She Shoots to Conquer Read Online Free PDF Page A

legs and arms have to move some or the person inside wouldn’t have been able to stagger into battle holding his crossbow, or sword, or whatever.”
    Of course what she said had to be true. It must have happened that way. But it hadn’t! It hadn’t! I stared at that metal, triangular-fronted face with hatred. If I’d had a tin opener at the ready, I would have gone whirring into action as if it were a tin of Heinz Tomato Soup. “Take that, you metal cretin!” I railed silently. In my defense, it had been a tense evening from the moment the fog descended through to our entrapment, or so it seemed, in this oppressive hall. It is almost certain I would have rallied to laugh with Ben and Mrs. Malloy at my overly vivid imagination, but recoiling from the disbelief in their eyes I looked up to see a face above the banisters.
    Its features were blurred, but even without the distortions of distance and shadow it was grotesquely, terrifyingly recognizable by its straggling locks and toothless gape as the face of the wardress of the insane asylum in which Wisteria Whitworth was incarcerated by her brutal husband. Could there be any doubtthat I was on the verge of a similar fate? Under such melodramatic circumstances, there was only thing to do. Regrettably, I did not have a history of fainting, but it’s amazing how quickly one can develop the knack. The room spun, the floor went out from under me, and I went down into blessed oblivion.

2

    I  was vaguely surprised that the flagstones onto which I’d swooned weren’t as hard as might have been expected. Indeed, they felt reasonably comfy. I explored them gingerly with my hand . . . the word horsehair seeping into mind . . . before opening my eyes to see someone standing over me. This person resolved into Ben, and behind him stood someone who closely resembled Mrs. Malloy, except that she was considerably taller than I remembered.
    “It’s the lamp shade,” I whispered, and saw a relief flood Ben’s face. “How are you feeling, sweetheart?”
    He knelt down to take my hand and I forced my eyes to blink my surroundings into clearer focus. We were no longer in the hall, although this huge room, whatever it was, bore a decided resemblance in overcrowding, and there was the same sense of decaying antiquity. The lighting, however, was somewhat better, although not sufficiently strong to hurt my eyes. It was the back of my head that ached. Not terribly, but with a dull throb.
    “I’m on a sofa.” I stretched out my feet tentatively and saw, as if looking through a telescope, that they appeared properly attached. It was my shoes that had been removed. “Did you carry me in here?”
    “That was our host; he came out into the hall, saw you on the floor, and insisted.” Did I detect resentment in Ben’s voice? Surely not. What husband achingly concerned for his beloved would resent another man doing what he could to help by swooping her up into his manly arms? I remembered driftingly that I had pictured his nibs as being almost as ancient as his abode and the thought of him tottering precariously across the flagstone under my weight became so sad that I blinked back tears. I peered around, searching for a figure huddled in a chair shakily trying to find his face with an inhaler.
    “Where is he now?”
    “Gone to tell his housekeeper to bring you a cup of tea and a blanket.”
    “Thank God, you’ve come round, Mrs. H!” Mrs. Malloy pressed a heavily ringed hand to her bosom. “I could have sworn you was a gonner.”
    “Now don’t say that!” a male voice exclaimed rather too loudly for my head. “One death this evening is more than enough! Very difficult these last few hours for his nibs! And him so looking forward to the filming. Not fair to him is what Mrs. Foot, Boris, and me—that works taking care of the house—has been feeling.”
    A face swam into view. Even to my numbed thinking, this could be no other than Mr. Plunket. My glimpse of him through the front