11 The Vault
Chapter Eleven
The Vault
B eneath the shadows of the courtyard, Mae’s unease continued to build. As hard as she tried, she had failed to come up with a plan. Not just the perfect plan or a good plan, but any plan at all.
Once she handed over the key, there was no knowing what might happen. Ellsworth had already proven himself capable of murder in the name of greed. And Locke, even if he did indeed plan to share the profits, could not hold up against three men.
Out of options, there was little for her to do but take her chances and pray. She crossed her arms tighter across her chest. In this frigid air, she did not know how much longer she could wait. For the hundredth time, she searched the courtyard, waiting for Locke to show. Strange shadows crisscrossed along the dark, green-less expanse. Empty.
What was keeping him? Miss Rosewood? She imagined the young woman had him in her arms somewhere. Miss Rosewood considered herself so in love, maybe she had grown bolder, and Locke, unable to cause a scene, had acquiesced, humoring her with a few light kisses… She shook her head to banish the dark thoughts. She couldn’t continue to wait here much longer.
She jolted. A flutter of movement caught her attention. The source was likely a bird, but beneath the cloak of night, the courtyard was too ominous to indulge that possibility.
At times, it was like her family had never lived there at all. But they did , she reminded herself. For over two centuries, her bloodline had laid claim to this land, this home, this courtyard.
Mae took the key from the bodice of the simple dress she had changed into and studied it. The weaving of the handle was so worn and tarnished, time—not just its exposure to weather—was to blame. Several generations of her family had handled this key. The knowledge of this seemed to tremble through her.
She squeezed it tighter, feeling years of grime give way beneath her fingers. She looked at the key again. This time with the same wonder and awe she reserved for her family’s oldest possessions.
Her eyes widened. Beneath her fingers, she began to feel an engraving. Along the stem of the key where the grime had been was another design. Words.
CROW’S NEST
Only a few of the letters had been rubbed away, but she knew the name at once. Mae gasped, loud and unrestrained. Crow’s Nest was the name her father had once called their now-abandoned summer cottage on the coast.
She shuddered, the key shaking violently in her hand. It was as if everything her father had ever spoken or shown her as a child had had some hidden meaning. No one save for William and herself would realize that the vault in the cellar was a red herring Thanks to the wagging tongues of servants, it had distracted from her fortune’s true location. Perhaps in cases like this, her family had prepared.
Mae looked back up, a realization sweeping through her all at once. It was at the same moment that her body began to hum with fear. Someone was watching.
Eyes searching, she could see little more than shapes in the darkness. With the passing of an icy draft, the courtyard shifted from ominous to deadly.
“Miss Blackthorne. ”
A touch on the back of her neck sent shivers knifing through her body. She swept round and saw Locke, his eyes glistening like crystals. She shrugged out of his grip. He needn’t use force to imprison her—he did as much with his gaze.
“You have the key?”
Hesitantly, she nodded.
“Then we mustn’t delay.”
Not bothering to take it from her, he led the way across the lawn. Mae tried to take solace in his presence. If she ever needed protection, it was now. Of all the people in the world, this pirate was her only ally. He had kept her uninjured thus far and he still needed her, didn’t he?
Whatever partiality he held for her—no matter how base—she prayed it would be enough to keep her alive.
As she stepped into the darkness of the cellar, cigar smoke clouded her vision and stung her eyes.
Within the gray haze, Ellsworth and his two men sat huddled around a small table. The three of them had likely found it buried beneath the dust. Compared to how she had left it the other day, the place appeared tidy. Most of the debris and clutter had been cleared away.
“You have the key,” Locke prompted.
Mae nodded and slid the key over the table toward Ellsworth.
“Perfect.” He dragged the pipe from his lips and signaled one of his men. “Show her.”
The man, sporting new bruises along the side of his head, kept a wide berth as he walked to the end of the room. From the dirt floor, he pulled up a large hatch. Until then, Mae had never known of its existence.
“Go on.” Ellsworth motioned her.
At the opening, one of Ellsworth’s men had already descended. He was much younger than he should have been for such a task. His face, though drawn, still had some baby fat, and, showing no fear, he exuded the kind of bravado that only came with young age.
Even in the dim light, she could make out the black iron of a vault door. Well-crafted, it had an etched frame of gold. What a wasted expense for a mere decoy.
“So the rumors are true.” Mae didn’t quite succeed in keeping her voice from shaking.
