My Lady Ghost

by June Calvin

  Lips compressed, Allison untied the skirt, letting it sink to her ankles. Her petticoat was both long and full, but she still felt terribly exposed.

  “Good. Now throw it to him. Thorne, I am sure you can fashion a commodious carpetbag of that.”

  Thorne had never been so furious in his life, but though the veins stood out in his head from his desire to attack Newcomb, he controlled himself for Allison’s sake. He did as instructed and loaded as much of the booty as he could into the bag he had made of her skirt. It will actually serve better than my pouch, he thought. When he had finished filling the makeshift bag, he walked slowly toward Newcomb. He stopped about two feet away, holding the bag chest high.

  “Stop dawdling, Thorne. Bring it over here.”

  “Come and get it, Newcomb.”

  “Now, none of that. Give it to me, or I fire.” Newcomb waved his gun menacingly in Allison’s direction.

  “Don’t you think it would be generous to leave a little for the true heirs?”

  Thorne could see from the comer of his eye that Allison had made more progress toward the back of the cave. Either she had grasped his plan, or she had one of her own. Good girl! Up to every rig and row!

  Newcomb’s eyes shifted to Thorne. His gun shifted slightly.

  too, as Thorne counted on it to do. “I would have shared. Offered James a percentage. Didn't know you two would try to steal a march on him. Now hand it over!”

  “Oh, very well, then.” Thorne pushed his arms out with all the force he could muster, hurling the heavy bag fashioned from Allison’s skirt directly at Newcomb’s head. Instantly, he whirled and started for Allison. Newcomb’s pistol rang out. Oh, God, please let that shot go astray, he prayed silently, even as he hurtled across the room. The bullet struck the ceiling and ricocheted wildly.

  Before Newcomb could fight free of the skirt, Thorne scooped Allison up and deposited her at the back of the cave. She needed no urging to crawl into the nearest alcove. Thorne started back, intending to push over a column, but there was no need. His heavy footfalls, or the bullet, or both, had already started the process. The column nearest the door went down, tumbling rocks between them and Newcomb as he fired his second shot.

  “Thorne!” Allison screamed. Heart in her throat, she watched him retreat before the falling rocks. Had Newcomb’s shot hit him? At least he was still on his feet. “In here! Quickly!”

  The second column went down. A boulder caught Thorne a glancing blow on the shoulder as he dove for the relative safety of the edge of the room. Allison started for him as the third column, the one nearest them, began to topple. He struggled into a half crouch and flung himself toward her as the roar of the falling ceiling reached a crescendo.

  She pressed herself back against the wall of the alcove and pulled with all her might, urging as much of Thorne’s big body into shelter as possible while the world seemed to turn to dust and stone and destruction around them.

  The lantern went out. In the blackness they began to cough and choke on the dust. Without ceremony Thorne reached down and pulled her petticoat up. He pressed the fabric against her face, then caught up a handful of it to hold across his nose.

  It seemed like forever before the ceiling ceased disintegrating and the last of the rubble settled. When it did, a faint illumination from Newcomb's lantern showed through cracks in the mass of boulders. They could barely hear his vexed exclamation. “They survived, damn it. I can hear them coughing.” They couldn’t make out the rest of the hurried conversation between the two men, but heard unmistakable sounds of stone being moved.

  “Not, I think, a rescue attempt,” Thorne muttered in Allison's ear. Allison shuddered against Thorne. “Wh-what do you think they are doing?”

  “If he can clear enough of that mess away, he’ll try to shoot us. Let’s make it a little harder for him to find us.” He took her hand firmly in his and helped her out of the alcove. They felt their way along the wall for several feet, until they came to a large pile of boulders. As soon as they had crouched down in this new position, both of them covered their noses and mouths with the petticoat, for the dust in the room nearly choked them.

  “Were you hit?” Allison whispered. “Oh, Thorne, you risked your life to save me.”

