With a sigh, she put the clock back on the chair. The face of the clock said it was four-thirty in the morning.
Another clock sent out a shrill ringing, making Sharla jump and turn to face the middle of the room. She traced the sound. The clock was sitting on the top of the tall wardrobe, at the back where it would not be noticed.
She reached up on her toes. It wasn’t enough to let her grab the offending clock. She would have to drag the chair over to get it.
Voices sounded outside the door. Then the door opened and Natasha hurried in. Her wrapper was hastily tied, her dark hair, shot with the single thick strand of gray, loose and spilling down her back. “Sharla, what on earth…?”
More people stepped through the door. Jack, Vaughn, Annalies, wearing nightgowns and robes and slippers and looking half-asleep. Annalies’ hair was braided, making her look very young.
“It’s on the wardrobe!” Sharla called, hurrying over to the chair.
Then a third clock rang, making everyone spin on their heels.
“The chest of drawers!” Jenny said, pushing through everyone.
“Here,” Vaughn said, reaching up and snatching up the clock on top of the wardrobe. He thrust it at Sharla. “Do turn it off!”
Annalies put her hands over her ears. “Yes, please!”
A fourth clock rang, the sound an imperious command to pay attention.
“Under the bed, I believe,” Cian said.
“I’m not climbing under there,” Natasha said firmly.
Sharla turned the second alarm off, then the third, when Jenny pulled the offending clock from the top drawer and held it out to her. Then she waved at everyone. “Turn around. Nobody watch.”
“We’ve all seen you rolling about the lawn before,” Neil said, sounding amused.
“Not in my nightdress. Go on, turn around,” Sharla insisted. At the back of the small crowd standing in the doorway to her room, she saw Wakefield’s head.
The clock under the bed was vibrating with the effort to make the loud ringing sound, which doubled the effect.
“Everyone turn about, or I will let the clock continue to make that racket.”
Everyone spun about.
Sharla lowered herself to the floor and pushed under the bed. The clock was up against the wall, right beneath where she slept.
Naturally.
She grabbed the trembling thing and felt for the little switch on the bottom. All the clocks were identical. Ben must have bought them at the same time, from the same vendor. Therefore, they looked the same and operated the same way.
She wiggled back out from under the bed and Natasha helped her to her feet. Dust clung to Sharla’s nightdress.
“You’ll have wash your hair,” Natasha observed, plucking a dust ball from her braid.
Sharla tossed the clock on the bed. “Yes,” she said. “I will.”
“Is that the last of them, then?” Vaughn asked, running his fingers through his hair.
“I wouldn’t know,” Sharla replied. “Why don’t you ask Ben?” For Ben was standing with his shoulder against the doorframe, his arms crossed.
“Me?” He touched his chest.
“Is that all of them?” Cian asked.
“Nothing else is ringing,” Ben pointed out.
“I’ll take that as a yes.” Vaughn yawned. “I’m not sure if it’s worth going back to bed now. That was a most thorough awakening.”
“Now my heart has stopped racing, I’m starving,” Annalies said. “Do you think Cook would mind if we raided the pantry and made tea?”
“I’m going back to tell Elisa this was Ben’s fault,” Vaughn said.
Cian picked up the clock Sharla had put on the chest of drawers. “I’ve heard about these newfangled alarm clocks,” he said. “Never seen one before. They are efficient, aren’t they? There’s no arguing with them about just a few more minutes.” He put the clock back carefully, as if it might jangle again if handled incorrectly. He looked at Ben. “You do like to live dangerously, don’t you?”
Cian turned and left, brushing past Ben.
Natasha sighed. “Yes, tea and cake. Nothing that requires preparation, although Annalies keeps boasting she knows how to cook.” She smiled. “Perhaps this is her chance to prove she can.” She patted Sharla’s arm and left. She was the last, except for Ben, still leaning against the door.
Sharla scowled at him. “It was you, wasn’t it?”
