A fleeting glimmer of sorrow passed over his beautiful face. I assumed thinking of his late parents caused a pang, and I wondered at his strength of confronting all this; a house and family were taken from him, and here he was poised to survey it as if it wasn’t even his anymore. Well, it wasn’t; it had been stolen. But justice would be done. In the end. It had to be. But there were no certainties for us. His resilience in the face of it all was truly astonishing.
Jonathon continued further. “You and Lavinia will be safe here while Nathaniel and I see if the house is occupied or indeed as abandoned as Brinkman indicated it might be from recent exterior surveillance.”
“You mean to leave us here?” I clarified quietly.
“It would be for the best,” Nathaniel stated.
“No, I am coming with you,” I declared.
Jonathon shook his head. “I knew you’d say that, but, Natalie, my dear—”
“If we are about to be bait, as it were, I’d like to know what may be in store. I want to know where and what I might be—perhaps literally—dragged into. As you say, I don’t need to be visible, but waiting here will be maddening—”
“Well, then, if you’re so insistent about it, Miss Stewart,” Nathaniel interrupted crisply, “then we should take every precaution. If we are discovered during this surveillance excursion, we’ll need to play our parts.” He reached into the pockets of his long black frock coat and plucked out the bindings he’d taken off Lavinia, unfurling them through his long fingers once more. He turned to Lavinia with smoldering attention.
Nathaniel grasped Lavinia’s hand and brought it to his lips. “My lady. Would you permit me this little ruse once more? It’s just a game,” he purred.
Lavinia bit her lip, nodded, and if I wasn’t mistaken, she swayed a bit as if her knees were suddenly weak.
I balled my fists, and that blushing flare of fury lit up over my body once more.
“It is not a game, Mister Veil. It never has been. Perhaps this all seems like a grand act to you, but please remember people have died in this game. Your dear friend and myself, included. Not to mention your Association, too, if they’re not careful.”
The imperious actor turned a sober look to me. “If we don’t make it a game, Miss Stewart, pretend we’re not frightened, how in God’s name will we have the courage to do what must be done?” he countered earnestly. “I stared into the eyes of that so-called “Master” of it all, and the soullessness I saw there, the pit left behind once all humanity has been removed...” He shuddered. “It defies description. And I’m very good with words. Perhaps you think me just an arrogant, carefree player after all. But I thought I glimpsed understanding when we met. I thought you saw, as Jonathon has always seen, that I take the terror I choose to counter with levity deathly seriously.”
I nodded, looking away, contrite. He took a step closer to me, waiting to meet my eyes again. When we did, he added, “But you’re not wrong to make sure of it.”
“Thank you,” I murmured.
I felt the pressure of Jonathon’s hand in mine. I smiled up at him weakly. “Lead on then, Lord Denbury,” I said, holding out my hands for him to make me out to be the captive again.
He smiled at me gently and was just as gentle as he took the fabric from his breast pocket and wrapped up my wrists, making it look like an intense bind, but it did not chafe in the least. “Thank you for placing your trust in me, Natalie. I do not take it for granted.”
“That makes two of us,” Nathaniel said to Lavinia, running a finger down her blushing cheek.
“How can the devils beat such a blessed team?” I asked, returning his smile.
Oh, but how I knew they’d try.
I closed my eyes a moment as Jonathon did up my hands again, trying to block out thoughts of how the toxin had overtaken me, how I’d been tied down for fear of harming others. How embarrassing. This was not much better, this show of humiliation.
I tried not to think of the helpless position this put us in, how as women we were expected to be the “bait” for demons, as I’d chosen to be once before at the Metropolitan, to lure out evil so that I might best it with a countercurse. That we were constrained to do so was inescapably sickening to me. I was aware that society relegated us to second-class citizens, though I believed with all my heart women were equal creatures under the God that I knew. Human law and opinion just needed to catch up with the divine. Just because I could play the game of my world did not mean I was complicit to it otherwise. Jonathon must have read the struggle on my face; surely he could feel it, for what he offered was a salve:
“I take no pleasure in anything that would give you discomfort, Natalie. I would never subject you to something I didn’t know you could handle with the most impressive aplomb.”
