The Furies Read Free Page A

Abbey would be closing soon; how much longer was he going to be? In exasperation she began to stare at the back of his head, silently willing him to leave. But her annoyance distracted her, for as she quietly cursed him he unexpectedly turned his head in her direction and, with a smile, made eye contact. She bowed her head and pretended not to have seen him, tried to pretend she was taken in prayer. But she could feel his gaze on the crown of her head and for several seconds knew he was still staring at her. A full minute passed before she dared look up again, to see him once more absorbed with his drawing. Now a wave of nausea passed through her, because if he didn’t go soon…well, they would have to abort the mission. And could she go through all this again? She was not sure she had the nerve.
    The noise of creaking wood startled her. She looked towards the archway and saw a ginger head appear. ‘Just to let you know, the Abbey closes in fifteen minutes,’ said the verger who had sold them their tickets, glancing first at Sylvia, then at Elspeth, and finally the student.
    â€˜Almost finished,’ the art student replied. Elspeth nodded to the verger and then watched him disappear. She bowed her head again. A few minutes later she heard footsteps as the student walked away from the chair, followed by the groaning of the wooden staircase, and then finally silence.
    â€˜Thank goodness,’ Sylvia whispered. ‘I thought he’d never leave.’
    â€˜We need to hurry,’ Elspeth replied as she rose to her feet. ‘There’s very little time left.’
    With Sylvia close behind, she hurried through the archway and leant over the top of the staircase, craning her neck to look back towards the Abbey’s central space. The passageway below appeared empty, but because of the gentle curve she couldn’t see all the way to the end. Were there still visitors further up? She looked across at Sylvia and shrugged her uncertainty.
    And now a furrow of determination rose on Sylvia’s face as she unslung the feather boa and handbag – handing both to Elspeth – before lifting the hem of her skirt and skipping lightly down the stairs. Elspeth’s heart began to pound as she watched her friend disappear along the passageway, but within half a minute Sylvia had reappeared and hopped back up the steps.
    â€˜Can’t see anybody,’ she whispered, breathing heavily. ‘I think it’s all clear.’
    â€˜Good. Stay here and keep watch. If anyone appears, give a wee cough to warn me.’
    â€˜Alright, but be quick.’
    Elspeth hurried back through the archway and across to the chair. She placed the guidebook and feather boa on the floor and then opened the handbag; a yellow box of Swan Vesta matches lay on top of the linen bundle. She slipped a hand inside the bag and was just about to remove the matches when Sylvia suddenly coughed: Elspeth turned to see her friend scampering back through the archway, her green eyes wide with alarm, the familiar noise of creaking wood following her. A moment later the face of the blond verger appeared behind her.
    â€˜Ten minutes to closing,’ he said to Sylvia, who smiled at him before resuming her sham fascination with the carvings on the shrine. Then he looked at Elspeth – standing paralysed with surprise beside the chair – and smiled at her. She had already taken a step forward to hide the boa and guidebook lying on the floor; now she swallowed hard and forced a smile back, and then watched as he turned away. Again there was the sound of creaking wood and then silence. Sylvia turned to Elspeth, a hand held over her breastbone.
    â€˜Oh my Lord, Ellie,’ she whispered. ‘He must have been in one of the alcoves off the passageway.’
    Elspeth – who had held her breath throughout his appearance – exhaled, her heart thumping furiously in her chest and her hands beginning to shake. But