Marie stood in front of a small hearth wearing a borrowed flannel gown and terrycloth robe. Entranced by the sparks shooting upward from the flickering flames, the memories of Twist at the upper window, of Frost standing on the curb, haunted her.
“I brought you warm milk.” Evie, the mistress of the safe house, carried a tray to the bedside table. “And homemade biscuits. Though I’m afraid I had no sugar.”
“I’m sure they’re delicious.” Marie forced a smile. “Thanks again for letting me stay on such short notice.”
“Think nothing of it. I only wish you could stay for a few days.”
“That’s not possible. You know how it is.”
“Indeed, I do. I don’t suppose you can talk about it?”
Marie shook her head.
“That’s all right then.” Evie’s voice had a lilting, teasing quality. “Because you know, if you had talked about it, I would have to report you.”
“This isn’t a training exercise.”
“I didn’t think it was.” A grave expression replaced the twinkle in Evie’s eyes. “Something’s gone wrong, but you’re going to get a good night’s sleep, and tomorrow you’ll work out what you need to do.”
“I suppose,” Marie murmured.
Evie surveyed the room and appeared pleased with the arrangements. “Drink your milk now, and get some sleep. Morning comes early.” She closed the door, leaving Marie alone with her mixed-up thoughts.
She had been right to come here. At least she knew she could sleep in peace. Colin would be worried when she missed their breakfast appointment, but she didn’t really care. Of course, he might be worried already if, as she suspected, he was waiting outside the drudge’s flat, watching for her return from Hatfield.
Let him wait all night. That would teach him to spy on her.
Marie sipped the milk. She didn’t really like the taste, but the warmth soothed her throat. The sound of rain pattering against the window lulled her into a fitful sleep.
In her dreams, she saw Twist standing in front of his window, his two gold teeth gleaming in the dark shadows. He smiled and winked at her before he fell, mouth open wide in a silent scream. Shouting his name, she ran to where his broken body lay on the black street and fell to her knees. Tears streaming down her cheeks, she turned him over.
But it wasn’t Twist she held in her arms.
The man’s lifeless eyes were the clear blue of ice on a midwinter’s day, of the sky in springtime.
Christian Fiction Friday is a weekly blog hop where authors post snippets from their current works in progress. It is hosted by Alana Terry and Hallee Bridgeman. Click here for a full list of rules and suggestions.