“Thank you, dear,” I replied, opening my eyes to take in his kind gaze. He’d always been as much of my champion as I was of myself. Bless him for that. “Thank you. For such a thing as this is not easy to stomach.”
“For a girl like you, hardly,” he said with a little laugh. “And I’d not have that any other way.” He tied the knot of the bindings, loose in truth, but looking quite thorough to an outside eye. He kissed me fondly on the cheek and stepped away.
Jonathon took his carriage lantern, Nathaniel, too, and as he went down the marble steps ahead, he called back to us. “Wait one moment, ladies, while we light the torches on ahead.”
A dank, dark corridor was revealed beyond the descending set of stairs. The fine trappings near the mouth of the corridor, presumably all that a lady ensconced in that private cottage would have seen, were enough of a courtesy. But the route to get to her was something else entirely.
Jonathon and Nathaniel darted back up the corridor and up the marble slab stairs to fetch us. They led us each by the elbows down into the corridor, taking care with our balance. None of us were in a rush, as everything had an oppressive weight of dread about it. Poor Jonathon, who should have been so excited to return home. Now home was enemy territory that had to be approached by subterfuge...
The connecting passage was like an endless tomb. Dirt-packed walls were reinforced by wood and stone beams. The soot of torches and lanterns smeared big black tongues up the slightly arched ceiling that was not far above our heads. An interminable length lay ahead of us. Jonathon and Nathaniel had only lit the periodic torches for a few paces on, but Jonathon held out a lit taper. I assumed there were more yet to light. I wasn’t necessarily claustrophobic by nature—after all, I lived in New York City—but this would try anyone’s sense of space.
None of us felt compelled to say anything. I had a thousand questions as to what to expect, but I doubted Jonathon could offer me any answers. We were playing this game entirely by ear. I tried not to think about any number of my nightmares where terrible things happened down long corridors where I was, for all intents and purposes, trapped... When Jonathon and Nathaniel lit the lamps, I just prayed they would stay lit for us and not be snuffed out by God knows what... Hadn’t I promised myself I’d avoid corridors? I was the worst tempter of fate that ever lived.
I had no sense of time or length of passage other than a great deal of it. Finally the mouth of it seemed to widen as if we’d come to the estuary of a river. Before us lay another set of stairs. Out from the tunnel rose another large metal door. Jonathon ascended the set of stairs, fished for the same key in yet another impressive iron lock, and was very careful to turn the lock slowly so that the latch would not echo.
“Stay quiet until I can determine if we’ve any measure of cover or safety,” Jonathon whispered.
He gestured us through the door and into a strange space beyond, a little landing, wooden panels all around us and a few strange pipes, levers, and meters and small vertical slots in the panels before us. He very slowly shifted a lever, and a slot opened. There was darkness beyond. A sliver of light could be seen far in the distance.
“What’s on the other side?” Lavinia whispered.
“Ou
r library.” He peered into the dim vertical opening once more. “Obviously, no one is feeling literarily inclined at the moment,” Jonathon replied, still in a whisper.
“What is all this?” I gestured around me to the other levers, which I assumed may be other peep holes, but that didn’t explain the pipes or meter.
“When the house was fitted with gas fixtures,” Jonathon began, still keeping his voice hushed, “my father became rather entranced with the secret passages and with their possible advantage. I always thought he was a bit paranoid, but now I wonder if he actually was on to something. He was so protective of Mother, all my life, terrified of losing her, that I thought he was going a bit mad over it. I wonder if some part of him foresaw their doom...” Jonathon looked at the wooden landing beneath our feet. “I know Mother had a suitor early in her life that had caused her trouble. She’d only mentioned it briefly, when she was instructing me how to be a proper gentleman. It would seem he’d proven the very opposite. I hope I wasn’t blind, that there was something I should have seen, been forewarned—”
I placed my hand on his arm. “You mustn’t think like that. There’s nothing you could have done, truly. And you have become the good and proper gentleman she’d be so proud of...”
