by Elena Lawson
“No, I don’t think—”
“Come, Alex,” Jasper said, cutting me off, and opening the door wide for Alex to pass by. “I’ll just need to speak to my brother, and then I’ll be back for you, miss. Supper will be ready soon.”
I bit my lip to keep from arguing with him. My traitorous stomach growling at the prospect of a hot meal.
“Through there is a study,” he said. “The latch sticks, but there’s a small wash basin and some old clothes of Alex’s mum’s that Ellis thought might fit you. Change and I’ll be back promptly.”
He turned to leave, and I eyed the window again.
“Remember what I said, miss. The streets are no place for a lady alone at night. Please don’t try to leave—at least not until it’s light.”
I thought I heard Alex mutter something about me being no lady, but I held my tongue.
“I promise to return you safely to your aunt just as soon as I’m able.”
And then they were both gone. The heavy white wooden door closed behind them.
“Thank you,” I called after Jasper, feeling my heart thumping wildly in my chest.
Quietly, I went over to the window, but the shutters wouldn’t budge. I wouldn’t be able to pry them open without making a horrible racket.
You’re stuck, I told myself. You’re stuck in this weird ass fucking house with these stupid-hot men that like to dress up like Victorian era thugs…but the masked man promised you he’d take you home so…
A short laugh escaped my lips at the ridiculousness of the thought. But even if he was lying, a change of clothes and food would do wonders to help get my strength back up—and then I could fight. My teachers in school always called me resourceful for my ability to figure a way out of any situation. A way to solve any problem.
I’d find a way out of this one, too.
The door—the study. Maybe there would be something I could use there. A letter with an address to the house where I was. I could figure out how far I was away from Gravesend. And from the nearest train to get me there. A payphone would be brilliant, too. There would be one near the trains for sure.
But, feeling around my pockets, I found I didn’t have my wallet, or even any loose change. My purse must’ve still been on the yacht. I hoped Amy had the presence of mind to grab it for me after everything.
Shoving the worry away, I set my jaw. I would stay and eat and escape at dawn. I’d walk back to Gravesend if I needed to.
Jasper wasn’t kidding about the latch. I’d thought the door was locked earlier, but if I pressed in on the door at the same time as I lifted up on the latch, it loosened, and with a little extra force, the door swung open.
The stuffy smells of mothballs and old paper assaulted me from inside the dim room, accompanied by the tang of something sweet and acrid, like stale liquor or sugary cough syrup. I stepped inside, finding a low flame in a gas lamp against the wall next to the door. I turned the small silver key that made the wick rise and the flame grow, throwing its light against the mirror behind it and over the room in an orangey glow.
They really liked their antiques in this place…
I could see the wash basin over by another door that I assumed led out into a main space, or maybe a hallway. I could hear the hushed whispers of the men outside. Beside that was a fancy looking porcelain jug that I assumed contained fresh water. A little towel next to it, and a little round bit of soap. Beside that was a chair pushed up against the wall, and atop it was… a dress?
Like the men’s clothes, it looked Victorian in style. But not old. Brand new. As though this—Ellis, was it?—had gone out and purchased them from a costume shop just this afternoon.
Piles of fabric were stacked on the chair. I could see stockings. A corset. Several skirt pieces and the main dress that I assumed was supposed to go on top of it all. With little silken buttons that looked like they went all the way up to a high, very modest neckline. I reached out; my fingers curious about the feel of the thick looking fabrics. Wondering if the deep purple color of the dress felt as soft as it looked.
But I snatched my hand back before I could touch it, feeling something tighten in my chest.
I wasn’t their fucking doll. I didn’t want to play dress-up. Didn’t want any part in their strange Victorian lives.
This was so messed up. I turned away from the offering of cloth and the wash basin—instead focusing my energies on the wide oak desk squatting neatly in front of another window—this one, unfortunately, didn’t look like it would open. The stained glass was set directly into the walls.
