Marion Lane and the Raven’s Revenge by T.A. Willberg EPUB & PDF – eBook Details Online
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- Authors: T.A. Willberg
- Language: English
- Genre: Historical Mysteries
- Format: PDF / EPUB
- Size: 2 MB
- Price: Free
THE HUNTED
Sunday, April 10, 1960
Middlesex, London
Darcy Gibson pulled on her favorite pair of lambskin gloves, fastened a
chalky pearl bracelet to her wrist and pinched her cheeks. She straightened
her belted shift dress in the mirror, smoothing the cotton against her thighs
over and over until the creases had diminished. It was a long while since
she’d been this on edge. In fact, the only other time she’d felt so sick with
nerves was the day she realized she was about to be thrown in the slammer
for a crime she didn’t commit.
These, however, were a different kind of nerves—the type you get on
Christmas morning, seeing a red stocking dangling over the fireplace and
wondering if the present inside was the one you’d been wishing for. But
really, there was no need to be so twitchy about things, was there? She’d
picked the right dress, the perfect accessories, she’d scouted out the location
beforehand and even checked the weather forecast (mild with a chance of
rain). He would show up. He would tell her what she’d been wanting to hear.
Everything was going to be fine.
Heavy footsteps thumped up the staircase, down the corridor and soon
there was a knock on the bedroom door.
“Oi, Gibson,” barked the boardinghouse mistress—Mrs. Titherington.
“Need a word. Open up.”
“On my way out, sorry.”
“Out?”
“Yes, out,” Darcy said, jaw tight. “As in I’m about to leave and don’t have
time for a chat.”
There was a quick pause. “Where to?”
Darcy felt no obligation to tell the old hag the truth. Then again, Mrs. T
was surprisingly good at catching lies when she heard them. She sighed. “To
see my fella. He might propose today.”
Mrs. T guffawed so loudly the floor seemed to shake. “Propose! To you?
Must be a real idiot, then.”
Darcy clenched her fists.
“Anyway, wonderful, that’s lovely,” Mrs. T went on, gathering herself,
“but before you run off into the sunset with your lover boy, you pay up. Got
it? Five pounds from last week and ten from the fortnight before. I ain’t
forgotten.”
Darcy rolled her eyes. Mrs. T could hardly read or write but blimey, she
could count like the best of them. “Don’t fret, I’ll get it to you by Friday.
Like I promised.”
“You better, little miss. Or you’re out. This ain’t a charity and I ain’t your
mother.”
Thank God for that. Darcy waited until the portly old crow had stormed
back down the staircase before wandering over to the window. While the
cluttered room was as cold and cheerless as a graveyard, outside the city was
bathed in crisp spring sunlight, the London skyline dazzling in the distance.
Double-deckers trailed past, coughing out fumes, their cherry-colored coats
shining like gems in the afternoon sun. Darcy was by no means a dreamer,
and certainly not an optimist, but it was easy to imagine that a day such as
this could bring only glad tidings and good fortune.
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