Read Online Rise of the Arcane Fire (The Secret Order) by Kristin Bailey - Free Book Online
Authors: Kristin Bailey
Ads: Link
great tunnel lit by torches stretched out to either side, rising and then turning beyond a bend in each direction. The tunnel was easily as large as one of the streets just beyond the monastery’s walls, yet completely beneath the ground. On the far side of the wide tunnel was another archway and a similar ramp leading farther down into the darkness.
No light flickered within it. A heaviness settled over me as I turned away.
Oliver’s fine coach waited for me. The only person remaining in the long tunnel was Oliver’s coachman. He jumped to attention, then immediately offered me a blanket.
“Are you well, miss?” he asked, opening the door and giving me a hand up. The young man seemed genuinely concerned, but I couldn’t bring myself to even look him in the eye as I settled into the dark corner of the carriage.
“I will be.” I had to believe it was true.
“I’ll get you home. A hot cup of tea will set you right.” He closed the door. It creaked like the lid of a coffin as it shut, and I was surrounded by darkness.
Nothing would be right again.
CHAPTER SIX
THE NEXT WEEK PASSED BY in a drudging misery. Even with Mrs. Brindle doing her best to cheer me with fresh biscuits and cream, I found I had little appetite for either her treats or her conversation. The only thing I did seem to have an appetite for was creating a new lock and hidden bells that would ring loudly should anyone come into the shop.
Once both the front and the back were secure, I hid in Simon’s workshop, spending hours upon hours on the spring in the frog’s leg. No matter what I tried, I still couldn’t get it to compress correctly. For some reason the tiny room tucked away behind the secret door gave me a sense of comfort. My world became very small, and so I felt I could manage it.
I didn’t wish to go out and face my life. I don’t know how long I concealed myself there. Mrs. Brindle knew about the workshop and kindly would leave me food on my counting desk just beyond the toy-laden shelves that masked the door, but she never dared intrude upon me.
I tried one more time to set the tension in the spring, then wound the frog. One leg kicked out, followed by the other a second later. As a consequence the poor thing looked like it had just suffered a sudden and painful death.
It lay on the table, twitching.
Lovely.
The door to the workshop creaked open behind me. I stiffened and whipped around, grasping the pistol as I did so.
“Leave it where it is.” The voice was as feminine as it was gentle.
Lucinda.
She stood against the open shelves on the door and straightened one of the hand puppets that had fallen askew. The young widow looked a bit resigned, as if she had once been used to dragging her late husband out of the depths of the workshop as well.
I leapt from my seat and rushed toward my friend’s open arms. As beautiful as sunlight on a clear spring morning, Lucinda radiated warmth and compassion from her red-gold hair to her dainty toes. She held me tight as I fought tears of relief. I hadn’t let myself feel anything for days. Being with Lucinda brought all the pain rushing back, but at least I didn’t feel so terribly alone.
She offered me her handkerchief. “Oliver told me what happened.”
I took the lacy little bit of silk gladly and dried my eyes. Lucinda led me out of the workshop and fixed the door so that it once again became a seamless part of the row of shelves filled with toys in the shop. Then she led me into the parlor. Mrs. Brindle set out tea. It shocked me that so much time had passed. I hadn’t eaten yet that day.
Lucinda and I sat together, and she immediately fixed a plate.
“I can’t believe he’s gone,” I said, knowing it was a silly thing to utter aloud. But then, I could hardly express how it felt to have my heart cut out with a hot knife.
“He’s not gone.” Lucinda took a sip of tea. “He’s in Scotland.” She handed me the plate as if nothing were the matter, and I
No light flickered within it. A heaviness settled over me as I turned away.
Oliver’s fine coach waited for me. The only person remaining in the long tunnel was Oliver’s coachman. He jumped to attention, then immediately offered me a blanket.
“Are you well, miss?” he asked, opening the door and giving me a hand up. The young man seemed genuinely concerned, but I couldn’t bring myself to even look him in the eye as I settled into the dark corner of the carriage.
“I will be.” I had to believe it was true.
“I’ll get you home. A hot cup of tea will set you right.” He closed the door. It creaked like the lid of a coffin as it shut, and I was surrounded by darkness.
Nothing would be right again.
CHAPTER SIX
THE NEXT WEEK PASSED BY in a drudging misery. Even with Mrs. Brindle doing her best to cheer me with fresh biscuits and cream, I found I had little appetite for either her treats or her conversation. The only thing I did seem to have an appetite for was creating a new lock and hidden bells that would ring loudly should anyone come into the shop.
Once both the front and the back were secure, I hid in Simon’s workshop, spending hours upon hours on the spring in the frog’s leg. No matter what I tried, I still couldn’t get it to compress correctly. For some reason the tiny room tucked away behind the secret door gave me a sense of comfort. My world became very small, and so I felt I could manage it.
I didn’t wish to go out and face my life. I don’t know how long I concealed myself there. Mrs. Brindle knew about the workshop and kindly would leave me food on my counting desk just beyond the toy-laden shelves that masked the door, but she never dared intrude upon me.
I tried one more time to set the tension in the spring, then wound the frog. One leg kicked out, followed by the other a second later. As a consequence the poor thing looked like it had just suffered a sudden and painful death.
It lay on the table, twitching.
Lovely.
The door to the workshop creaked open behind me. I stiffened and whipped around, grasping the pistol as I did so.
“Leave it where it is.” The voice was as feminine as it was gentle.
Lucinda.
She stood against the open shelves on the door and straightened one of the hand puppets that had fallen askew. The young widow looked a bit resigned, as if she had once been used to dragging her late husband out of the depths of the workshop as well.
I leapt from my seat and rushed toward my friend’s open arms. As beautiful as sunlight on a clear spring morning, Lucinda radiated warmth and compassion from her red-gold hair to her dainty toes. She held me tight as I fought tears of relief. I hadn’t let myself feel anything for days. Being with Lucinda brought all the pain rushing back, but at least I didn’t feel so terribly alone.
She offered me her handkerchief. “Oliver told me what happened.”
I took the lacy little bit of silk gladly and dried my eyes. Lucinda led me out of the workshop and fixed the door so that it once again became a seamless part of the row of shelves filled with toys in the shop. Then she led me into the parlor. Mrs. Brindle set out tea. It shocked me that so much time had passed. I hadn’t eaten yet that day.
Lucinda and I sat together, and she immediately fixed a plate.
“I can’t believe he’s gone,” I said, knowing it was a silly thing to utter aloud. But then, I could hardly express how it felt to have my heart cut out with a hot knife.
“He’s not gone.” Lucinda took a sip of tea. “He’s in Scotland.” She handed me the plate as if nothing were the matter, and I
Similar Books
