he said, ‘to the Christmas Ball.’
She rubbed a bit of dust that he’d missed off the corner of the record sleeve with her fingers. ‘It would be lovely, but I…I can’t. I’m busy with the window, and a ball’s not really my sort of thing.’
‘You said you were making good progress,’ he replied. He looked around the darkening cellar. The sky through the narrow windows at the top of the room was indigo now. ‘An invitation is the least I can give you after all you’ve done to help resurrect the idea.’
If anything she looked sadder. ‘Maybe,’ was all she said.
He didn’t get it. He thought women liked balls and dressing up and dancing. So why had Faith sounded as if he’d asked her if he could gently roast the family rabbit for dinner? Perhaps he’d better change the subject.
He picked the next record up from the pile. ‘What about this Christmas-mad small town you come from? Tell me about your family.’
Faith shrugged and handed him back the first seventy-eight. ‘Gram is the only one who lives in Beckett’s Run now. One sister lives in Sydney, the other travels all over for work, and my mother just…drifts.’
She wandered off to the other side of the room and started nosing around in a cardboard box over there.
Hmm…One minute she was spouting on about community spirit and getting involved, but the first mention of home and family and she was off like a shot. What was all that about?
He decided it was none of his business. He didn’t like people poking around in his family’s affairs, and maybe Faith didn’t either. Instead of pursuing the matter further he concentrated on the pile of records—a few of which he suspected were collectors’ items—and they worked in silence again after that. Not so comfortable this time, however.
He checked his watch again after he’d glanced up to see the sky outside was inky black. Faith saw his movement and stopped what she was doing.
‘Time to call it a day,’ he said.
She nodded from behind her high stone walls. ‘Good. I’m starving.’
He walked over to the plastic crates and put his most recent finds next to the old records in the top one. He snapped the lid back on, then made his way to the door. He tugged the handle, and it turned, but the door itself didn’t budge. He tried again. Not even a groan. The heavy oak door was stuck fast. Old Mr Grey had cautioned him to use the doorstop, and up until this evening he had, but Faith had been the last one in and he’d forgotten to share that vital bit of information with her.
And now they were trapped in here. Alone.
CHAPTER SIX
BEHIND him, Faith groaned. ‘Really? Stuck in the castle dungeons?’
‘They’re not dungeons,’ he reminded her calmly. ‘No leg irons or racks here. It’s just a cellar.’
‘Can we open a window? Yell for help?’
He marched over to the first high window and tugged at the metal loop. Also stuck. However, he had better luck with the next one along. The window was hinged at the bottom, and he managed to pull it open so there was a gap of four or five inches at the top. A small shower of crunchy snow landed on his arm and he brushed it away before dragging a smallish wooden table over to stand underneath. Once he was sure it would take his weight he stood on it, so his face was near to the opening and shouted.
They waited.
Nothing.
He tried again.
Same result.
‘Here…Maybe two voices are better than one.’
Before he realised what she was doing, Faith jumped up and joined him on the table. She wobbled as her back foot joined the other one and instinctively grabbed on to the front of his jumper for support. Marcus looked down at her. Her eyes were wide and her breath was coming in little gasps. His brain told him it was just the shock of almost tumbling down onto the hard stone floor, but his body told him something rather different.
Kiss her, it said.
Faith’s mouth had been slightly open, but she closed it now, even as her eyes grew larger.
Nothing happened. Nobody moved. He wasn’t even sure either of them breathed. He could read it in her face. She’d had exactly the same thought at the same time, and she was equally frozen, stuck between doing the sensible thing and doing what her instincts were telling her to do.
He wasn’t sure who moved first. Maybe they both did at the same time. Her fingers uncurled from the front of his sweater and she dropped her head. He looked away. It seemed neither of them were ready to take that leap.
He turned back to the window and yelled, venting all his frustration through the narrow gap. After a second Faith joined him. When they were out of breath they waited, side by side and silent, for anything—the sound of footsteps, another voice. All they heard was the lap of water against the edge of the path outside and the distant squawk of a goose.
He jumped down from the table, got some distance between them. ‘There’s nobody out there. Too cold, too dark.’
Faith sat down on the table and then slid onto the floor. She stayed close to it, gripping on to the edge with one hand and tracing the fingers of the other over its grainy surface. ‘What about people inside the castle?’
He shook his head. ‘The walls are at least a foot thick. I doubt if the sound even left this room.’ He checked his watch. ‘It’s not long until dinner, though. Someone will miss us soon.’
She nodded, but still looked concerned.
Marcus knew she had good reason to. Another hour, at least, and he’d already thought about kissing her once. Thankfully he had a solution to their current predicament that his ancestors wouldn’t have had. He pulled his mobile phone from his pocket.
Signals in the area could be patchy, especially near the castle. He checked the display on his phone. One minuscule bar of signal, but maybe that was enough. He tried dialling the estate office, just in case anyone was still there. His phone beeped at him. Call failed. The signal indicator on his phone was now a cross instead of any bars. Damn.
‘No signal,’ he said to Faith. It seemed these thick stone walls could withstand any means of escape.
She jumped up onto the table again. ‘Here. Pass it to me.’
Silently he handed his phone over, and she held it up to the window and pressed a button to redial. He held his breath, but a few moments later she shook her head and handed the phone back to him.
‘Try sending a text. I’ve worked in plenty of old buildings, including basements, and sometimes I can get texts even if I can’t receive calls.’
He nodded and tapped in a message to Shirley. She always kept her phone in her pocket. In a home like his, sometimes shouting up the stairs wasn’t enough. Mobiles were usually pretty reliable—but obviously not when most of the room was underground and surrounded
