Chapter 22
Twenty-Two
To my frustration, we aren’t able to have our escape-room date until Friday afternoon. Contrary to what I wanted, arranging the date around Art’s schedule, finding a private tour guide, and booking the venue solely for our use required advance planning.
We enter a nondescript warehouse in the Greenwich area of London, not far from the famed observatory. The sign above the door reads “Locked in London.” I laugh. What a perfect name for an escape room.
“I’m so excited! Aren’t you?”
“Thrilled,” Art says sarcastically.
I roll my eyes and ignore him. He didn’t have to agree to this as a date. I like the idea of doing something outside of the box. It’ll help make the occasion more memorable.
It takes a few moments for my eyes to adjust to the dim lighting of the lobby. “Do you feel like we’ve stepped into the film set of a low-budget American horror film? Because I do,” I whisper.
“Yes, ma’am. Low budget indeed.”
There’s a series of dusty, spider-web-covered mailboxes behind a long desk.
Flowers that have been placed in a takeaway cup from a Norma’s Cafe have long since shriveled and dried up.
All that remains are their yellowing stems. An attendant dressed in an ill-fitting, stained bellhop uniform with boxy shoulder pads greets us.
His face is covered in a thick layer of white makeup, contrasted with heavy black eye shadow under his eyes, giving him a zombie-like appearance.
“Welcome,” he says in a drawn-out, bored tone. “Are you here to check in?”
“Yes,” I confirm just as the lights flicker on and off.
The attendant blinks slowly. “Your name?”
“It’ll be under the last name Wales,” Art says, placing a hand on my shoulder.
“Ah yes, we’ve been expecting you.” From under the desk, he retrieves a ring of oversized ancient brass keys. “Come, come with me.” He limps away.
Off the lobby are a series of three doors. The attendant inserts the key into the middle one. It opens with an eerie creek. “Will you be requiring any assistance with your luggage?”
“No. We’re fine,” Art responds curtly.
“Very well.”
He gestures for us to enter. It’s pitch-black inside.
“Are you ready?” I ask Art.
“Yes. Let’s get this over with.”
We shuffle a few steps inside, and then the door slams shut behind us.
I reach for Art’s hand. A few hairs stand up on the back of my neck.
We can’t see a thing. It smells of old paper and flowers.
A few moments pass, and all I can hear is the sound of my heart racing wildly and our heavy breathing.
“Should I pull out my mobile and use its torch?” he asks.
“No, let’s wait a little longer.” Another minute passes, then another. “Escape rooms are about being resourceful, so maybe we’re supposed to find a light switch?”
Tentatively, we take measured steps backward until we come in contact with the door. I brush my hand along the wall. It’s uneven and bumpy.
“Anything?” he asks.
“Not yet.” I chew my lip. “Ow.” My hand hits the sharp corner of a piece of furniture.
“Ma’am. Alice. Are you all right?”
“Fine.” I shake out my hand. “I just wasn’t expecting to have something like a desk be right there.” I let out a frustrated breath. “Go ahead and use your phone. There’s no point in us stumbling around blindly if we’re going to get hurt.”
“Mm. This escape room challenge is not impressing me so far.” The lock screen of Art’s mobile flashes the time as 11:20 and he selects the torch icon.
Light floods the space. We’ve been placed in a circular library room.
Floor-to-ceiling bookshelves take up every available inch of wall space, except for the door we walked through and a second door opposite where we’re standing.
There’s a small L-shaped sofa in the center of the room, with a leather-bound journal placed atop one of the cushions.
“Here’s the little bugger,” Art mutters. The room is filled with the hum of electricity and an overhead chandelier clicks on. “Right. That’s one problem sorted. Now what?”
“We explore, starting with that journal.”
Crossing the room, we seat ourselves on the sofa next to one another and huddle our heads together. With shaking hands, I pick up the journal, carefully opening it. Inside are a series of handwritten notes and drawings. “Where do we even begin?”
“At the beginning?” Art suggests, subtly brushing his arm against mine.
