“Thanks for the light, brother.” Darius moved past them, his pendant in hand, lighting their way into the emptiness beyond.
Griffin tipped his head. “Go ahead. I’ll be right behind you.”
Helen did not want to walk alone, even with Darius in front and Griffin in back. She wanted a living, breathing body beside her. Something to remind her that they were still alive and not trapped in some kind of purgatory beneath the real world.
It was not so much that the tunnel was small. In fact, the ceiling rose quite far above them, the walls on either side bowing away from her in a great arc. But its barrel shape made it seem as if she were seeing everything through Mother’s opera glasses. As if there were no sides at all, only Darius’s back, appearing as just a pinprick in front of her.
And then there was the rubbish. It lined both sides of the tunnel, rising and falling in heaps like vile sand dunes. She kept to the middle, breathing through her mouth to avoid the smell that was only getting worse as they made their way deeper into the underground labyrinth. She could not see much of the light from Darius’s pendant and couldn’t see anything in front of Darius, due to her own short stature. But Griffin’s pendant illuminated the walls in the immediate vicinity and gave her enough light to see directly in front of her.
She kept her own pendant tucked inside her shirt. It was possible that she would not use her sickle at all while in the tunnels, but she wanted both hands free if she needed it. Fingering the strip of leather at her waist, she was glad she had been able to excuse herself before departing the house. The belt was crude at best, but the sickle swung securely from it, and the pouch with Galizur’s darts was tied to the other side, hidden by her waistcoat.
So closely was Helen following Darius that she did not realize they had made a turn until they passed a fork in the tunnel. Darius had chosen to go right without a word. Obviously, he knew where they were going.
As they walked, her fear subsided, replaced by a morbid sort of wonder. Each curve and turn in the tunnel was notated with markings carved right into the walls, an indiscernible form of navigation completely mysterious to her. That the tunnels were here, every day, as she walked the streets of London only increased her sense of awe. And though they reeked of things better left unsaid, the walls were crafted of neatly stacked brick, the floor alternating between more of the same, flagstone, and sometimes simply loose rock. Helen tried to imagine a contingent of men descending to work each day, smoothing over London’s underground with such careful attention, knowing their handiwork would be seen by almost no one.
“It’s incredible, isn’t it?” Griffin’s voice came softly behind her.
She looked upward at the barrel-vaulted ceiling. “It is.”
They made their way through the tunnels without seeing a soul. At times, Helen heard the rubbish rustle along the sides of the walkway. At others, Darius would stop them with a wave of his hand, holding perfectly still as he listened for something only he could hear before signaling them forward once again.
Helen almost became accustomed to not knowing what was around each curve. What lay on each side of the many forks to which they came. Everything became familiar until she hardly noticed the smell, and the darkness became her uneasy friend.
Finally, Darius stopped short, shining the light of the pendant at the walls.
“What is it?” Griffin asked, catching up to his brother.
Darius aimed the light upward toward a hole in the ceiling.
“We’re here.”
TWENTY-SEVEN
Darius ascended the ladder first, while Griffin and Helen waited anxiously at the bottom. Helen didn’t know what she expected. An immediate assault on their location? The dogs that Raum had warned her about?
She didn’t know, but a few minutes after Darius disappeared into the darkness above their heads, his voice cut through the darkness.
“All clear.”
“Go ahead,” Griffin said, looking around the tunnel by the light of his pendant. “I’ll keep watch here until you’re up safely.”
She nodded, placing her hands on the rungs of the ladder, and pulling herself upward. It wasn’t nearly as frightening as her earlier descent. Her eyes were already accustomed to the darkness, and it was far easier to work toward an escape from the tunnels than it had been to talk herself into going underground.
The light from Griffin’s pendant grew increasingly faint as she continued her climb, the illumination disappearing completely just as she got her first breath of fresh air from above. It was the only indication that she was close to the top. She continued upward, the blackness so total she could not see her hands on the rungs before her. Just when she thought the climb would go on and on, Darius’s voice came in a whisper just above her head.
“Almost there,” he said. “When you reach the top, I’ll take your hands and help you out, but for God’s sake, be quiet. It looks deserted, but I haven’t had time to look around.”
She nodded, breathing heavily and not trusting herself to speak quietly enough for Darius’s liking.
Taking one more step up, she felt for the next rung with her hand and found that there wasn’t one. Instead, her hands touched something cool and dry. Leaves, she thought.
“Give me your hands, one at a time,” Darius instructed.
She reached up with her right hand, relieved when Darius’s strong fingers closed over hers. She had no sooner placed her left hand in Darius’s than he was pulling her out of the tunnel as if she weighed no more than bag of feathers. Her feet came to rest with a crackle on the dried leaves scattering the ground.
The moon was half full. Darius placed a finger to his lips, gesturing for her to be quiet. Then he leaned down, whispering for Griffin to begin his ascent. Helen took the opportunity to look around, surprised to find the area so wooded. She had seen the trees on the schematic, of course, but had not expected their cover to be so dense. In the best of circumstances, the additional cover would help.
