Time of Blood. Robin Jarvis

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      A fringed cloth was draped over the near side, concealing the beast within. Grace’s imagination raced. What was in there? She couldn’t hear any breathing.

      Edging closer, she squeezed her hands together to stop them shaking and warily drew back the cloth. The cage was empty.

      The shock made her jump. Picking up the oil lamp, she saw that the metal gate was open and for one horrible moment thought the animal was loose in the room with her. Then she realised where the draught was coming from.

      ‘It climbed out the window,’ she whispered. ‘Or . . . or flew out.’

      Grace shrank back. She had to get away from Bagdale Hall. There was an overwhelming presence of evil here. But who would believe her?

      ‘Nannie Burdon,’ she whispered. ‘She will. She’ll know what to do. I’ll go see her.’

      Replacing the lamp on the table, she noticed for the first time an object that resembled a large hat. Bringing the light closer she realised it was a plate, and a dark cloth covered the bulky object on it. A sharp knife nearby and the smell of blood told Grace that this was the meat Mrs Axmill had been feeding to the creature earlier. Unable to stop herself, she reached for the edge of the cloth and raised it. The lamplight shone over what lay beneath.

      A strangled shriek scratched out of the girl’s throat.

      ‘Esme!’

      Reeling from the grisly horror she had unveiled, Grace stumbled out of the room and on to the landing, where she saw that the side table was now upright. The handkerchief bundle was on top of it, untied, and a large bite had been taken from the pork pie. An uncorked bottle of brandy slid across the table on its own and a filthy laugh mocked her from thin air.

      Grace screamed and fled down the dark stairs.

      Flinging herself across the hall she wrenched at the front door, but it was secured by three large iron bolts.

      ‘Save and protect me!’ she prayed aloud, reaching up to drag the topmost across. ‘Please Lord, help me! Send an angel to protect me from the devils and demons of this house!’

      Stooping to pull the lowest bolt clear, she heard slippered footsteps hurrying along the passage from the housekeeper’s room.

      Wrapped in an expensive silk dressing gown that had belonged to her former mistress, Mrs Axmill burst into in the hallway. With steel-grey hair plaited in a heavy cable down her back, her face was slathered in so much cold cream that she looked like a greasy apparition.

      ‘Have you taken leave of your senses, girl?’ she bawled. ‘Return to your room at once! How dare you shriek down the household at this hour of the night.’

      ‘Stay away from me!’ Grace shouted back, struggling with the middle bolt. ‘Murderers is what you are! Monsters! You and the master! I saw – I saw what you did to poor Esme!’

      Mrs Axmill’s fierce expression vanished immediately and was replaced by a stony derision, which was even more alarming.

      ‘You should not have gone into that room,’ she said with icy finality. ‘Why can’t you silly girls ever do as you’re told? So foolish.’

      Grace wiped her frightened tears away.

      ‘I’ll fetch the law on you!’

      A sinister smile appeared in the cold cream.

      ‘You won’t be telling anyone anything, Flossy,’ Mrs Axmill threatened.

      ‘My name is Grace!’

      ‘No,’ the housekeeper corrected her with a vicious grin. ‘“Dead” is what you are.’

      Snarling, she leaped at her, seizing the girl by the throat.

      Grace tried to fight back, but the housekeeper was stronger than she looked and the girl crumpled beneath her.

      ‘Who would believe a snot-nosed slum slattern like you anyway?’ Mrs Axmill growled through bared teeth as she squeezed her fingers tighter round the slender neck.

      Gasping for breath, Grace kicked and pushed, but it was futile. In choking desperation she grabbed the woman’s long plait and tore at it.

      Mrs Axmill screeched and Grace punched her in the stomach. The grip loosened from the girl’s throat and she shoved her away. Mrs Axmill spun into the wall, splatting cold cream where her face smacked the panels. Incensed, she came raging back, launching at Grace like a tigress.

      But Grace was ready. She had snatched a silver-topped walking cane from the cloak stand and swung it defiantly. It cracked Mrs Axmill across the skull and she howled as she crashed to the floor.

      Grace drew the final bolt free, yanked the door open and raced into the night.

      Clutching her head, Mrs Axmill lurched to her feet and headed for the stairs.

      ‘My lord!’ she called urgently. ‘My lord!’

      Reaching the marquess’s bedchamber, she was about to pound on his door when it opened and the master of the house stood glowering at her.

      The Marquess Darqueller was a tall, athletic man. She worshipped his strong, handsome face, with its penetrating velvet black eyes that seemed to see into those deepest, most secret places she had kept hidden from the world for so long. He was half dressed, his shirt was undone and his thick raven hair pleasingly untidy.

      Even through the hammering pain between her temples, Mrs Axmill took a moment to admire him. She was so completely in his power.

      ‘What СКАЧАТЬ