Read Online The Doublet Affair (Ursula Blanchard Mysteries) by Fiona Buckley - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Fiona Buckley
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me, and I had been brought here to see his body, but the flat-bottomed barge was innocent of any such horrors. A quick glance round it showed me that instead, it was provided with a brazier and a tinderbox and some rugs.
“No,” said Charon from above me, divining what I hadn’t actually said. “He’s alive. Don’t you worry about that. You’re in safe hands. No one’s going to hurt you. Personally, I’d be in favour of knocking you out and dumping you in the river, but I’m not the man in charge.”
“What?”
“You just stop there. There’s heat, rugs, and you’ll find food and water in that locker under the seat behind you. You just make yourself comfy till you’re fetched.” He walked away towards the door. Outraged and much alarmed, I shouted incoherent protests after him but he took no notice. He left the boathouse, and I heard the bolts shoot home.
I scrambled up the ladder again, and ran perilously along the narrow walkway to hammer on the door and shout. There was no answer. Pausing, I heard sounds on the landing stage outside, to the right of the big river doors at the other end of the boathouse, where the barge would go out when in use. Someone was getting into a boat. I heard the plash of receding oars, and Charon was gone.
Uselessly, I pounded on the door again and shouted for help on and off for quite a long time before I gave up and went back to the barge.
The barge was big and well appointed, with gilding and paint and smooth, polished seats which were no doubt supplied with cushions when the vessel was taken out. It had probably been laid up for the winter. It had a dinghy, which had been brought on board, complete with oars, and most of the seats on the barge had cupboards beneath them. I started to search the cupboards, and to examine the deck to see if there were any lift-up doors to storage compartments below. A vessel like this might have tools on it somewhere. I might find something—a hammer, a chisel, or by the greatest good luck, even an axe—by which I could hack a way out through that door.
I had no doubt about the need to escape if I could. I did not believe for one moment that I was to be taken to Matthew. Matthew would not have had me treated like this, not even out of anger at last year’s betrayal. Oh yes, he had been angry. His first letter had shown me his anger, but it had also shown me his love. Besides, I knew him. This was not Matthew’s doing.
I found the food my captor had mentioned. I had been provided with a loaf, some cold bacon, and a sizeable wedge of cheese. There were two big leather bottles of water, too. I had also been left a good pile of charcoal for the brazier. It looked as though I could expect a lengthy stay in the boathouse.
I couldn’t find a hammer, or a chisel, or an axe. I had a small knife of my own and I went back to the door to see if I could slide the blade into the crack andsomehow shift the bolts. It took only a few moments to show me what a useless idea that was. Treading cautiously, I went right round the walkway, seeking another way out, another door, a weak place in the planking walls or even in the roof, if only I could somehow climb up to it. There was nothing. Disconsolately, I returned to the barge.
I became aware of how cold I was. Well, there was the brazier, and there were the rugs. I lit the one and wrapped myself up in the other. It seemed that I could do nothing but wait. I had no doubt been missed by now but I did not expect rescue. How would anyone know where to look for me?
I ate some food but not too much, for I had no way of knowing how long it would have to last. I was too alarmed to be hungry, anyway—eating was just something to do.
I was swallowing the last crumbs when, once more, I heard oars, and then the sound of someone getting out of a boat on the landing stage. Tensely, I pushed off the rugs and stood up. Whoever it was was now walking round to the landward door. There was only one set of footsteps.
“No,” said Charon from above me, divining what I hadn’t actually said. “He’s alive. Don’t you worry about that. You’re in safe hands. No one’s going to hurt you. Personally, I’d be in favour of knocking you out and dumping you in the river, but I’m not the man in charge.”
“What?”
“You just stop there. There’s heat, rugs, and you’ll find food and water in that locker under the seat behind you. You just make yourself comfy till you’re fetched.” He walked away towards the door. Outraged and much alarmed, I shouted incoherent protests after him but he took no notice. He left the boathouse, and I heard the bolts shoot home.
I scrambled up the ladder again, and ran perilously along the narrow walkway to hammer on the door and shout. There was no answer. Pausing, I heard sounds on the landing stage outside, to the right of the big river doors at the other end of the boathouse, where the barge would go out when in use. Someone was getting into a boat. I heard the plash of receding oars, and Charon was gone.
Uselessly, I pounded on the door again and shouted for help on and off for quite a long time before I gave up and went back to the barge.
The barge was big and well appointed, with gilding and paint and smooth, polished seats which were no doubt supplied with cushions when the vessel was taken out. It had probably been laid up for the winter. It had a dinghy, which had been brought on board, complete with oars, and most of the seats on the barge had cupboards beneath them. I started to search the cupboards, and to examine the deck to see if there were any lift-up doors to storage compartments below. A vessel like this might have tools on it somewhere. I might find something—a hammer, a chisel, or by the greatest good luck, even an axe—by which I could hack a way out through that door.
I had no doubt about the need to escape if I could. I did not believe for one moment that I was to be taken to Matthew. Matthew would not have had me treated like this, not even out of anger at last year’s betrayal. Oh yes, he had been angry. His first letter had shown me his anger, but it had also shown me his love. Besides, I knew him. This was not Matthew’s doing.
I found the food my captor had mentioned. I had been provided with a loaf, some cold bacon, and a sizeable wedge of cheese. There were two big leather bottles of water, too. I had also been left a good pile of charcoal for the brazier. It looked as though I could expect a lengthy stay in the boathouse.
I couldn’t find a hammer, or a chisel, or an axe. I had a small knife of my own and I went back to the door to see if I could slide the blade into the crack andsomehow shift the bolts. It took only a few moments to show me what a useless idea that was. Treading cautiously, I went right round the walkway, seeking another way out, another door, a weak place in the planking walls or even in the roof, if only I could somehow climb up to it. There was nothing. Disconsolately, I returned to the barge.
I became aware of how cold I was. Well, there was the brazier, and there were the rugs. I lit the one and wrapped myself up in the other. It seemed that I could do nothing but wait. I had no doubt been missed by now but I did not expect rescue. How would anyone know where to look for me?
I ate some food but not too much, for I had no way of knowing how long it would have to last. I was too alarmed to be hungry, anyway—eating was just something to do.
I was swallowing the last crumbs when, once more, I heard oars, and then the sound of someone getting out of a boat on the landing stage. Tensely, I pushed off the rugs and stood up. Whoever it was was now walking round to the landward door. There was only one set of footsteps.
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