The Sapphire Heiress (The Silver Order #1)

22 Old Tunnels

Chapter Twenty-Two

Old Tunnels

T he carriage swayed as the horses trampled their way around the next turn. Without pause, they pulled through the gate. It had been left open, as if in welcome. She prayed Mrs. Rosewood and Miss Lenore, defenseless as they were, had run off to the nearest estate as soon as they’d seen the men coming. The servants too. Whoever had taken their place would only mean them harm. Ellsworth’s men cared for gold and little else. Most likely, they’d be willing to kill for it.

Mae peered out the window. The sun had set and darkness began its quick descent. In the distance, her home was little more than a shadow. Its darkened bricks and iron-spiked roofs rose higher as they gained speed again.

Mae struggled to make out any sign of life. Along the third floor of their quarters, the windows remained unlit.

The horses halted at the front entrance but received no welcome. That was a good sign, at least. Ellsworth alighted first. When Mae and Miss Rosewood followed, men poured out from the main doors, each of them wearing a scowl fouler than the last.

They were the same Cheapside-of-London-looking bunch as the two men before. Only there were a dozen of them, ready to do Ellsworth’s bidding.

“Pretty, this one.” A stranger with long, stringy dark hair, took hold of Mae. Completely surrounded, she saw no use in fighting. Still, she trembled in pain and disgust. Beneath the man’s increasingly hard grasp, she was sure to bruise.

“Another!” A man with dirt on his face grabbed at Miss Rosewood. Unlike Mae, she struggled, throwing her arms out. “What do you think you are—Frances!” she cried. Mae winced at the plea. She had tried to warn Miss Rosewood. Why hadn’t she listened?

“No need, Hans,” Ellsworth said without real concern.

The brute threw Miss Rosewood forward. With a blood-curdling crack, she fell on her knees atop the hard brick of the drive.

“It’s the other woman who’s important.” Ellsworth took hold of a lantern from one of his men and shined it in Mae’s direction, but she could only see Miss Rosewood, struggling to smooth out her skirts and get to her feet.

Ellsworth did not so much as bat an eye. Stiff with focus, he turned to another man.

“Have you found it?”

“No, sir. But we dun just as you instructed. Got the master key, right ’ere.” He fumbled in his pockets and handed it over. “We’ve access to every part of the house.”

Ellsworth shoved the key into his own pocket.

“Mrs. Rosewood, her daughter? The servants? Where did you lock them away?”

“Ah, that, sir?” The man hesitated, shoving his hands into his fraying pockets. “I think they saw us comin’. They, uh, managed to flee.”

At this, Mae heaved a breath of relief. Ellsworth, however, was not so pleased. “Escaped? Escaped , you say?” His face went still.

“Sorry, sir. We tried.”

“Was not one of my instructions to bind them?”

“Sir, we—”

Ellsworth cursed then delivered a hard blow as quick as a snap of the fingers .

The man, gasping for air, cowered away.

Miss Rosewood covered her eyes.

“They wouldn’t dare hide out in Locke’s haunted estate, would they? They’d go to the next familiar neighbor. Has to be at least ten miles.” Ellsworth heaved a breath, looking as if he wanted to hit someone else. He lowered his head in thought. “A pity it isn’t winter. We’ll have to work quickly now. Once we find the fortune, a bribe to one of the constables should do the trick.”

Ellsworth strode into the manor and like clockwork, the men followed.

Glass crunched beneath Mae’s feet. She hadn’t known what to expect, but it certainly wasn’t this. In the orange glow of Ellsworth’s lantern, she took in the complete destruction of the foyer. Large, iron windows gaped open to the elements and paintings, torn and splintered, lay scattered across the floor. A consequence not of their search, but of careless men. The sight brought tears to her eyes. What purpose did this serve in their search? What had they expected to find?

She didn’t want to think of the other rooms, the other valuables. She had to remember that they belonged to the Rosewoods nonetheless.

“Bring her here,” Ellsworth said.

Nodding with servitude, Mae’s captor dragged her forward.

“Now…” Ellsworth lowered the light. “Since the vault in the cellar was a trap…we’re going to have to be a bit more careful, aren’t we?”

With his free hand, he yanked Mae close. “You shall open all the vaults henceforth. What say you to that?”

