by Riley Cole
The entire block surrounding the tower appeared to be deserted. A soft summer breeze stirred the air, wrapping them in the fetid odor of the great Thames.
Soft, steady footfalls reach his ears. His hand went to the butt of his pistol, but relaxed when he made out the Hapgoods and Briar Sweet hurrying toward them. He squinted into the dim light from the one lamp flickering at the side of the tunnel entrance, disappointment marked their faces.
“Nothing then?” He couldn’t stop himself from asking.
Three heads shook in unison.
Spencer turned from the group and jammed his fists on his hips. He took slow, deep breaths, in through his nose, out through his mouth. In. Out. Trying to tamp down the rage—the abject fear—threatening to overwhelm him. What the hell game was White playing?
He turned back toward the group. The same thoughts seem to be written across all of their faces. Over Mrs. Hapgood’s shoulder, the open doorway to the tunnel loomed like a black, evil mouth.
Sweet caught Spencer studying the doorway. He shook his head. “It’s nothing but a trap.”
He had to agree.
Only one man wide, the doorway fed into a steep spiral staircase that dead-ended at the true entrance to the subway, well below the river’s bed. Anyone entering would be silhouetted in the doorway.
A perfect target.
Spencer looked at each of them in turn. “Not much choice, is there? I’m the one they want.”
It was a long moment before the inspector responded. He reached behind him and pulled his pistol out of the waistband of his trousers. “I’ll be right behind.”
Sweet held out his arms, sweeping the Hapgoods and his sister toward the edge of the shadows. “Mr. H, stand guard with the ladies.” Then he whirled around to face Spencer and the inspector. From the breast pocket of his coat, he extracted one of his disodorizers. “We might find a use for this beauty.”
Despite the fear threatening to launch the contents of his stomach to the pavement, Spencer managed a grim smile. It would do. More than do. Both Burke and Sweet were solid and just foolhardy enough to seize on any opportunity White might allow.
He looked at the boxes holding the gramophone and the extra cylinders he had set off in the shadows. “I don’t think we’ll take that just yet.”
“Agreed.” Sweet was quick to weigh in. “We need to see the women first.”
“Absolutely,” Burke agreed. “Can’t let them get their hands on it until we know the women are close by.”
Spencer gave a sharp nod and jogged through the entrance. A turnstile, set just inside the shadowed landing, stopped him short.
“Hey now!” A portly attendant slid to his feet from a stool perched at the edge of the turnstile and stuck out a meaty hand. “That’s a ha-penny each for the toll.”
Even as he reached in his waistcoat for the coin, Spencer spoke. “We’re looking for our friends. Seems we misplaced them at a pub on Tooley street.”
“The Squire’s Shoe, I believe it was.” Sweet was quick to pick up the narrative. He put a finger to his lips as if he were lost in thought. “Or was it the Nine Hammers?”
“No idea who’s been through here. Don’t much care, long as they pay.” The attendant shifted from side to side as if his fat feet pained him. “Do I look like a bleeding wet nurse? The toll’s a ha-penny. You want in or no?”
Spencer shared a look with his companions.
Sweet fingered his disodorizer, his cold gaze on the attendant. “I’ll stay back. They might show up here.”
Spencer chose a penny and flipped it to the attendant, then he filled his lungs with air, his eyes on the dim light far below. His heart pounded as he descended the circular stairs to the tunnel below, Burke close on his heels. Once they wound their way down below the level of the river, the winding staircase would dump them at the base of the tunnel itself.
Which he tried very hard not to imagine.
He’d likely be shot at any moment anyway. That should have been far more worrisome. If he were White, he would have had a man stationed at the base of the stairs, ready to pick them off the instant he handed over the gramophone.
Still, the small space worked on his nerves, causing a cold sweat to pepper his forehead. The lower they climbed, the shallower his breathing became. A few more yards, and he’d be an easy target for anyone hiding in the mouth of the tunnel.
