What would she even do if they came into her cell? She was cornered down there with no place to hide. At any moment they could come in and murder her or commit the crimes of Jack the Ripper that her mother refused to explain past their heinous nature. All she had to fend them off with was a dull, bent butter knife from her dinner and a piece of molding with nails jutting from its surface that she had torn from the edge of the door in a failed attempt to break free. Taking a deep breath, she fixed her eyes on Dumas’ words. She had to know how Edmond Dantés escaped. If she finished, maybe he would help her find a way out.
The house fell silent again after the heavy-footed man creaked up the steps to the main floor beyond her chambers. With a sigh and a sniff, she walked over to the wardrobe to get the other blanket from the bottom drawer, but as she crossed the room, something scraped against the sole of her foot and tore through her stockings. Emmeline felt the holler rise up her throat but squashed it in a harrumph of frustration and a stamp of her foot. That nail had caught all three pairs of stockings she had. She tried to pry it up with her fingers, but it was too small to grasp. Grabbing the knife from her previous day’s dinner, she slipped it under the head of the nail and wiggled it until finally it popped out. A satisfied smile played on her lips as she grasped the new weapon to add to her pitiful arsenal and ran her foot over the now smooth board. On the second swipe, the wood shifted beneath her foot. She pushed on it again with her toes and watched as the edge collided with its neighbor and lifted. The girl had only placed the knife beneath it when the hurried footsteps of the other man crossed the floor above. Fearing he would hear her through the tube, she let it drop.
***
It had been hours since the two men had been in the house, and light no longer filtered through the window in the bathroom. Emmeline scuffed her foot along the boards until she heard the familiar clack as they slid into one another. She turned up the lamp and easily removed the loosened board. The gap between the planks was wide enough to stick her head through, but as she stared into the darkness, the sour yet metallic odor of rot wafted into her room and made her eyes tear. Her mouth watered as the bile rose in her throat, but she choked it down. No heroine she ever read about vomited in the face of danger. Wind whistled below, ruffling the edge of her black frock and blowing against her fingers as they clung to the edge of the boards. Skirting around the opening, she grasped the next plank and pulled with all her might until the nails groaned and popped. When the board toppled out of her hands with a clatter, she froze, but no boot treads rushed to stop her. She retrieved a candle from the nightstand and lit it from the oil lamp. Swinging her feet over the edge of the sulfurous abyss, she lowered the candle until a simple wooden shelf appeared a few feet below.
Placing the candle on the top shelf out of her foot’s reach, she slid down into the cavern unencumbered by the maid’s malleable dress. Emmeline slowly scaled the rough-hewn shelves until her toes touched the dirt of the floor. The candle’s wispy flame danced as a breeze zipped past her, escaping up into the chamber above. She took a step further into the catacomb, but the golden glow from her taper only illuminated the brick wall at her side and the wool at her breast. The young woman peered into the darkness, grasping to discern the shapes ahead. Her pulse quickened as the shadows danced and seethed, splitting off into terrific beings before shrinking back to nothing more than a brick at the other end of the tunnel. The tip of her stockinged foot brushed against something hard, but when she brought the light closer, she could make out the remnants of a shattered chair, a brother to the one in her bedroom.
A few yards beyond, something shifted, dragging across the dank dirt floor. Emmeline raised the candle in front of her and stepped closer until something white appeared to be sitting on the floor. He was filthy and thin, but in the isolated rays of light, she noted his bare feet caked in muck and his curled hair which peeked around a tight band of fabric. The creature had his mottled, waxen arms wrapped around his legs as he rocked forward and teetered back. She tiptoed closer, but the moment her foot crunched the earth, his misshapen head whipped toward her. Clotted in his hair and down the side of his face was dark, congealed blood. As her eyes followed the trail down from the blindfold, Emmeline was horrified to find his jaw askew and gaping. He drew in a long, rattling breath as he groped for purchase on the floor and wall, revealing the deep purple and green bruises on his arms.
“Hewo,” he murmured. His voice was breathy, barely audible, and resonated like an un-fingered flute. “Whoosh der?”
The man’s head swept back and forth but stopped in her direction as she tried to suppress the shudder that threatened to escape her lips. His fingers sunk into the mortar as he teetered before hoisting himself to his feet. He blindly staggered forward, reaching with one hand while the other held tight to the wall. Emmeline’s body locked in fear. The thing was coming straight toward her, but she couldn’t move or do anything except draw in a ragged breath. As his hand swept through the air only inches from her, so close she could feel the dank breeze against her cheek, her body lurched back into action and she let out a scream loud and long enough to stun him before flying back to the shelf.
In her haste, the candle blew out, but the light streamed down from the two open boards in her room and onto the shelves. The creature was still calling out for her, but she heedlessly scrambled up the shelves and into the safety of her chambers. Rough, shallow breaths rocked her body and hands as she threw the planks back into their original positions, sealing her off from the horrors of the catacomb below. The thin, hollow voice lapsed back into tears as she dragged the nightstand over the opening. Emmeline backed up until she hit the wall of numbers by her bed. Her throat and mouth were dry, but as she stared down at the hem of her dress and her stocking feet, the bile climbed from the pit of her stomach. Her toes were covered in the same offal that coated his body. Her eyes locked on the nightstand waiting to see it thump or attempt to be moved from below by the creature as he struggled to reach her, but he never tried.
