Dark Prelude Read Online Free PDF Page B

a dozen bullfrogs. To date she had managed to keep
her plans a secret, not daring to tell a soul lest Uncle Hollister
hear of it.
    The two weeks had passed with creeping
slowness while Silvia counted days as anxiously as a child awaiting
a visit from St. Nick. Now the day had arrived but with no joyous
celebration. Instead only the ceremony of sorting through her
things and discarding youthful dreams along with items she could
not carry.
    Tiptoeing cautiously around the room, she
gathered the last of her dresses and folded them into the bag. Then
with a doleful sigh slipping from her lips, she walked to the
window and peered out. Her mind whirled in a maelstrom of emotions,
for a moment spinning sadness, then excitement, then sorrow that
she had no one to bid her goodbye.
    Outside, the beginning of a fog floated in
close to the ground, blanketing the streets with a thin ghostly
mist and choking out the rays of sunshine with its dulling
grayness. All the better, she thought pensively as she trailed a
finger along the glass pane. In the cover of the fog she would be
able to walk to the harbor unseen.
    Her uncle had taken to leaving the house
early and having his breakfast at the tavern where he no doubt
washed it down with ale. When he left she could be on her way.
    Since the night he had frightened Silvia in
her room, she had struggled with an unnamable fear and avoided her
uncle as much as possible. Doubts about leaving him, or of leaving
London, had vanished during the strained days since that evening.
But for having the sailing date in her mind, she could not have
tolerated her plight at all.
    Silvia pushed the bag beneath the bed and
held her breath when she heard shuffling footsteps in the hall.
Today he must not stop. She could not face him today. Surely if he
saw her he would know, he would see her nervousness and know. She
quickly climbed back in bed and pulled the heavy covers to her
chin, hoping he would pass.
    Quivering beneath the covers, her breath a
mere whisper of sound, she waited to hear him leave. But the
footsteps stopped and there was a thundering knock on her door.
    “Missy. I heard you up.”
    Her face whitened as his rough voice started
a surge of panic in her veins. The door creaked open slightly as
Silvia watched from half closed eyes. He poked his head inside but
stood behind the threshold. There was an apologetic look in his
red-veined eyes.
    “Missy, don’t hold it hard against me. I
meant no harm.
    Was the liquor leadin’ me to do the wrongs
I’ve done. An’ I’ve had the last of it. I won’t be liftin’ the cup
again. Rest easy on it.” He paused and lowered his head. “You hear
me, Missy?”
    Silvia bit her lower lip to stop the erratic
pounding of her heart. How many times had she heard him say there
would be no more drinking? As many times as he had come in drunk
again.
    He sniffed. “You hear me, Missy?”
    Silvia sighed deeply and mumbled, “I hear
you Uncle Hollister. I’m glad. No more lifting the cup.”
    His eyes swept to the foot of the bed where
the carpet bag had been hastily stashed. Momentarily his expression
hardened and he glanced at her sharply.
    “I’ll be going out now. Business you know,”
he declared with an ineffectual ring of kindness to his voice.
    “Goodbye, Uncle Hollister,” she said gently
as he closed the door and trudged nosily down the stairs.
    When the front door closed, Silvia hastily
pulled her bag from beneath the bed. She penned a brief message to
her uncle telling him goodbye and asking that he not be concerned
for her welfare.
    With trembling fingers and eyes brimming
full of warm tears, she propped the note on her dresser, knowing it
would be evening before it was read.
    A little gasp of sorrow sounded in her
throat as she reached the bottom of the stairs. Then with a
determined toss of her chin, Silvia reached for the doorknob.
    Locked! He had locked her in! Her blood
pounded in her temples. She was a prisoner. She pulled at the knob
and