Mae’s head and heart seemed to throb in unison. She wanted to move back, if just an inch, but his grip was unrelenting.

“Don’t resist me,” he wheezed. “The true location of the vault. Tell me now.”

“The old summer cottage.” Mae dropped her head down.

Ellsworth eyes shot back and forth. “Lies!” he burst out. “That hovel is more than a day’s ride—you are only trying to buy yourself more time.”

“What do think Locke and I were doing there?”

“Given your state of undress at the time, lots of things.”

Mae swallowed hard, her face reddening.

She just wanted this to be over. At this point, Miss Rosewood would be lucky if Ellsworth married her. After this, Mae doubted either of them would live. Truth or lie, death was inevitable either way. There was no doubting that. Her only hope was escape, which—Ellsworth was right—would indeed require time. If she failed to plan something, there would be no serum, no Locke to save her.

“The attic,” she lied. Her only strategy was the place that would take longest to reach. Somewhere during that time, there’d be an opportunity to escape. There had to be.

Ellsworth beamed a wide, wicked smile. “Search the place thoroughly,” he ordered his men. “Another one of you keep watch.”

The man still hunched over from Ellsworth’s blow nodded. The rest of them raced up the stairs.

“As for you, my darlings…” Ellsworth pushed Mae toward the hall. Behind her, Miss Rosewood’s steps kept close.

Mae wanted to yell at her to run but struggled to find the words. She remembered Ellsworth’s grip on her throat and heard again Miss Rosewood’s bone-cracking fall to the floor.

Ellsworth peered inside a doorway. Looking satisfied, he forced Mae inside and motioned Miss Rosewood to follow.

“But not me, of course.” Her lips and chin trembled. “I am to be your wife…you promised.”

He laughed. “It is far more likely that I shall forget about you entirely.”

With that, he shut the door, throwing the windowless library into complete darkness. On the other side, the key grinded in the lock.

The room fell into silence .

“Miss Blackthorne?” Miss Rosewood called out, her voice pained.

Mae didn’t answer. She searched for the matches in the fireplace and busied herself with the lighting of the wall sconces. Ellsworth’s men must not have gotten to this room yet. It had been left untouched.

Miss Rosewood swept around. In the new light, her face was expectant, ready for scolding. She looked no different than the days she had forgotten to do her readings.

Why hadn’t Miss Rosewood believed her? Why did she let herself be fooled into thinking she had no choice? Was being an old spinster as Mae was destined to become really so bad? Being locked away in a cage was far worse.

More than anger, Mae pitied her former pupil. Miss Rosewood had been one of many foolish young women too eager to marry, but few had ever made mistakes as monumental as this.

Now Mae knew their fate all too well. Ellsworth’s plan was simple enough. He wanted her fortune and to cover up his tracks and avenge his ruined business, her life. Miss Rosewood would of course suffer the same. Mae covered her eyes, too tired for tears.

“You lied.” Miss Rosewood stalked forward, her steps loud in the quiet library. “The vault really is at the cottage, isn’t it?”

Mae imagined those awful men rummaging through her family’s long-forgotten, worthless things. Eventually, they would realize her lie. And sooner or later, they would be back.

“What does it matter now?” Mae asked.

Ellsworth didn’t believe her. And it wouldn’t save them—only a miracle could. Despite their helplessness, she clung to that remnant of hope. “Failure is a state of mind,” her father had once said, and she refused to submit.

“We have to do something…” Mae said.

This library had been one of her father’s favorite rooms. Over there in that very armchair was where her mother had told her stories. Over there atop the low table was where her father and William had liked to play chess.

The room was one of the oldest and also one of the most frequently used. So surely, it had been built with an escape. Almost every room in the house was connected to one. The only trouble was finding the trapdoor. William had shown it to her once, she was sure, but he’d shown her so many, she couldn’t remember the precise access point. She’d have to search.

Mae ran her fingers along the shelves, knocking and listening for any sound that might indicate a pathway.

“Miss Rosewood, kindly help me.”

Miss Rosewood dropped into the armchair and huffed. Mae expected tears at any moment, but there was simply no time for that. Nor time for kind words.

“It’s not hopeless…” Mae tried to shake Miss Rosewood from her trance. “We can—”

Miss Rosewood cut her off. “Why didn’t you jump off the train? I saw. You had your chance. Why—” She whispered softly now. “Why didn’t you jump?”