Next to it was a large bookcase filled with cloth and leather-bound tomes. Unlike the bookcases I was used to seeing at school, or even at home, this one was missing so many books.
As though there had in fact been a thief after all, and they’d come and stolen nearly half of the volumes from right under the noses of their owners. The dust on the lips of the shelves was only disturbed in front of the vacant places, as though they’d all only just been removed.
How strange.
Wringing my hands, I tip-toed to the desk, and with gritted teeth began looking over the documents, bits of parchment, and quills and inks. I began rifling through the various documents, searching for the bright white of xerox paper. They had to have a water bill or something here.
I flipped open a wide flat black book, finding within it a ledger of sorts. There were columns of information. Names. Items. Notes. Prices that I gawked at. And…dates.
I clutched the edge of the desk to steady myself, a wave of vertigo washing over me. My breaths sawing in and out of my lungs, ragged. My erratic pulse pounded in my ears, deafening in the silence of the study.
It couldn’t be…
But I could feel the truth of it. I’d heard it in the way they spoke. Noticed it in the way they dressed. In the streets. In the lack of artificial light. I had been seeing it with my own eyes since Jasper pulled me from the banks of the Thames—I just didn’t want to believe it. Could not accept it.
Yet here it was. Or, rather, here I was.
In the year 1888.
Chapter 8
ELLIS
She hadn’t heard me come in from the door adjoining Alex’s study to the drawing room. I didn’t want to frighten her, but unable to speak, I had to settle for knocking gently on the threshold.
The girl gasped, spinning around. “Oh,” she said, a hand to her heart, half from shock, and half, I suspected, to hold up the dress she was struggling with. We’d heard her from outside. Cursing and banging and at one point—nearly screaming in her frustration. You’d think she’d never worn a corset before.
She certainly didn’t seem to know how to put on any of the fine clothes I’d ordered from the tailor for her just this afternoon. Perhaps her family was poor. Unable to afford such fine things.
No matter—I would help her, if she would allow me.
The others thought it wise to send me, and it gave me a small bit of pride to be useful for once. Being a black man came with enough trials as it was. But being a mute black man made one even less desirable company. I mostly stayed home. Tended to the house and the gardens. Preferring the solace of nature to the hustle and bustle of town.
“I didn’t see you there. I—” she started, but stopped herself, her cheeks flushing as she glanced down at the state of herself.
I shook my head at her, immediately bowing my head. What had the others been thinking? This was horribly improper.
Only lifting my gaze as much as was necessary to convey my intent, I gestured to her dress. I signed, “Can I help you with that?” I don’t know rightly why I did. I didn’t expect her to understand my attempt at speech using hand movements. Even the others hadn’t mastered it yet, and they’d had years of practice and ample time to attempt to learn.
She seemed a bit more at ease all at once. Though I still didn’t lift my gaze to her eyes, afraid they may linger too long on her ample breasts and cause her to become uncomfortable, I saw how she rel
axed in the way the dress slackened around her knees and ankles.
“You can’t speak?” she asked me, and though I’d grown used to the question, the way she asked it made it seem as though the fact didn’t bother her. That she wasn’t put off by it. Or disgusted.
I lifted my gaze briefly and shook my head once, and then let my gaze fall once more.
She made a small sound in her throat and then spoke once more. “You can look at me,” she said. “It’s alright. I don’t mind.”
So, I did. I looked at her, careful to keep the line of my gaze pointed firmly at her face. Her supple brown curls, shining with bits of blonde and copper. The round slope of her nose, and her delicate neckline. Eyes the color of grass as it began to dry—mostly green, but there was some gold there, too. Supple lips sat frowning over a gently pointed chin. I didn’t miss how her hands shook against the purple fabric she still clutched against herself. Or the tinge of red ringing her eyes.
