Spider Light(23)
She stepped back into the deeper shadows, pulling her cloak more firmly around her, so that no glimmer of paleness would show from her gown. Yes, there went the footsteps again. Somebody was definitely creeping through the darkness behind her.
Maud bit down a gasp of fear, and began to run down the narrow path. The soles of her boots skidded in the soft wet ground several times and low branches caught at her hair like snatching goblin fingers, but she was beyond caring. She had no idea if Mr Sullivan or his daughter would hide her, and she could not think how she would tell them what had happened, but surely they would not turn her away.
Here was the cottage, directly ahead of her. She had a pain in her side from running, but she was almost there and she was almost safe.
The cottage was in darkness. Maud supposed she should have expected this, but somehow the sight of the curtained windows brought her to an abrupt halt, and doubt rushed into her mind. Could she really hammer on a stranger’s door at this hour–it must be well past midnight by now–and say she was being pursued by two mad creatures who did terrible things to her body?
She glanced back nervously; there was no one in sight, but she could hear her pursuer coming along the path. Maud darted around the side of the cottage, keeping well in the shadows, and there, at the back of the building, was a little huddle of outbuildings jutting out from the main part of the cottage. Wash-house and privy, most likely. Would they be locked?
The first one was locked, and Maud, gasping with terror, hearing her pursuer coming along the path, moved to the other one. Wash-house, was it? Coal shed? It did not matter because its lock was a brittle flimsy affair, and it snapped when she pushed against it. The door swung in and Maud tumbled thankfully inside, closing the door and leaning back against it.
It was the cottage’s wash-house. It had a stone floor and brick walls, and on one side of the door was a big mangle with a huge copper boiler on the other side, nastily crusted with green where the pipe came out of it. Other than this there was only a deep sink under the little window; the window itself was a bit grimy and cobwebby so the outside looked blurred as if there was thick fog everywhere.
She was shaking so badly she was almost afraid her ribs would break, and there was a pain in her chest from running along the path. But she kept her eyes on the door. Doors could be dangerous things; you never knew what might lie behind them.
After a moment she managed to stop gasping for breath, and listened for the sound of her pursuer. Had he gone? No, here he came, walking quietly, but betrayed by the wet ground–she could hear his feet squelching in the mud. Her heart began to hammer against her ribs all over again. He would surely look in here, and he could not fail to see her.
He was trying the other door–there was the impatient clicking of its latch, and then a soft creak as he pushed against it. Would he see the broken lock on this door? There was nowhere she could hide, but was there any way she could fool him by wedging the door closed? Maud looked frantically about her. Could she drag the mangle across the door? No, it was much too heavy for her, and even if she could manage it, it would take too long and he would hear her.
There was a scrape of sound outside, and Maud gasped and shrank back against the wall. As she did so there was a movement at the window, and a face appeared in the blurry oblong. It pressed against the pane, the features distorted and terror engulfed Maud so overwhelmingly that for a moment the dank room spun sickeningly around her. She bit down a gasp of fear, because if he heard her, if he realized she was here…
But he already knew she was here. Even if he could not see her, he would have sensed her presence in the way predators sensed the presence of their victims.
The latch clicked and the door swung open. The rainy light lay across the floor, and when Maud slowly turned her head she saw the figure outlined in the doorway–an impossibly tall figure it seemed to be, wrapped in a long dark cloak, the hem swishing around booted feet.
The figure stepped inside and spoke. It was not Simon after all, it was Thomasina.
In a perfectly ordinary voice, Thomasina said, ‘My dear child, what on earth are you doing here? Let me take you home.’
Thomasina spoke as if nothing very unusual had happened, and for a moment Maud stared at her and wondered if she had dreamt that firelit bedroom and Simon’s body suffocating her.
Then she said, ‘You pretended to be asleep, but you weren’t. You’ve been following me.’
‘Of course I followed you. You were not very subtle, Maud. Scrabbling in the wardrobe for your clothes, and getting dressed in the bathroom. Did you think I didn’t know what you were doing?’
‘I won’t go back to Quire House,’ said Maud, and was pleased to hear her voice sounded quite brave. ‘If you try to make me go back, I’ll scream for help.’
‘Scream away. There’s no one to hear you. Cormac Sullivan’s not very likely to be in his own bed at this hour of the night, and his daughter will be at Latchkill–she’s a nurse and she’s on night duty. So scream until your throat bursts: no one will hear you.’
Maud had no idea if any of this was true, or if Thomasina was just saying it to keep her quiet.
‘And,’ said Thomasina, not giving Maud time to reply, ‘even if you did scream, and even if anyone did hear you, I have only to say you’re a young relative and your mind is a little disturbed; that I’m caring for you.’
‘No one would believe that,’ said Maud, but she knew people would believe it, because of who Thomasina was. Miss Forrester of Quire House. Important and rich and with that indefinable authority that everyone recognized and respected. Yes, people would believe Thomasina over Maud.