Chapter 24
GRACE
Everyone had disappeared into darkness. Gone, like ghosts.
Except him, taking slow steps toward her, his eyes on her as the shadows played on his face in the orange glow of the lit match.
Grace was caught...
The light from the match was fading. Drasko was right in front of her when the light flickered off.
Complete darkness settled in, save for the vague haze from across the river.
Yet, she felt him, saw the hissing red end of his cigarette as he took another drag.
A light suddenly came on, bright and intrusive. The gas lamp illuminated the space between her and her husband, his humorous gaze on her.
“Are you spying on me, darling?”
His voice, like that of a seductive serpent, curled around her heart, setting her on edge with panic etched with anticipation.
“You are easy to follow,” she said, trying to sound brave.
He stepped closer and tipped her chin, that possessive gesture again as if she had misbehaved. A smile flickered on his lips.
“Darling, the moment you left the house, I was following you .”
And why was she not surprised? And why was she so acutely aware of his touch? Gentle and intimate, it was more assertive this time.
“I was planning on giving you a tour one day.” He tipped his head toward the blackness ahead with absolutely no sign of anything being there. “But looks like you insist on taking matters into your own hands. Shall we?”
Grace nodded timidly, wrapped her hand around the arm he offered, and let him lead her away from the shore.
A faded light loomed ahead. Shadows shivered on the edges of it. But she felt safe by Drasko’s side, despite the frightening darkness creeping to her toes.
Voices echoed ahead. Grace tripped on stones and wet gravel and felt Drasko press his arm closer to his body, tightening his hold on her hand.
“Animals?” she whispered at the distant sounds.
“My men.”
“They are here?”
“Everywhere. By the docks. By the bridge. By the tunnels.”
Tunnels?
She couldn’t see a thing, save for several feet in front of them and that distant glow. But Drasko seemed to know the way by heart.
He whistled a three-pitched tune.
Like the Devil in music .
At once, the darkness in front of them shifted, unfolded into bright light as two men opened a heavy metal gate that obstructed an entrance into what looked like a cavern. They greeted him, then widened their surprised eyes at Grace and touched their caps. “Ma’am.”
She stepped into a spacious cave, lit with lanterns. Stone towered on all sides and closed above her.
“A cave?” She stared around and above in amusement.
“A storage unit,” Drasko explained, letting go of her and motioning to one of his men.
There were more guns around than men. Crates were stacked against the moist stone walls.
Three men played cards at a wooden table by the wall, glancing at her and nodding in greeting.
Their sleeves rolled up, suspenders over their shoulders, shirts half-unbuttoned, they looked like they were taking a break from work.
The gates behind Grace closed.
“What is this place?” she mused, looking around with fascination.
“One of our more discreet facilities,” her husband explained. “This is our receiving room. Follow me.”
She finally took him in.
Hatless, Drasko wasn’t wearing a jacket or a vest either, let alone a tie, which revealed suspenders over a white shirt, dirty and damp with sweat.
The shirt was unbuttoned at the neck, giving a glimpse of a gold necklace.
His sleeves were rolled up. With a cigarette bobbing between his lips, he looked like a common worker.
The glint of the rings on his fingers could make one think he was a gangster.
The Diamond King away from the public eye.
She was finally seeing the many shades of Drasko Mawr.
Her shoes sunk into the wet gravel as she followed him through a narrow stone arc.
The tunnel opened into another cave, bright with gas lamps, alive with men’s chatter.
“This is our sorting room,” Drasko explained.
“Sorting what?”
The chatter in the cave died out at once.
About a dozen men around the room gawked at her. Some of them shirtless, others in sleeveless shirts, dirtied, but with happy grins and cigars in their mouths. It smelled of ale and stale water and something achingly familiar—sandalwood, the scent that saturated many rooms in their house.
Grace studied the cave. Two long tables were located at the distant end of it. Several young boys, the youngest only eight or so, stood shirtless, only in their undergarments, and exchanged whispers, eyeing her with amused smiles.
“Gentlemen! Manners!” Drasko barked at them.
Gentlemen?
Only now did she notice that the tables in front of the boys were shiny with piles of glitter on top of them.
She frowned, not believing her eyes. “These are?—”
“Diamonds, yes. Come.” Drasko motioned for her to follow him.
