Ashworth Hall - Anne Perry [137]
“Don’t touch that!” Finn started forward, his face tight and hard, his body stiff.
She froze, staring at him. She had never seen him like this before, such anger in him, and something else, uglier and more alien. She had touched two of the candles. They had felt different from each other. One was waxy, like any candle she was used to. The other was vaguely sticky, not the same.
“Leave it alone,” he said between his teeth.
“Sorry,” she said shakily. “I didn’t mean no ’arm.”
“No … no, of course not.” He seemed to be struggling for words, driven by a consurning emotion that he fought against—and lost. “It … you just … you shouldn’t …”
A prickle of horror ran through her. Maybe it was not a candle, as she had assumed. She had seen no wick in it. Could that be what dynamite was like?
She looked at his face and knew with a sick misery that she was right. Were it just a candle, her seeing it, touching it, would never have made them suddenly strangers.
She folded her arms, unconsciously hiding her hands and the fact that she was trembling.
He was still watching her. He must have seen the change in her face. Did he guess the fearful thought that beat in her mind?
“Gracie?”
“Yes!” She had answered too quickly, she knew it the moment the word was out of her mouth. She saw it in his eyes. Finn had had the materials for the bomb which had exploded in the study and killed Lorcan McGinley, his own master. How could he be part of such a betrayal? Had he meant to kill him all the time, and not Mr. Radley at all?
She had stood up without realizing it.
“I gotta go,” she said, her voice almost choking her. She gulped and swallowed air. She scrambled towards the door and only remembered to stop and turn around to face him just as she touched the handle. She must explain herself, her flight. Anything but the truth. “If anyone come ’ere an’ finds me, we’ll both be in trouble,” she blurted. “I only wanted to say I were sorry. I shouldn’t ’a spoke.”
“Gracie …” He stood up too and moved towards her.
She forced herself to smile. It must have been sickly. She knew it was false, and he must know it too. But she had to get out … now … this minute. Her mind was in chaos. She could not believe it, it was too horrible. There must be another answer, but she could not stay there to ask him.
She pulled the door open, her hands shaking, and almost tripped over and fell, banging against the jamb as she went out.
“Gracie!” He came after her.
She fled without looking back, clattering down the steps to the main men’s landing, then down again to the corridor, and almost bumped into Doll.
“Sorry,” she gasped. “Didn’t mean ter tread on yer.”
“Gracie! You all right?” Doll asked anxiously. “You look awful.”
“Got an ’eadache,” Gracie said, putting her hand up as if in pain. She heard footsteps behind her. It must be Finn. But he would not come in here, not with Doll. “I’ll just go an’ get a … a bit o’ lavender oil, or summink. A cup o’ tea, p’raps.”
“I’ll get you one,” Doll offered immediately. “No wonder you’ve got a headache, with all that’s going on. Come with me, I’ll look after you.” She would not take a denial.
Gracie accepted, though she had no choice short of an argument, and her head was in too much fever of thought to master any reasoning. Obediently she followed Doll along to the pantry where the kettle was, and the small hob. She saw no one in the corridor. She sat down in the chair while Doll fussed over her.
What had Finn done? How had he gotten the dynamite? Had he made the bomb himself? Hadn’t Pitt proved