An Impossible Confession by Sandra Heath Read Free Book Online

tangled hair as she placed her shaking hands on the rail to look cautiously down into the shadowy courtyard below.
    Everything was utterly silent again, and the only sign of anyone’s being about was a shaft of light from an open kitchen door. The moments passed, and still the courtyard remained silent, although she became aware, of sounds from the stables. She didn’t need to be told that those sounds were of Lord Drummond’s curricle being made ready. Suddenly there was a stealthy scuffling in the courtyard and her eyes flew fearfully back to search the inky shadows below. Someone was down there!
    Her pulse quickened and her hands trembled on the rail. She couldn’t see anyone. The faint light from the kitchen door shone on cobbles that were still damp from the rain, and she could make out the steps leading down from the gallery. The water butts loomed dark against the inn wall, and the archway out to the London road was as black as pitch, but the iron hoop where the lurcher had been tied was a vague metallic glimmer in the darkness .
    A lamp was lit suddenly in one of the ground floor rooms, and in the seconds before the curtains were closed the light flooded out over the yard. A faint movement caught Helen’s eye. It was by another water butt she hadn’t noticed before, standing in a far corner beyond the ticket office, and as the curtains closed and the darkness engulfed everything again, Helen realized she’d seen the frantic beating of a woman’s hand upon the burly shoulder of an assailant.
    Helen’s heart almost stopped as she concentrated on that dark corner. She leaned forward, staring intently, determined to be quite sure what she’d seen. Her eyes seemed to become accustomed to things, and she could see the struggling woman doing all she could to break free from her rough attacker. It was the maid who’d served dinner, and the man was the stagecoachman whose team had so nearly caused a fatal accident when Helen had arrived. The maid’s bodice was ripped and her hair was loose, jolted from its pins by the savagery of the attack. She was at the man’s mercy, unable to scream for help because his huge hand was clamped over her mouth.
    Helen’s reaction was immediate and instinctive. She began to raise the alarm at the top of her lungs. ‘Help! Come quickly! Please!’ Her cries for assistance pierced the silence, startling the rooks from the elms behind the inn so that they rose in a noisy cloud.
    Mary ran out to her straightaway, her eyes wide with fright. ‘Miss Fairmead? Whatever is it?’
    ‘Down there. That coachman is attacking a maid!’ Helen pointed, but the moment she’d screamed the man had dragged his victim right behind the water butt and all was suddenly completely still.
    Mary peered down. ‘I can’t see anything, miss.’
    ‘He’s got her there, I know he has.’ Helen drew another breath and started to call out for help again. ‘Come quickly, someone! Help! Please!’
    Further along the gallery several doors opened and some rather bleary faces peered out, only to withdraw sharply as Helen directed her pleas to them.
    The courtyard became brighter once more as the curtains below were flung open again. There were more lights in the kitchens; too, and a scullery maid and a fat cook emerged brandishing brooms. They stared up at Helen and Mary on the gallery, but took fright almost immediately, hurrying back inside and bolting the door.
    Helen stared down helplessly. Would no one go to the maid’s rescue? Even as she thought this, Lord Drummond hurried from the direction of the stables, his traveling cloak billowing as he paused, looking straight up at her. She pointed toward the corner. ‘Over there, a coachman has one of the maids! You must help her.’
    He whirled around in the direction she pointed, but everything was utterly still. Helen could have wept with frustration, and gathering her skirts she hurried along the gallery toward the steps, Mary loyally following. They