When he had, she ran in a different direction.
She needed to escape the lonely churchyard, reach a house, reach help.
But all too quickly, the footfalls were once again on her trail. Drawing close.
Then a thud, a fall, a grunt. Whoever it was had likely tripped over one of the low-lying granite slabs that marked many of the graves.
Anne ran on. She heard her pursuer scramble to his feet more quickly than she’d hoped. Not enough time to reach Yew Cottage or the Court. Instead, she headed toward her old hiding place, hoping he did not know of it, or would not think to look there.
Reaching it, she dropped to hands and knees to avoid hitting the branches and making a telltale noise. Clearing the low, prickly branches, she hoisted herself atop the tomb chest within to hide her light skirts and more fully conceal herself.
The bare, sun-starved underbranches scratched at her. Sharp, sheared-off sticks poked into her neck. She bit back a yelp of pain and tried to catch her breath, to breathe deeply and quietly, when, winded as she was, she longed to gulp large gasps of air.
She tried to think of her next step. If he found her and pushed his way in, he would have to bend down to do so, andwhen he did, she would kick him in the face as hard as she could and hope to clamber out and away before he grabbed her. Or stabbed her with that knife...
She had one guess of who it might be. Perhaps she was wrong and it was some evildoer unknown to her. A passing madman. A stranger bent on scaring—or worse—whoever he happened to meet.
The running footsteps slowed and walked past her hiding place. So close she could hear him breathing. Did that mean he could hear her too? He paused, perhaps looking in all directions. Listening? She held her breath.
A gruff, ghostly voice hissed, “Aaaanne...”
Her stomach twisted. Whoever or whatever it was knew her name.
Then the footsteps continued on, moving farther away.
Anne slowly released the breath she’d been holding and drew in one shaky inhale after another, listening in case the footsteps returned.
She heard only silence for several seconds. Then perhaps a minute.
Had he gone? Given up? Or was he simply searching another section of the graveyard? How long should she stay hidden? Or would it be wiser to sneak away before he returned? Yet Anne was disoriented by the darkness and her fear, and couldn’t be positive which direction he’d gone. And she certainly did not know where he was now.
She silently prayed,O God,please help me.
Another minute passed, and Anne began to think the danger had passed too.
Suddenly, light flickered through the foliage, branches rustled, and a figure entered her sanctuary, rising to his feet right before her.
Anne shrieked and drew back her foot, kicking with all her strength.
“Anne? Anne! Stop that. It’s me—Jasper. What are you doing?”
“What am I doing? What are you doing!” She slapped his arm once, then again. “Was that you, chasing me around the churchyard? Scaring me to death?”
“What? Chasing you? Heavens, no. I came out to look for you. Katherine said you were expected back some time ago.”
“How did you find me?”
“You always did hide in the same place.” In the dimness, his teeth shone in a teasing grin. “Moreover, I climbed the church tower to look around, saw a flash of your white skirt, and guessed where you were headed.”
“Did you see no one else?”
“No. It was dark, and I wasn’t looking for anyone else. Who should I have seen?”
“Someone dressed as King Charles the First.”
“Really?”
She looked him over in the dim light. Jasper was bareheaded and wore an ordinary frock coat, but he might have discarded the robe and wig. “Show me your hands.”
