Beast and Beatrice

Chapter thirteen - Beatrice

 Beatrice's heart stopped. Absolutely stopped. She couldn't move. She couldn't breathe. All the blood drained from her face and her skin went clammy and cold all at once. Mesmerized by the light flooding across the floor, she could only stare. Terror held her transfixed. In just seconds, she would be seen. If she was seen, Narwhal would have her in his greedy grasp once more. He would grope and fondle her with his sweaty, sausage fingers and hot, smelly onion breath until she wanted nothing more than to wretch all over his gleaming black boots. Just the thought of it made her stomach roil and her gorge rise.

But, Narwhal was a rich and respectable businessman. Arrogant and demanding, and despised by many in the village for his questionable dealings, but would anyone truly believe he would stoop to such lewd, untenable behavior with a young lady? Her fears and concerns could be dismissed, blamed on female hysterica. Because only a hysterical female would race off into the night when any sensible person would be at home preparing for the end of the day. If the Sheriff refused to believe her, would he arrest Gilbert for kidnapping? On Mr Narwhal's word. Of course he would.  And it wasn't fair. If not for Gilbert, she might very well be dead by now.

It was the horrible thought of Gilbert being arrested that shook her from her paralysis. She ducked down behind the stone face, praying for invisibility. Blood pounded in her ears as her heart raced, beating so fast and hard she feared it might leap from her chest. She held her breath and watched helplessly as the light expanded over the dusty stone corridor. Expecting to be spotted any moment, she shuddered with fear. It was simply too horrible to contemplate. Squeezing her eyes shut, tucking her head to her chest and hunching low as she possibly could, she prayed.

 Over the rushing in her ears, the soft plod of slow, cautious footsteps echoed eerily off the stones. There seemed to be only one set of footsteps. The intruder shuffled to a stop as she listened anxiously. Heavy breathing echoed faintly about the room. Sinking deeper into the shadows, she pressed herself up against the cold stone and held her breath, waiting for the inevitable moment she would be spotted. It seemed an eternity of endless waiting.

  Unable to stand the interminable suspense, she cautiously opened her eyes, but she wasn't quite brave enough to peer around the stone. Instead, she watched as the pool of light widened, splashing over more stone walls and masonry. The man must have held the lantern aloft to aim its flickering light further down the passage. Beatrice prayed even harder and held herself as still as possible. She felt rather like the proverbial mouse being stalked by a stray cat.

"Miss Smail?" A familiar deep male voice called softly.

  She recognized Sheriff Daimler's rough rasp. If someone was going to find her, she would far rather it be the grandfatherly Sheriff Daimler. He was a gruff but kind-hearted older gentleman, honorable and intelligent. But he was also a stickler for law and order. If he did find her, would he listen to her story or would he prefer to believe Mr. Narwhal's version? Would he give any weight to her fears and concerns? Could she convince him of Gilbert's innocence? After working so tirelessly to nurse her back to health, the man didn't deserve to be arrested. Just then, a panicked young voice echoed through the room.

"Sheriff! Sheriff Daimler!"

"Here, Parker." The older man barked.

  The deep boom of his voice echoed harshly, and Beatrice almost covered her ears against the painful sound. The flickering light dimmed as his footsteps retreated down the corridor to intercept his young deputy.

"I thought I told you to stay outside and keep watch."

"Sorry, Sir, but there's a fire in town." Parker explained breathlessly, his young voice sharp with urgency.