  “Now how could I live in this world with you not in it?” Thorne’s voice was low and tender. He pressed a kiss on her cheek through the folds of her petticoat. The honest truth was that he did not know whether his shoulder hurt so much because of a shot or a falling boulder. He touched it tentatively.

  ‘Too many. Too heavy. Can’t budge ’em,” they heard Paddy growl. “Let’s get out of here.”

  Newcomb’s reply was muffled, but the sounds of stone on stone continued. It was a few moments before Allison realized, to her horror, that their purpose had changed.

  She moaned. “They’re walling us in.”

  She felt Thorne’s head bob assent. “Shutting the door to the tunnel. I expected that.”

  “Thorne!” Newcomb’s shout turned both their heads toward the entrance to the vault. “We’re closing the door now. It makes a nice, smooth seal, or will once we’ve done a little cleaning up. Without your Silver Lady to guide them, no one will ever find you. I hope you take a nice long time to die. And Allison. I expect by now you are regretting your choice of lovers, but it is no use. I can’t rescue you now. Not that I think I would. You’re more of a Long Meg than is quite to my taste.” Newcomb laughed nastily, and his henchman echoed the sound. Then there was a scrape and a thud, announcing the replacement of the door.

  Allison’s worst nightmare had become reality. They were trapped in a place where all traces of light had disappeared. “Oh,

  Thorne. It’s so dark. I don’t think I can stand it.” Her voice rose in panic.

  He put a comforting arm around her shoulders. “We have the lantern and the candles, remember? I'll light them when that pair of villains have gone and the dust has settled a little bit. In the meantime, love, close your eyes and pretend we are embracing at midnight.”

  She turned into his arms, letting the petticoat drop. But before she could press her lips against his, a violent cough overtook her.

  Thorne pressed the petticoat back against her mouth. “I am afraid romance will have to take a backseat to survival, sweetheart. Let me tear that flounce off and we’ll prepare masks to wear around our noses and mouths.”

  Pulling the petticoat high again, he began tugging on it, to no effect. “Stronger than steel,” he muttered. “Good job I still have my knife.” She felt him tugging at the cloth, and then a loud tear.

  Allison doubled over with another coughing fit. None too soon, he lapped a double layer of cotton cloth over her mouth and nose, and deftly tied it at the back of her head, just above her much abused topknot. Another ripping sound told her that he was preparing a similar mask for himself.

  “I am going to be a walking scandal when we get out of here,” she gasped, feeling to see how much of her petticoat was left. “Perhaps you’d best not light those candles after all.”

  He chuckled. “All the more incentive for me to do so. Stay right here. Don't move.”

  She clutched at him, suddenly terrified. “What if a hole has opened up in the floor? Please stay with me.”

  Thorne considered that idea. “A reasonable fear, but it seems to me I recall that the floor looked solid all around the edge. If it is not... that damned ghost! Still think she is benign?”

  Allison felt tears well up. “I’m not sure now. Oh, it’s my fault you are here! I’ve led you to your death.”

  “Now, where has my brave girl gone? The one who joked about her scandalous petticoat?” Thorne rubbed her back soothingly for a few moments, then started to move away in search of the lantern. Allison began to shudder all over. She couldn’t help herself; chills ran through her frame so that her teeth chattered. Thorne swore a soft oath. “Which do you need worse, Allie? Comfort or light?”

  For answer, she clung to him. “Stay a fe
w moments. I shall come about.”

  He folded her closer against him, and they stretched out along the edge of the room, Allison’s back to the wall that held the alcoves. She moaned, “This is all my fault.”

  “Oh. dear God, Allie. I don’t blame you, nor will I let you blame yourself. I chose to break my oath never to permit another search for the treasure.” In a lower voice he muttered, “I have been very backward in obeying oaths recently. I truly am my father’s son.” Diverted from her troubles, Allison asked what he meant.