“It would be ironic if it wasn’t, wouldn’t it? You owe it to Travers to replace his tablecloth, by the way. Bruges lace and linen.” He straightened up from his lean.
“And how ironic would it be, if I had nothing to do with the brandy glass?” she asked.
“That thing with the glass and the watch was just like you. Only your devious mind could have thought up such a trick. Only you could have executed it, with your coordination.” His eyes shadowed. “Finally, a hint of the real Sharla.”
She swallowed.
Ben looked around the room. “Perhaps it is as well you sleep alone, hmm?”
He shut the door behind him, leaving her standing in the middle of the floor in her nightdress, shivering in the cold of the early morning.
Had he known she slept alone, before he had arranged the ringing clocks? He must have.
Exactly how much did Ben know about her and Wakefield?
* * * * *
The day of the alarm clocks dawned cold and damp, although the sky was clear and shot with red. Ben knew about the dawn light as everyone got to see the sun rise and turn the sea pink through the big paned windows.
When was the last time he had seen the dawn? It had been years, at least.
Everyone yawned and sipped multiple cups of tea, many of the cups laced with something stronger, until the staff rose and began their morning preparations. Not long after that, the children announced their presence with the thud of feet overhead, and the calls of the nannies trying to bring them to order.
Rhys looked up at the ceiling. “When Longfellow spoke of the pitter-patter of tiny feet, he got it completely wrong. It sounds like a barnyard up there.”
“I enjoy the sound,” Raymond said, with a smile, as he tipped more of the contents of his hip flask into Rhys’ teacup.
“I don’t dislike it. However, this early in the morning, I do wish it were a pitter-patter and not a herd of bison on the run.”
“When have you ever heard bison on the run?” Annalies demanded.
“I have read about stampeding herds,” Rhys said. “Daniel wrote about them to Raymond.”
The day drew back to normal. Everyone welcomed Travers’ announcement that breakfast was ready with deep relief.
“Perhaps we should change, first?” Elisa asked, pulling her wrapper around her throat self-consciously. Elisa had always been the most concerned about propriety.
“It’s too late,” Raymond said. “Besides, I’m much too hungry. Cian, you have no objections if we breakfast in our robes?”
“None at all,” Cian replied. “I’m hungry, too. Besides, it smells as though bacon is being served this morning.”
“Wakefield, I hope you have no objections?” Raymond added, looking at Sharla’s husband.
Wakefield was wearing a tartan robe and slippers the same as the other men. He looked amused. “It would be an adventure to dine in one’s pajamas. I happen to like bacon, too.”
“Very well. The vote is locked.”
“By two people?” Annalies demanded, laughing.
“The only two people who count,” Raymond said. “The host and the guest. Let’s eat.”
Sharla appeared a few minutes later. She wore a deep green dress that made the most of her hair, which was darker than usual, for it was still damp from washing. She took the chair next to her husband. Her gaze stayed on her plate.
As soon as breakfast was over, Sharla rose to her feet and announced she would catch the train and visit Falmouth. Most of the women at the table declared they would go with her.
&
nbsp; It left the men alone in the house for most of the day. Ben and Will and Jack borrowed horses and took them for a run over the plains by the coast, heading east and away from Falmouth.
It was good to feel the wind in his hair and to let his mind idle.
When the women returned late in the afternoon, Ben braced himself for whatever retribution Sharla might have planned, yet nothing happened. It was a quiet day, somnolent in mood, for everyone was feeling the effects of the early rising, Ben most of all. Once supper ended, his energy flagged to the point where his head drooped as he slouched in the wing chair. He refused the second glass of port that Travers tried to pour for him and got to his feet, swaying. “If I don’t turn in now, I’ll fall asleep right here on the carpet.” He yawned mightily.
Will shook his head. “You’re growing old, Hedley.”
“All that running around, planting clocks,” Jack added in a murmur.
“It wasn’t me,” Ben said.
Jack and Will both nodded. “Of course not,” Will added.
