Read Online Wait Until Midnight by Amanda Quick - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Amanda Quick
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returned to haunt her.
She made her way quietly downstairs to the chilly study. There she lit a lamp, poured herself a small glass of sherry and paced the floor for a time.
When her nerves had steadied and her pulse was no longer racing, she sat down at her desk, took out paper and pen and began to write.
Nightmares, murder and the enigmatic Mr. Grove aside, she had work to do. Mr. Spraggett, the publisher of the Flying Intelligencer, would be expecting the next episode of The Mysterious Gentleman at the end of the week.
The successful writer of serialized sensation novels survived by adhering to an inflexible schedule: A new chapter had to be written every week for some twenty-six weeks in a row. Each chapter consisted of approximately five thou-sand words. To maintain readers' interest, each chapter had to begin and end with a Startling Incident.
The time constraints placed on Caroline were such that she was usually obliged to begin research and make notes on her next novel while finishing off the last few episodes of the current one.
A few hundred words later she put down her pen and studied what she had written.
No doubt about it, the character of Edmund Drake was at last starting to take shape. Just in the nick of time, too, she thought. Drake had been a shadowy figure until now but he was due to take center stage in the remaining chapters.
SIX
Two days later Caroline sat in the last row of the lecture hall and watched the stage as the gas lights were lowered in a dramatic fashion.
The room was plunged into deep gloom. The only area that remained well lit was the empty stage. There a single lamp glowed with a ghostly light, illuminating a table and chair. The sparse crowd hushed in anticipation.
Caroline noted that she had almost the entire row of chairs to herself. It seemed that Irene Toller had been over-shadowed one last time by her dead rival. Here at Wintersett House, the news of Elizabeth Delmont's murder had captured the interest of everyone involved in psychical re-search. The halls and corridors of the aging mansion hummed with speculation and gossip. With so much excitement going on, very few people had elected to attend Irene Toller's demonstration of spirit writing.
The abrupt, theatrical darkening of the room had a disturbing effect on Caroline's senses. It was as though invisible fingers had brushed the nape of her neck. An unnerving awareness feathered her nerves. She could literally feel an unseen presence closing in upon her.
"Good afternoon, Mrs. Fordyce," the man who had called himself Adam Grove said very softly from a point just behind her right shoulder. "This is certainly a coincidence of amazing, one might even say metaphysical. pro-portions. Would you mind if I took the seat next to yours?"
She started so violently it was all she could do not to leap out of the chair. Indeed, she was barely able to stifle a small shriek.
"Mr. Grove" Breathless from the shock he had just given her and thoroughly annoyed by her own reaction, she gave him a repressing glare. The effect was no doubt lost on him due to the shadows here at the back of the room. "What on earth are you doing here?"
"The same thing you are, I suspect" He moved in front of her, obviously aiming for the neighboring seat although she had not invited him to take it. "Thought it might prove instructive to observe Irene Toller's demonstration of spirit writing."
"You followed me," she accused, whisking her skirts out of his path.
"No, as a matter of fact, I did not." He lowered himself into the chair beside her. "But somehow I am not unduly surprised to discover that our paths have crossed again."
"I do not converse with strange gentlemen to whom I have not been properly introduced," she said in her iciest tones.
"Right, I forgot." He settled comfortably into the seat.
"I did not give you my real name when I called on you the other morning, did I?"
"In point of fact, you deceived me, sir."
"Yes, well, all I can say is
She made her way quietly downstairs to the chilly study. There she lit a lamp, poured herself a small glass of sherry and paced the floor for a time.
When her nerves had steadied and her pulse was no longer racing, she sat down at her desk, took out paper and pen and began to write.
Nightmares, murder and the enigmatic Mr. Grove aside, she had work to do. Mr. Spraggett, the publisher of the Flying Intelligencer, would be expecting the next episode of The Mysterious Gentleman at the end of the week.
The successful writer of serialized sensation novels survived by adhering to an inflexible schedule: A new chapter had to be written every week for some twenty-six weeks in a row. Each chapter consisted of approximately five thou-sand words. To maintain readers' interest, each chapter had to begin and end with a Startling Incident.
The time constraints placed on Caroline were such that she was usually obliged to begin research and make notes on her next novel while finishing off the last few episodes of the current one.
A few hundred words later she put down her pen and studied what she had written.
No doubt about it, the character of Edmund Drake was at last starting to take shape. Just in the nick of time, too, she thought. Drake had been a shadowy figure until now but he was due to take center stage in the remaining chapters.
SIX
Two days later Caroline sat in the last row of the lecture hall and watched the stage as the gas lights were lowered in a dramatic fashion.
The room was plunged into deep gloom. The only area that remained well lit was the empty stage. There a single lamp glowed with a ghostly light, illuminating a table and chair. The sparse crowd hushed in anticipation.
Caroline noted that she had almost the entire row of chairs to herself. It seemed that Irene Toller had been over-shadowed one last time by her dead rival. Here at Wintersett House, the news of Elizabeth Delmont's murder had captured the interest of everyone involved in psychical re-search. The halls and corridors of the aging mansion hummed with speculation and gossip. With so much excitement going on, very few people had elected to attend Irene Toller's demonstration of spirit writing.
The abrupt, theatrical darkening of the room had a disturbing effect on Caroline's senses. It was as though invisible fingers had brushed the nape of her neck. An unnerving awareness feathered her nerves. She could literally feel an unseen presence closing in upon her.
"Good afternoon, Mrs. Fordyce," the man who had called himself Adam Grove said very softly from a point just behind her right shoulder. "This is certainly a coincidence of amazing, one might even say metaphysical. pro-portions. Would you mind if I took the seat next to yours?"
She started so violently it was all she could do not to leap out of the chair. Indeed, she was barely able to stifle a small shriek.
"Mr. Grove" Breathless from the shock he had just given her and thoroughly annoyed by her own reaction, she gave him a repressing glare. The effect was no doubt lost on him due to the shadows here at the back of the room. "What on earth are you doing here?"
"The same thing you are, I suspect" He moved in front of her, obviously aiming for the neighboring seat although she had not invited him to take it. "Thought it might prove instructive to observe Irene Toller's demonstration of spirit writing."
"You followed me," she accused, whisking her skirts out of his path.
"No, as a matter of fact, I did not." He lowered himself into the chair beside her. "But somehow I am not unduly surprised to discover that our paths have crossed again."
"I do not converse with strange gentlemen to whom I have not been properly introduced," she said in her iciest tones.
"Right, I forgot." He settled comfortably into the seat.
"I did not give you my real name when I called on you the other morning, did I?"
"In point of fact, you deceived me, sir."
"Yes, well, all I can say is
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