  “The most solemn oath I ever took was on my father’s grave. I’ve renewed it several times in the last months, but it seems every time I come within five miles of you, I break it.”

  “What... what oath was that?”

  “I swore never to love a woman as much as my father loved Lydia Keisley.”

  Intent as she was on his words, Allison's chills subsided. Again he says he loves me, was her first delighted thought. But then she realized that his words hardly bespoke a man happily in love. “What do you mean? I don’t understand.”

  “He loved her so much he let her lead him around by the nose. Don’t you remember? Her dislike of your father caused him to break off a lifelong friendship. It was she who convinced him to search for the treasure in a place he knew was unstable.”

  “A treasure that neither of you needed.” Allison felt sick at the thought that she had done the same to Thorne. She began to weep. “How terribly guilty she must have felt.”

  Thorne pressed her head harder against his chest. Silence reigned, interrupted only by the occasional plop of a rock just then breaking away from the ceiling. At last he said, “Yes, I expect that is why she drank herself into a stupor every day. Though she was prone to like spirits altogether too much long before then. As a child I wished he would take her in hand, for her drinking often led to embarrassing incidents or to vicious attacks on him or me. But he couldn’t, of course. He loved her too much to be severe with her.”

  “You saw his behavior as that of a man weakened by love.”

  “Do you have another name for it?”

  “Weakness, certainly. But I dispute that it is love that prevented him. It isn’t loving to let someone do that which is harmful, to himself or others. You love Jamie and me, I think.”

  “Not in exactly the same way.” She heard a half-suppressed chuckle rumble in his chest.

  “So you always tried your best to prevent us from doing what was likely to be harmful to us. You insisted I leave Bristol and return here. In Jamie’s case—”

  “Not as successful there, was I?”

  “No, though you tried. I almost think you would have succeeded better if you had tried less. He always fought you because it seemed as if you were treating him like a child. Men don’t appreciate that.”

  “No.” Regret laced Thorne’s voice. “I wouldn’t, in his place. I should have asked you for advice.”

  “Mercy, I don’t know what to do. It is easier to see what not to

  do.”

  “True. It is easy to see that I should not marry a woman I adore every bit as much as my father adored Lydia, but I find I cannot help myself. When we are out of here, Allison, I intend to make

  you my wife.”

  “Not the most gratifying proposal a woman has ever received,” Allison muttered, pushing her hands against his chest. He only held her the closer, chuckling in her ear.

  “Sorry, sweeting. I should be horsewhipped for my lack of tact. After I am horsewhipped for bringing you down here! I’ll make you a more romantic proposal later.”

  “What about your need for an heir?” Allison held her breath. That seemed to her to be a much greater impediment to their marriage than his silly fear of marrying for love. Vanity whispered insinuatingly in her ear that he could not possibly love her too much. Self-interest told her that there was little resemblance between her and Lydia, not to speak of how different he was from his father.

  Thorne fought down a wave of revulsion at the thought of James succeeding him. He knew he should say it wasn’t important, but he could not. The best he could manage was, “It is a matter for concern, but not the main reason.”

  “My poor unhappy love.” She stroked his head comfortingly. “You grieved so much for your father. I know you adored him. It must have been sadly disillusioning to see that he had feet of clay. I know how you feel. It is still hard for me to believe that my father squandered all of his fortune and left mother destitute, for I always thought he was the best of fathers.”

  “You don’t know how often I have struggled against my anger and resentment of both your father and husband for leaving you so badly situated. Catherton thought of no one but himself after your brother died. And Charles was without the least ability to manage money.”

  Memory made Allison sigh. “Ah, what did such mundane things matter to me? He was so handsome in his officer’s uniform.” She smiled against Thorne’s chest as she remembered her first season. How her heart would beat when she saw the handsome officer coming toward her!