Ellsworth held the key out to her. “I’ll give you the honor.”
Mae swallowed, fear holding her back. She chided herself. No man would think twice about this. Closing her eyes, she summoned the memory of all of Ellsworth’s furtive glances, the unease that inched up her neck every time she’d met him at a gathering. She remembered her brother next, their races across the moor followed quickly by the sight of his broken body. Anger swelled, uncontrolled. She had to act. It would be a matter of duty, of justice.
“Best you do it,” she said.
Of course he would believe her refusal to open the vault herself. To him, she was a flighty, emotional woman like any other. But for a long while, Ellsworth said nothing. He took another puff of his pipe, inhaled deeply, and shrugged.
Mae waited for no other confirmation. She hurried away to the corner where Locke stood. Whether it was from her rapid breaths or sudden proximity, he seemed to sense something amiss. He turned to her, his expression questioning. Then, with eyes wide, he seemed to realize. And yet he didn’t speak. For some reason, he kept silent.
Ellsworth, meanwhile, had closed in on the trap door. Rather than descend, he tossed the key toward the man inside. Mae shot a worried glance at Locke. As wicked as the London thugs were, Ellsworth deserved death above them all. What could they do? They hadn’t the time to act when a loud, jerking sound resonated through the floor beneath them.
Ellsworth, the fool he was, smiled at her, his eyes brimming with delight. Though sure enough, her previous notions had been correct. The lock had triggered a trap sure to be lethal. After a pause of silence, a strange rumbling grew louder, vibrating the room with intensity. Next came hissing.
Ellsworth’s confusion changed to panic. Even at that distance, Mae could see the smoke streaming to the surface, its chemical aroma stinging her nostrils.
“Shut it!” Locke roared.
When Ellsworth didn’t move fast enough, Locke pushed him aside. He kicked down the door himself.
Mae wondered about the man still inside. But against the door, there was no sign of struggle.
It was too late for her too. With Locke distracted, Ellsworth was able to close in. The next moment, he had her by the arm. Her resistance did little to thwart him. With red-hot fury fueling his strength, he flung her to the ground.
Locke, who had finally turned around, was coming for her. But he wasn’t alone. Ellsworth’s other London man was already on him.
Locke twisted around and, leaning back, managed a punch right into the man’s face. Blood streaked down his cheek. Before Locke could get in another blow, the bastard sprung at him again. He grasped on to Locke with both hands this time, locking her ally in a struggle that was enough to hold him back. For a moment, his eyes flashed to her as they jerked from side to side, even as they fell to the ground. Locke grunted and shifted toward her if only by an inch.
He wasn’t going to make it. He wasn’t going to be able to make true on his promise. Still holding her gaze, he seemed equally certain of the violence that was to come. But after that moment, all she would remember was the rage dancing in Ellsworth’s eyes.
*
Head throbbing, Mae shook with a fear deeper than she had ever known. Her eyes opened to blackness and a horrible silence came from all around. A nothingness that seemed equivalent to the depths of hell. Was she dead? If not, it seemed only a matter of time. Death seemed to breathe at her neck.
Where was Ellsworth? Locke?
She shifted an arm to get up but quickly slammed back to the hard, dirt floor. Pain blossomed—an intense burn that stretched across her head, cheeks, and arms.
Several moments passed before the wave of torment rolled away, leaving numbness in its wake. Her surroundings were clearer now and so was her memory. She was still in the cellar amidst dirt and dust.
She lifted a shaky hand to the areas that pulsed with the deepest pain: her cheek and a swollen gash on her arm. Still spilling with fresh blood, the wound was severe, if not lethal. Each breath hurt and her throat ached with thirst. But she deserved it all, didn’t she? This was where her plan had gotten her.
Why hadn’t she stopped it? Rather, why had she tried to kill Ellsworth in the first place? Had not somebody —be it her father or mother—taught her that such a vengeful, hateful act could only end badly? Or was it common sense? The act made her a murderer now, as good as damned in the eyes of the Church. Just like Ellsworth, just like Locke.
Whatever punishment God had handed her now, she deserved.
Like a nightmare, she remembered flashes of pain. Most of all, Locke’s efforts against Ellsworth’s men. The fight in him had shocked her. He hadn’t been thinking anything of gold, then. He had been focused on her.
