Page 34 of A Devil in Silk
“Still certain this is a good idea?” he asked Clara.
He half-expected her to change her mind. And yet, he’d come to know one thing with certainty. Nothing made her feel more alive than the thrill of a daring pursuit.
“I’ve always wanted to climb the tower,” she said, her composure restored. “But how do you plan to get past the ancient doors?”
“Through the Cloister Gate.” He gestured towards the arched passage between the old walls. “I arranged it today after Daventry mentioned Scarth lived nearby. Just because we’reinvestigating Miss Nightshade’s murder doesn’t mean we must forgo our own ambitions.”
She glanced at him, her expression unreadable. “Our ambitions? You went to a great deal of effort for something that matters only to me?”
He shrugged. “I’m doing it as much for myself as for you.”
It wasn’t a lie. Though he had no desire to climb a hundred narrow steps or admire the city cloaked in shadow, he wanted to be the man who helped her chase her dreams.
He wasn’t entirely sure why it mattered. Perhaps it was something Miss Nightshade had said. Or perhaps, like Clara, he was learning to listen to his heart.
She glanced at him, then at the high tower. “Well, if we’re both seeking solace elsewhere, we may as well do it together.”
They crossed the square to the Cloister Gate in companionable silence, where wrought iron met arched stone beneath the pale glow of a lantern.
A verger in a black cassock rose from a wooden stool just inside the gate, a ring of keys glinting at his hip as he stood to greet them. “Good evening. Lord Rutland, I presume?”
Bentley approached. “I believe you received my note.”
The verger gave a respectful nod and turned the key in the lock. “Indeed, my lord. I’ve been expecting you. Canon Bayley asked me to convey his deepest thanks for your generous donation. The tower stairs are yours until midnight. I’ll be in the nave should you require assistance.”
Clara peered into the shadowed passage. “It seems awfully dark. Are we permitted a lantern?”
“Of course, miss.”
He lifted a lamp from the low bench beside him, the flame throwing a flicker across his weathered features, and handed it to Bentley.
“Follow the cloister walk and turn left into the nave,” the verger said, stepping aside to let them pass. “The stairs to the west tower are just beyond the archway.” He glanced at Clara’s eye patch. “Mind your step, miss, and be careful at the top. The wind can whip up a gust without warning.”
They entered, their footsteps echoing along the cloister. Shadows climbed the vaulted ceiling, quivering with each flicker of the lantern’s flame. Soon, they reached the tower staircase and began a breathless ascent.
“How many steps are there?” she asked between gasps.
“At least a hundred.”
Halfway up, Bentley stumbled on a worn step, steadying himself with a muttered curse. He hadn’t been watching the stairs, only the quick flash of Clara’s ankles as she lifted her skirts to climb.
She stopped, glancing back sharply. “Are you all right?”
“Yes. Just dizzy from the endless spiral.”
“It can’t be much farther. Shall I take the lantern?”
“No, I can manage.”
As long as he stopped staring at the view.
When they reached the top, Clara braced her hand against the cool stone, pausing to catch her breath. She slid back the bolts on the weathered door and eased it open.
She glanced behind to speak but a sudden gust wrenched the door wide, snuffing out the lantern’s flame.
Bentley caught her around the waist before she stumbled, his grip firm, instinctive. He shoved the useless lantern aside and guided her onto the roof. The wind tore at her cloak and slammed the door shut behind them with a resonant clang.
“I’ve got you,” he said, pulling her close against the gale. “You’re safe, Clara.”