In the worst, it would be catastrophic.
She was untying the ribbon from her hair as Griffin pulled himself from the tunnel. He lowered his gaze to the ribbon in her hands, a silent question in his eyes, and she bent to tie it to a nearby tree. It wasn’t much, but with any luck it would help them locate their escape route if they found themselves in a rush to flee Alsorta’s fortress.
Griffin nodded approval. They both waited as Darius bent to lower the wooden cover over the entrance to the tunnel. When he was finished, Griffin waved them closer. They formed a small circle, their faces only inches apart as he whispered instructions.
“We need to make our way north along the tree line. Once the house is in view, we should have a better handle on how to get in. Follow me.” His eyes met Helen’s. “And stay close.”
She nodded.
The brothers fell wordlessly into their new positions, Griffin in front and Darius at Helen’s back. Despite her best efforts, it was difficult to be quiet while tramping through the dead leaves covering the ground. They rustled at her feet no matter how carefully she stepped until it seemed impossible that no one would hear them. Reaching down to the pouch at her belt, Helen pulled back the flap at the top, fingering the darts inside. So far, there was no sign of the dogs, but they still had a long way to go.
The lights near the house were visible through the trees when Griffin suddenly stopped. He grabbed Helen’s hand, pulling her behind a large tree as Darius stepped silently behind another. Her back was pressed against the trunk, Griffin’s body flattened against hers as his eyes darted around the vicinity. At first, she thought the brothers were being paranoid. She couldn’t hear anything except the few remaining leaves rustling on the branches above their heads. But then, she heard a man’s voice in the distance. Straining her ears, she tried to make out the words.
“The new one would’ve brought it, you know.” The voice was breathless. It was obvious whoever was talking was walking or moving in some way as he spoke.
“P
sh!” Another man snorted. “A woman visiting this time of night, even to deliver supper, would be nothing but a distraction. You know how Henry is with the serving girls. The old man would have a fit.”
Helen rolled her eyes at Griffin. He grinned, obviously hearing the conversation as well as she could. She was aware suddenly of his body against hers, his chest pressed against her bosom, his face only inches away. For a moment, she was locked in the spell of his eyes, wishing they were anywhere but here. Wishing they were well and truly alone so that she could lean up to press her lips against his and feel his mouth open on her own. She was almost relieved to be pulled from her thoughts by the voice of the first man.
“I don’t much care what Henry does when his supper’s delivered,” he said. “So long as it doesn’t involve me freezing my hindquarters.”
The man’s companion said something in reply, but the voices were farther away now. Helen could not make out the words. A few minutes later, the sound disappeared completely. Still, Griffin remained against her for what seemed like an eternity. By the time Darius appeared at Griffin’s shoulder, Helen’s whole body felt overheated.
“I hate to interrupt.” Darius’s voice dripped sarcasm. “But we should probably be going.”
Griffin moved away, his eyes catching hers in a smile that made it clear he hadn’t minded the delay. They followed him through the trees until they came to a clearing that led to the house. The sprawling lawn stretched from the tree line, circling the imposing house. As big as many of the buildings in downtown London, it sat on a small knoll, its brick facade rising far into the night sky. Lights winked from some of the windows, and Helen wondered suddenly if Victor Alsorta had a family. If he had a wife who did needlework by the fire and sons who played chess.
She pushed the thought away. Alsorta didn’t deserve the consideration of a man. He was a monster. And he deserved to be punished.
They continued through the wooded perimeter, the tree line curving little by little, growing closer to the house until it was near enough that Helen could make out the detailed cornices around the windows. Remembering Griffin’s strategy, she was ready when he stopped.
He turned to her and Darius. “This is the closest we’ll come to the house with any cover. We’ll have to find a way in from here if we don’t wish to run across the lawn in full view of anyone looking out a window.”
A door opened at the side of the house, a young woman in a maid’s uniform throwing a pot of water onto the lawn.
“God’s sake! Are you daft?” A voice screamed at her from beyond the open door.
She turned toward it, lowering her head. “Sorry, ma’am. I thought I was supposed to dump the water.”
An older woman appeared at the door holding a steaming pot. “Yes, yes. But not here. Not near the house. Take it to the woods, for heaven’s sake!” Handing another pot to the young maid, she grumbled. “Tsk. Every time they send someone new, I have to start all over again.”
The door banged shut behind her. For a moment, the serving girl stood, holding the pot and staring toward their position in the woods until Helen was certain they had been spotted. But no alarm sounded. No cry about an intruder. The young maid simply descended the steps and started across the lawn toward them.
“She’s coming this way!” Helen whispered.
Both men looked toward the grass, watching the girl approach, the pot of water still steaming in her hands.
“I’ll meet up with you inside,” Darius said wearily. “Just find Alsorta and try not to do anything until I get there.”
They didn’t have time to protest. Darius stepped onto the lawn in full view of the girl, ambling toward her as if he were simply out for an evening stroll.
“It looks like you could use some help.” His voice was like syrup, rich and sweet. Helen could hear the roguish smirk that was almost certainly on his face as he approached the maid.
