She took a deep breath. Would it be that much more difficultthan climbing the garden wall or a tree? She looked to the stone veranda far below. It would certainly be more dangerous.
She dragged the wrought-iron chair to the rail, grimacing as it rattled and whined, and then stood atop it. From there, she stepped carefully onto the ledge, hands outstretched for balance. One foot on the rail, one on the ledge, Rebecca sought a handhold on the wall. A row of decorative bricks protruded at regular intervals. Grasping one of these, she breathed a prayer and stepped out, placing both feet on the ledge. Pressing close to the wall, she inched her right foot over, grasped the next brick, then slid her left foot over. Her heel slipped from her flat leather shoe, and she teetered, then gripped the wall tight. She wished she’d taken the time to lace on her half boots.
Pausing to catch her breath and regain her courage, Rebecca sidestepped again, and again. Soon the other balcony was in reach, and she carefully stepped onto its rail. Taking another breath, she leapt down as gracefully as she could, dropping low and wincing when her shoes thudded onto the balcony floor. She held her breath and looked toward the door. One second, two, three. When the door remained closed, she exhaled in relief.
Rebecca straightened and crept across the balcony toward the door. A few inches of candlelight shone through a narrow opening between the curtains. She tiptoed closer until she could see inside.
She hoped she would not find herself spying on a romantic encounter. How mortifying for all.
At first she saw only a slice of the room. Dressing chest, table, and, thankfully, an empty bed.
Then she saw a man standing with his back to the balcony. Selina, in the black habit, stood nearby, her face revealed within the frame of the white wimple.
The man held a weapon in his hand.
Rebecca stifled a gasp, fear for Selina thrumming through her. It appeared to be a short, blunt, lethal-looking mace. The mere sight of it sent horror sluicing through her.
Selina reached for it, but he raised it over his head—to elude her or to strike her? Rebecca held her breath. What should she do? Knock? Flee?
But Selina did not look frightened. She looked sad yet resolute. She shook her head and said, “No.”
The man lowered his arm, and she took the weapon easily from his hand, the fight gone out of him.
Miss Newport’s face appeared over the man’s shoulder and one of his arms wrapped around her waist. The embrace struck Rebecca as protective rather than romantic, the image marred only by the mace still clutched in her hand.
Suddenly Selina stilled, staring straight at the balcony door.
Rebecca pulled back.
“I think someone’s out there,” Selina said.
“What? I’ll go and see.” The man’s voice seemed familiar. “You hide that. And get rid of that garb.”
Pulse drumming, Rebecca quickly climbed back up onto the rail and stepped to the ledge—just as the balcony door opened behind her. She found herself praying words from the Psalms,“Hide me under the shadow of thy wings. From the wicked that oppress me, from my deadly enemies.”
Glad for her dark pelisse, Rebecca clung to the wall, her face turned away, scared to move lest she be seen or heard, yet also scared to remain where she was, within reach of the man ... and the mace.
Rain began to peck against her exposed cheek.Oh no.Rain would make the ledge slick and her escape even more dangerous.
For a moment longer the door remained open. She waited, tense, barely breathing, anticipating a shout or feet rushing toward her, but they did not come. The door closed.
Rebecca squeezed her eyes tight and breathed a prayer of thanksgiving.
Keeping her face averted, just in case, she moved as quickly as she could across the ledge. She jumped back onto her own balcony, striking her ankle on the wrought-iron chair, and slipped into her room. Pain flaring, she closed the door, bolting it for good measure.
Rebecca stood catching her breath, limbs trembling and ankle throbbing. She lifted her hem and saw the gash on her ankle bone and the blood flowing down her slipper and onto the floor.Fiddle!She grabbed a handkerchief and tied it around her ankle to staunch the blood, deciding she would clean up the rest later.
Putting her ear to the outer door and hearing nothing over her own ragged breaths, she cracked it open and looked down the corridor. No one in sight.
Suddenly a door opened down the passage and the black-clad “abbess” stepped out, veiled once again, and walked in her direction. Rebecca gingerly shut her door and waited for the footsteps to pass.
Then she opened the door again and listened, hearing the faint sound of footsteps descending the night stair.
Had Miss Newport hidden the weapon in her room, or was she, or perhaps the man, going somewhere now to dispose of it? Rebecca longed to ask Sir Frederick to accompany her but worried she would lose sight of the furtive figure if she delayed.
Slipping her room key into her reticule, Rebecca left number thirteen and tiptoed down the night stair. Following slowly andcautiously, she reached the lower passage in time to hear the chapel door close.
Rebecca stood there, heart pounding, afraid to enter the dark chapel alone. If she could be sure itwasMiss Newport, she would brave it, believing she could best the slender woman in a skirmish if need be ... unless she had that mace with her. But having seen masculine boots and hands protruding from the same gown once before, Rebecca hesitated. She could not fight a man, mace or no. It would be foolhardy to follow him into the dark, remote chapel and put herself in harm’s way.
