Free Prince of Secrets by Paula Marshall Page A

will have to wait and see. It should add interest to your stay here. And, yes, the Richard Wilson is superb, one of his best, don’t you think.’
    With that he walked lightly down to join Dinah and Lady Heneage who did not appear to be sharing her husband’s happiness at his constant winning. Indeed, the one person Sir Ratcliffe wasn’t happy with was his wife. When she went to her room that night, he caught her up, and followed her in.
    â€˜A word with you,’ he said, his face ugly, his hand on her arm. She tried to shake it off, but couldn’t. ‘What are you doing, toadying up to that swine, Grant? I won’t have it, do you hear me? Keep away from him.’
    Still trying to shake herself free she said defiantly, ‘No, indeed. I do not interfere with your pleasures, none of which is innocent. My pleasure in talking to Mr Grant is innocent. I shall do as I please.’
    â€˜That you won’t,’ he snarled, and twisted her arm cruelly. ‘You’ll do as you are told, or it will be the worse for you.’
    She tried to pull away from him, but failed again. ‘I won’t do as you bid me. You have forfeited that right.’
    This time he let go of her arm only to give her a backhanded blow across the face. ‘You heard what I said, woman. You grow a deal too bold these days.’
    â€˜My life is pure,’ she told him, still defiant. ‘Can you say as much?’
    He struck her again, knocking her to the floor. He bent down and carelessly stripped her of her diamonds.
    â€˜Damn you, woman, you don’t deserve these. Perhaps one day I might have a woman I should be proud to see wearing them. May it soon come.’
    He turned and left her. She struggled to her feet. He was doubtless going to Susanna Winthrop, and she wondered whether he was as cruel to her as he was to his unconsidered wife. Not yet, perhaps.
    Slowly, she prepared for the night, not ringing for her maid. She climbed into bed painfully; there were bruises on her wrist and on her arms and legs where she had fallen heavily. Pain and shame kept her from sleep, as it did on many nights.
    Some time after midnight, she dozed lightly, but a slight sound woke her. It seemed to come from her husband’s room, which she had thought to be empty. Moved by curiosity, wondering who could be there, for it was not Sir Ratcliffe’s habit to return from Susanna’s room until dawn, she rose, walked to his bedroom door to fling it open and switched on the light to see—what?
    A man, all in black, wearing a kind of muffler which covered his head and face except for his eyes. He had Sir Ratcliffe’s small safe open before him on the dressing table in the window to take full advantage of the moonlight and was lifting out of it the leather cases in which the Heneage diamonds were kept. The necklace had already been abstracted and glittered on a large black silk handkerchief spread out on the bed.
    For some reason she wasn’t frightened, although beforehand she would have thought that she would have been paralysed by fear. The burglar, for he was a burglar, calmly continued to pull out the cases. She now saw that a pile of papers, removed from the safe, also lay half-folded in the handkerchief, ready to be taken away.
    For a moment she and the burglar stared at one another. She thought of giving the alarm, and then she thought of the misery which her life with Sir Ratcliffe had brought her, how the diamonds lay like fire on her skin, burning it, and that she hated them and him.
    Slowly, slowly, she turned around, switched off the light, so that now only the moon illuminated the room, and returned to her bed, leaving the intruding thief to do his work.
    Lady Heneage slept well for the first time in months. The thought of her husband’s face when he found his safe pillaged brought a smile to her lips as consciousness faded.
    When the door had opened Cobie’s first thought was that it