The Haunting of Maddy Clare by Simone St. James Page B

skin gingerly through my sleeves, my arms crossed over my chest. The rubbing only made them feel worse.
    Somewhere in the madness, Mrs. Clare had disappeared. I vaguely wondered when she had left.
    My things were moved; the inn had only six rooms, so I had been moved down the hall, closer to the washroom, while the latch to my original room was repaired. Alistair steered me down the hall. “Are you certain you’re quite all right? You’ve had a few shocks today. Should I send for a doctor? Some food? Tea?”
    “There’s only one thing she needs,” said a familiar voice from behind me. “A ticket out of Waringstoke.”
    I turned. Matthew had put his cap on, and was leaning against the wall, his hands in his pockets. “I’ll be fine, thank you.”
    “I don’t think you will.” Matthew’s face was inscrutable, but his voice was cocky, and I suddenly sensed he was mocking me. “Or did you not notice what just happened here?”
    I took a step forward in a genuine spurt of anger. “You’d like that, wouldn’t you? If I left? Then you’d be free of me.”
    “Now, now,” said Alistair.
    Matthew’s face darkened. He ignored Alistair and spoke straight to me. “It isn’t that I would like it. It’s only that this doesn’t seem like a good situation for a woman, and it gets worse by the minute.”
    Outrage made my face hot. “And that’s your objective opinion, is it? That I should step aside and get out of your way? I already know you want me to go. You needn’t bother to deny it.”
    “That’s ridiculous.” He was flushed now. “You’re in danger, that’s all. Something you seem too stubborn to figure out. If Alistair had any sense, he’d send you straight to London on the next train.”
    “
Send
me!”
    “Hey—both of you.” Alistair raised his voice. “What’s gotten into you?”
    I backed up a step. Matthew took off his cap and scrubbed his forehead with the heel of his hand, the scar plainly visible from under his cuff. I shook my head, assuring myself I’d be a fool to entertain, even for a second, the notion that Matthew was truly concerned about me. He only wanted me gone. “I’ll be in my room,” I said.
    It was hard to believe I was tired, but for once my body overtook my overwrought mind. After I was left alone in my new room, my shredded things piled in a suitcase on the dresser next to me, I sat on the bed and removed my shoes. I lay back, looking at the old oak-paneled ceiling, trying to catch my thoughts and pin them down, but they would not stay still.
    I was, in fact, afraid. I knew it was dangerous, that things were starting to spin out of control. I realized now that a wild kind of alchemy had happened that morning between Maddy and me. She had awareness,
thoughts
, not just rage. Mrs. Clare said I had upset her, but I wondered if it was so simple, if there was not worse to come.
    And now there was the man. Matthew was right about that—it wasn’t safe here. If I was logical, I would leave.
    But if I was in danger, then so were the others. Lying there on the bed, I decided I would not leave. We had all been through a war, after all. I knew of so many men who had never come home. After that, what was dangerous to any of us anymore?

    I must have dozed, for I opened my eyes to see that dusk had fallen. My room was quiet. My mind drifted; my thoughts slowed.
    I had just washed my face and brushed my hair—my hairbrush, at least, had not been damaged—when a soft knock sounded on my door. Assuming it to be one of the maids, I opened it.
    Matthew Ryder stood there.
    He fixed me with his dark gaze. His cap was gone, his hair tousled and damp, as if he had washed. He wore a clean white shirt that glowed a little in the dusk. He seemed huge and uncouth, his shoulders wide, the muscles flexed under the white fabric. His jaw was dark with stubble. I couldn’t move, couldn’t turn away or shut the door to save my life, as my heart jumped in my chest. In the stillness I could