Page 61 of An Arranged Marriage with a Cruel Earl
Chapter 21
“Let me out!” Emmeline shouted, banging against the door with her fists. She had been doing the same thing for at least ten minutes, but nobody had heard her. She drew in a breath, exhaustion making her slump down against the cold stone wall. Nobody could hear through the thick stone walls.
Her voice dropped to a whisper. “There must be something I can do... there must be a way out,” she murmured, her voice raw and low as she fought to steady herself.
She shut her eyes wearily. Her knuckles were raw with beating on the stone and her throat hurt. It was cold in the stone corridor. She was only wearing a summer day dress of white muslin and the chill sank into her bones. She leaned back, feeling the stone press into her shoulders. As she sat there with her eyes shut, she became aware of a breath of wind on her cheek. She reached up to tuck her hair back from her face and tensed as the implication of that slight breeze cannoned into her mind.
“There’s got to be an opening!”
If there was a breeze in the tunnel, somewhere there was a gap of some sort to the outdoors. She stood, filled with renewed strength, and walked slowly in the direction from which the breeze had come. It was pitch dark in the tunnel and the floor was damp. She shuddered as she proceeded onwards. The floor was slippery, and she went slowly. If she fell and was injured, she would not be able to escape.
There was a faint light and slowly her eyes became accustomed to the almost-complete darkness. The breeze was stronger on her cheeks, and she walked onwards. The floor sloped sharply downward, prompting her to take cautious, measured steps forward.
“Please, let me find a way out,” she repeated in the darkness. “Please, let me not fall.”
Images flashed into her mind as she walked. Amelia, somewhere at home with Uncle Henry and Aunt Patricia. If she died in the tunnel, she would never see Amelia again. Andrew’s face came next, his haunting blue eyes focused on her, his thin lips moving, whispering words of love.
“If I get out of here,” she said aloud to his imagined face, “the first thing I’m going to do is ask you what on Earth is going on.”
The thought of shouting at Andrew, demanding that he explain himself and explain his terrifying cousins, gave her strength. Despite the horror of the situation, thinking of Andrew made her smile. Even anger towards him was precious, even the uncertainty and torment that he made her experience. It was something she shared with him and as she half-fell in the darkness, she realised what that meant.
“I am in love with him.”
She said it aloud, the darkness empty of listening, judging ears. The realisation was like running into a wall—forceful and unexpected. The strange, intense, maddening, and altogether wonderful feeling she experienced when he was close was love. She was in love with Andrew.
A brief smile lit her face, her heart soaring. Immediately, fresh horror set in. What if it was impossible to escape? What if Ambrose and Lydia came to finish the job before she got out? She would never be able to tell Andrew that she loved him.
She walked forward, slowly and determinedly, following the sloping passageway downhill.
As she walked, the tunnel became colder, and it became harder to feel the whisper of breeze on her skin. She stood still, thinking for a moment that she could no longer feel it, but it was there, caressing her cheek like unseen fingers, making her hair tickle her neck. She brushed her hair back from her sweat-damp skin and continued.
The tunnel went down, and then, abruptly, stopped. She gave a small cry of alarm as she walked into a wall.
“Where am I?” she whispered, a small, frightened sound.
She could see a stony, hard surface before her and she realised that there was an opening in the wall, but high overhead. She let out a cry of despair.
“I can’t get through that,” she said aloud. It was far too high up, and, even if she climbed up the rough surface of the wall, she was certain it was too small to allow her passage out.
She turned around, feeling terrified. She had been sure there was a way out, but now it seemed truly as though she was trapped. The floor sloped behind her, and she followed the new tunnel for a few paces but slipped and screamed and fell.
“This is stupid,” she told herself firmly. She was sitting on the cold stone floor, her dress wet from the damp stone. Her leg ached where she had fallen on it, and her hands were scratched on the palms too. Oddly,anger had replaced despair, and with the anger came a sort of clarity. There was no point in going down; not when the possibility of falling seemed so much higher than the chance of finding a route out. It made more sense to go back along the tunnel she had started in and try to open the door again.
She stood up and started walking back along the tunnel.
She had only walked a few paces when she reached the gap in the wall. She heard something—a voice, or something like a voice. Someone must be in the garden high above.
“Help!” she yelled. “Help me!”
No sound came in answer and the voice ceased. Emmeline sobbed, despair finally claiming her. There was no way out. She had truly believed that the hole in the wall might be her escape, but even calling out had not worked.
She took a deep, shuddering breath. “I have to figure this out,” she whispered fiercely.
She leaned against the wall, sliding down until she was sitting on the floor. Her mind was filled with thoughts of Andrew; his thin-lipped smile, his eyes that sometimes flared with concern and warmth. His tender touch on her hand, the beauty of his kiss. She sobbed again, throwing out one hand in a gesture of despair.
Her hand grazed down the wall, but she was beyond caring at that moment. Her knuckles moved over something hard before her hand hit the floor and it was a moment or two before a thought struck her. The hardness had been smooth and cold—not stone, but metal.
“What?”