***
It had been three days since she ventured down to the cellar, and as she stood at the dumbwaiter receiving her meal, she dreaded the question she knew he would ask. How much longer would it be before they grew tired of her answer? How many days would she be fine before they decided to change that? Every time she closed her eyes, she saw his battered and deformed body, and she could not help but wonder if he counted the days by his beatings too.
“How do you feel?” demanded the clinical voice at the other end of the tube.
She paused with the new dinner tray in hand. Should she tell him how she wretched when she heard the man below being pummeled again? “Miserable.”
His tone sharpened with curiosity. “Miserable how?”
“Miserable because I want to go home!”
The dumbwaiter rose and carried the plates away.
Her eyes locked onto the bedside table that still stood over the loosened boards. She hadn’t been able to get his twisted features out of her mind since she saw him. He was what she could become if they decided she was no longer worth caring for, and she had to go back. She had to speak to him and find out how he got there. With trembling hands, she carried the thick stew back to her room unable to keep it from sloshing onto the floor. In the silence, she listened for the rattle of the front door. When it slammed somewhere in the distant rooms, she pushed the miniature chest of drawers out of the way and dislodged the planks. Emmeline removed her socks and rolled up her skirt before carefully lowering herself into the tomb.
The stench of death was as strong as ever, yet it didn’t bother her as much this time. Her pulse quickened at the sound of his ragged, hiccupped breaths as he consoled himself by rocking with his unblemished cheek on his knees somewhere beyond the glow of her lamp. For a few minutes, the young woman stood watching him. She had found him so frightful during her first journey, but now, he was just a woeful creature. He was not the romanticized man in the iron mask or the Byronic robber clad
in velvet and leather waiting in the Tower of London for an execution he would escape. He was a human, broken and forever altered at the hand of another, and for him, there would be no escape. New bruises peeked out from under his tattered shirt and across his neck. They had no qualms about hurting him, but what stayed their hand against her? Was it simply because she was female?
“Whoosh der?” he called, his soft voice sharpened by alarm as she took several steps closer.
“I am.”
“Plesh don’ hurd me.” The man tightened his body into a ball, pressing the peaks of his vertebrae dangerously toward the surface of his skin and the remnants of his shirt. “Plesh.”
The backs of Emmeline’s eyes grew hot with the burn of tears. “I am not here to hurt you.” No matter how hard she tried to push the realness of him from her mind, the tremble in her voice only grew worse. “I am a prisoner here, too.”
“Are you hurd?” He inhaled sharply before struggling to cough as his hanging jaw and ribs rattled with each feeble puff of air. “I heard you skeem.”
“They have not hurt me yet.” Emmeline tore her gaze away from his bloodied cheek and cloaked eyes, so she could finally explore the room. “Who are you?”
An inarticulate string of groans escaped his lips. His mouth trembled as if he was about to cry before he replied, “No one.”
Emmeline ran her hand over the thick, ancient oak of the door, but even when she threw her full weight against it, it didn’t budge or even creak. There was not a window or any evidence of human habitation apart from the shelf built into the wall and the splintered chair. As she turned to check the outer wall, her foot brushed against the cold porcelain surface of a shattered plate. Strewn across the refuse were bits of bread already speckled with blue and unidentifiable chunks of brown meat that had long since spoiled. She glanced over her shoulder at him. He stared blindly at her but clasped his ribs as he succumbed to a coughing fit. With a lurch, the man with the distorted jaw rested his head against the wall wheezing.
“Why did they do this to you?”
“‘hey ‘hought I ‘ew too much. Wha’ ‘bout you?”
“I do not know,” she replied softly as she stood at his feet and watched him shrink away from her imminent touch. He was so fragile and boney. He could be her, and she couldn’t bear to let him suffer while she was still cosseted. “Have you had anything to eat?”
As he shook his head, a rebellious, golden curl escaped from under the fabric binding. Had he once been beautiful? “No, but is too har’ ta eat.”
“I will be right back. I have something you can probably manage.”
As soon as Emmeline climbed into her little room, she sank to the floor with tears streaming down her cheeks. Sitting in her dollhouse-like apartments, she couldn’t fathom how life was for the poor creature below. The room was even more revolting than she remembered, and she swore he was weaker than he had been less than a week earlier. He hadn’t even attempted to get up when he heard her this time. Emmeline wiped her eyes with her knuckles before retrieving the soup and gingerly positioning it on the shelf below to keep from spilling most of it during her descent. The emaciated man groaned softly as she drew near and held out the bowl he could not see. At least he couldn’t see her tears.
“Here, I think it is beef stew.”