Ben’s eyes slid closed. He blinked them open. “I am exhausted,” he muttered as he left.
When he passed the sofas and chairs pulled up around the enormous fireplace, where the ladies sat talking with their heads together, he wished them goodnight. Sharla was not among them, he noticed.
The ladies echoed his goodnight. As he climbed the stairs, yawning again, he wondered if it was just in his imagination that the women had stared at him sharply.
He was too tired to bother with a nightshirt. It was nearly too much effort to take off his clothes at all. He slid between the cool sheets and settled his head as sleep took him.
* * * * *
“Ben! Ben! Wake up, lazybones!”
Ben stirred as thudding reverberated in his head. Someone was pounding on his door. He blinked, trying to pull his thoughts together. His head felt much as it did the morning after a successful fight, and the long hours of drinking that came after it.
He swallowed, his parched throat clicking. “Coming!” he croaked.
The curtains were drawn, letting in the smallest chink of sunlight.
“Ben! For heaven’s sake!” It was Will’s voice on the other side of the door.
“I said I was coming!” Ben called, this time managing a louder shout.
“The door is locked, Ben. What’s going on? It’s way past breakfast.” The thudding started on the door again. “Let me in!”
It was dark in the room, with the heavy curtains drawn as they were. Ben threw back the covers and looked at his nakedness, remembering the last foggy moments of the previous evening. He looked around. His clothes were hanging on the hook on the back of the door.
He frowned. That wasn’t where he had left them.
With a curse, he stepped out of bed.
His foot landed on something that stirred. There was a soft, heavy snick and pain flared across the ends of his toes.
Ben fell back on the bed. “Hell and damnation!” he cried, lifting his foot.
There was a rat trap hanging from his toes. The wire had snapped across them.
With more cursing, he released the spring and dropped the trap to the floor. His toes throbbed.
The trap landed with a thud. Immediately, there were many more of the low, heavy snapping sounds.
Ben frowned as he peered in the semi-dark.
Set rat traps covered the entire floor. Their pale rectangular shapes lined up with the precision of soldiers. Not a single inch of clear floor space showed anywhere.
Will thumped the door three more times. “Hedley, for pity’s sake! Open the damn door, will you?”
“I can’t!” Ben yelled back.
“Why not?”
Ben ground his teeth. There was no help for it. He had to confess. “Because the entire floor is set with traps!”
Silence.
“What was that?” Will asked.
“You heard me!” Ben yelled, rubbing his toes. They were aching like mad now.
“Traps?”
From the sound of Will’s voice, Ben knew he was laughing.
“You must cross the floor and unlock the door. No one can help you until you do,” Will pointed out.
A murmur slipped through the door. Whispers.
“Who else is out there?” Ben demanded.
Will hesitated. “Jack,” he said at last.
“Wonderful,” Ben muttered. He glared at his clothes. There was no reaching them, either, until he navigated the floor. Somehow. “I will have her guts for garters,” he muttered.
He pulled his feet up onto the sheet and stood on the mattress, then walked to the end of the bed. That put him several feet closer to the door, yet a yawning three yards lay between him and the door.
The eiderdown shifted beneath his feet, the feathers slipping. Ben stared at it and smiled. He stepped off the heavy eiderdown and hauled it up, then tossed it with as much precision as he could onto the floor.
Beneath the thick quilt, dozens of traps snapped and cracked and jumped. Three feet remained between the quilt and the door. Ben tucked the pillows under his arms. He climbed over the end of the bed and gingerly stepped onto the eiderdown. He could feel the hard shape of traps through the feathers and silk layers. Nothing moved.
“Ha!” he cried and took a step.
The trap beneath his toes jumped, lifting the quilt. He leapt sideways, his heart jumping even higher. He thrust his foot out for balance. Instantly, three or more traps sprang, trying to grip his toes and heels through the quilt. The padding saved him.
His heart running far too fast for such a simple thing as walking across five feet of floor, Ben took another step. More traps sprang, trying to snap at his toes.
