Suitors and Sabotage(5)

“Yes, of course.” Imogene nodded, ignoring the blur in her eyes and the trickles of moisture down her cheeks.

She watched as Mr. Benjamin strode to the central arch. Leaning across the threshold, he shifted back and forth, looking up. “I think there is little danger for now,” he eventually called over his shoulder. “But we will have to be very careful not to jar it any farther. And it will have to be braced sometime in the very near future.”

With a nod, Imogene stepped through the nearest doorway, stopping at the brink of the collapsed floor, listening for Jasper. Other than a few feet of stone edging the walls and central fireplace, the floor was completely gone. It was now a tremendous pile of rubble, filling what had once been the storeroom below the hall. Dust had painted every inch of the clumped and crumbling debris in the same hue of gray. Contours were near impossible to discern—certainly nothing dog-shaped.

Was Jasper under the rubble? Imogene caught her breath and swallowed with difficulty.

Squinting in concentration, she stepped gingerly down onto the top of the nearest collection of rocks. She listened for any change in Jasper’s tone. The stones shifted under her feet, and Imogene landed on her knees. It was jarring. Rocks cut into her palms and through the thin material of her gown, but Jasper’s whimper remained the same. She had not fallen on him or the rocks on top of him. And now his whine was louder, but it echoed. Cocking her head, she listened, but it was near impossible to understand the direction from which the high-pitched whine was coming.

“Imogene, are you all right?” It sounded as if Emily were standing directly behind Imogene.

“Yes, I’m fine. But I need to hear. Shhh.”

“He’s whining, Imogene. Jasper is whining. That is not a good sign.”

“No, not really. But it means he is alive, and I can use the sound like a beacon. Silence would mean something else entirely. So please, Emily, shush. Or better yet, go get help. The gardener, the coachman. Anyone and everyone, but hurry.”

Closing her eyes, Imogene swiveled her head, trying to understand the echoes. With relief, she heard Emily’s retreating footsteps, running across the bridge. Another sound caught her attention—shifting rocks—and her eyes flew open.

In the center of the great hall, Mr. Benjamin had joined her on top of the rubble. He was not on his knees but squatted, tilting his head from side to side and listening as she had been doing. Above him, the wall loomed.

“That is the most dangerous place to be, Mr. Benjamin. If the wall comes down, it will rain down on you directly.” She was protected by the strength of the corner that abutted the tower.

“Indeed. If I could trouble you to warn me should the wall start to wobble, I would appreciate it.… If it wouldn’t be too much trouble.” He lifted his cheeks.

Imogene nodded, and while she did not return his smile, she did appreciate his attempt to lighten the situation.

“Or perhaps I should borrow your parasol,” he said as he tilted his head lower.

Imogene snorted; it was half laugh, half sob.

“I left my stone-repelling parasol at the manor,” she said after a moment of intense listening. “So seldom do I need it.”

Leaning back, he squinted and then scuffled to the side.

“Your bonnet, then?” he asked eventually.

Imogene bent in the opposite direction, listening.

“I don’t think the style would suit you.”

“I have to proceed bareheaded, then.” He scuffled again to another spot—and then sudden silence bore down on them.

Imogene waited. She swallowed and waited. Looking up, she caught Mr. Benjamin’s gaze, and they stared at each other, waiting for Jasper to whine again. “Jasper!” she called. But nothing. No dog sound, and the hush continued far, far too long.

Jumping to her feet, swaying and then finding her balance, Imogene grabbed a stone and tossed it up and over the lip of the hole. She turned and grabbed another. Stone after stone, Imogene frantically grabbed, tossed, and turned. It was some minutes before the utter futility of her actions penetrated her frenzy, and she stopped, dropping the rock in her hands.

Closing her eyes, Imogene felt her knees wobble. She would have fallen had arms not come around her shoulders to prevent her from dropping to the ground. Imogene laid her head on the shoulder provided. “Jasper,” she whispered in profound misery. Her trickle of tears became a torrent, and she turned her face into the coat to muffle her sobs.

Standing together, locked in wretchedness, Imogene lost her sense of time; it no longer mattered. It felt like an eon of seconds when Mr. Benjamin stiffened and grabbed a sharp breath of surprise.

Imogene lifted her head, his reaction breaking into her grief-filled mind. “What is it?” she asked, pulling away and only just realizing how entwined they had become. She tilted her head and looked up at his expression.

He was smiling. Broadly. It was almost a grin. And then a burble of laughter burst from him, and Imogene wondered about his sanity. About to inquire, Imogene was instead directed to turn around.

“Look,” he said, pointing to the corner occupied by the stone spiral staircase.

Imogene squinted into the shadows and, at first glance, saw nothing worthy of happy acclaim. Then two dark spots disappeared only to reappear in the blink of an eye.

With a gasp, Imogene stared, waiting for the two dark spots to blink again. And they did. “Jasper!” she screamed. Yes, it was a most unladylike sound.