A muttered curse made its way to her ears, followed by infuriated footfalls that faded away. There were no more protests from without and no more demands for her to hurry.
With a satisfied smile, Piper circled the room, searching for a means of escape. It was but moments before she began a second rotation. No more than nine-feet square, a cherry four-post bed filled most of the space. A table at one side of it held an oil lamp on a lace doily. Another spindly legged table and a wingback chair crowded a wool rug by the fireplace. A washstand stood in the corner. Other than some hooks on the wall and a dismal watercolor landscape on the white-washed wall, there was nothing to offer any inspiration.
One door. One window. Two armed men outside the former, one for the time being. One man a story below the other. The window faced the church square. The tall silver spire gleamed in the morning sun. The tower cast its long shadow across the graveyard surrounding it. Not a living being in sight for her to call to for help. Given the few passersby on the busier cross street and the distance between them, she didn’t see a benefit of drawing Wilkes’s notice by screaming for assistance.
She wasn’t that desperate. Yet.
There must be something else.
The single moveable object with any heft to it was a loose crosspiece between the legs of the side table. Piper pried it loose and gave it an experimental swing. It wouldn’t be good for much. Then, an idea struck and she acted on it. Flinging open the window sash, she hurled the piece of wood down the street as far as she could manage. The guard below turned to investigate the clatter. He wouldn’t be gone long.
Racing back to the door, she slumped against it with enough force to shake the hinges.
“M’lady?” Wilkes called with a tap on the door. “M’lady?”
“I feel…I feel…faint,” she let the words fade off and dropped to the floor.
Poor acting, however Wilkes must have had a low opinion of a lady’s fortitude. The knob rattled and the door opened. Wilkes ran to her side. With any luck, he hadn’t moved his…
Piper wrapped her fingers around the butt of his pistol with a surge of triumph that set her heart pumping. With the memory of Connor’s fight against Granger in mind, she rolled to the side in a clumsy imitation of his nimble motion and sprang to her feet beyond Wilkes’s reach.
His lips parted, whether to curse her or call for help, Piper wasn’t sure. He took two angry steps toward her.
“Don’t.” She thumbed back the hammer on his revolver. She didn’t know much about guns, as she’d told Connor, but she knew that much.
He stopped in his tracks, face red and eyes incensed. “Give me that. You’re going to get one of us killed.”
“Shush!” Backing away from him, she shut the window in case Wilkes thought to shout for help, then waved the barrel of the gun toward the door. “Out.”
He didn’t budge, his bulging stare locked on the pistol. “That’s a hair trigger,” he spat. “Do you know nothing about firearms? Get your bloody finger off the trigger.”
Wasn’t one’s finger supposed to be on the trigger? “I’ll admit I don’t know much beyond the aim and pull the trigger parts,” she admitted. “Isn’t that the whole point of it?”
“I don’t know if you’re bricky or daft. You don’t put your finger on the trigger unless you mean to shoot!”
Uncertain whether he was trying to fool her or was truly concerned, Piper knew better than to direct her attention from her target. She’d not give him an opportunity to disarm her.
“I do mean to shoot, Mr. Wilkes. You, if you don’t cooperate. Now out the door with you. Out.”
She waggled the gun again, and his eyes protruded from their sockets, hands raised defensively. Backing away, he muttered something under his breath. All she could make out were the words “daffy” and “dangerous.”
“You’re not helping my mood, Mr. Wilkes.”
He walked out the door with another oath and pivoted to the left, the way they’d come up. Presumably the direction his lackey had gone to fetch her breakfast. She hadn’t frequented The Brass Bell in the past and was unfamiliar with the layout beyond what she’d seen on their hurried passage to the room.
“No. The other way. Down the hall.”
He took a step out of sight and Piper panicked. How was she to get out the door if she couldn’t see where he was? “Heavy steps, Mr. Wilkes. I want to hear them.”
When they had faded sufficiently, she peeked out the door and felt a surge of triumph.
Her victory was short lived. What now? Unfortunately, she would face the same problem on the stairs. Voices of the patrons below resounded up the stairs behind her. She had no idea where the staircase on the far end of the hall led. Too many risks. Not enough certainties.
Torn, she scanned the narrow hall and landed upon a bright, shiny solution.
“Come back toward the room,” she commanded, and Wilkes retraced his steps as she backed down the passageway.
Sweat beaded on his forehead, his face even more florid than before. His eyes trained on her finger as it rested on the trigger. He seemed truly concerned. The impulse to test the weight of the trigger caught her. She flexed her finger.