“Are you coming?” Will asked. “I can hear the traps now. They’re making little thudding sounds.”
Ben sighed. “Nearly there!”
He took another step. This time, the trap jammed his toes between a fold of quilt. The pressure was immense. It was the same foot as has been caught the first time and his toes pulsed in pain. He yanked his foot out of the trap, which made them hurt even more. There was no more quilt left, just three feet of floor laid with more waiting rat traps.
He tossed the pillow to land where he wanted to step, but failed to anticipate the strength of the springs on the traps. The leaping, jumping traps tossed the pillow to one side. When it landed, more of the traps erupted. The clicking, snapping sound made Ben grit his teeth, as the pillow bounced from trap to trap, until it smothered enough of them to grow still.
Will tapped on the door.
“Shut up!” Ben yelled.
“Very well,” Will replied.
Ben tossed his last pillow. This time, as the traps had already been sprung, the pillow fell and remained still.
As he stretched his leg out to step on it, a lingering trap snapped shut, startling him. He swung his arms wildly as his balance shifted. It would have been simple enough to put his foot down, except waiting traps filled the space between the end of the quilt and the pillow.
He straightened up as his balance returned, both feet on the quilt, his heart racing like a steam train at full speed.
Then, with more care, he stepped out onto the pillow. He brought his other foot over and balanced on the slippery thing, for the feathers moved under his weight, threatening to spill him.
He pulled his trousers off the hook. Now came the difficult part. Moving with infinite care, he thrust one foot, then the other, into the legs and worked the trousers up his legs, his balance swinging erratically as the pillow shifted.
Then the undershirt. That was easier, for he could keep both feet on the ground as he pulled it on.
He shoved the ends into his trousers and fastened them. His heart was still roaring along and his toes throbbed in time to its beat.
The key was sitting on the floor in front of the door, pushed up against a trap. She must have locked the door, then slid the key beneath.
He leaned forward until his
hand rested against the wall next to the door jamb. Then he inched his hand down the wall, until he could reach and pick up the key with the other hand. As he lifted the heavy iron key, the trap stirred and snapped shut and he nearly dropped it.
Ben was perspiring, his temple beading with it, now he was close to ending this torture. He worked his hand back up the wall until he could reach the lock. He slid the key in and turned it, then pushed himself back upright. “It’s open!” he called.
The handle turned. The door swung open.
Will stood in the doorway. Behind him, people filled the passage. Jack, Jasper and Lilly, Iefan, Elisa and Vaughn. Natasha and Raymond. The twins. Cian, too, standing at the back and looking extra tall. Annalies had her head against Rhys’ shoulder. Her face was red, her eyes watering. As Ben spotted her, she laughed. She laughed again, Ben realized. She had been muffling her laughter against Rhys’ chest.
Annalies’ giggle acted as a signal. Everyone laughed. The twins clapped.
Ben stood on the pillow, helpless. He could not move without setting off more of the traps. He would not take the big stride forward to move out of the room, either, for that would put him right among them.
Instead, he bowed.
The applause increased.
Will laughed. He leaned forward and gripped Ben’s elbow. “Out you come,” he declared and pulled.
Ben leapt over the last few feet, into the passage. It was a relief to not have to worry where his feet landed.
Everyone pushed in around him and behind him, eager to peer into the bedroom and see the traps for themselves.
Rhys pulled Ben to one side, while Annalies bent to peer at his toes. “This ends here,” Rhys said. “Enough is enough.”
Ben ruffled his hair. “She put something in my port last night, to make me sleep through it.” His indignation was building. The sheer audacity of the woman was endless! She must have been planning the venture at breakfast yesterday, for afterwards she had announced she was going to Falmouth. That was where she acquired her supplies. Did that mean the women were in on it?
“I believe it was a simple herbal concoction. Nothing harmful,” Annalies said, straightening. She was still smiling.
Marriage of Lies Page 5