She’d been crying. I resisted the urge to comfort her. Or to leave her in peace. She clearly needed the assistance, and she didn’t seem as put off by me as she was the others.
I pointed to her dress again and mimicked the motion of lacing one on myself, my face flushing as I realized how ridiculous I must look miming putting on a dress…
“You want to help me,” she said, edging the words like a question. “With the dress?”
I nodded vigorously. Yes!
I watched her lips purse as she swallowed, pausing before she gave me a nod, a warning in her gaze as I approached her patiently. I saw innocence in her eyes, but also a raging storm. I wondered if she would start cursing again—as she had before I’d come in.
I knew at once; this was not some fair maiden who would bend to the will of a man.
She was a tempest in mortal flesh.
I feared for the man she would one day call husband. May his soul rest in peace.
She turned to face the small clouded mirror above the wash basin, seeming to try and look anywhere but at her own reflection. I wondered why. The water in the basin was near-black from her washing, and I cursed not having the foresight to have brought her some fresher water to rinse. But soon the lady would be home, and I hoped, would have the means for a nice hot bath after everything she’d been through. By the way she shivered, I thought the icy water of the river Thames must still be clinging tightly to her bones.
She allowed me to lower the dress. First, I’d need to help her lace the corset, otherwise the dress may not fit. I’d taken rough measurements while she slept, but not wanting to wake her, I hadn’t been able to take the measure of her waist or bust properly. Besides, I was no tailor. I could only hope the ensemble would fit, so long as it wasn’t constricting or falling off, it would have to do.
I began lacing the corset as she held the boning in place in the front. The top of it only just covering where I imagined her nipples would be. I got the distinct feeling she wasn’t accustomed to wearing a corset and wished I’d sent for something simpler. A maidservant dress perhaps? But no, that was too presumptuous—and if indeed beneath her ranking in society would be an utter insult.
The skin of her bare back was unblemished. I didn’t think I’d ever seen flesh so unmarked—with so little weather on it. So, the fine clothes were wise then. She was obviously a lady of noble birth. A scullery maid wouldn’t have skin half as smooth as hers.
As I laced up the corset, pulling it tightly as I knew the ladies liked to wear them, I caught sight of the ledger upon Alex's desk. Open.
I hoped she didn’t notice my sudden stillness, or how my hands paused in their steady lacing. I cleared my throat and began again, praying the lady hadn’t been curious enough to look. For within the pages were notes on the sale of items that weren’t of the mortal variety. Certainly not things you could find at the local apothecary or shops.
Damn that Jasper. He said he’d been thorough in tucking away everything.
“What’s your name?” she asked as I finished with the corset and started on the bustle, glad my former master’s wife often had me assist with such things or I’d be at an utter loss with all the bits and pieces before me. I tried to mouth the word to her and realized my mistake immediately.
She saw me through the mirror atop her shoulder and I didn’t miss the way she stiffened, or the horror in her eyes when she saw the nub that was my tongue.
Damn.
I dropped my head and finished with the laces of her bustle before I turned to the desk and found a scrap of parchment to write on.
I handed it to her. “Ellis?” she asked, tracing a finger over the whorls of ink. I liked the way my name sounded in her accent. So much different than I was used to hearing it. She must have been from the Americas. I was certain I’d heard that particular lilt before.
I nodded.
“You have beautiful writing, Ellis.”
I nodded my thanks, helping her put the dress on, pouring the layers of fabrics over her arms and head.
“What—” she began, uncertain. “What did they do to you?”
I saw her gaze flit from my face in the mirror to the door that led out into the hall where, faintly, we could hear the others talking in hushed tones.
She didn’t think…? I shook my head. No. I began to sign. “They would never… they saved me. They are my brothers.”
“Whoa,” she said, turning around to face me. “Slow down. I don’t know much sign.”
I signed it to her again, imploring her to understand that she was safe here. We wouldn’t harm her. In fact, the others were more worried about what she could do to us—if she found out…
“Brothers?” she asked.