With a gasp, she tensed, forcing herself to keep still. Even the slightest movement meant needles and daggers of pain.
“Miss Blackthorne?”
At the aching, groaning sound, fear gripped her again. Footfalls resounded, gaining on her .
“Who’s there?”
A flash of light—strangely blue—erupted. Though little more than a shadow, Locke entered her field of vision. She recognized his frame at once, his presence bringing a relief so deep and total, she had to force her hands to keep from reaching out.
But unlike the strong pirate she expected, he looked a mess. Hunched over, he limped as he came forward. Dirt, blood, and cobwebs covered his arms. Her own state was far worse, no doubt. The pain had already returned. The numbness was gone as her shoulder pulsed, blood gushing out, wet and hot.
Locke crouched down before her. Judging by the tenseness of his brow, her wounds were severe. She would likely die, the horrible truth making her want to scream out, to weep.
“Rest easy now.” He wafted a hand over her injuries. “You’ll be fine.”
Mae hadn’t the will left to argue. She wished he would leave her, as he had probably done to countless others. And yet he remained, holding eye contact when, without warning, he placed something cool to her lips. Despite herself, she swallowed the liquid that followed.
It took a while for her to realize what was happening. At first, it felt like warm honey spreading through her body. Then finding the sudden strength to pull back, she saw it. In his hand, a small, blue bottle shone as brightly as a thousand candles. Her mouth rounded to speak when she realized something else.
The pain had all but gone, the wounds disappearing from her limbs. Only their horrible memory remained.
Like a body thawed from ice, she snapped to attention and reached out for the odd bottle. In her grip, the chain around Locke’s neck pulled taut. Suddenly and seemingly without provocation, it lit up again. She stared, waiting for an explanation, but Locke didn’t speak. He barely even moved.
She was equally still when he took her wrist and put the small bottle to his own lips. The bruises along his brow faded until they disappeared altogether.
She remembered all those days ago when she had met him in her father’s office. She wasn’t mad. She hadn’t been seeing things when she’d thought that gash upon his left hand had disappeared.
“How is it possible?” she asked, breathless. Who was he, really? With this kind of item, he had to be much more than a snarling, bloodthirsty pirate.
Locke took the bottle from her hands and stuck in a stopper like it was no more than a syrup. “I’m afraid there’s little time for that.” He put a calming hand to her face. “Are you faint? That would be perfectly normal…”
The question was so ridiculous, Mae almost laughed. He’d spoken as though she hadn’t been gushing blood a second ago. But laughter in that dark, dank cellar was too much to muster.
“You can stand?” Locke offered a hand.
Mae nodded, getting to her feet with little effort. Although a bit hungry, she felt perfectly fine. Not even tired.
“Where is Ellsworth?” Her muscles tensed again.
“I was sufficiently outnumbered.” His voice was hard and regretful. “Alas, he managed to escape me. He bolted the door and in time, he’ll be back with more men. Though there is no knowing when.”
He paced around, searching the broken crates piled along the edges of the room. “Perhaps I can find something to break it down.”
“And leave your precious treasure?”
He turned, a smile playing on his lips. “The treasure isn’t here. It’s not anywhere near here.”
“How do you know?” She crossed her arms and took him in. He was smarter than he had initially seemed.
“Your family was far too clever to make it that easy.”
“But you still don’t know where it’s hidden. It could be anywhere in the world, for all you know. ”
She touched her lips, not sure if she wanted to let on all that she knew.
“That’s why I need you. Help me find it and you’ll have your inheritance. You’ll have your old life just as it once was—financially, at least.”
So that was why he had healed her. He was trying to make it seem as though she would get Ellsworth’s half. Once again, he wanted her to trust him. Which she didn’t, of course. But what other option was there? Stay here and wait for Ellsworth to return? Wait for him to beat her an inch from her life again?
“I could find it without you.”
He pulled something out of his pocket. For a foolish moment, Mae feared it might be a knife. Instead, he presented the key. “Without this?”
“How did you get that?” Mae fought her urge to snatch it from him. She would lose. Of that, she was certain.
“It wasn’t pleasant. And not just because of the fumes.” He tucked it away. “Now tell me, what’s Crow’s Nest?”
Mae crossed her arms. He’d found the clue, yes, but at least he didn’t know what it meant.
“Come now.” He flashed his most charming smile.
“As if I’d make it that easy. I’m a Blackthorne, remember?”