Hundreds, perhaps, thousands of diamonds sat in simple piles on the table. Small boxes were arranged in a row. But of course, this shouldn’t be a surprise. They said the Mawrs turned dirt into diamonds.
“There are five hues of diamonds here right now,” her husband explained, hands in his pockets. “These gentlemen sort them by count and pack them into the small boxes, mark them, then put them in respective crates.”
The word “gentlemen” didn’t go with the sweaty half-naked grinning boys. Nor did the word “diamond” go with the careless piles of glitter on the table. Or the caverns with the water dripping off the slimy ceiling.
“Don’t you sort them in… India?” Grace asked.
“The official import yes. These arrived this morning in dry fish.”
“Pardon me?” Her mouth fell open.
The boys giggled. “And in tobacco,” one of them said.
“Also, inside exotic flutes and bags of saffron, weaved into cotton and silks, hidden in sugar and salt, spice and tea,” Drasko explained. “When crates with dried fruits are picked up in Morocco on the way to England, diamonds find their way into them, too.”
Grace couldn’t wrap her head around it. “Children? You employ children?”
She was taking the scene in, vaguely realizing that her husband was sharing something most people didn’t know.
“They get paid. They get a place to live and food. That is more than most street children get out there. This job is safer than any factory one. And?—”
“We get to go to school,” one of the boys interrupted with a proud tilt of his chin.
“Correct.” Drasko nodded. “What did you learn in school today, Benjamin?”
“That Mr. Brolentine has bad breath after eating oysters.”
The other boys burst into laughter. But under Drasko’s silent stare, the laughter died out in seconds.
“In-te-gers,” Benjamin replied as if pronouncing a foreign word. Another boy nudged him with his elbow, and Benjamin glanced at Drasko from under his eyebrows and added, “Sir.”
“Forgive them.” Drasko led Grace away. “Their manners leave much to be desired. But they will learn. And when we have a society where children don’t have to work, it will be a wonderful one.”
“Why are they almost naked?”
“So they don’t steal.”
“And if they do?”
“If they get caught, they are back on the street. So they don’t.”
“And if they rat you out?” she mused.
Drasko’s gaze sharpened. “They don’t know where they are. They are blindfolded when they are brought and taken out of here. But they won’t. They know this is a new life for them.”
“Hmm. But I know where I am.”
Oh… She shouldn’t have said that. She didn’t mean to.
A little smile tipped his lips. He cocked his head at her. “Considering you tried to poison me, living under the same roof as you puts me in more jeopardy than this.”
There was something else in his gaze—trust. She understood now that this—these caverns and him slowly unveiling his life for her—was the most trustful move yet. And he was less bitter today, more open, more… caring?
Wishful thinking.
He led her to yet another archway that gaped like a monster’s mouth.
“I didn’t mean it that way,” she apologized for being too clever.
He gently set his hand on her waist as they walked. “I know,” he whispered into her ear and let go, leaving her heart pounding.
A man hurried up to them with a lantern and illuminated their way to yet another cave. A rail cart stood on the rails leading into a tunnel farther up.
“Why the caves?” Grace stared around confused. Water dripped off the ceilings. The pitch-black tunnel ahead wafted with coldness. “Your business is legal, is it not?”
“Robberies, ma’am,” a voice said behind her.
One of the men had followed, dressed in trousers, suspenders over a sweat-soaked cream shirt, sleeves rolled up. A kind smile on his brutal face. An unlit cigarette bobbing off the corner of his mouth.
“Regardless of how good the security is, there are robberies, ma’am. We’ve had many. Right, boss?”
“Enemies, too,” another man said, stepping from behind him. Old smudgy tattoos peeked from under his short sleeves. “You’d be surprised what those snakes, the Wollendorfs, can do.” He spat on the ground.
Drasko nodded. “These grottos are owned by me, just like the strip of the city the tunnels lead to. They are protected day and night. We do have our traditional routes, secured vaults in banks and the Mawr Building. This”—he motioned around—“is a precaution.”
“How many precautions do you have?” Grace asked, amused.
He leisurely studied her dress, taking his time to answer. “Perhaps, one day, you will find out.”
She felt hot under his gaze and pursed her lips.
He flashed his brilliantly white smile at her, in beautiful contrast with his tanned skin. “Would you like to go farther?”