“What, me?” She looked around as if there were someone else to whom Darius could be speaking.
“Yes. You,” Darius said slowly. “You’re far too pretty to spend your night in such drudgery. Allow me.” He reached for the pot.
She shrunk back, startled. “Oh, no! I couldn’t.”
“You most certainly could.” Darius’s voice was firm but sensual.
The girl shook her head, leaning in to whisper at Darius. Helen could barely make out her words. “I’m on trial, you see. From the agency. I won’t be able to stay if I get into trouble.”
“There’s no trouble to be had.” Darius reached for the pot, pulling it from her with authority. Some of the water sloshed over the side. “You may be new, but I’m not. I’ve been working for the old man for ages. And trust me, they don’t care who does it or how it gets done, so long as it does.”
The girl looked nervously around. “Well… all right, then. But I’ll have to get back soon or they’ll wonder where I’ve gone.”
Darius nodded with authority. “They don’t like dumping to be done close to the house. I’ll show you the best spot for this and have you back in no time. Besides, it will give us a chance to get to know each other…” He fished for her name.
“Maude,” she said shyly.
“Maude.” Darius lead her toward the trees at the back of the house. “A striking name for a striking girl.”
Helen could not withhold her sigh when the girl giggled.
Griffin leaned in, speaking quietly. “Alsorta’s chambers are on the second floor. We have to find a way in before the girl comes back.”
Helen looked carefully through the trees, weighing their options. They shuffled through her mind like a deck of cards until she remembered her mother, leading her through one of London’s worst neighborhoods on a grim February day. They didn’t have an errand or any other purpose for being there. It was an adventure, her mother had said before they’d left the house in clothing borrowed from the servants.
“But why, Mother? Why will we go to the slums?” Helen asked as her mother buttoned up the too-small coat.
“Because, darling.” Her mother had gazed at Helen, her eyes flashing a deep and moody gray. “It’s a game. Like the games you play with your father. It will be grand, you’ll see.”
Helen had been afraid. The people were smelly and boisterous, shoving her every which was as she held tightly to her mother’s hand. She didn’t like this game as much as the ones she played with Father.
Her mother stopped on a street corner, bending down to speak softly to her. “You must act like them, my love. If you’re afraid, if they see your fear, they’ll know you don’t belong. It is only then that they’ll notice you at all.”
Helen had gazed at the roughly dressed passersby. The children with dirty faces and runny noses, many of them chasing after strangers and asking for money.
“But how, Mother? How do I act like them?”
“Do what they do, Helen. Behave as they behave.” Her mother had smiled secretively. “Let us pretend. It will be as a play or fairy tale. I will be the downtrodden widower, seeking work to care for my beloved daughter, who sometimes must beg in the streets for charity. None of London’s richest citizens can resist the child, for she is an angel-faced beauty with sad violet eyes.” Her mother tipped her head, and Helen saw, just for a second, sadness lurking in her gaze. It was gone a moment later when her mother continued. “It’s a romantic, tragic tale, really.”
Later, Helen knew her mother had added this last so that she wouldn’t be afraid. It had worked. Helen had always loved fairy tales, and she had perfected a doe-eyed stare that, together with a plea for change, melted the most hard-hearted stranger. By the time they left the slums, Helen had gathered a heavy handful of coins.
“Well done, Helen,” her mother had said as they made their way home. “Blending is the key to belonging. It’s just that simple.”
And with that, her mother had deposited all the money Helen had earned into a tin nailed to the wall of an old church.
“Well?” Griffin’s vo
ice brought her back to the present. “Any ideas?”
Helen’s nod was slow. “We’ll go in there. Through the kitchen.”
“The kitchen?” Griffin shook his head. “But there are people working in there.”
“Yes,” Helen conceded. “But no one guards a kitchen. Just act like you belong and it will be fine.”
She had already stepped through the trees and was making her way to the side door by the time he spoke the first words of protest.
He caught up to her. “Are you mad? We’ll be caught.”
“No,” she said, “we won’t. This is a big place, Griffin. I could be any one of the maids hired to serve Alsorta and you could be any one of the guards.”
She marched up the steps as if she had done so a hundred times before. Griffin was right behind her when she opened the door.
TWENTY-EIGHT
The air was pungent and steamy. Dishes clattered as people shouted back and forth above the fray. Scanning the area by the door, Helen found what she was looking for in a row of pegs. She grabbed an apron from one of them and a hat from another, putting them both on in under ten seconds as she made her way deeper into the kitchen.
The blood rushed through her veins as she passed two old women doing dishes and stepped over a younger one scrubbing the floor. Helen avoided eye contact with all of them, raising her voice to a bossy shout as she hurried through the room.
“I don’t care what Henry told you.” She directed the words toward Griffin without actually looking at his face. “Master Alsorta needs the carriage shining like a fresh coin first thing in the morning. And maybe if you didn’t spend so much of your time playing cards at the front gate you would have remembered his instructions.”
“I… uh… I’m sorry, miss?” Griffin said. “I’ll… I’ll see that someone does it right away.”