He grunted, lifting up one of the crates that littered the ground. “At least help me find something to break down that door. A wrench, a crowbar—anything.”
“If I told you the location”—Mae blocked his path—“you’d simply abandon me.”
“How else are we to—”
“I can show you the way.”
“To Crow’s Nest?” He stood up straighter, his eyes wide.
Mae nodded.
“At least tell me the distance I can expect— ”
“A few days’ ride is all you’ll get from me.”
“Then it’s here.” He brightened. “Somewhere in England.”
“Perhaps.”
“And the profits…we split them equally?”
Mae nodded. “I want your word—for whatever it’s worth.”
“You have it.” Locke held out his hand.
Mae took it, feeling somewhat reassured when he smiled. As reassured as she could be dealing with a pirate.
“Now this door…”
“That won’t be necessary.”
“No?”
“I know another way.”
She went to the wall and worked her finger along the stone until something snapped at the pressure. Almost instantly, it gave way, revealing an iron staircase spiraling into darkness. The escape tunnel was still there, just as William had shown her. So was the Blackthorne sign of escape.
“I knew I saved your life for good reason.” Locke moved ahead.
Mae bristled. She had hoped that he might have saved her for more. Whatever existed between them, she didn’t know what to call it, but didn’t he feel it too?
“The manor has a series of connecting tunnels,” Mae said, changing the subject. “There’s hardly a room in the west wing without one.”
“Fitting for a house of pirates.”
The echo of his descending steps seemed to emphasize the emptiness below. She forced herself to follow nonetheless, pushing back any lingering feelings of unease.
“Locke?” In the darkness, she struggled to make him out. Then, like a flame, light flickered across his chest. It was the blue bottle again. “There.”
The thing baffled her. Mrs. Jacobs’s tales seemed less far-fetched now. Perhaps this strange bottle was how he had managed to stay young and immortal like the cook had said…
“Don’t fuss now.”
“You’ve made a pact with Lucifer,” Mae blurted out before she could stop herself. “You must have.”
Within the glow of the bottle, his jaw clenched. She could practically see the harsh words waiting to burst from his lips.
Then all at once, the light shuttered to black.
Before Mae could suck in her next breath, Locke came close. She considered moving away, but the effort wasn’t worth it. Not when his body radiated delicious heat in that freezing underground tunnel. She stared at the smooth skin of his shoulder where his torn shirt had left it bare.
“If you must know, I found this healing serum and for all I know, it may indeed belong to Satan.”
“You mean to scare me.”
“Perhaps you should be scared.”
A long beat of silence commenced. The air was suddenly so hot and thick around her, it seemed as if nothing could break it. Every fiber of her being begged to pull him closer, but as hard as she tried to smother it away, her longing pressed on. Something about the darkness, the remoteness of the tunnel, made her lust grow even stronger. And with each breath, her hindrances were flitting away.
But she could not give in to these desires. She couldn’t let him know such a weakness existed in her.
“Just trust me, will you?” He plucked a piece of cobweb from her hair and broke away into the darkness. “After saving your life, haven’t I warranted as much?”
Still pinned to the wall, Mae felt her head spin.
She had no reason to trust this brute. He simply needed her to help him find the vault, and what about the fact that he had led her to those brutes in the first place? That fact could not be forgotten. He wanted her fortune equally as much as Ellsworth. Possibly more. He was a pirate, wasn’t he? Though now it seemed he was something much more.
“You said you found that serum?” Mae gripped her mud-drenched skirts and followed after him.
“Yes.” Without warning, he whirled again. Mae flinched.
“Must I keep repeating myself?” He groaned. “We’re partners now. What reason have I to hurt you?”
“You’re a killer. I should expect no less.”
“So are you, darling. Or have you already forgotten?”
Mae stilled at the image of the slamming hatch and the man still inside. She saw his drawn yet youthful face again. Whatever his name, he had died too young, far too young.
“It’s not always avoidable, is it?”
“I didn’t mean for it to happen. I was only guessing it might be a trap.” Mae clasped her neck, as if feeling that harsh, chemical sting again. “Ellsworth was supposed to be the man caught inside.”
“So you knew there was a risk to whoever went down there. To be honest, I didn’t think you capable.”
Mae shot him her hardest glare. She did not find it amusing at all. She felt sick. With the exchange of a key and the slam of that hatch, she had become no better than he. What did one do now? Beg for forgiveness? Give oneself up to a life of debauchery?
