Page 67 of Murder at Madame Chambon's
He was a dapper little gentleman in a perfectly pressed suit, his grizzled hair neatly parted in the center, and a pert little mouth in contrast to handsome mutton-chop whiskers.
Madame had now pulled down her veil and was standing, head bowed, close to Lord Bellingham.Lord Craddock introduced them.He was tense, though clearly striving to appear relaxed as he used Madame’s nom de plume, Mrs.Tanner.
Mr.Grimshaw appeared not to notice her, though his smile for Lord Bellingham and Lily was charming.
“Well, I thought I would offer my greetings since I was passing, but now I have business to which I must attend.”Doffing his hat, he offered a small bow and then continued along the path towards where his carriage waited in the circular drive.
When he’d stepped inside and closed the door, Lord Bellingham gave a slow, audible sigh as the four bay horses set their course for the front gates.
“I couldn’t help noticing Mr.Grimshaw’s walking stick,” he remarked.“It’s very distinct from its entwined carved snakes.Oriental in design, I believe?”
They looked at him, eyebrows raised.
“Very much like the walking stick that caught Captain Blackheath’s eye the night he was at Madame Chambon’s.The night Dunstable was murdered.”
Chapter 33
Had she really managed to sleep?
Evelina slowly regained consciousness, shivering as she breathed in the musty scent of dampness that rose from the stone floor and cold stone walls.Confusion and fear gripped her as she blinked open her eyes.All was darkness, though not as dark as it had been, for she was now aware of a high, small window above her that proclaimed it was daylight.
Not that it made any difference, since she might spend an eternity here.
Or not be found until the next Ravenswood family member was interred.
All night and for much of the day she’d lain on the small sarcophagus belonging to her namesake Evelina, tucked between two larger final resting places for deceased members of the great family.
And then finally, a flock of chattering birds flew overhead, their sudden silence replaced by the distant crunch of gravel—a carriage pulled by four horses—and her heart raced, pounding against her chest, while fear and hope flooded her mind.
Dragging herself upright to move towards the entrance, she pushed against the heavy door, her muscles weak and fatigued from her long captivity.
But as before, her efforts were futile.The only man who could save her was the man who had the key for this ancient, massive metal door.
And that was the man who locked her up.
Who was he, this Mr.Grimshaw?
A lawyer?Herfather’slawyer?
She’d spent hours trying to puzzle out from his few cryptic sentences why he’d done this.
Why he’d wanted her dead.
Because her father wanted her dead?
The thought was almost as painful as was the thought that William would not find her before it was too late.
Her beloved William, with whom she wanted to spend the rest of her life.
Too late.Happiness was brief.She’d felt love, and that is what she must cling on to during these final hours.
Her throat was dry.Thirst was raging in her, worse than any hunger.
“Help me!Please help me!”
To her astonishment, footsteps now crunched on the gravel that led to the heavy door.Someone had come.Someone was going to rescue her.
The turning of the key was like the elixir of hope.She’d not think the worst.Nothing could be worse than remaining in the dark, breathing in the cold, dank, dusty air that smelled of death and decay.
