Brighton Road
“The stones themselves seemed wrought of evil, mortared with the blood of innocents, weathered by fingers plucking at them in despair.
"Miss Vickers! You are cutting off the flow of blood through my arm." The baron's protest jarred Gwenda out of her imaginings. She realized how tightly she had been clutching him as they crossed the threshold of the Nonesuch.
"Sorry." She forced herself to release him, then nearly tripped over Bertie, who bounded in ahead of her. As his lordship slammed the door ...closed behind them, she thought she knew how her poor heroine Emeraude must have felt when thrust into the evil Armatello's lair. Gwenda resolved never again to treat her heroines so shabbily.
Not that the taproom before her resembled in the least the Gothic splendors of her villain's gloom-ridden castello except perhaps in its starkness. The inn's walls were unadorned but for some bits of cracking plaster; the taproom housed an oak bar counter and a few crude tables and rough benches. A feeble effort at a fire smoked and hissed upon the blackened stone hearth The logs had been recently kindled and were yet damp, Gwenda judged, from the way they crackled.MoreLess
"Miss Vickers! You are cutting off the flow of blood through my arm." The baron's protest jarred Gwenda out of her imaginings. She realized how tightly she had been clutching him as they crossed the threshold of the Nonesuch.
"Sorry." She forced herself to release him, then nearly tripped over Bertie, who bounded in ahead of her. As his lordship slammed the door ...closed behind them, she thought she knew how her poor heroine Emeraude must have felt when thrust into the evil Armatello's lair. Gwenda resolved never again to treat her heroines so shabbily.
Not that the taproom before her resembled in the least the Gothic splendors of her villain's gloom-ridden castello except perhaps in its starkness. The inn's walls were unadorned but for some bits of cracking plaster; the taproom housed an oak bar counter and a few crude tables and rough benches. A feeble effort at a fire smoked and hissed upon the blackened stone hearth The logs had been recently kindled and were yet damp, Gwenda judged, from the way they crackled.MoreLess
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