TimeBomb: The TimeBomb Trilogy: Book 1 Read Free

soft rustle of fabric and a low moan. It was hard to be sure, but it sounded like a woman.
    She felt a thrill of fear.
    In the village they spoke of Lord Sweetclover in deferential tones of respect. No one had a bad word to say about him. He was good-natured, front and centre at all the big festivals of the year, everything a lord of the manor should be. True, there had been some concern when his father died a few years back, rumours that the young master was wayward and wanton, but he had assumed the role without complaint and had done nothing to bring disgrace to the district.
    But here in the house there were whisperings amongst the staff. No one knew Dora well enough yet to confide any details to her, but there’d been enough knowing winks and slow, meaningful nods of the head from the stable boy, gardener and kitchen maid. She was aware of an undercurrent of disapproval and caution. The master, she had surmised, was not as lily white as everyone believed; he had just decided to be more discreet once he had assumed the title and its responsibilities.
    She had seen him only twice, when she’d taken platters into the dining room. He was a tall man in his mid-thirties, dark haired with a hint of grey at the temples; heavy browed, with deep brown eyes and a fine, square jaw. Somehow all the fine features, which should have rendered him rakish and handsome, failed to fit together as they should. The impression he gave was of solidity rather than panache.
    Still, he was unmarried and Dora, unworldly though she was, was not entirely naïve. She had little doubt that he rarely took to his bedchamber alone unless he desired the solitude. Dora thought it likely that he took liberties with the kitchen maid, probably Mary, the coach master’s daughter, and possibly even Cook.
    However, he did not flaunt his conquests, and nobody seemed to find his behaviour outrageous enough to require their departure. He was lord of the manor, and rank had its privileges.
    Now here stood Dora, in a dark corridor lit only by the candle she held, hearing the moans of what sounded like a woman in pain emanating from the open door of the undercroft.
    Her every instinct was to close the door and go back to the baking. This was not her business and it could only lead to trouble. Imagine her parents’ disappointment and shame if she were sent back to the village in disgrace, dismissed for prying into the affairs of her betters.
    On the other hand, they would not want her to stay in a house serving a master who might place Dora’s virtue, or even her life, in danger. She held the lowest position within the household. If the master were to take a fancy to her and drag her down into his undercroft to share the fate of the poor woman whose moans now disturbed the silence of the house, she would be powerless to stop him.
    She had to find out. It was probably her imagination running away with her, but it had never so much as strolled before so she was quite surprised to find it running, especially at this ungodly hour.
    Maybe Cook had got up early, gone down there for some wine and slipped on the stairs.
    That was it. Only explanation that made any sense.
    Satisfied that she had hit upon the truth, Dora stepped confidently through the undercroft door and peered down the steps.
    And screamed.
    The security guard was suddenly aware that he was not alone. A tiny creak, the softest of rustling, a gentle shift in the lean of the Portakabin.
    ‘Hello,’ said a soft voice in his ear. ‘I wondered how you were going to do this.’
    The security guard swivelled in his chair. The figure before him was short and slender, clothed entirely in black, even the head and face. Only a small slit allowed him to see his visitor’s eyes. The handle of a sword poked up behind their shoulder. Ninja-chic.
    ‘I applied for a job,’ he said. ‘Seemed the best way. Keep a low profile. Hacked the system, got myself posted here. Sat and waited. It’s been fun, if I’m honest.