Clara had been moving quickly enough that the heavy midnight-blue skirts of her gown scarcely had time to settle between one hurried stride when a sound from beyond the following gallery brought her to such an abrupt halt that Evelyn nearly ran straight into her back. Clara lifted one gloved hand at once, catching her companion across the sleeve before silk, lace and several extremely unhelpful layers of petticoat could become an aristocratic collision, while Evelyn stumbled to a stop with a breathless little gasp and instinctively seized Clara's arm for balance.
Neither woman spoke.
Beyond a massive pair of double doors carved from immaculate white marble and bound in pale gold, several voices were rising and falling in an argument far too animated for the sacred stillness of inner halls.
The doors themselves looked worthy of whatever forbidden chamber they guarded.
