Chapter 38
‘Are you hurt?’ he demanded, scanning her face and arms.
Charlotte’s features crumpled. She threw her arms around his neck and clung to him desperately.
‘How did you find me?’ she choked out. ‘I thought—I thought I was going to die.’
For one suspended moment, Charlotte did not think—did not question or reason—she simply held on to him, her fingers gripping the fabric of his coat as though letting go might cast her back into the darkness she had only just escaped.
His arms came around her at once, firm and unyielding, drawing her tightly against him with a force that surprised her.
‘I thought I had lost you,’ he said, his voice low and strained in a way she had never heard before.
There was no composure in it now. No careful restraint. Only raw, unguarded fear.
Charlotte closed her eyes briefly, breathing in the familiar scent of him—clean linen, leather, and something faintly of woodsmoke. It grounded her in a way nothing else could.
‘You’re here,’ she whispered, though her voice trembled.
For those few fleeting seconds, the cold stone floor, the iron bars, the terror, the suffocating darkness—all of it receded, as though it belonged to some distant nightmare rather than the reality she had just endured.
Then awareness returned.
They were not alone.
Charlotte became acutely conscious of the space around them—the flicker of lantern light against the damp tunnel walls, the scrape of boots, and the low murmur of voices hastily subdued out of respect for the moment they were witnessing.
She opened her eyes and glanced up.
And realised—
They were surrounded by a veritable army of Bow Street Runners.
Heat rushed instantly to her cheeks.
What must she look like—clinging to Lord Stanley as though she had entirely forgotten propriety?
Mortified, she attempted to pull away.
‘My lord, I—’
But his arms tightened slightly.
Not enough to restrain her. Merely enough to delay her escape.
As though, for one brief moment longer, he was unwilling to let her go.
Charlotte felt her breath catch.
Then, slowly—reluctantly—he released her.
She stepped back at once, smoothing her gown with trembling hands and attempting to regain some semblance of composure.
And then—
‘Tom?’
Her voice rose in alarm as she caught sight of a small familiar figure stepping forward through the cluster of men.
‘What on earth are you doing down here?’
Tom grinned at her, entirely unrepentant.
‘Saving you, of course.’
Charlotte stared at him in disbelief. She looked aghast from Tom to Lord Stanley.
‘Saving—Tom, this is not a game, you—’
She broke off, turning instinctively to Lord Stanley for an explanation.
But he merely shook his head faintly, though there was the slightest hint of amusement beneath the gravity of his expression.
‘All in good time,’ he said. ‘There shall be explanations enough once we are above ground. But for now—’
His tone shifted from gentleness to firm command.
‘We must get you to safety.’
His arm settled around her shoulders once more, steadier now and more deliberate.
Charlotte shook her head immediately.
‘No.’
He drew back slightly.
‘No?’ he repeated.
‘There are others,’ she said, her voice tightening as the memory rushed back in full force. ‘Girls. Several of them. They are still locked in the cages. I tried to free them, I truly did, but when we attempted to escape, the guards came—’
Her throat tightened.
‘They took them back.’
Her fingers closed desperately around his sleeve.
‘We cannot leave them there.’
For a moment, he said nothing.
Charlotte could see the conflict in his expression—the instinct to remove her from danger battling against the knowledge that she was right.
‘It is too dangerous to remain,’ he said at last, though the certainty in his voice had weakened slightly.
Charlotte met his gaze steadily.
‘It will be quicker if I come with you. I know the way. I know precisely where they are being kept. If you search without guidance, valuable time shall be lost—and time is exactly what we do not have.’
He regarded her properly then, taking in her pale face, the strain in her eyes, and the determination that had endured despite everything she had suffered.
Then, with a decisive nod, he said, ‘Very well.’
Relief flooded through her. For one dreadful moment, she had feared he would refuse—that he would insist upon sending her above ground whilst the others remained behind.
‘But,’ he added sharply, ‘you do not leave my side.’
There was no room for argument in that tone, and Charlotte did not attempt one.
She inclined her head.
‘As you wish.’
He turned towards his men.