Once they glimpsed the tunnel entrance, the Inspector stopped and aimed his revolver over the edge of the railing. “I’ll cover you from here.”
Spencer nodded and flew down the last of the stairs.
The landing space at the bottom was larger than he remembered. And it was deserted. Like the stairway, it had been bored from the great river’s bed.
Hoping to make a smaller target for any unseen assailant, he flattened his back against the bricks and peaked into the long tunnel.
Nothing. Just the monotonous drip of moisture on the iron walkway. And the soft scuttling of night creatures, hunters and the hunted.
The tunnel itself, about a quarter of a mile long, thrust its way under the river clear to Tower Hill. The iron-rimmed hole seemed to pulsate with the weak glow from the many gas lamps strung along its low ceiling.
Spencer dug his fingers into the damp brick, trying to shake off the dread clamped tight around his throat. A nasty place. Fitting for a nasty business.
Spencer squinted down the length of the tunnel itself. Nothing. No figures moving toward them through the yellow light. No footsteps. No laughter. Not a breath of air.
Just the chalky damp of the walls, cocooning them almost a hundred feet below ground. He tried to rid his mind of the images: the weight of all that water, the tons of rock and silt between, and the ships. Ships, water taxis, barges weighted down with unimaginable loads, were slicing through the water overhead.
But no figures materialized in the slender tube. “All clear,” he called out.
The inspector flew down the stairs, his feet clattering on the iron treads.
Spencer slammed a palm against the curved iron supports. “What the hell is his game?”
“Hold up.” Burke lunged toward a shadow at the far left of the tunnel. He stopped short as if he’d run into an invisible wall. “Bollocks.”
Hands held away from his body, the inspector straightened. Spencer shouldered his way in next to him. Far back behind the lip of the tunnel, in a pool of shadow cast by the stairway itself, a body lay propped up against the wall. The tip of one shoe just caught the edge of the light.
Ramsay.
Burke was shaking his head. “He was in his cell this morning. Saw him myself. How the hell did White get him out?”
Skin an ungodly white, Ramsay’s neck lolled at an unnatural angle. Spencer didn’t need to touch him to see he was dead.
The inspector knelt next to the body and pressed a finger to the side of the dead man’s neck. “Still warm. Wasn’t long.”
Damn it. If they’d only been quicker.
“Hang on.” The inspector plucked a white square off of Ramsay’s chest.
Unable to contain his impatience, Spencer snatched it away and stepped back into the light.
Wapping Old Stairs
30 minutes
Without a word, he handed the scrap back to the inspector.
The other man muttered an oath. “We’ll have a hard time making that.” Holding only the very corner, he slipped it carefully into his pocket. “I imagine that’s exactly what White wants.”
Spencer’s heart pounded so loudly he could barely hear. He suspected it, but now he knew. White was toying with them, maximizing their worry, their fear, their desperation.
Each convoluted step in his twisted game only increased the chances he’d be caught. That, more than anything, sent a cold shaft of fear straight to Spencer’s gut. The man didn’t care about expediency, didn’t care about erasing the evidence against him.
He was enjoying their fear.
Spencer swayed on his feet. The dan
k walls closed in on him. Thieves, he could handle. Cheats and hustlers and cons might not play by normal rules, but they did play by rules.
Mad men made their own.
“I’ll take the tunnel.” Spencer eyed the far end, as yet out of sight but for a black smudge far in the distance. “You get the others. Follow as quickly as you can.”
He took off running toward the other side of the river. The walkway dipped beneath his weight as he ran, making his stride choppy. His footsteps echoed off the iron walkway, surrounding him in a chaos of sound so loud he couldn't think.
All the better.
He had no taste for his own thoughts at the moment.
20
The mournful howl of an alley cat woke Meena from a restless doze. Her body stiff from hours on the stone tiles, she stretched, trying to bring feeling back into her arms and legs.
She rubbed her eyes, blinking rapidly, as if clearing her vision would bring any definition to the blackness. The tiny sliver of moon had traveled past the window long ago, taking with it the only semblance of light.
