She wandered the space, pushed open a rotting wooden door which led to a small closet. If she had some shelves built inside, brought up a desk and some bookcases, the turret would make a grand laboratory.
Her heart twisted. Without her father, she had no excuse to run an experiment or correspond with fellow natural philosophers as his nominal assistant. Because she was useful, her father had accepted, even encouraged her endeavors. But she was a wife now, a marchioness, and that part of her life was ended.
She sighed. “Come on, boys.” She wound down the staircase, the dogs at her heels, until she reached the battlements. One of the crenellations had crumbled, the stone looking as though it had eroded away. She scratched some notes on her list. Repairing the castle’s defenses was low on the list of priorities; an attack in this day and age was absurd. But she didn’t want her home to crumble down about her. “Time to explore the rest of the castle.” She checked each room, looking for anything that might need to be repaired, cleaned, or replaced. Her list didn’t grow overmuch; the marquess and his servants kept Kenmore in excellent shape. There was little that needed her attention. Little for her to do.
She found a door near the necessary on the lower floor and pulled it open, its hinges squawking. She made a note. Oil. She tapped her lead against her notebook and looked through the door. Complete darkness blanketed the entrance. Banquo lay down and whined.
“We just need a candle, silly. Nothing to be afraid of.” Tucking her lead and notebook into a pocket in her skirt, she marched back to the nearest hall table and pulled a candle from an ornate five-pronged silver candelabra.
She looked back into the rectangle of black. Replacing the candle, she picked up the entire candelabra, and crept forward.
The door led to a set of narrow steps, curving slightly and going down so deep she knew she must be under ground level. The air was dank, heavy, and the candles illuminated only a couple feet in front of her. She moved slowly, looking for any holes in her path, and thankful the two large dogs had followed her down. Marvelous creatures, dogs. Even when scared themselves, they remained stalwartly by her side.
About one hundred feet in, the dark began to lighten. A few steps more and she saw the exit to the tunnel she was in. The ground sloped up at a gentle angle, clumps of chickweed softening the path underfoot. Roots dangled from the ceiling, eventually giving way to glimpses of sky and broken beams as the roof of the tunnel rotted away. Winnifred quickened her step until she stood at the entrance.
One of the dogs leaned against her side.
“I know.” She stroked his head. “A secret passage. How exciting. I wonder what it was used for and where it has led us.” They must be close to Kenmore, but all she saw was a rocky hill tufted with thistle underneath the dreary, grey sky.
Something shuffled behind her. Winnifred turned and held the candelabra up high but could see nothing but pitch. She stepped forward, peering. “Hullo?”
Her only answer was heavy breathing. Wood scraped against wood.
Winnifred froze. “It’s I, the, uh, Marchioness. Show yourself.”
Horatio pressed against her legs, and she stumbled to the side. She patted his head. “It’s probably nothing. Just—”
Something hissed, the sound slithering through the dark, wrapping around her, turning her feet to lead.
With a howl, Banquo reared onto his hind legs then charged – straight out of the tunnel. Horatio followed, hot on his heels. Leaving Winnifred alone.
Traitorous beasts, dogs.
Something charged, the sound of feet pounding against the dirt growing louder. With a cry, she turned to flee, but the beast had grabbed her skirts.
“Get off! Get off!” She shrieked, kicking her feet out, and made glancing contact with the most dastardly badger she’d ever laid eyes on.
It was about three feet in length, with a wide, squat body. Its dark eyes glared at her from its striped face and its tiny tail twitched in anger over her trespass. Fabric tore, the sound rending the air, and the beast staggered back, a jagged square of blue muslin in its teeth.
Seeing her chance, she picked up what was left of her skirts and ran as fast as her slippered-feet would carry her. Daylight was only feet away. She looked back, swore the animal’s eyes glowed red with loathing, and ran headlong into an immovable object.
“Winnifred!” Sin grabbed her shoulders. “I heard you scream. What is it?” He swung her around, peering down the tunnel, looking back over his shoulder, turning his head every which way.
She pointed a shaking finger back down the tunnel. “Badger!” Her chest heaved, and she dragged in shallow breaths.
He squinted, tilted his head. “I must have misheard. For a moment I though you said ‘badger.’”
Grabbing his hand, she stepped back, pulling with all her might to drag him away from the danger. “Huge, possessed-by-the-devil badger. We’ll have to get a new castle.”
His lips twitched, pursed. “Because of a badger.”
She peered back down the tunnel. Nothing. No hissing, no glowing eyes. The badger had gone back to wherever he’d holed up.
Her shoulders inched down her back, her tension easing. Only to be replaced by embarrassment. Heat crawled up the back of her neck. Dropping his hand, she touched her hair, making sure it was all in its correct place. Tilting her chin up, she tried to give him a look a true marchioness would: haughty, imperious, controlled. “It was a large badger.” She enunciated each word exactly. “And unusually aggressive. Most likely diseased. My reaction was only….”
She trailed off as Sin threw his head back laughing. His whole body shook with it, amusement dripping from every ounce of his being.
Winnifred blinked. She’d never seen a moment of such pure joy. He laughed freely, like a child without a care in the world.
