Witch Hunt by Ruth Warburton EPUB & PDF – eBook Details Online
- Status: Available for Free Download
- Author: Ruth Warburton
- Language: English
- Genre: Fantasy Romance
- Format: PDF / EPUB
- Size: 2 MB
- Price: Free
Phoebe Fairbrother groaned as the light filtered through the tattered red
brocade curtains. She had a head on fit to burst, and beside her George
Wainwright was snoring like a pig, though that wasn’t what had woken her
up. Something else had – a noise from the street. But it was George
stopping her from falling back to sleep.
‘Get out!’ She hit him with one of the stained satin pillows from her bed.
‘Wha . . . ?’ He sat up, his hair comically rumpled on one side.
‘I said get out! Nobody paid me for no board and lodging.’
‘But, Phoebe darlin’—’
‘You deaf? Get out!’
She pulled the pillow over her head as he clumped around the room,
pulling on his britches and boots, and then stomped crossly down the stairs
to the street door. At last it was quiet and she rolled on to her back, trying to
recapture the warm languorous dream she’d been having before she’d been
woken – but just as she was slipping into unconsciousness it came again. A
crack against the windowpane. This time there was a cry, a voice low and
hoarse.
‘Phoebe! You awake?’
‘Oh shurrup!’ she groaned. But the rattle of stones came again and this
time she got up, pulling the eiderdown around her shoulders, and marched
angrily across to the window to fling it open. The sky above the rooftops
was paling to grey, but in the narrow alley next to the pub she could see
nothing but shadows and the small puddle of light beneath the gas lamp.
‘You can eff off, whoever you are,’ she called. ‘We ain’t open.’
‘Phoebe.’ A tall figure stepped into the light from the lamp post. His face
was covered in soot but when he pulled off his cap the lamplight glinted off
his straw-coloured hair.
Phoebe’s mouth fell open.
‘Luke Lexton? What the hell are you doing here?’
‘I’m sorry it’s so early, Phoebes. Please let us in.’
‘What’s happened?’
‘Never mind that.’ He shivered into his greatcoat, his breath a cloud of
white in the grey dawn light. ‘Let us in before we freeze.’
She was halfway down the stairs before it occurred to her to wonder who
‘us’ was.
Luke let the stones fall from his hand on to the pavement and stood, his
arms wrapped around himself, trying to keep in the warmth. Something
gusted in the light from the lamp and when he looked up he saw dark flecks
against the brightness, like specks of ash in the draught from a fire. But it
was not ash. It was snow.
Then there was a sound and he turned back to the door.
‘Bleedin’ thing,’ he heard, muffled from behind the wood. ‘Always did
stick, the bastard. Give it a shove, Luke.’
Luke put his boot to the foot of the door and pushed, until it gave
suddenly, opening with a rush that tipped him into the narrow vestibule and
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