Beatrice (The Tipton Hollow 2)

“A m-man,” she stammered. “There was a man staring into the house. From over there,” she pointed again. “Did you see him? Ben, did you see him?”

Ben stared at the window but couldn’t see anything other than the shadowy outline of the garden and his own reflection. It was too dark outside to see much of anything except shadows. To protect them from prying eyes, he drew the shutters closed and slid the curtains across them, which did little to help light the room. However, at least it drew her attention back to him.

Given that everything was now pitch-black, it was a miracle that he made it to the door without falling flat on his face but he eventually managed to stand before her. When she turned her gaze up to his, the terror that lingered in the depths of those beautiful blue orbs haunted him.

“Let me go and see if someone is out there,” he murmured. “Stay here and, if you can, find a candle or two to light. Try to stay off that foot as much as you can though.”

He didn’t wait to see if she was going to follow instructions but, if she didn’t, she would just remain in the dark.

He only went outside to take a look around to appease her, and wasn’t altogether surprised when he found nothing untoward. The outhouse, conservatory and stable were locked up tight and undisturbed. There was no sign of anyone in the gardens at either the front, or the back of the house. He wondered if she was just a little spooked by her ordeal this afternoon and had in fact seen nothing more than her reflection, but had no intention of suggesting it to her.

When a cold gust of wind blew around him and made him shiver, he realised that he was now, for the second time that afternoon, soaked to the skin. With one last look around, he quickly made his way into the house and locked the door behind him.

While he had been gone Beatrice had indeed lit several candles, and bathed the sitting room in a warm glow that welcomed him in. Although it was still mid-afternoon and the middle of summer, the ferocity of the storm had obliterated all trace of sunshine to the point that it was nearly dark outside. He suddenly didn’t relish anyone being caught in such weather, and considered that anyone who was stupid enough to lurk outside deserved to get wet, or struck by lightning. One thing was for certain; it wasn’t going to be him.

“Anything?” She asked hopefully as he hurried into the sitting room and stood before the fire to get warm, and dry off again.

He knew from the hint of a quiver in her voice that her fear still lingered. One look into her wide, frightened eyes was enough to clinch it for him, and he held his arms out to her.

“Come here,” he murmured as he walked toward her.

To his relief, she didn’t hesitate to stand up, and he wasted no time in drawing her into his arms. Thankfully she settled against him with a deep sigh. He then did something he had really wanted to do from the first moment he had seen her earlier that morning, and placed a tender, non-threatening kiss on the top of her head.

“It’s alright. Everything is fine. Whoever it was you saw, they are outside and we are in here where it is warm and dry. I don’t know about you, but I didn’t hear anyone knock on either the front or the back door. Whoever it was cannot be all that bothered about getting wet, or have too much of a need to see you.”

“Do you think it was the person who delivered the plant?” She whispered but didn’t even want to lift her head off his chest to look up at him. Beneath the wonderfully warm material of his shirt, she could feel the rhythmic thud of his heart and the sound had started to soothe her fears.

“I don’t know, darling. Whoever delivered it, when and why, certainly didn’t seem all that bothered whether you received it or not, or else why didn’t they speak to you directly, and hand it over to you personally? Why just leave it on the doorstep? Right now, everywhere is locked tight and the house is secure. As long as I haven’t just locked Mrs Partridge out of the house -” He leaned back to smile down at her. “I am sure that I would be i

n her bad books if I did.”

Beatrice shook her head and smiled at him as the last of her fears started to fade. “She would be hammering on the door by now. Besides, she has a key to the front door and can let herself in. It is only bolted at night before everyone goes off to bed.”

“Maud lives here now, I take it?”

“She has her own quarters at the back of the house, yes.”

He was relieved that Beatrice didn’t live in Brantley Manor all by herself. At least Matthew had done something decent to look after his young charge, even if he hadn’t included her in his life much from the sound of it.

“Right, now, about those books.” He hated to release her, but his body had already started to respond to her nearness. If he didn’t put some distance between them, she would soon be left in no doubt as to just how attracted to her he really was. “I will go and pick a random selection of books and we can start with those while we have a fresh pot of tea.” He leaned back to look at her and lifted his brows. “I hope you don’t mind if I stay until the storm passes?”

“I hope you do stay until the storm passes,” she replied with a smile. “It is silly for you to head out there if you don’t need to. You are more than welcome here.”

“Thank you. Now, you wait here. I will put some more water on to boil; then pick out some books at random. If we start with the ones on Matthew’s desk, they may have something in them that relates to his recent projects and the plant may be in one of them.”

He didn’t wait for her to reply and only stopped long enough to pick up one of the candles before he hurried out of the room.

When he had gone, Beatrice sat on the sofa and realised that the curtains to the window behind her were open. However, she daren’t turn around and look to see if anyone was there.

She was positive that it was a man she had seen through the window in the study. While everything within her screamed at her to forget it and think about something more mundane, she forced herself to recall as much detail as possible about what she had seen. What she could remember quite clearly was that the figure had been about average height, and of a relatively slim build. It couldn’t possibly have been Maud because she would have let herself in through the front door if the back was locked. Nor was it likely to be any of their neighbours given that Mr Portland was a farmer and rather rotund, and Mrs Dexter rarely left the house. There was really nobody of her acquaintance who would be likely to linger around the gardens of her house, especially in the middle of a thunderstorm.

The thought that a stranger had been watching her from the safety of the shadows left her feeling slightly sick, and she suddenly had the desperate urge to be somewhere else. In an attempt to keep the fear at bay, she quickly gathered the tea things but, when she sneezed and dropped one of the cups, she realised that she had yet to change out of her wet clothes. She quickly restacked the tray and stood back to assess the distance between the sitting room and the stairs. Could she make it by herself?

“Alright?” Ben asked as he entered the sitting room with an arm full of books.

Beatrice sneezed again. “I am sorry. Please, forgive me? I need to get into something dry.” She tugged at the cold, clammy material of her dress and felt goose bumps break out on her arms.

“Let’s get you upstairs so you can change out of those wet clothes,” Ben suggested wryly. He deposited the rather large stack of books beside the couch and turned toward her. “Then we can start to take a look at these.”