She was loath to admit it, but the dark was tearing at her nerves.
From the heat of Alicia’s body, she could sense the girl lay not a hand’s breath away. Her soft, even breathing suggested she was sleeping.
That pleased her. No need for both of them to suffer.
It felt as if hours had passed since she last spoke to their guard, but Meena knew it couldn’t be much past nine. The dark had a way of crawling past.
Tiny noises, the crunching of wood as their guards shuffled over debris, the occasional cough, told her at least one of their guards remained close by.
Beyond that, she heard nothing. No carriages. No laughter. No wheels rolling down the cobbled streets. It was worrisome in the extreme to think they were in an uninhabited part of town. The truth was though she talked a good tale, she was just as frightened as her young charge. It dawned on her that no matter how this drama played out, some of their group might not emerge alive.
White had no reason to turn the two of them over. Spencer and her cousins would know that and plan accordingly. As would she.
Not that she had any intention of allowing this farce to play out to White’s satisfaction.
Meena placed her hands flat on the dusty floor and scooted backwards until she was seated against the wall. She tugged at her sleeves, straightening the wrinkles that had collected in the crooks of her elbows. At least she had been kidnapped while wearing a dark, practical serge. Allowing White to gain the upper hand and ruin one of the nicer pieces in her wardrobe couldn’t stand.
Alicia stirred. “What time is it?”
Although Meena knew it was futile, she couldn’t help trying to read her watch. “I can’t tell, but I don’t believe we’ve napped too long.”
Long enough, however. Time to move things along.
No light filtered from beneath the door, so she assumed their guards must be asleep. All the better. She could catch them when they were foggy.
“It’s time to begin the next part of our plan.” Meena gathered her legs beneath her and rose. Her legs were stiff from disuse, making her feel slow and unbalanced. She took her time shaking them out. She and Alicia would have one chance to flee. Wooden legs might make her a step too slow when it mattered most.
Once the pins and needles feeling subsided, she stepped through the thick blackness in the general direction of the storeroom door. “Excuse me.” She rapped briskly on the thick metal. “Excuse me? There’s something we must discuss.”
“All right. All right. Stop yer banging.” The smaller jailer called out, his voice thick with sleep.
Meena smiled in the darkness. Exactly as she had hoped. “It’s a matter of some urgency.”
Among much cursing, a match was struck. Weak yellow light crept beneath the door. A moment later, the lock turned, and the door swung open, flooding the space with light. An oil lamp appeared, followed by a sharp nose poking partway into the room.
“What in the bleeding hell do you need now?”
“As to that…” Meena paused, playing up the delicacy of her request. “We have no facilities here.”
The man rubbed a dirt-covered hand over his grizzled face and blinked sleepily. “Facilities? What facilities?”
“Saint Edmund’s balls, you idiot! They need a chamber pot.” The larger of the jailers interrupted.
Smaller man’s head bobbed in understanding. “Oh. Didn’t think of that. Well…” The effort showed plainly on his face as he tried to think.
A giant sigh swept through the doorway from behind him. “I’ll find ‘em a damned bucket.” Heavy footsteps moved away from the door.
Now was her chance.
Meena sidled sideways, so she was in the man’s frame of view, and leaned in close. “Have you thought about what I said? About hanging? You'll face the noose when this is over.”
The man lifted his chin. His eyes narrowed, but he remained stubbornly mute.
“I understand.” Meena forged on. “It’s not something I’d want to imagine either. But you can’t just kidnap two respectable ladies off the street. The police will—”
The man dismissed her with a wave of the hand. “I ain’t scared of the peelers.”
Meena raised her eyebrows, feigning surprise. “I see. How unfortunate. I had judged you to be far more intelligent than your large friend.”
He rolled his shoulders back, thrusting out his thin chest. “There’s only one man as scares me, and it ain’t the peelers.”