I nodded. I pointed to her and signed the word safe, crossing my arms over my chest—emphasizing it with an earnest look I hoped she took to be genuine.
“I’m safe?”
I reached out and brushed my palm against her shoulder, giving it a small squeeze, and nodded.
Chapter 9
BECK
The corset dug into my waist, cutting off my circulation.
Death by corset. What a way to go.
It reminded me of the tummy tucker I had worn to prom a couple years ago. Back then, it had felt restrictive and suffocating. I had hated the fabric rubbing against my skin, irritating my waist. This? It was ten times worse.
The dress itself was beautiful, I could admit that much. Staring at my reflection in the ornately trimmed mirror, twisting my body back and forth, I could appreciate the immaculately tailored dress.
The bodice was a deep purple color, almost the shade of molten amethyst. Surprisingly, it fit my body like a glove, the sleeves grazing the knuckles of my hand. It was longer in the back than the front, trailing behind me like a wedding veil. A light golden color made up the skirt, interweaving with the purple top. It was by far the fanciest thing I had ever worn. Hell, it might’ve been the fanciest thing I had ever set my eyes upon.
The mute man, Ellis, had left moments after placing a filigree silver brush on the table. I hesitated, only briefly, as I was afraid to tarnish something so beautiful with my darkness, before brushing out my snarled brown hair. Only when my hair was smoothed to perfection, only when I felt human, did I emerge from the room.
My heart was hammering, thumping in my chest, the sound almost threatening to disturb the silence of the house. A quick glance out the window showed that night had fallen in earnest now. Without the pollution of electric light, I was able to see an abundance of stars glittering like diamonds in a cloudless sky. The sight was beautiful, magical, and I found myself venturing a tentative step toward the window.
“Excuse me, miss,” Jasper said from behind, startling me out of my trance. I jumped, hand flying to my heaving chest. His eyes lowered instinctively, a light flush coloring his cheeks red, before he met my eyes once more. “Dinner is ready.”
“Dinner?” I glanced once more at the velvety black sky. It always struck me how vast the universe was, how endless. In comparison
, my troubles were so insignificant and rudimentary. It was only in moments like this, staring at navy canvas far above and catching sight of the milky way, did everything fall into perspective. I was a diminutive speck of dust in this great big fucking world.
“I know it’s late,” Jasper said. “But we wanted you to feel comfortable. I’m sorry, miss.” He ducked his head, dark hair grazing his forehead. “If you don’t feel like eating-”
“No,” I cut in quickly. “It’s fine. I’m starving.” I offered him a timid smile, following him into a large dining room. Stumbling over the trim of my dress in the doorway, I straightened before he could notice, smiling sheepishly.
The other three men were already seated when we entered. The asshole from earlier was scowling into a steaming bowl of soup, lines etched on either side of his eyes. Ellis smiled warmly, albeit demurely, when he caught sight of me before reverting his eyes after a pointed cough from Alex. The Scot flashed me a toothy grin.
“Dinna fash yerself, lass. Come and eat wi’ us. We dinna bite.” His heavy lilt made his words nearly indistinguishable, but his mischievous smile spoke louder than a thousand words.
“Be polite,” Jasper scolded. He moved to a seat at the head of the table and held it out for me. It took me a moment to maneuver myself and the heavy dress into the chair; I nearly tripped more than once. Again. How did people wear these things daily?
After Jasper tucked the chair in, he moved to sit at the right of me with Alex on my left.
“What’s for dinner?” I asked before internally wincing. Did they even call it dinner? Or was it supper?
Or was I losing my goddamn mind?
“Pigeons in white sauce and sautéed mushrooms for the second course,” Jasper explained, cheeks tinging pink as he lifted the tarnished silver lid from a wide circular tray of orgasm-inducing soup in front of me. Similar covered plates rested in front of each of them as well. “And a creamy chicken broth.”