“Simply amazing,” Lord Poole agreed. He moved forward, reached into his breast coat pocket, and drew out a quizzing glass attached to a black silk ribbon. Holding the magnifying glass up to his eye, Lord Poole peered intently at the panel door. “It is so simple, yet so ingenious.”
“Easy enough for a child to find,” Damien said with a rueful grin. “Help me with these things, Jenkins.”
The two men spread the contents of the sack upon the floor.
“I want a lantern too,” Isabella declared as she observed the valet lighting the wicks and carefully positioning the glass.
“You cannot mean to say you are going traipsing around in that tunnel, Isabella?” Thomas straightened up and gazed at her with acute alarm. “I expressly forbid it.”
“For once we are in agreement,” Damien said. “Isabella, you will wait here with Poole while Jenkins and I go inside.”
“No. It is my decision to make.” Straightening her shoulders, she announced calmly, “I’m going too.”
“Then I must accompany you,” Lord Poole declared. “Pass me a candle.”
Damien snorted, but did not protest. Jenkins handed Lord Poole a lit taper while Damien propped open the panel with two of the large stones he had brought expressly for that purpose. Extending his arm forward, the earl held his lantern aloft and illuminated the dark cavity. Isabella moved behind him and peered around his arm. Dozens of spider webs overhung the passage, and the oddly shaped stone walls caused the lamp to throw strange shadows.
Ignoring the twist of dread that clenched her stomach, Isabella forced herself to take a small step forward. Her lit lantern dangled at her side. A steady stream of cool air emanated from the passageway, and Isabella wrapped her free arm tightly around her waist to ward off the cold. The utter quiet was eerie and foreboding, and she was certain all three men could hear her heart pounding.
“Watch your heads,” Damien commanded, crouching low.
The passage opening was only a few feet high. Crawling on his hands and knees with his lantern thrust before him, Damien entered the tunnel. As he disappeared, Isabella’s heart rose to her throat. She thrust her arm out blindly, groping for his hand, but he was already too far ahead. Mercifully, she managed to catch the edge of his coat.
Holding on tightly with nerveless fingers, Isabella took a lung-filling breath, bent low, and followed the earl. Lord Poole immediately took up the position behind Isabella, and Jenkins brought up the rear.
Something briefly scurried into the glare of Isabella’s lantern light, then darted into the shadows. She shuddered violently. As terrifying as the dark had been, it was almost preferable. The lamplight seemed to be awakening mysterious creatures that in Isabella’s opinion were better left undisturbed.
“Drat! My candle has gone out,” Lord Poole exclaimed.
Everyone stopped moving. Nervously, Isabella looked to her own lantern, watching the flame intently. Protected on four sides by sturdy glass, the flame barely wavered.
“There’s a strong draft,” Damien said, lifting his head. “The ceiling appears to be a few feet higher up ahead. We should be able stand there. I brought a flint so we can light your candle, though I’m uncertain it will remain lit in this chilling breeze.”
They all moved soundlessly to the point Damien had indicated. They were able to stand erect in this section of the passageway, though Isabella noted that the earl was forced to stoop his broad shoulders to avoid hitting his head. It was very narrow, so they remained in a single line.
Since she was standing behind the earl, Isabella held Lord Poole’s candle while Damien struck the flint and lit the wick. The candle flame danced merrily for several seconds, then flickered and died out. Cursing softly, Damien tried again. After three attempts, he admitted defeat.
Isabella could tell from Lord Poole’s dour expression that he was annoyed. She knew Damien would not relinquish his lantern; besides, he was in the lead and must illuminate the way. Jenkins had not volunteered to give up his lamp, and Isabella was not about to force the issue. She reluctantly spoke, “You may have my lantern, Thomas.”
Lord Poole instantly accepted her generous offer, and with only a slight hesitation Isabella passed him the lamp. She pocketed the useless candle.
“Stay close to me,” Damien instructed.
“I shall,” Isabella replied, hoping he did not detect the nervous edge in her voice.
Damien continued leading the way. Isabella adjusted her grip on the earl’s coat, and for good measure placed her other hand loosely on his waist. His solid strength and warm body stilled her nerves.
They moved forward together only three steps before the earl abruptly stopped. Isabella could feel the tension and shock suddenly rippling through Damien’s body. Her hand, so tightly gripping his coat, went numb. Something was terribly wrong.
“Damien?”
Isabella shifted to one side, trying to look beyond him at what lay ahead, but his broad shoulders blocked her view. Flattening her back against the cold stone wall, she slowly moved beside him.
The odor was stronger here, choking and musty. Isabella’s nose wrinkled in protest. Craning her neck, she squinted, determined to see what was causing Damien’s strange reaction. As she swept the area with a slow, considering eye, she noticed a dark outline of fabric on the stone floor. Or was it something else?
“This morning when we were trapped in here, Catherine insisted someone was lying on the floor. Do you think this is what she saw?”
“It’s impossible,” Damien muttered.