He turns the journal to the first page and begins to read.
“It is a truth universally acknowledged that every couple locked in a room must be in want of a way out.” He glances at me.
“What do you suppose that means? Of course we want to leave the room.”
“A truth universally acknowledged . . . Why is that line so familiar?”
“It’s a take on the first line of Pride and Prejudice.”
“That’s right!” I snap my fingers together. My attention darts to the shelves of book. “Maybe that means our next clue is in a copy of P and P or another Jane Austen book.” I jump to my feet. “See if you can find one.”
“As you wish.” He bows.
I giggle and playfully push his shoulders. We pick opposite ends of the room and begin scanning the collection of books. There’s an eclectic mix of titles ranging from children’s fairy tales by Hans Christian Anderson to modern-day biographies on celebrities, like my brother.
“Do you think they picked up whatever books were in the bargain bin at Waterstones or Oxfam to fill the shelves?” I ask.
“It wouldn’t surprise me.”
I glance over my shoulder. “Any luck yet?”
“I’ve found Northanger Abby and Mansfield Park so far. Nothing inside them.”
“Keep looking.” I kneel down and begin investigating the books on the lowest shelf.
It bothers me to no end that there is no order to these books.
At the very least they should be sorted by size or title, not haphazardly tossed together.
The organizational side of my brain is fighting the urge to do it.
“Eureka! I have it!”
I drop the books in my hands and dart over to Art. “Open it!” I urge.
“It looks like there’s a letter.” He breaks the seal of a yellowing parchment envelope to reveal a second message in swirly, elegant cursive writing. “The strength of the pack is the wolf, and the strength of the wolf is the pack.”
“Wolves . . . wolves . . . what books have wolves in them? Little Red Riding Hood? Twilight?” I mutter.
“That wouldn’t be a quote from Twilight. It doesn’t sound like something a contemporary author would write.”
I place my hands on my hips. “Have you ever read Twilight?” I’m genuinely curious.
“Just the first book. And it wasn’t for me. A girl I liked at the time was into vampires.”
“Uh-huh.” I store the knowledge away for future use. I’m beginning to learn that Art is a very well-read man. A man with a brain is something I find incredibly attractive. It’s going on the list of qualities that I admire about him.
“What about a Roman fable, like the story of Romulus and Remus?” I suggest.
“No. It’s coming to me. I think it’s Rudyard Kipling. Give me a moment.” Art closes his eyes and scrubs them. “That quote . . . it’s on the tip of my brain.”
“Oh, could it be The Jungle Book?”
“Yes, that’s it.”
The excitement between us grows as we continue to piece the clue quotes together.
It’s all Art’s brain power at this point.
Literature is not my forte, unless it’s something science or engineering related.
I would’ve been stuck in here indefinitely without him.
Although he may have been grumpy at first, he’s relaxed and has even given me a few smiles.
“Two hearts entwined in the glow of the moon—find the answer, and you’ll be free.” I set the scroll down.
Art runs a hand through his hair. “This one has me stumped. Two hearts and the glow of the moon? Maybe a romance book of some sort?”
“We’re so close. This has to be the last clue.
Let’s search all the titles again.” I start on my knees and scan the scattered books with a more focused eye.
This clue is different than the rest. It wasn’t located inside a book like the others.
It was on a scroll inside a hidden compartment under the table.
Does that mean it doesn’t pertain to a book?
I sit on the floor. My eyes search the decor. That’s when I spot a small ornate mirror hanging on the wall. Carved into the frame are two intertwined hearts, reflecting the soft glow of the room’s single lamp.
“Here,” I say, pointing to the mirror. “This has to be it.”
Art reaches for the mirror and carefully removes it from the wall. Turning it over reveals a key taped to the back. He hands it to me, his fingers lingering on mine for a moment longer than necessary. The touch sends a shiver down my spine.
“You did it!” he says, his voice low and husky. He kisses me on the cheek. I let out a satisfied sigh.