He groped blindly for the bowl, nearly knocking it out of her hand but never grasping it. Emmeline caught his arm, which flinched in her grasp, yet after a moment’s hesitation, he allowed her to put the small dish in his hand and guide it to his lips. The viscous stew dribbled from the corner of his mouth as he gulped it down without pausing to take a breath. As he attempted to choke down the last mouthful, he aspirated a bit of broth and sent his lungs into spasms once more. She hesitated before lightly patting his back, feeling the sharp bones of his scapula and spine poke the flesh of her palm. Tears burned the backs of her eyes as she stared down at him. She couldn’t bear another moment down there near the man who was only hours from death. When he was gone, it would be her next.
“I— I have to go,” she stammered as she pulled the empty bowl from his hands and hurried to the opening in the ceiling without looking back. “I will bring you more food tomorrow.”
Emmeline scrambled toward the surface, holding back the sobs just long enough to cover the hole to keep him from hearing her cries. She clasped her hands over her face as all the frustration of her time in captivity poured out. There was nothing she could do to help herself let alone him. Every door was locked, and if she continued to feed him, she would starve as well. All she wanted was her mother to make everything all right. She had always been able to count on her before, so why hadn’t she come to bring her home yet? As she reached up to rub her eyes, she froze.
His blood was on her hands.
Chapter Six:
A Mother’s Love
Emmeline Jardine tried her hardest to forget about the poor soul under her feet. She had taken a bath to wash away the evidence of her visit, but as she lay on her bed in the darkness, her mind trailed to Samhain night when she was ripped from her mother’s arms. The party had been just as beautiful as she imagined. She hadn’t even allowed herself to go downstairs until the guests arrived because she didn’t want to ruin the magic, but now, it was the worst day of her life. All that was left of the beauty from that night were the clothes she had shed in favor of the plain gowns hanging in the wardrobe. Her owl-like eyes roamed over to the nightstand drawer where she stowed all her jewelry after she knew she would not be leaving any time soon. The room was nearly consumed with shadow, but as she opened the drawer, her favorite brooch sparkled. It was her mother’s, and after months of eyeing it in her ebony jewelry box, she had allowed Emmeline to wear the diamond and enamel sprig of forget-me-nots for the party. As she ran her fingers over the stone petals, it was as if she could smell the warm vanilla and honey perfume of her mother’s boudoir.
“Emmeline.”
The young woman shot up, ratting the cot at the sound of the familiar voice. The tall, stately figure of Madeline Jardine sat in the worn chair in the corner. Through the darkness, Lady Jardine glowed with her porcelain skin and plum gown. Even her jet hair shown and reflected a sourceless light.
“Mama!” she cried as she jumped out of bed to embrace her, but her mother raised her hand to stop her. “Oh, mama, you don’t know how I have missed you. Why didn’t you come for me?”
Lady Jardine rested her weightless hands on her daughter’s arms and held her far enough away for her to see her mother’s byzantine eyes moisten with tears. “Sweetheart, I looked so hard for you, and I never stopped.”
“What is the matter, mama?”
“You need to find a way out of this place tonight.”
“But how? I have tried everything. The alley by the window is so narrow even cats can’t fit through and all the doors are locked.”
“There are other ways for both of you to get out.”
“Both?” the girl snapped. “How am I supposed to get him out? He can scarcely walk! If I escape, I could always come back with the police. They could rescue him.”
Lady Jardine gripped Emmeline’s arms until her nails indented her flesh. “No, you must take him with or you will both perish. It is imperative that you do it. Do you not understand how serious this is?”
“But you found me. Why can’t you come and get me?” she asked, her voice trembling as she squeezed the pin in her grasp until the diamond settings dug into her palm.
Madeline gently rubbed her daughter’s balled up hand and held it to her lips. “Because I can’t.”
As their eyes met, Emmeline saw her mother was crying but couldn’t understand why. She was so happy to see her after being away from home for so long. Then, she stared down at the brooch, her mother’s brooch. It wasn’t a dream, she was reading her jewelry. The grief washed over her, running through her eyes, squeezing her ribs, and engulfing her wholly as she stumbled back.
“No, mama, no, it— it can’t
be. You can’t be—”
Lady Jardine crushed her weeping daughter to her breast one last time as her little body was racked with sobs. Tears streamed down her cheeks and neck, never clinging to the ethereal violet fabric of her mother’s gown. Seeing her only child cry hurt more than the flames, but she wanted to be the one to tell her. They were all each other had for sixteen years, and now, they must part. When the child’s cries finally slowed, Madeline carefully wiped her face and brushed her dark hair back into place. Placing both hands on the sides of Emmeline’s flushed cheeks, she kissed her forehead and the scant trail of freckles on her nose. Her energy was fading, dimming her image before it brightened again.
“Please don’t go,” Emmeline whispered as she trembled and suppressed a sob.
“I will never leave you, sweetheart. You know spirits never go far.” She smiled softly as she took in Emmeline’s fine features. Her heir’s were so much like her own. “I will help to guide you, but you need to leave tonight and go where you both can be safe.”
“I would rather stay and go with you.”
“No, I love you, and I do not want this to happen to you.” Lady Jardine stroked her only child’s hair as she pleaded, “If you love me, my darling, you will listen to your mother one last time. I raised you to do what is best for you, and tonight you will have to do it alone. For that, I am so sorry, but I will always be there for you. I love you, Emmeline.”
The Ingenious Mechanical Devices Box Set Page 31