He offered me a strained smile before shaking his head as if casting off something he didn’t wish to consider further. He continued. “Father had a device fitted here”—he gestured to a little open-faced dial with a needle—”that tells us if any of the gas lines have been turned anywhere in the house. The needle is down, so that indicates no lamps have been turned. And he had every room fitted, even the kitchens. Told no one but Mother and me about this little area, as we were the only ones to know about the passages themselves. I never dreamed I’d actually have cause to use them. So by the lamp theory, no one is here at this hour, as staff, if any were here to attend to anyone present, would always be awake at this time.”
I nodded. I nearly offered the critique that demons could likely act in the darkness, but I wasn’t sure if that would be helpful. My body seemed to know when they were present before my mind had any registry, and while I was tense, there were no telltale hairs rising on the back of my neck. Not yet.
“And now we listen,” he added, gesturing to a small phonograph-like bell. “There is a pipe from each room to carry any noise. It’s frighteningly sensitive. Father never made it a habit to hide here, he wasn’t mad about it, but he did threaten me never to keep secrets, as he said he’d hear everything like the ear of God.” He chuckled again, and this time didn’t bother to blink back a tear.
The poor man still had never had time to grieve. There had been no proper funeral for his parents. There had been no closure. My heart seized with an ache and a love so pure and raw. He hadn’t spoken of them much since we’d met. I could see now that was only because speaking of them was so fraught with melancholy and wistfulness for the time wrongfully stolen from their lives.
“Do keep quiet and your breathing shallow, friends,” Jonathon bid, “and let’s see if anything picks up.”
We listened. Only the occasional creak of an old house. No stirring of any presence, no footsteps, no words, snores, no rustling or shifting. An uncanny blanket of quiet.
“It would seem we are indeed alone, but I still say we proceed with caution. If anyone finds us, we play our parts. However, I’m not sure the bindings will be necessary. I’d rather do without them,” Jonathon said, and in a moment I was free once more.
“I’ll hold it in case,” I said, keeping the fabric clutched in one of my hands.
With my other hand, I pressed against the stays and laces of my corset and felt the ridge of the small, sharp scissors I’d been yearning for earlier. I undid one hook and eye of my bodice near my navel to allow for a quick plucking out of the blade. The small comforts were profound.
Nathaniel untied Lavinia’s wrists, and I wasn’t sure which of them lost control, but suddenly their lips were as locked as their arms were around one another. Perhaps the quiet tension simply had been too much for them. In unison, Jonathon and I turned away as if we didn’t notice.
But I thought I saw Jonathon smirk as he took my hand and led me forward, pressing his hand into the darkness. With the drop of a clunking lever, a panel swung forward into the library we’d been scouting. We left the panel open for the entwined couple; they’d see to it as they would.
I looked around in wonder at the dim library, rectangular and tall, with floor to ceiling books, lit only by the moonlight streaming in from behind the arched French windows curtained in lavish fabric. But Jonathon didn’t linger here. I think he was too concerned with getting to the heart of the estate to truly take stock, for he moved forward with specific intent. The library led into a grand corridor with chandeliers dropping down periodically throughout the length of it, sweeping out into an open area beyond, likely the main foyer.
Everything ahead was shadowed and glittering silver, all the finery, all the mirrored and crystalline surfaces, the golden frames around still lifes and landscape paintings and well-polished wood. It was the hallway of a palace, with arches marching forward, everything dim save for a wildly bright moon that sent light in at odd angles to bounce off any responsive surface and make the hall look as if it were enchanted. I was, certainly.
