She sagged against his chest. Nodded.
He knew better than to trust that nod, but what choice did he have? He lifted his hand from her lips.
Her mouth opened. But before she could speak whatever ill-advised argument she’d been about to make, her teeth clicked shut. She’d heard it, too.
Footsteps. Coming their way. There was nowhere to hide.
“When I let go,” he whispered, gripping her by the shoulders, “I want you to run back to your room as fast as you can. Lock your door. And stay there until morning.”
“W-what are you going to do?” she whispered back, eyes wide with terror.
He grimaced. “Provide a distraction.”
If anything, her eyes got wider. “Do you think that’s a good idea?”
No, no, he didn’t. But if he slipped away while he could and let them catch her spying, she’d undoubtedly learn one hell of a lesson. Evan let go of her arms and pushed her toward the open gate. He couldn’t put her in danger.
“Go.Now.”
“They’ll kill you,” she whispered in horror.
Evan shouldered the shovel. “I won’t let them hurt you, too.”
With a distressed little cry, she ran.
Chapter 25
The inexorable rising of the sun didn’t calm the anxiety itching beneath Susan’s skin. She sat at her escritoire, scratching a fingernail against the scarred wood. Was Mr. Bothwick all right? He had protected her. Kept her from being discovered. Should she have stayed with him?
Although dressed, coiffed, and breakfasted, she couldn’t quite work up the nerve to exit her bedchamber to find out. Particularly if this time she reallywouldrun into Mr. Bothwick’s ghost. She shivered.
Had the still-living Mr. Bothwick been hurt? Had he been caught? Had he—Susan’s spine snapped up straight—had he been in league with whoever belonged to those footsteps, and simply took advantage of an opportunity to send a frightened young lady back up to her room? She frowned. What had he been doing there, anyway?
Her forehead thunked forward onto the hard surface of the escritoire. Of course.
She was so slow sometimes. Hadn’t she just decided (all right, re-decided) that he wasn’t to be trusted? Just because he’d savedherlife didn’t mean he hadn’t taken someone else’s.
Hadn’t she just wondered if he were not in fact responsible for his dead brother’s... deadness? Mr. Bothwick had just happened to show up in the rock garden, alone, in the middle of the night, directly following her mention of a third grave. Which meant—whether he was in collusion with the others or not—he had definitely not been colluding withher.
Next weekend could not come soon enough. She had to get out of this town while she still could.
Susan snatched a sheet of parchment from a yellowed pile and dipped a pen in a clotted inkwell. Although they still hadn’t deigned to reply to her previous missive, her first letter was going straight to her parents.
Dear Mother,
I am desperately unhappy and wholeheartedly repent for all my sins. Please let me come home. I promise to behave.
Yours etc,
Susan
P.S. If you won’t send a carriage, do send money.
P.P.S. Actually... please send both.
Her second letter... Susan stopped to think. Who else could she send a letter to? Despite her parents forbidding her from doing so, she longed to write to Evangeline. Right now, Susan could certainly use a friend.
But her focus was no longer on her personal loneliness, but rather rescuing the cousin trapped in the cellar. She needed someone with the power to help. But none of hertonacquaintances were still speaking to her, and her parents would be furious to know Susan had—Oh! Wait!
