“That’s my pleasure, and do call me Angharad. You remind me of my sister’s girl, back in Wales. A sweet thing she is, on the cusp of womanhood, and finding everything a might overwhelming at times.”
“I’m not a child,” Onora said sleepily.
“Of course not.” The kindly Welshwoman sat on the edge of the bed. As she did so, the yoke of her gown tugged down.
The mist of sleep was already taking hold, but Onora thought she noticed something on the exposed curve of the matron’s ample bosom—an insect of some sort, like a beetle. Mrs. Griffiths herself had surely not noticed, for she would have brushed it away.
Onora almost said something but then, the lamp was extinguished. Mrs. Griffiths’ weight lifted from the bed and the swish of her skirts indicated her leaving the room.
CHAPTER 10
Onora threw off the sheets. Her heart was racing so fast she was fearful it would burst.
Her mind was still there, within the awful dream. She’d been in the desert again, as she’d felt herself to be during the strange parlor game, but a snake had appeared. She’d wanted to jump up, but her body had refused to obey. It had curled about her ankle, its tongue flicking and its eyes a dull yellow. She’d wanted to kick it away but onward it came, sliding past her calf and the inside of her knee, teasing her inner thigh…
She’d screamed then woken herself up, hadn’t she?
Shaking, she poured herself some water from the carafe at her bedside. Her forehead was burning but she was cold too, uncontrollably shivering.
These dreams had to stop!
A cry came—from the other side of the wall?
Aunt Clodagh!
Onora shoved her arms through the sleeves of her dressing gown, tying it roughly, then ran along the inner cloister, rapping at her aunt’s door, calling out to her.
“Onora!” Her aunt wailed from within. “Quickly! Fetch help.”
In haste, Onora turned the handle. Unlocked, it flew open, and she almost fell through.
By the moonlight streaming through the door, she saw Clodagh sitting up, holding a pillow before her.
“It’s at the end of the bed! A snake!” Her aunt pointed.
Thecobra was coiled upon a decorative coverlet draped over the sheets, upright, with its hood fanned.
“Don’t move.” Onora looked about the room, searching for something—a shawl perhaps—to cast upon the serpent. It wouldn’t intend to hurt anyone, but snakes were unpredictable.
As the cobra swayed, Aunt Clodagh whimpered.
Hurriedly, Onora took off her dressing gown and, stepping forward, threw it over the creature. She was about to run to her aunt, thinking to get her out of bed and into the courtyard, when the door swung back on its hinges, hitting the wall.
“I heard shouting. Are you hurt?”
To Onora’s surprise, it was Mr. Balfour, looking even more disheveled than he had earlier in the day, with several buttons of his shirt undone.
“Under there! A snake!” Clodagh gestured at the thing writhing beneath the soft fabric of Onora’s dressing gown.
Scooping up the edges of the coverlet,making a bundle, Mr. Balfour tied the corners loosely and slung all to the far side.
Only now did Onora see he was holding a gun, Cocking it, he aimed.
“Please, don’t!” Onora shrieked.
Just then, someone else ran into the room—a small figure, wearing agalabeya. “I hear shouting. There is a scorpion, or a serpent?” It was one of Seton’s men, carrying a basket and stick.
In the blink of an eye, the man had grabbed the bundle and tossed it into his basket, securing the lid.
