Suitors and Sabotage(57)
“We have to go inside,” Ben said, leading her across the narrow wooden bridge. “The tower staircase is tilted, and there has been erosion.”
Emily, now behind Imogene, chuckled. “Such an exciting discovery.”
Ben pulled Imogene under the pointed arch of the entrance and across the courtyard to the rear roofless building. In the corner, a tower lay half exposed to the elements.
Glancing around at the curious faces, Imogene nodded to a woman and her two small sons, who were leaning over the edge, staring into the moat. Well, they had been staring until Ben had rushed in. They were now staring at him with great curiosity.
Naturally, the mother admonished them for such rudeness while commenting on the strange proclivities of overexcitable persons, something that she hoped her children would never try to emulate. The mother shepherded them to the far side.
Oblivious of the disapproval, Ben dropped Imogene’s hand and pointed. She wasn’t entirely sure at what he was pointing; the lovely ivy climbing up the wall and draping down into the water, perhaps the large, somewhat disconcerting, wasps’ nest clinging to the arch, or the crenellations encrusted with bird droppings. Remembering Ben’s affinity toward foundations, Imogene lowered her gaze and saw that erosion had exposed the supporting structures of the stair treads.
“Wonderful,” she said, surprised that she actually meant it. Ben’s excitement was contagious.
In short order, Ben set up near the stairs, paper and board propped up on what was left of a wall. Using it as a seat rather than a table, Imogene settled beside him half turned so that she might look over his shoulder. Without her own drawing supplies at hand, she concentrated on her role as teacher and simply enjoyed Ben’s proximity. Ernest had, at first, stayed with them, but boredom and the call of his book had won the day. He and Emily had headed back to join the rest of their group to laze about and wait until Ben had perfected his sketch … or two.
Twirling the handle of her parasol, tapping her heel against the wall, Imogene closed her eyes and imagined another time, another place, and for a moment reveled in happiness born from a vision of life with Ben. A buzzing insect pulled her from her reverie, and she opened her eyes to swat at it.… A wasp. Lazily flicking her hand, Imogene hit two more and frowned.
A rock skittering across the old ruins floor on the other side of the wall caught her attention, and she stared as another followed in its wake. A hollow thunk brought her eyes up, and Imogene watched in horror as the wasps’ nest above their heads broke free from the arch and dropped.
“Bees!” Imogene screamed as the nest landed next to them. “Look out!”
Within seconds, a loud hum accompanied the mass exodus of wasps from the nest. They were furious, and they were going to take their wrath out on anything in their proximity.
chapter 14
In which an ordinary parasol bestows both protection and privacy
Throwing her hands up, Imogene frantically swatted at the wasps charging down on her. They swarmed around and in her bonnet, some trapped by the brim. The noise was horrendous. She felt a sharp prick on her neck, and then on her cheek. She shook her head wildly, sending them spinning, but only for a moment.
A sharp gasp brought her attention to Ben. With no hat and gloves off, the wasps were crawling and stinging at will. Protecting his face with his hands, he was forced to blindly endure the insects’ rage.
Flailing, Imogene sent clouds of wasps flying. She felt a puncture as her unprotected wrist connected with an angry insect, but she kept swinging madly at those around her, at those around Ben.
But there were too many. Too many! She had to do something. Something else. Desperate, Imogene tore off her bonnet.
“Into the moat, Ben! Drop!” She swung her feet to the other side of the wall and jumped into the cold, waist-deep water, parasol in hand. A great splash next to her announced Ben’s arrival. The spongy bottom sucked at her feet as she fought to close the gap between them.
“Get under,” she yelled, lifting the parasol. She dropped it as soon as he obeyed and pulled him down into a crouch, with their heads at water level. Swatting one-handed, Imogene chased the remaining wasps around the canopy to no avail. “Duck,” she said when she realized they had no other option.
Imogene squeezed her eyes shut as she plunged beneath the water. The moat was murky and silent, otherworldly. Strangely calm. If only she could see Ben … but she knew he was there because he reached out and touched her arm. Not surprisingly, Imogene’s air was the first to run out. She surfaced with the parasol mere inches above her head and the edges still in the water to prevent any new arrivals. She hunkered and waited for Ben to appear.
When he slowly rose out of the water, her relief was extreme … for a moment.
Telltale marks dotted his forehead. Oh yes, and there, near his eye. Those rotten little beasts!
Glancing around with caution before opening his mouth, Ben grabbed a lung full of air. She could feel his breath on her cheek. “Lud! My hands hurt like the devil.” He lifted them out of the water to examine, clicking his tongue in disgust. “Could have been worse, I suppose.”
It was hard to see how; his fingers could hardly bend. They had received the brunt of the attack. Wincing, he frowned and then glanced at Imogene. “And you … Oh, my poor dearest girl, one stung your cheek. I can see the mark even in this half light.”