A good question. Locke might very well have asked Mae the same.

Like a flame, he burst to the forefront of her mind. The sight of him in the cellar as he came toward her. His hair dripping at the ends near the stream. At first, the images warmed her, but with the recollection of recent events, her body, her face, and even her hands went cold.

“Tell me.”

Mae sighed, at last giving in. The sooner she explained, the sooner Miss Rosewood might help. At least she hoped.

“I couldn’t just…” Mae braced her back against the barren fireplace. “I couldn’t just leave you with Ellsworth. My conscience would never clear me of it.”

“Even after all I’ve done? ”

“You were right earlier. You, against your own choosing, had been thrust into this mess…because of me.” Mae bit her lip as the unexpected guilt dug deeper, hollowing out her insides.

“He was so kind to me at first. So full of compliments. I really thought he wanted to help me find you and Locke. I don’t know why, but I believed him,” Miss Rosewood mumbled in shame. “I should have known better. Only Lenore warrants that kind of attention.”

“There are other things more worthy of your time.”

“Like what? Drawing? Now that I am ruined, what else will I do with my time?”

Mae thought of Locke again and the miles that separated them. How much she so desperately wished she could hear his voice. No, Miss Rosewood hadn’t been to blame for their separation. Pierce had been to blame for that. He had left Locke no choice.

“What about this fortune?” Miss Rosewood asked. “Didn’t you know?”

“Not until after your engagement. No sooner. I swear it. Locke and Ellsworth were in league initially. They tried to make a deal with me to show them the vault, but Locke turned against Ellsworth to protect me and—”

“And that’s how you fell in love?”

Mae nodded, tears springing to her eyes at the memory of all Locke had done to try and shield her from the Ellsworth.

“But never, not once, did you warn me of Mr. Locke’s lack of feelings for me,” Miss Rosewood continued.

“And how could I have done that? How could I possibly tell you to go against the wishes of your parents?” Mae demanded. “It may be my duty of look out for you, but I can’t always speak my mind.”

Miss Rosewood knitted her brow. “Still, you and Mr. Locke—”

“I didn’t plan it. It just happened. I don’t know how.” Her mind returned to a whirlwind of sensations. The hot flush of her cheeks beneath his gaze, the way his touch set her skin to tingle. All the things she might never feel again. “In that, I was wrong. I chose wrongly.” Everything she had done had been so wrong.

“Don’t be sorry.” Miss Rosewood shook her head. “Not for that.”

Mae recalled the encounter in her father’s office and the wild, uncontrollable feelings that had resulted. How could she allow such feelings knowing he’d been meant for Miss Rosewood? It had been depraved.

Starting at her tremulous hands, Mae was beginning to break down. She could stay strong and brave no longer. But why feel ashamed? Hadn’t she every right to let the tears run? In the face of all Ellsworth’s wrongs, tears were a small sort of justice.

“Your post wasn’t so bad, was it?”

“No, not always. We got along well enough.”

“Yes, and after this—if we make it out of this—we can be friends, can’t we?”

Mae nodded. “We shall always be.”

Miss Rosewood smiled weakly. “No matter how life seeks to separate us.”

Or death , Mae didn’t dare add.

“I wish…” Miss Rosewood covered her face. “Because of me, Ellsworth will get what he wants. He’ll win. Oh, Miss Blackthorne.” She sniffled. “Why didn’t you jump?”

“He won’t win.” Mae swept away with the flash of an idea. She stared inside the fireplace. Something was pulling her inside. Was it her memory finally serving her or her brother taking her hand once more from the world beyond? She could almost fancy his icy grasp, tugging her fingers to the top corner of one of the bricks. She felt the tiny engraving: a pair of rearing horses, the Blackthorne sign of escape.

Just like that, her fears ceased. Why hadn’t she realized it earlier? The escape wasn’t behind one of the shelves, but behind the fireplace, like in so many other rooms. Her determination blossomed, giving rise to wild ideas .

“What’s wrong?” Miss Rosewood jumped up.

“Ellsworth won’t survive this.”

“I don’t understand.”

Mae walked away in thought. Leaving wasn’t enough. She couldn’t simply leave and allow Ellsworth to take over her home like this. Her family’s possessions would not be left to his devices. Not when there was something she could do.

