An Adventure in Guernsey

The Tomb

Guernsey Island - Bordeaux Harbour - 1801

"What do you mean we are locked in?" The high pitched squeal of distress echos in the dampness.

"It appears someone has blocked the entrance." Lord Marshall Daventry surveys the passage. Spider fingers creep along the stone edges of the darkened tomb for any small opening. At least, their lamps remain lit and they are not in total darkness.

"You mean we are trapped in here? In the tomb of- of savages?" Short breaths spurt out between her lips. "However will we survive the night? Is there enough air? What will happen once we are discovered! My lord, I cannot endure a scandal such as that will be." Hiccups come next. Lady Cordelia Rutledge is close to panic. No, it is panic. One more hiccup and surely she will faint.

Marshall put his lamp on the ground, grabs her arms and turns her to face him. Ice blue eyes glare back. Strands of apricot-colored hair dangle about her cheeks. Those ice blue eyes gloss over. He firmly articulates each word, "Please. Calm yourself. All will be well."

Silence. In a softer tone he adds, "We will get out, my lady, I assure you." His gloved hands rub up and down her arms in an attempt to console her, will her the encouragement to be strong. Her pale white face stares past him at the stone closure that seals them in. Truth be told, he isn't sure if his men will find them. The most important thing at this point is to keep her calm. What he cannot endure at this point is a panic-stricken female.

Delia's eyes narrow. Anger replaces the hysteria. A deep and pointed monotone voice is coming from her now, no high-pitched squeals. The muscles in her arms tighten. "And, to be locked in with the likes of you, no less." Her fists grind hard against his chest. Marshall grabs her wrists and holds them tight between them until her struggle subsides, at last able to engage her attention. There. That is better.

He lowers his voice. Maybe that will get her to lower hers. "I understand your concerns, but I assure you there will be no scandal. I left word that I would return before nightfall. Someone will be out to find us." Marshall relaxes his hold and releases one of her arms. He places his palm in the small of her back and guides her gently to a stone bench against the wall nearest the entrance. The light from the lamp he placed on the floor flickers slightly, but is still full flame. A good sign.

Delia remains rattled, but Marshall sees the anger, too, is waning. Her countenance relaxes somewhat when she turns to him and asks, "Why, pray tell, would they not consider you had changed your mind and decided to stay out? Is that not your custom? And further, what makes you think they will not relish the notion of you ruining me? I am not even supposed to be here. They will see that we are alone."

"First, I can see you are not up on the local tales. And, second, my people are quite loyal. They would not go against me. They would be dismissed immediately without recommendation. I have procedures in place. If I intend to stay out all night, they are informed." Will she see through his attempt at keeping her in check? The lines on her forehead crimp for a moment while she sits. Silence, again.

She smooths her pelisse and clears her throat. "I assure you, I do not need to be up on local tales to know what happens when a lady is found alone with a gentleman for any amount of time, but you must know to be found alone in a place such as this is unheard of!" Delia pulls at the wrist of each of her kid gloves, flexing her fingers to adjust the fit.