‘Four of you remain here with the boy,’ he ordered. ‘The rest—form up.’
Then, turning back towards her, he extended his hand.
‘Show me.’
Charlotte placed her hand in his without hesitation, and together they moved quickly through the tunnels.
She guided the way, retracing the path she had taken in blind panic only moments earlier, though now each turn and branching corridor seemed burned sharply into her memory.
Lord Stanley walked beside her, slightly ahead, instinctively positioning himself between her and any possible threat.
Behind them, the Bow Street Runners followed in silent formation, lanterns casting flickering light across the damp walls.
The air felt thick and close. Every breath carried the suffocating scent of damp earth and decay.
Charlotte suppressed a shudder but did not falter.
‘There are symbols,’ she whispered back. ‘Carved into the beams. I noticed them before—I think they mark the routes.’
Her voice faltered slightly as she recalled the strange markings upon the logs.
Lord Stanley glanced at her.
‘You are doing remarkably well,’ he said quietly.
Charlotte gave a faint, humourless breath that might almost have been a laugh.
At one turn, he stopped abruptly.
Not expecting it, Charlotte collided lightly into him. His arm came around her at once, steadying her before she could lose her balance.
Somewhere in the distance, faint echoes sounded.
The entire group froze, straining to listen.
But nothing followed.
At last, they pressed onward once more.
After several wrong turns, Charlotte finally recognised the markings upon the beams and the familiar curve of the tunnel ahead.
‘There,’ she whispered, scarcely louder than breath as she lifted her hand towards the passage ahead.
At the end of the final turn, the wooden door emerged from the darkness, its rough surface half obscured by shadow and flickering lantern light.
Charlotte’s pulse quickened.
‘That is where we were kept,’ she said more firmly.
Behind them, the Bow Street Runners moved with practised efficiency, quietly readying their firearms.
Lord Stanley raised a hand.
At once, every man fell still.
Then—
Voices drifted through the slightly open door.
Low. Muffled.
But unmistakably male.
Charlotte held her breath.
‘That governess is missing!’ came one rough voice.
‘We need to find her,’ another replied. ‘Or Falcon will have our heads.’
Another man swore.
‘Move. We have until daybreak to find her. He wants her aboard the ship before then.’
Charlotte’s blood ran cold, her hand flying instinctively to her mouth.
Lord Stanley turned towards her.
‘Stay here,’ he said quietly.
Charlotte hesitated before nodding.
‘Be careful.’
He inclined his head slightly and left several Bow Street Runners behind to guard her.
Then events unfolded with startling speed.
Lord Stanley issued silent instructions to the remaining men.
The Bow Street Runners surged forward.
The door burst inward.
Shouts erupted.
Gunfire thundered.
Chaos followed.
Charlotte flinched at every crash and shout, her nerves stretched nearly beyond endurance as she waited with bated breath, unable to know who might emerge wounded—or not emerge at all.
Then, after several agonising minutes, silence fell.
When no one appeared from the chamber, Charlotte could bear it no longer.
Ignoring the Bow Street Runners attempting to stop her, she pushed forward. Something in her expression must have halted them, for no one physically restrained her.
She crossed the threshold slowly.
Inside, several guards had already been subdued whilst Lord Stanley searched the pockets of one unconscious man.
The girls remained locked safely inside the cages.
Relief nearly made Charlotte weak.
‘Miss Charlotte!’ Sarah cried.
Lucy and the others broke into relieved exclamations at the sight of her.
Lord Stanley tossed her the keys.
‘Here.’
Charlotte caught them with trembling hands and hurried to the nearest cage.
One lock sprang open.
Then the next.
And the next.
‘You are safe now,’ she whispered urgently as the girls clung tearfully to her.
One by one, she freed them all.
By the time the final cage was opened, the Bow Street Runners had already begun escorting the captured guards from the chamber.
The girls were quickly guided back through the tunnels, some requiring assistance to walk.
But one thought lingered heavily.
Falcon—the Captain—remained at large.
Lord Stanley and Charlotte were the last to leave.
Charlotte paused briefly, staring at the empty cages in disbelief.
