CHAPTER THIRTY ONE
Close Encounters
Agnes Wentworth stood trembling near the barred open door of a solitary confinement cell. She had been afraid of the dark since her childhood, and her fear at this moment was compounded by the fact that she was alone in an unfamiliar environment. With trepidation she peered inside the chamber. Clutching her hat and parasol with white knuckles, she spoke.
‘Jack? Where are you?’ She was met with no response, but that of the moaning wind outside. She shivered and stepped back silently over the stone floor. ‘Jack?’ she said again in a tremulous voice. ‘I know you’re in here. I can hear you breathing!’ Again, there was no reply. Not knowing what else to do, she slipped fearfully into the cell. The suffocating blackness soon enveloped her. ‘Jack?’ she resumed, trying in vain to explore the small, musty confines of the space. ‘Are you in here?’
Suddenly, the door slammed shut behind her, and before she had a chance to scream or move, she felt a strong arm encircling her waist, and a hungry mouth pressing up against hers. In another second, she felt herself being thrust up against the wall. In the ensuing tussle with her invisible attacker, she dropped her parasol, and in another moment, her hair clip broke, causing steady streams of her hair to cascade over her shoulders and back. She tried to cry out, but it was stifled by her assailant’s mouth. The onslaught was tantalisingly brief, and by the time the man backed away from her, her lips were burning from the kiss, and her heart was violently aflutter.
‘Michael,’ she finally managed to gasp, ‘what was that for?’
‘That, Agnes Wentworth,’ replied a husky voice, ‘was for stabbing me in the foot with your parasol.’ And with that defiant announcement, George Brearly ripped open the door, and departed as silently as he had entered it.
In the oppressive murkiness of the cell, Agnes stood rigid in disbelief. She felt faint, and leaning back onto the wall for support, fought for composure. She failed miserably, and heard a whimper emanate from her lips. Agnes soon discerned the echoing steps of approaching feet, but in her state of confusion and comfortable numbness, she could do nothing but listen to her own pounding heart. She stared out into the black nothingness before her. It was only the sound of her fiancé’s voice, a short time later that woke her from her state of paralysis. She hurriedly moved away from the wall, and while she fumbled on the stone floor for her parasol, the heavy door was thrown open, and Michael appeared in the doorway.
‘Agnes?’ he asked, peering ineffectually into the pitch-black chamber. ‘Are you in here?’
For a moment Agnes said nothing. It was only when he repeated the question that she finally answered him. ‘Yes, Michael, I’m in here.’
‘What for?’ he asked, tentatively stepping inside the room.
‘I, I was curious,’ she stammered, moving towards him. ‘It’s quite fascinating in here.’
‘Fascinating? How can you tell? It’s like a rat-hole. I can’t see a thing. ’
Agnes faltered. ‘Ah, yes, well it is a bit difficult.’ She frantically tried to rearrange her dishevelled hair.
‘That’s the under-statement of the year. Where are you? I can’t even see you.’
‘It’s all right, Michael. I’m coming out now.’
They soon met in the corridor, and it didn’t take Michael long to notice Agnes’s ruffled clothing and disordered hair. ‘God in heaven!’ he exclaimed. ‘What happened to you?’
‘There’s no need to be so dramatic, Michael. I, I was looking for Jack, but I stumbled into the wall. I’m all right, but I broke my hair clip.’
‘Well that’s not important. Just so long as you’re not hurt.’
‘No, I’m not hurt, but has Jack been found? Is he all right?’
‘Yes, he’s fine. He’s with Charlotte. No, it’s not him I’m worried about. It’s George. I don’t know where he is. I saw him a few minutes ago looking rather agitated, but when I called out to him, he ignored me and stormed off. I daresay he’s gone outside. You haven’t seen him have you?’
‘No,’ Agnes replied rather too quickly. ‘What makes you ask that?’
‘Oh, no reason,’ he said, watching Louisa and Thomas approach. ‘I just…’
‘And this,’ interrupted Thomas, pointing to the door that Agnes had just closed, ‘this, the owner has just told me, is the door to the solitary confinement cell. This room was used for prisoners who were particularly obstreperous or non co-operative. Depending on the severity of their offence, a prisoner could be imprisoned for…’
‘Oh wonderful,’ Michael muttered, ‘this is all I need.’
‘And Michael, Agnes,’ said Thomas, turning to them unexpectedly, ‘you might be interested to learn that this building down here,’ he continued, walking ahead of them into the main hall, ‘is the old convict chapel.’ Michael and Agnes quickened their pace, and grudgingly followed him. They accompanied him up some wooden steps, and eventually arrived at an open door. ‘As I understand it,’ Thomas carried on with the same pomposity, ‘the owner has recently dismantled this chapel, and is planning to convert it into his own private ball room.’
‘Oh, how exceedingly singular!’ Louisa declared. ‘It is enough to make one shudder!’
‘Yes, and how comforting it is to know that our money is going to such a worthy cause,’ Michael said sarcastically to Agnes. ‘Don’t you think so?’
But Agnes didn’t answer. Her mind was engaged in more serious matters than that of ballrooms or money ill-spent. Her vacant eyes were fixed on the altar, but her mind was feverishly recalling every detail of George’s passionate kiss. Her cheeks reddened and she turned away from Michael.
‘Forgive me, dear God,’ she whispered, and without another word, she hurried down the stairs and out of sight.
Breakfast at Midnight Page 31