“What are you doing?” Miss Rosewood followed Mae’s movements. “What do you mean to do?”

Mae didn’t answer. She took in the endless shelves of books, the thick, velvety tapestries and tufted, leather furniture, probably for the last time. There was only one option. One way that could send Ellsworth and his men running from the estate in regret. It would come at a high price, but trapped in her own library, it was easy not to care.

And there was no more time to waste.

With newfound determination, Mae strode toward a bookcase packed with various encyclopedias she had never read. But even if she had, even if those books meant the world to her, none of them mattered now.

At this moment, beating Ellsworth meant everything. Conceding to him meant losing it all.

She started with one book and tossed it to the floor, then began ripping the other books out of place in rapid succession. In great sheets, they fell to the floor.

“What in heaven’s name…” Miss Rosewood gasped.

“We need to burn these if we’re to start a proper fire.” Mae moved on to the next bookcase and continued to push the books to the floor in loud, scattered thumps. “Grab me that tapestry.”

“Are you mad?” Miss Rosewood went to her, her voice shrill. “We won’t be able to escape. We’ll perish for certain.

Mae stopped her work and raced back to the fireplace. Stepping on the ashes, she went inside. She felt for the engraving and pushed the brick inward. The back of the fireplace creaked aside, a rush of cold throwing back her hair.

“You don’t know the estate like I do. No one does. This tunnel will take us to the western courtyard. From there, we can run to the closest estate. We’ll be safe.”

Miss Rosewood’s mouth worked to find the words, but she was rendered speechless.

“Now help me.” Mae pulled at the tapestries with all her might, tearing them down from their places on the wall—the places where they had hung for generations.

Material things don’t matter and with time, everything changes , she told herself. Even stubborn men like men like who went decades without aging because of a sapphire. Her centuries-old home couldn’t stand forever, either. Sooner or later, it all had to come down. But that didn’t mean she had to fall with it.

“There.” Mae pointed to one of the wall sconces. “That candle.”

Nodding, Miss Rosewood obeyed, as eager as ever.

*

Locke pressed his blade harder against the man’s throat. The coarse brick of the manor grinded into his elbow.

“Two women. Where?” Locke demanded.

A dirt-lined face stared him square in the eye, unafraid. It was the one antidote to his fear tactics: an opponent deep in his cups.

The man had actually been doing a perimeter check—bottle of stolen scotch in hand. So when Locke had caught him by the arm, he hadn’t put up much of a fight. The man had thrown a few awkward punches then gotten himself crushed against the wall.

With a frown, the man sighed at the bottle, now spilling its contents across the lawn .

It was truly pathetic.

Locke twisted the blade an inch. At last, that got his attention.

“Real fine pig sticker you got.” The man snickered with his east-of-London accent. How typical , Locke thought. Ellsworth’s favorite kind of scum.

“The women,” Locke barked again.

“What women?” There was a tone of idiotic excitement in his voice. “Where?”

Locke groaned with frustration and slammed a fist into the man’s gut.

He coughed and strained for breath but didn’t speak. Locke sighed. He hadn’t thought it would be so difficult with a drunk. Was he going to have to break skin? He did not want to, but if there was no other choice, he would not hesitate.

“I won’t ask again…” Locke roared, summoning true rage in his voice—a voice he had used on cocky, drunk bastards like this at sea.

“Aye. Those ’uns,” the man spit out, close enough so that Locke could smell the scotch gone rotten on his breath. Ellsworth was out of his mind to hire men such as this.

The dandy knew nothing when it came to assembling a crew. It filled Locke with hope. These men would give him no trouble at all. If it came to it, he might have to take on as many as six at a time. Minus this one.

“Tell me.” Locke slid his blade down his cheek, quickening the man’s breath. “Or I’ll run you through.”

Finally shaking, the man peered to the left. Locke followed his gaze. Smoke billowed from the opposite end of the manor. A fire? How had he not noticed?

Panic pounded through him, building with every second. The need to act made his whole body quake.

“There, I’d wager.” The man tilted his head, his eyes widening at the discovery. “Though dead, I presume. ”

Unable to stop himself, Locke struck the man’s jaw with the hilt of the blade. “You best hope otherwise.”

Sadly, the blow didn’t improve Locke’s mood. And worse, the man had barely seemed to notice it.