He looked back to me, to why I’d paused, and his furrowed brow eased. He bowed slightly and tried to hide the pain in his expression, but I was too accustomed to that beautiful face to miss it. “Allow me to welcome you to Rosecrest, my lady.”
Chapter Twenty-Two
As he righted himself, I curtseyed deeply. “My esteemed Lord Denbury, it is an honor to be here,” I replied with soft earnestness. He broke into a smile. A genuine smile like I’d not seen for some time, a flame of his pride returning, and it was as if one of the gas lamps had been lit in the room. But it was only his eyes. The moonlight did all the rest. “I love the name of it,” I added eagerly. “Rosecrest...”
“Dates back in something of our lineage to the War of the Roses. I’m not sure what’s fact and what’s familial aggrandizing.” He chuckled.
And at the mention of family, there again came the pain, like a veil being drawn over those seraphim features of his. He reached up to turn the key of a gas lamp before thinking better of it, keeping signs of activity at a minimum. There was moonlight enough.
We set to wandering the quiet, dark, enormous old house. To say it was eerie was perhaps the understatement of my life.
And yet it was so arrestingly exquisite. Eerie didn’t bother me. Eerie was enticing, the kind of setting where a soul could give over to romance, a place for passionate whispers and stolen clutches in dark corners, surrounded by shadowed beauty on all sides. Frightening was a different story, a shade darker on the palette. At the moment, we were firmly in the color of eerie, and I was content to stay in its entrancing hue.
Rosecrest was the kind of grand, palatial manor that would be its own character in a famous tale. Old and mid-eighteenth-century Gothic, it was everything a Brontë would have written about and that in any other case or company, I’d have unabashedly swooned over.
But I didn’t need to make a show of any of that here, as it would have been a bit much. For Lavinia soon caught up with us and took that particular helm, her black layers as slightly askew as her coiffure, Nathaniel looking a bit smug behind her. His long black coat swept the floor as he stalked into the main foyer, making him look like these surroundings were one of his stage sets.
As my far more theatrical compatriot, Lavinia did all the sighing and exclaiming over the manor for me. Nathaniel was quite used to the place but seemed to love seeing it through Lavinia’s eyes, and their impassioned, nearly childlike wonder was so refreshing against the anxieties that had my shoulders so tensed.
Allowing for momentary curiosity, I watched them. After that furious kiss of theirs in the underground corridor, I wondered if Nathaniel Veil, the Gothic Don Juan, was growing to favor Lavinia in the ways
that I hoped, as I wanted her to be his foremost paramour. She was too much of his kindred spirit not to be, and her unbridled rapture at the estate was endearing and contagious. After a particularly rhapsodic ode where Lavinia exclaimed about the moonlight through the massive, arching window that illuminated the grand wood and marble staircase to upper floors “as a portal into the night court of the realms of faerie,” I did feel compelled to add my own compliments to her panoply.
“It is so very beautiful, Jonathon,” I murmured. “Breathtaking. All of it. And it is yours. That must not be in doubt. I know everyone involved will make sure justice is served for you and for this wondrous place,” I reassured with all the confidences I could muster. I was sobered by how hard this all had to be for him. I reached out and pressed his hand in mine as he took us through the length of the main foyer.
“Why would the Society just abandon this treasure?” Lavinia exclaimed.
“Oh, they haven’t abandoned it, it was overtaken by a nouveau riche family that fancied themselves landed and titled—or at least are trying to be—in a home they had no right to buy as it was stolen not sold, though they changed our family crests anyway,” Jonathon growled. “The Society acts as landlord. Per Brinkman’s exterior surveillance, it would seem that both the family and Society persons do come and go, but no one here has kept any permanent staff on retainer,” Jonathon replied. “Considering the Society’s penchant for experimentation, we need to be prepared for any number of things to be taking up space in my estate.” The grim resignation in his tone spoke again of his amazing resilience. I took his hand again, and this time I just didn’t let go of it as we continued the tour.
The Double Life of Incorporate Things (Magic Most Foul) Page 17