  A rattle of falling rocks recalled her to their terrible situation. A sob escaped her lips. “I know now how Lydia must have felt. Here you are, shut up in this terrible place, just because I wanted so much to have the treasure. I wanted to escape the humiliation of being your pensioner. And then, Jamie needed it so. Besides, I hoped ... I hoped that Jamie would marry, and then you could wed me. Oh, I am unbelievably selfish.”

  “No, Allie. No, my little love.” Thorne held her even closer, pressing kisses against her temple through his petticoat-mask. “Damn these things!” Abruptly, Thorne pulled down Allison’s mask and then his own to kiss her urgently. She melted against him, answering passion with passion.

  “I love you so much,” she gasped when they had to break apart for air. “We may die here. I cannot die without expressing my love to the fullest. Make me yours, Thorne. Now!”

  Chapter Seventeen

  Thorne drew in a sharp breath. Here in this dark, dust-filled tomb he was being offered heaven. Every fiber of his body wanted to reach for the love she offered, to take it with both hands. But how could he take what she offered out of terror?

  He groaned. “Oh, darling girl! If only I could! But I won’t take advantage of your feair that way. Instead, I must see what I can do about getting us out of here.”

  As if to underscore the urgency, Allison fell into another paroxysm of coughing.

  Thorne sat up. “Cover your mouth and nose again, Allison, while I try to find the lantern.” He slid past her and began feeling his way back to the alcove where he had put the lantern and tinderbox.

  “Thorne, please!” Allison protested. “The floor may have collapsed. At any moment you may fall into a chasm.”

  “As far as I can stretch my legs, I feel solid rock.” He moved away from her. “What the devil...”

  “What is it ?” Terror made Allison’s voice shake.

  “The alcove where I left the lantern seems to have filled up with rubble, even though the ceiling debris doesn’t come back this far.”

  “What does that mean?”

  “I’m not sure. Reach up and find the alcove behind you. Is it still clear?”

  Cautiously, Allison first tested the floor in front of her. Solid rock. Gathering her courage, she got to her knees, then crawled carefully along, pressing her body against the wall, while she felt above her for an alcove.

  “Here’s one. No, it is clear of debris.”

  “Of all the rotten luck.”

  “The lantern?” Allison tried to keep her voice from quavering.

  “Buried, along with the candles and my flint box. I’m going to try to pull this debris out of here.”

  “I’ll help.” Perhaps activity would keep her mind from descending into the dark, mad place it seemed to be hurtling into in the midnight of the dusty vault. She made her way to him and felt around for a rock of a size she could lift. For a few moments they worked in silence. Suddenly, more rocks began fallin
g out of the alcove from somewhere above them.

  “Look out!” Thorne jerked Allison to one side and helped her out of the onrushing danger.

  “The rest of the ceiling must be collapsing,” Allison gasped.

  “So it appears. I want you to slip up into one of these alcoves, out of harm’s way.”

  “Only if you will be beside me.”

  He knew he should say no. He knew where such tight quarters could lead them. But he was not immune to the appeal in her voice. She was being very brave, but she was terrified, as how should she not be? So was he.

  “Very well, my temptress.” Thorne helped her into the alcove, then slid in beside her. By working his left arm under and around Allison and pressing their bodies as close as could be, he could just barely keep himself from slipping back out of the alcove.

  They lay together, hearts beating as one, while they listened for falling rocks. But very quickly the rock slide was over and silence reigned again.

  Cautiously, Thorne eased himself out of the alcove and helped Allison out after him. “That seems to be the end of it for now. We had best sit quietly and await rescue, rather than risk making things worse.” He put his arm around her.

  “Do you really think they can find us?” Allison asked.

  “Yes. Newcomb and Paddy won’t be able to close that door as smoothly as it had been closed back when the treasure was placed in here.” Thorne was not entirely sure this was true, but he wanted to reassure Allison as much as possible. “I doubt if they can remove all traces of recent activity in that part of the tunnel, either. There will be dust tracks, scrapes along the wall, and so forth.”