fleeting figure. Dr. Taylor. Not surprising. He made no secret of sleeping above stairs. Then why was she so frightened?
Charlotte stood there, heart pounding, trying to quiet her breathing as the candlelight and footsteps faded and she was alone again. But for how long? Did she have time to sneak back to her room before he returned from whatever errand or mission took him from his room this late at night? She wasn’t sure she wanted to return to her room without knowing who was screaming yet neither was she certain she wanted to know. Did she have the courage to ascend those black stairs alone? Retrieving her candle, she stepped into the corridor and listened once more. Silence. Surprising herself, she took a deep breath, reopened the stairway door, and closed it behind her, allowing it to swallow her whole.
She paused at the top of the stairs, listening. She heard-what was it? Sobbing? Yes, a woman was sobbing now. The same woman who had been screaming? Or another? How many people were up here? And why? Charlotte slowly pushed the door open and held forth her candle to illumine the upper floor. She saw door after door on either side of a long, dim passageway. Midway down its length, one door on the left gaped open, faint light leaking out to blend with the glow of an oil lamp on a small table on the opposite side of the corridor. She could hear the crying more clearly now, but still could distinguish no words.
She had taken two steps down the passageway when she heard the door open and close below. She gasped. Caught. Blowing out her candle, she looked wildly about her, but where could she go? She tried the handle of the door closest her. Locked. She had no time to check every door, and something told her they would all be locked as well. Grateful for stockinged feet, she hurried down the corridor as quickly as her additional girth would allow. Knowing nothing else to do, she bustled through the open doorway and stepped behind the door.
What was she doing? She had stepped into the one lit room, like a moth to a flame. And now she was trapped. Dr. Taylor would come in and find her there in but a few seconds. What would she say? What could she say? Foolish girl! She should have stayed in the corridor and simply said she’d heard a scream and came to see if help was needed. She’d done nothing wrong … until now. She stole a quick look about the room. Rumpled bedclothes, a coat tossed over a chair. On the chest a leather case, a bulky medical bag, a hat, gloves. A Bible. A miniature portrait of a woman in wedding clothes. She couldn’t see it well from this vantage, but she knew it must be Dr. Taylor’s wife. Good heavens! What if Mrs. Taylor had been lying there in bed, gaping at this stranger who barged right in and hid behind her door? Then there would be screaming indeed! Relieved, she remembered that Dr. Taylor had mentioned he and his wife had a townhouse some distance away, which they shared with his father.
The footsteps in the corridor were coming closer. Then they paused right outside the door. Did he sense her presence? Had he heard her? She would just step out and tell him the truth. Forgive me, Dr. Taylor, you gave me a fright. I heard a scream and … She heard the jiggle of a door handle, a key in a lock. She stepped out. Dr. Taylor was unlocking the door across the way. His back to her, he opened it a crack, hesitating, apparently listening. He retrieved an apothecary bottle from his coat pocket and checked the label by light of the table lamp, before tucking the bottle back into his pocket. Then he took hold of the lamp itself. With his free hand, he pushed the door open just enough to allow himself in. In that flash of moment, before the door shut behind him, Charlotte saw a figure fly at Dr. Taylor. Charlotte put her hand over her mouth, stifling a gasp, and stepped into the corridor.
She heard a thud, then a voice-a woman’s voice, but strangecrying out a string of syllables.
Charlotte stood there, heart pounding, trying to quiet her breathing as the candlelight and footsteps faded and she was alone again. But for how long? Did she have time to sneak back to her room before he returned from whatever errand or mission took him from his room this late at night? She wasn’t sure she wanted to return to her room without knowing who was screaming yet neither was she certain she wanted to know. Did she have the courage to ascend those black stairs alone? Retrieving her candle, she stepped into the corridor and listened once more. Silence. Surprising herself, she took a deep breath, reopened the stairway door, and closed it behind her, allowing it to swallow her whole.
She paused at the top of the stairs, listening. She heard-what was it? Sobbing? Yes, a woman was sobbing now. The same woman who had been screaming? Or another? How many people were up here? And why? Charlotte slowly pushed the door open and held forth her candle to illumine the upper floor. She saw door after door on either side of a long, dim passageway. Midway down its length, one door on the left gaped open, faint light leaking out to blend with the glow of an oil lamp on a small table on the opposite side of the corridor. She could hear the crying more clearly now, but still could distinguish no words.
She had taken two steps down the passageway when she heard the door open and close below. She gasped. Caught. Blowing out her candle, she looked wildly about her, but where could she go? She tried the handle of the door closest her. Locked. She had no time to check every door, and something told her they would all be locked as well. Grateful for stockinged feet, she hurried down the corridor as quickly as her additional girth would allow. Knowing nothing else to do, she bustled through the open doorway and stepped behind the door.
What was she doing? She had stepped into the one lit room, like a moth to a flame. And now she was trapped. Dr. Taylor would come in and find her there in but a few seconds. What would she say? What could she say? Foolish girl! She should have stayed in the corridor and simply said she’d heard a scream and came to see if help was needed. She’d done nothing wrong … until now. She stole a quick look about the room. Rumpled bedclothes, a coat tossed over a chair. On the chest a leather case, a bulky medical bag, a hat, gloves. A Bible. A miniature portrait of a woman in wedding clothes. She couldn’t see it well from this vantage, but she knew it must be Dr. Taylor’s wife. Good heavens! What if Mrs. Taylor had been lying there in bed, gaping at this stranger who barged right in and hid behind her door? Then there would be screaming indeed! Relieved, she remembered that Dr. Taylor had mentioned he and his wife had a townhouse some distance away, which they shared with his father.
The footsteps in the corridor were coming closer. Then they paused right outside the door. Did he sense her presence? Had he heard her? She would just step out and tell him the truth. Forgive me, Dr. Taylor, you gave me a fright. I heard a scream and … She heard the jiggle of a door handle, a key in a lock. She stepped out. Dr. Taylor was unlocking the door across the way. His back to her, he opened it a crack, hesitating, apparently listening. He retrieved an apothecary bottle from his coat pocket and checked the label by light of the table lamp, before tucking the bottle back into his pocket. Then he took hold of the lamp itself. With his free hand, he pushed the door open just enough to allow himself in. In that flash of moment, before the door shut behind him, Charlotte saw a figure fly at Dr. Taylor. Charlotte put her hand over her mouth, stifling a gasp, and stepped into the corridor.
She heard a thud, then a voice-a woman’s voice, but strangecrying out a string of syllables.
Similar Books