“Really?” Meena leaned closer, feigning intrigue. “I shudder to think who would frighten a man like you.”
His voice dropped to just above a whisper. “The only man what scares me is the boss. I do as he says, and he’s happy. That keeps my heart beating.”
“Very sensible.” Meena moved in for the kill. “I’ll wager I know of one man, besides your boss, who should frighten you.”
“Doubt it.”
“What about the Jonquil? I’m sure you know what he’s done to those that cross him.” She shuddered.
The man’s mouth fell open.
Meena rushed on, not giving him a moment to think. “The Jonquil could find you anywhere. Once he’s found you, there are no locks that will keep him out.” She spoke in a reverent tone. “Should he care to, he would follow you to the very depths of hell to seek his revenge.”
His eyes narrowed as he considered her words. “What would you know of a right man like the Jonquil?”
Her lips curved slowly, blooming into the most lascivious smile she could muster. “Oh goodness.” She raised a hand to her lips. “That’s a rather delicate question. How do I say this simply?” She paused, leaning in so her decolletage, such as it was in a high-necked day dress, jutted toward him. “The Jonquil and I are the most intimate of friends.”
The man’s head jerked back as if he’d been slapped.
Meena toyed with a lock of her hair. “And I’m sure I don’t have to tell you how the Jonquil feels about others taking his property.”
“I— I—” The man’s frightened face disappeared back behind the door and it slammed shut, taking the light from the lamp with it.
Meena swore under her breath and sagged back against the door. That had not gone according to plan.
“Well done! You’re so clever.” Alicia clapped her hands together. “I can see your strategy now.”
Such as it was. Meena grimaced. Buoying Alicia’s spirits was worth something, at least.
“I believe our man needs a little more time to stew.” Meena wasn’t entirely sure who she was trying to reassure.
To her surprise, Alicia laughed. “I can’t wait to see Spencer’s face when I tell him how you threatened that hateful little creature with the wrath of the Jonquil. He despises the Jonquil’s outsized reputation.” She giggled. “If it were me, I should enjoy taking credit for such ridiculous exploits. But he’s such a starched shirt. No sense of humor at all.”
Meena’
s mouth sagged open. “How long have you known?”
“Practically forever. It’s quite adorable, the way he thinks he’s protecting us. But I’d much rather we could discuss it.” She sighed. “He must have some wonderful stories. Real ones, I mean.”
“I imagine so.” Meena’s head whirled. The little minx. He’d gone to so much trouble for so long to hide it. “And your aunt?”
“She figured it out before I did. She’s a lot sharper than she lets on.”
Meena laughed. “I should say.”
Out of nowhere, a pang of sadness stabbed her. The poor man. All this time. He could have been sharing his exploits, his burdens, his fears, with the women who loved him. Instead, he walled off the biggest part of himself, ensuring that the Spencer they knew was only a fraction of Spencer the man.
And he’d shouldered that burden all these years to protect them.
Another fracture splintered her already shattered heart. He was the man she wanted him to be. Mature. Responsible. Self-sacrificing. A far cry from the selfish, big-headed swell she’d been engaged to so very long ago.
Unfortunately, she’d tossed the former into the gutter along with the later.
She barely heard the shuffling of feet outside the door over the deep, painful pounding of her heart. The lock turned, and the door swung open. A hand appeared, holding a wooden bucket. “This’ll do yeah.” The larger jailer dropped the bucket and slammed the door.
Things, it appeared, were not going well. Meena strove for a brave front. “It shouldn’t be long now.”
“Really?”
“Most definitely.” Meena kept her voice low. “They’re becoming quite testy. That’s an excellent sign.” She hoped.
“I’m rather enjoying your book,” Alicia said. “Might I borrow it once we’re home?”
Meena grinned into the black space around them. At least that part of her plan was working. “Of course. I have all of Mr. Nance’s books. You’re welcome to any of them.”
“The heroine is so refreshing. It gets tiresome, reading about helpless ninnies all the time.”