“Are you ready to get out of here?” I whisper.
“Yes. Beyond ready. This was fun, but once was more than enough for me.”
My stomach grumbles. I’m ready for lunch. We stand and walk over to the door. I place the key inside, hesitating to leave behind stacks of books on the ground. “Do you think we should clean up the mess first?”
“No. Let them sort it out. I’m sure the fee you paid is more than enough to cover them shoving the books and clues back into place.”
We share a chuckle. As I move to turn the key, however, it doesn’t budge.
“Odd.” I rattle it around.
“Maybe that’s the wrong door? What about the other one opposite the way we came in?”
I remove the key and insert it into the second door.
To my relief, it turns, and we’re finally free.
We enter into a warmly lit reception area.
It’s night and day to what we experienced when we first walked in.
There are glass windows flooding the room with plenty of natural light.
Music from Taylor Swift’s latest album plays through speakers.
Orchids are tastefully scattered throughout the room.
“Oh, you two have completed the challenge! Well done,” an attendant in a green blouse and black trousers exclaims, stepping into the room from the back-office area. “Usually, the Enchanted Library room takes about three hours, but you’ve managed it in two. How did you find it?”
“Fine,” Art says.
“Pardon him. He’s hangry.” I glance at him and shake my head. “It was fun. It’s the first time we’ve done one of these.”
“Is there any feedback you’d like to share?”
“Er, can you have the lights on next time before you shove your players into the room? There was a lot of furniture inside and we would’ve crashed into it if we hadn’t had his mobile.”
She frowns. “The lights weren’t turned on?”
“No, they weren’t. We had to figure out where the light switch was.”
“And the books—maybe they could be organized in a more logical manner? It was difficult to find the clues,” I suggest.
The muscles in her forehead continue to flex. “They weren’t cataloged by author name?”
We both shake our heads.
“Did you two at least receive the refreshments we had made up for you?”
“No.”
“I see. It seems I need to have a chat with one of our newest employees about the setup. Now I’m even more impressed that you made it out so quickly.
With the state of the room, you might’ve been here a lot longer if you two weren’t so clever.
” She pinches her lips together. “Please accept my sincerest apologies. I promise the clues and the room aren’t normally so disorganized.
I’d be happy to offer you a return trip anytime.
Your patronage is important to us, Princess. ”
I stiffen as she uses my title. “Thank you, I’ll keep that in mind for the future.”
“I hope you don’t mind, but is it possible for you to take a photo with the company’s logo for our website?”
I wince. Technically speaking, people aren’t supposed to ask any member of the royal family for a photo. It’s against protocol unless we offer. Today was supposed to be a private date with Art, not me trying out some escape room on a whim. Not that she knows that.
Luckily, Art jumps in and saves me from having to answer. “Her Royal Highness would actually appreciate it if you didn’t mention today’s visit to anyone. It was supposed to be a private engagement, hence why she booked the venue for just herself today.”
“Oh, er, of course,” the attendant sputters.
“What I can do, however, is put in a good word about my experience here with my older brother, the Prince of Wales. I’m certain he and Ms. Amanda Collins would love to participate in a future event.”
“The Prince of Wales? Yes, yes.” She bobs her head up and down. “We would be honored to host him.”
At least I’m not lying to her. An activity like this would be perfect for them. I can see them wanting to try every room that Locked in London offers. We bid her farewell and dart out of the building as quickly as possible to the car, my fingers intertwined with Art’s.
“So, did you have fun?” I ask.
“It was different. Not quite what I expected.”
“What was your favorite part?”
“Spending time with you.” He shoots me an Isn’t it obvious look.
“That goes ditto for me.” He releases my hand and opens the door for me. “Next time I’ll let you be in charge of planning the date.”
“You trust me that much?” he asks.
“Yes, I do.”
With a smile on my lips, he steals a kiss from me. As we drive away, I can’t help but wonder what type of date Art will choose for us. Will he be as adventurous? Or will it be something more low-key? Only time will tell.