‘Thank you,’ she said quietly, though the words felt painfully insufficient.
But none were needed.
Lord Stanley merely inclined his head.
‘Come,’ he said softly. ‘Let us leave this accursed place.’
Together they made their way back through the maze of tunnels. Charlotte’s thoughts felt dazed and distant, the world around her strangely unreal.
Her strength began steadily to fail, and the ground itself seemed to tilt beneath her feet.
‘Careful,’ Lord Stanley murmured.
She leaned instinctively against him, too exhausted to resist, as they navigated the labyrinthine tunnels. He draped his coat around her shoulders, its weight grounding her—keeping her warm and steady.
Near the tunnel entrance, they were reunited with Tom.
When they finally emerged above ground, cool night air struck Charlotte’s face.
Freedom at last.
She drew in a deep breath of clean air.
‘Where are we?’ she asked faintly as Lord Stanley helped her from the concealed entrance.
‘This,’ he said grimly, pointing towards the lake in the distance, ‘is upon the Alderley grounds.’
Charlotte turned sharply.
The manhole was astonishingly well hidden amongst the field. No one would ever have noticed it unless they knew precisely where to look.
‘I saw the Captain carry you inside, Miss Lucas. From my treehouse.’
Tom slipped his hand into hers and pointed proudly towards a great oak tree standing nearby.
‘I stayed awake all night until Uncle Henry came home. Then I told him.’
Charlotte stared at him.
‘But how did you know how to find me within the tunnels? It is a veritable maze...’
Then she stopped abruptly, realisation dawning.
She knelt beside him.
‘You have been exploring the tunnels all this time, have you not?’
Tom looked sheepish but nodded.
‘I saw Miss Locke dragged in there by two large men when I was little. I told Mother, but she would not believe me.’
Charlotte drew in a sharp breath.
Of course she had not believed him.
She had been involved all along.
‘I told Mrs Dent too,’ Tom continued miserably. ‘Nobody believed me. They said I dreamt it. But I did not.’
A sharp pang of sympathy struck Charlotte.
The poor child had been dismissed entirely.
She stroked his hair gently.
‘I am sorry no one believed you.’
Her voice caught slightly at the thought of how lonely he must have felt.
Tom lifted his chin stubbornly.
‘So I found the hole myself and decided to search for her.’
‘That is what you were doing all this time,’ Charlotte realised. ‘And those mazes you kept drawing... they were maps of the tunnels.’
She looked genuinely impressed.
‘Very clever, Tom. Though exceedingly dangerous. Why did you never tell me?’
‘Because you would have stopped me searching for her. Just like Mother.’
Charlotte felt another wave of emotion threaten to overwhelm her. Silently, she admitted he was right. She would have stopped him.
Then Lord Stanley stepped beside them and, lifting Tom effortlessly into the air, spun him around once, causing the boy to burst into delighted laughter.
‘Tom was extremely brave,’ Lord Stanley said warmly. ‘And possesses a surprisingly good sense of direction. We would never have found you in time had he not guided us through the tunnels and warned us which passages led to dead ends.’
Charlotte smiled, her chest tightening with gratitude—for the boy who had known how to find her, and the man who had listened to him.
‘Tell me,’ she said cautiously, ‘does Mrs Wilberforce know you took Tom and a search party into the tunnels in the middle of the night?’
He shook his head.
‘No. I thought it best to let her sleep. I did not wish to waste a single moment, so I hoped we might return before she discovered our absence.’
Charlotte released a quiet breath of relief.
Nearby, the Bow Street Runners were escorting Lucy and the rescued girls back towards the mansion kitchens so they might receive food and warmth.
Tom and Sarah were being sent upstairs to wash and rest.
But Charlotte did not possess that luxury.
She turned slowly towards Lord Stanley.
There was no gentle way to say it.
‘What shall we do about Mrs Wilberforce?’ she asked quietly.
He looked at her in confusion.
‘What about her?’
Charlotte met his gaze steadily.
‘My lord,’ she said carefully, ‘she is an accomplice of the Odd Fellows.’