Chapter 37 #2
Charlotte heard the lock click shut behind him.
A sob rose in her throat, but beneath the terror, something harder slowly took hold.
She would escape before nightfall.
She had to.
Or Lord Stanley would die.
Charlotte remained motionless until Falcon’s footsteps faded completely.
Then she pushed the blindfold back down and looked around.
‘Lucy,’ she whispered, ‘tell me about the guards. How often do they come down here?’
‘Only when they bring food,’ she replied quietly. ‘Usually once a day. They were here not long before you woke, so I reckon we have several hours yet.’
‘Excellent.’
Lucy stared at her.
‘I am sorry, miss, but what exactly is excellent about any of this? We are doomed.’
‘Sarah?’ Charlotte called softly.
‘I have got it out,’ Sarah whispered back from the neighbouring cage.
Despite everything, Charlotte almost smiled.
‘We sewed small pocket knives into the hems of our petticoats.’
She reached beneath her skirt, retrieved the tiny blade, and crouched beside the padlock.
Lucy gave a low whistle.
‘Miss Lucas, you would make an excellent Bow Street Runner.’
At once the other girls stirred with renewed hope. Some crawled closer to the bars, watching intently as Charlotte worked the knife into the lock whilst whispering instruction.
‘Twist it sideways.’
‘No—the other way.’
‘Push harder!’
Charlotte tried every angle she could think of.
Minutes dragged into nearly an hour.
Her shoulders ached from the awkward position, and sweat dampened her brow. Her fingers cramped painfully from gripping the tiny knife.
This was far harder than she had imagined.
Panic threatened to creep in.
No.
She could not panic.
Lord Stanley’s life depended upon her escape.
Charlotte gritted her teeth and forced the blade deeper into the lock.
Then, with one final twist—
A click sounded.
The padlock sprang open.
The girls squealed in delight.
‘Hush!’ Sarah whispered sharply at once, slipping naturally back into her scolding. ‘They shall hear us.’
Charlotte slipped quickly from the cage, her stiff limbs nearly giving way beneath her.
She crouched beside Sarah’s cage and demonstrated the movement that had finally worked.
‘Twist upwards—hard—as though you mean to snap the lock apart.’
Sarah copied her carefully.
A moment later, another click sounded.
‘Oh!’ Sarah gasped. ‘I have done it!’
One by one, they moved through the rows of a dozen cages freeing the other girls. Now familiar with the mechanism, they worked much faster. Trembling hands reached desperately through the bars whilst each girl waited her turn.
Some burst quietly into tears once freed.
Charlotte hurried to soothe them into silence, whispering reassurances as fear threatened to spread through the group.
Giving in to fear would doom them all.
When the final lock sprang open, she turned towards the heavy wooden door at the far end of the chamber.
As she tried the handle, hope faltered. The door was locked.
When Charlotte bent to peer through the keyhole, she saw the key still inserted upon the opposite side.
‘Any ideas?’ she whispered.
Lucy suddenly brightened.
‘I do.’
Before Charlotte could question her, she tore a strip from the hem of her gown.
Sarah stared at her in bewilderment.
‘What are you doing?’
‘Push the cloth beneath the door and spread it flat,’ Lucy instructed quickly.
Charlotte obeyed at once, using the pocket knife to force the fabric through the narrow gap.
Lucy held out her hand impatiently for the knife.
‘In the workhouse, the matrons locked us in at night. Some of the girls taught me tricks.’
Charlotte handed it over, and she saw her insert the blade carefully through the keyhole and gave it a sharp jab.
A metallic clink sounded.
The key had fallen.
Every girl collectively held their breath.
Then Lucy grinned.
‘Pull.’
Charlotte drew the cloth back slowly—agonisingly slowly—and the key slid beneath the door atop the fabric.
Sarah stared at it in astonishment.
‘I cannot believe that worked.’
‘Neither can I,’ Charlotte admitted faintly.
But there was no time to marvel.
Her hands trembled as she fitted the key into the lock.
One turn.
A loud click echoed through the chamber.
Every girl inhaled sharply.
Charlotte slowly pushed the door open.
Darkness greeted them.
No guards.
No voices.
Only a long earthen corridor stretching beyond the doorway.
Charlotte stepped out first, lantern raised cautiously from its hook beside the entrance. The dim glow revealed packed dirt walls reinforced with timber beams.
A tunnel.
A wave of dread swept through her.
‘We are underground,’ she whispered.
The smell alone confirmed it—earthy, damp, foul with mildew and stagnant air.
The girls clustered tightly behind her.
‘Stay close. Stay quiet,’ Charlotte warned. ‘If anyone hears us, we are finished.’
She moved forward slowly, the lantern trembling faintly in her grasp.
The tunnel branched repeatedly, twisting in confusing directions. Some passages ended abruptly in dead ends, forcing them to double back. Others sloped deeper into darkness.
Charlotte’s pulse thundered harder with every passing moment.
How enormous was this place?
How many girls had been dragged through these tunnels?
Then—
Voices.
Male voices.
Charlotte extinguished the lantern instantly.
Darkness swallowed them whole.
Several girls whimpered.
Just as Charlotte thought it safe to move again, a shout rang out behind them.
‘Halt! Jim—they are escaping! Get them!’
‘Run!’ Charlotte screamed.
She had no idea where she was running or even in which direction. Heavy footsteps thundered behind them as the girls scattered in panic through the tunnels.
If the others were captured, Charlotte would still run.
She had to.
Her lungs burned as damp air clawed painfully at her chest. Her legs grew heavy, but she did not stop.
She ran blindly through the twisting darkness, only slowly realising the footsteps behind her had vanished.
Sarah.
Lucy.
Had they been caught?
Tears stung her eyes, but still she ran.
She was their only hope now.
She rounded a sharp corner—
And collided violently with the chest of a man.
Charlotte screamed and lashed out blindly, kicking and striking wildly in an attempt to break free.
Strong hands seized her shoulders.
‘Charlotte—it is me!’
Even in the dim tunnel light, she recognised Lord Stanley.