“Don’t worry. It improves with time.”
“What does?”
“The guilt. Not that you should feel sorry for the bastard. He would not have hesitated to do the same to you had the order come. Given the circumstances, you did well. If it frees us of Ellsworth, I’m glad of it.”
“Please don’t try to justify it.”
“The man was scum. No different than Ellsworth.”
Mae tensed, unable to erase the memory or the feeling sinking deeper in her stomach. If only she had time to think. But holding that key, she had felt only anger and a desperate need for revenge. She hadn’t thought of the consequences. She’d simply wanted to be free of that horrible, blood-soaked memory. She wanted her brother back.
“Think of it as an act of courage. You did what you had to.” Locke shrugged as if her act had been nothing more than the swatting of a spider. “You did what needed to be done.”
“A sort of means to an end?” Mae thought of the Romans again. How their ambition had turned into the bloodlust and ruthless cruelty that had eventually been their downfall. She refused to be the same. “I won’t become a monster,” she said, more to herself than anything.
“Impossible. Though it does help to take up a few charitable subscriptions.”
“Is that what soothes you?” She mocked, not believing him.
“I find it best in easing one’s conscience, yes. Give it a try when you have the means. Might I suggest St. Aubin’s Orphanage in London?”
“And here I thought you grew up in a gutter.”
“No, actually. I happened to be luckier than that.”
“Then what’s your connection to them? Or is the place just a guise for something else?”
Was he teasing her? He could not be half so considerate. She almost didn’t believe it, but in his shameless eyes, she sensed that maybe he had actually donated to the group. And likely more than once.
“All I know is that some men would not be half so rough had they some decent care early in life. Sometimes I wonder who I might be without…well, my father …”
Stunned, Mae stilled her steps. Locke’s act of charity seemed more unlikely than her own act of violence.
Disgusted with herself again, Mae could not help but remember all the morals her mother had tried to instill. The Ten Commandments. To treat others as one would want to be treated. She had tried to obey those simple rules, but that was before her brother had been taken by the sea, before she had been betrayed.
Circumstances could change anyone. Even Locke.
Clearly, something had to have happened in his life to provoke this empathy. To even think of the poor while he was out stealing from others—how was it possible?
She wanted to study him in this new light, see if his expression might betray it all as a lie, but he raced ahead, distracted by a new series of bricks and a change in the air. She, too, felt the slightest wisp of a breeze. They were getting closer.
A few more steps and Locke stopped altogether. He held up the bottle and light spread over the wall. It’s a dead end,” he said without a hint of fear.
“Let me.” Mae reached out, searching for the hatch. She wondered how long it had been since it had last been used. Years? Decades? She and William had never gone this far. There were too many things that could go wrong: a cave-in, a flash flood…
Faster now, her hands ran up and down the bricks until finally, she paused. Then, mustering her strength, she pulled hard. A clicking noise echoed so loud, dirt vibrated down from the ceiling above. One final shove from Locke’s shoulder and the door gave way.
Together, governess and pirate stepped into night and atop a mass of dead vegetation. They were in another one of the manor’s courtyards, the scent of grass strong in the air. Like ghosts, white, marble statues stood scattered among the weeds.
Locke picked up his pace and looked about. “Come quickly,” he whispered, as though he had seen something. Mae did not bother to ask what. She simply ran. Along the grass, thick droplets of dew tickled her ankles.
Besides her own rapid breaths, the night was silent. Music from the ball had completely died away.
The manor, however, was still aglow. In the tall windows of the ballroom, a lone figure stood unmoving, seemingly in thought. Mae had a feeling that person was in anguish. She had an even stronger feeling it was Miss Rosewood.
She should tell Locke to get down, to hide, to do something that would make their long shadows more obscure.
But it would only delay the truth. Whether or not Miss Rosewood had seen, there would be no avoiding Mae’s and Locke’s absences the following morning. Mae wished she had written a note and offered some explanation.
It was too late now. Up ahead, Locke had reached a large cluster of shrubs. His horse was tethered there, sniffing in his eagerness for release.
Locke lifted her up and mounted the horse behind her.
“Our destination?” he asked as chirping birds signaled the approaching dawn.
“West…to the coast.”
As he twisted Gambit around, Mae glanced back at the estate shadowed against the golden haze of dawn. The figure was gone now.