on her ankle. Of course, the first time she’d had a full-grown male end up under her, which hadn’t improved matters. And she wasn’t going to think about Benedick Rohan being underneath her anymore. That didn’t help matters, either.
Author: Anne Stuart
She had just reached the door when she heard a noise overhead. A scuffling sound, louder than even the largest rats could make, and she froze, her hair standing on end. If it were any of the Heavenly Host, they would hardly be hiding, she thought, forcing herself to calm down.
There were stairs at the back of the room, and before she could cry off she started up them, as quietly as she could so as not to alert anyone who might be up there. The hallway was dark and deserted, with a doorway on either side, both doors closed and locked. Light was coming through the door on the left, as if there was a window, and she tiptoed toward it, flinching every time a floorboard creaked.
The door had a barred window in it, with no glass, and she stood on her tiptoes, her ankle screaming in protest. At first she could see nothing inside, just a cot, a table and chair, and a bundle of rags. But slowly that bundle of rags began to look familiar, the blue serge that all of her gaggle wore.
“Betsey?” she whispered urgently. “Is that you?”
The bundle stirred, very slowly, and then resolved itself into the familiar figure of a young girl. “Miss?” she said anxiously, her young voice raspy.
“It’s me, Betsey. Are you all right?”
Betsey scrambled to her feet, running over to the door. “Oh, miss, you shouldn’t be here. They’ve locked me in and there’s no way out, and they’re very bad men. You should leave. ”
Melisande rattled the door in frustration. “What about the windows? If I were able to find you a rope could you climb down?”
She shook her head. She was filthy—straw in her hair, dirt and what looked like a bruise across her young face. “There are bars on the windows. ”
Melisande cursed, and Betsey looked impressed. She looked around her, but the hallway was empty of everything, and she hadn’t even thought to bring the small lady’s pistol she carried with her when she traveled in the more dangerous areas of London. What an idiot she’d been! “I’m going to need to find something to break the lock, Betsey. Just be patient—I’m not walking too well. I hate to leave you locked in here even for another moment, but I’ll try to hurry. ”
“I’ll be fine, miss. I’ve been here one night already, and they bring me food and leave me alone. Do you have any idea of why they want me? I ain’t pretty like the others, and I’m too old for those that likes the little ones. ”
Melisande didn’t bother to ask her how she knew of such foul practices. After all, the child had lived on the streets for years, just barely managing to maintain her innocence. There would be few things she hadn’t seen or heard.
But she wouldn’t have heard of girls being murdered in a ritual sacrifice, and Melisande wasn’t about to enlighten her. “I don’t know,” she said. “But it doesn’t matter. I’ll be back as soon as I can with help, and we’ll get you away from here, safely back home. ”
An odd expression crossed Betsey’s face. “I don’t think so, miss,” she said in a hollow voice.
“You don’t? But why not?” she demanded, puzzled.
The sudden darkness that descended answered all her questions.
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