Too drunk to feel any pain, contempt flashed across the man’s glazed stare. “You bleedin’ bastard.”

Locke looked down at the victim, pondering his options.

He could kill the man quite easily, but if he was going to find Mae, his hands would be free from blood. So with the blade’s hilt, Locke brought it down hard across the man’s head.

The man dropped to the ground. With one last groan of frustration, Locke ran off toward the growing smoke, not liking the silence in the air. He hoped for screaming. It would at least mean she was alive.

*

Mae hunched over and coughed into her fist. The smoke from the library had already begun to seep into the escape tunnel. In the faint candlelight, streams of smoke reached out like gnarled fingers. The floating poison stung deep inside her nostrils and drew out unstoppable tears.

Miss Rosewood’s condition was even worse. Each of her breaths were huskier and shallower than the first.

“How much farther?” she rasped. The tunnel should have led directly to the courtyard, but it kept going with sharp turns that seemed to weave in the shape of a “Z.”

So far, it wasn’t connected to any other rooms. Mae dreaded the idea that they might have been in one of the original tunnels, built over a century ago.

Even so, they had to keep moving. Bringing on real panic, the air grew warmer, drier. The fire that started with a pile of books had caught quickly. Behind them, wood snapped and crackled .

She had hoped the intense wind of the night and dryness of the day would be to her advantage. But now there was no turning back, no matter what they faced in the courtyard.

Mae held out her candle. In the building smoke, she could barely see. Then, at last, she saw something.

“Here it is,” she breathed, the discovery quelling her panic.

She slid a hand along the cracked and splintered wood of the door, colliding with something strange. A flat board…nails…. As her fingers followed the length of it, she felt the coarseness of brick too. Frantic, she searched for the doorknob. She found it quickly enough, but twisting and pulling on it with all her might, it barely budged.

“What’s taking you so long?” Miss Rosewood coughed again.

Mae almost let the despair consume her. But what good would that do? She took a deep breath and held back a sudden urge to scream. She endeavored instead to be brave.

“It’s blocked. We have to go back.” Mae tugged Miss Rosewood before she could protest. “Here. Cover your mouth with this.” She tore off a piece of her skirt and handed it to her.

Through it, Miss Rosewood rasped for air, sucking in what she could.

Besides running faster, there was little else to be done. With every step, the smoke seemed to thicken.

“We have to get out!” Mae shouted.

Seeing through the smoke was all but impossible now. She prayed the fire hadn’t spread out of control. They couldn’t be trapped. Fire, she had heard, made for a terrible, slow, and agonizing death.

She stilled. Echoing inside the tunnel, shouting ebbed in and out of range. Mae blew out the candle and dropped it. Ellsworth’s men had discovered the blaze, the knowledge filling her with a mixture of hope and fear. They would be putting it out. Now was their only chance of escape.

Mae moved faster, not allowing herself to slow even as instinct told her to run from the smoke. She could see the exit now: an orange haze that stabbed her eyes.

Fire tumbled toward the ceiling and all around them. The smoke had become so dense, it seemed a solid entity. Flames darted wildly along the entire east wall.

The men, meanwhile, were doing little good with flower vases. And despite the smoke, Mae and Miss Rosewood were spotted at once.

“Stop them!” the figure of a man shouted.

Mae leaped into a sprint, her heart beating in her skull, perspiration dripping down her face. Miss Rosewood squeezed her hand harder. The raging fire would be enough to elude the men. It had to be.

But reaching the stark coolness of the hall, Mae knew the men weren’t far behind. If either of them were to escape, they needed to separate.

“Run to the stables.” Mae embraced Miss Rosewood. “Mount the first horse you can and head south.”

“But…you… What will you do?” Miss Rosewood struggled to catch her breath.

“I’ll catch up, I promise.”

Even Miss Rosewood seemed to recognize the lie, but with a shove from Mae, she fell into a stride. By the time the two men had found their way out of the room, Miss Rosewood was gone. Safe.

Mae had never felt more alone. When a tight grip enveloped her, she swung her arms out, thrust back her elbows, and pounded her fists. But no matter how hard she struggled, it proved futile. The arms did not loosen an inch. The poisonous smoke had rendered her weak.

“Where’d the other girl go?” her captor barked into her ear.

“Doesn’t matter,” his partner replied. “The house is doomed. Well done, lass. Well done.”