Chapter 14
I flatten myself against the nearest wall, heart pounding. Adrian does the same, then motions toward the window.
While I slide along the wall, he drops to the floor and crawls on his belly so as not to cross the line-of-sight through the window. The motor grows louder, and is joined by others, tires crunching over fallen limbs and other detritus of the abandoned grounds, until they come to a stop.
Holding my breath, I risk a peek out.
Three trucks with covered beds have pulled up outside. When the driver of the lead one climbs out, it takes me a moment to recognize him without his butler’s get up.
It’s Myers, dressed in overalls and a denim jacket as though he’s here to do some physical labor. My breath stutters at the sight of him, the memory of the needle and…
“We’ve gotta make do with the hand we’re dealt,” he’d said that day. Meaning me. They’d wanted James, but they had to make do with me.
More men pile out of the trucks, and he barks orders at them, though I can’t hear what he’s saying at this distance.
“Damn it,” Adrian says quietly.
I move away from the window, every sense attuned to the activity outside. “I don’t think we want them to find us.”
“Agreed.” Still, he remains where he is, sneaking peeks over the windowsill every so often. After what feels like several long minutes, he says, “I think they’re going through the cellar doors into the basement.”
It seems as though the house isn’t as abandoned as it appears. The basement at least is still in use.
The last time I’d seen Myers, he’d assaulted and drugged me. I doubt I’ll get off so lightly if we meet again now. “We need to get out of here without being spotted.”
“Servants’ stairs,” Adrian says. “I spotted an entrance while searching the bathroom. Follow me.”
He leads the way into the sumptuous bathroom, tiled in marble and with an enormous claw-footed tub on another raised dais. The outline of a door can just be made out on the far wall. Adrian pulls it open, then disappears through it.
I follow him onto a narrow flight of stairs, pulling the door shut behind me. The only light comes from a pair of small windows heavily covered in grime. Dust covers the bare wooden steps, and cobwebs flutter in the disturbed air.
We grope our way down, every creak of the steps sounding as loud as a rifle shot.
When we reach the ground floor, we pause listening at the door.
Faint noises come from below—it sounds as though Myers and his men are moving something heavy down in the basement, though I can’t guess what it might be.
Satisfied none of them are on our level of the building, Adrian cautiously pushes open the door into a small laundry.
The taps above the row of deep sinks are long dry, as festooned in cobwebs as the stairs were.
We make our way out into the dark corridor beyond, and thence to the kitchen, where a door leads to what must have once been a garden but now is just a tangle of overgrown weeds.
Thankfully, we’re out of sight of the driveway here. Adrian leans in close; his breath stirs the fine hairs of my ear and sends a shiver through me as he whispers, “We need to go cross-country.”
Drops of rain begin to plink down once again. Shouts of dismay come from the men just around the corner of the building, followed by Myers’s yell: “Hurry it up, then!”
Good—they’ll be focused on whatever they’re doing.
I take the lead this time, pushing my way through the unkempt cedar hedge behind the garden.
The spit of land the house stands on is overgrown with shrubs and small trees, which are hard to navigate but at least offer cover.
I feel a pang as branches snag on my coat and trousers, silently resigning my suit to the rag pile.
It’s hard going, but hours later we finally spot train tracks in the distance. Adrian checks his watch: Like mine, it’s army issue, radium numbers glowing faintly in the dimming light as the day slips away.
“We should be able to make the depot in time to catch the train,” he says. “We’ll head to New York, and I’ll notify my employers that I’ve found the painting from there.”