The Winter Garden Page 5

  “Whoosh der?” he called, his soft voice sharpened by alarm as she took several steps closer.

  “I am.”

  “Plesh don’ hurd me.” The man tightened his body into a ball, pressing the peaks of his vertebrae dangerously toward the surface of his skin and the remnants of his shirt. “Plesh.”

  The backs of Emmeline’s eyes grew hot with the burn of tears. “I am not here to hurt you.” No matter how hard she tried to push the realness of him from her mind, the tremble in her voice only grew worse. “I am a prisoner here, too.”

  “Are you hurd?” He inhaled sharply before struggling to cough as his hanging jaw and ribs rattled with each feeble puff of air. “I heard you skeem.”

  “They have not hurt me yet.” Emmeline tore her gaze away from his bloodied cheek and cloaked eyes, so she could finally explore the room. “Who are you?”

  An inarticulate string of groans escaped his lips. His mouth trembled as if he was about to cry before he replied, “No one.”

  Emmeline ran her hand over the thick, ancient oak of the door, but even when she threw her full weight against it, it didn’t budge or even creak. There was not a window or any evidence of human habitation apart from the shelf built into the wall and the splintered chair. As she turned to check the outer wall, her foot brushed against the cold porcelain surface of a shattered plate. Strewn across the refuse were bits of bread already speckled with blue and unidentifiable chunks of brown meat that had long since spoiled. She glanced over her shoulder at him. He stared blindly at her but clasped his ribs as he succumbed to a coughing fit. With a lurch, the man with the distorted jaw rested his head against the wall wheezing.

  “Why did they do this to you?”

  “‘hey ‘hought I ‘ew too much. Wha’ ‘bout you?”

  “I do not know,” she replied softly as she stood at his feet and watched him shrink away from her imminent touch. He was so fragile and boney. He could be her, and she couldn’t bear to let him suffer while she was still cosseted. “Have you had anything to eat?”

  As he shook his head, a rebellious, golden curl escaped from under the fabric binding. Had he once been beautiful? “No, but is too har’ ta eat.”

  “I will be right back. I have something you can probably manage.”

  As soon as Emmeline climbed into her little room, she sank to the floor with tears streaming down her cheeks. Sitting in her dollhouse-like apartments, she couldn’t fathom how life was for the poor creature below. The room was even more revolting than she remembered, and she swore he was weaker than he had been less than a week earlier. He hadn’t even attempted to get up when he heard her this time. Emmeline wiped her eyes with her knuckles before retrieving the soup and gingerly positioning it on the shelf below to keep from spilling most of it during her descent. The emaciated man groaned softly as she drew near and held out the bowl he could not see. At least he couldn’t see her tears.

  “Here, I think it is beef stew.”

  He groped blindly for the bowl, nearly knocking it out of her hand but never grasping it. Emmeline caught his arm, which flinched in her grasp, yet after a moment’s hesitation, he allowed her to put the small dish in his hand and guide it to his lips. The viscous stew dribbled from the corner of his mouth as he gulped it down without pausing to take a breath. As he attempted to choke down the last mouthful, he aspirated a bit of broth and sent his lungs into spasms once more. She hesitated before lightly patting his back, feeling the sharp bones of his scapula and spine poke the flesh of her palm. Tears burned the backs of her eyes as she stared down at him. She couldn’t bear another moment down there near the man who was only hours from death. When he was gone, it would be her next.

  “I— I have to go,” she stammered as she pulled the empty bowl from his hands and hurried to the opening in the ceiling without looking back. “I will bring you more food tomorrow.”

  Emmeline scrambled toward the surface, holding back the sobs just long enough to cover the hole to keep him from hearing her cries. She clasped her hands over her face as all the frustration of her time in captivity poured out. There was nothing she could do to help herself let alone him. Every door was locked, and if she continued to feed him, she would starve as well. All she wanted was her mother to make everything all right. She had always been able to count on her before, so why hadn’t she come to bring her home yet? As she reached up to rub her eyes, she froze.

  His blood was on her hands.

  Chapter Six:

  A Mother’s Love

  Emmeline Jardine tried her hardest to forget about the poor soul under her feet. She had taken a bath to wash away the evidence of her visit, but as she lay on her bed in the darkness, her mind trailed to Samhain night when she was ripped from her mother’s arms. The party had been just as beautiful as she imagined. She hadn’t even allowed herself to go downstairs until the guests arrived because she didn’t want to ruin the magic, but now, it was the worst day of her life. All that was left of the beauty from that night were the clothes she had shed in favor of the plain gowns hanging in the wardrobe. Her owl-like eyes roamed over to the nightstand drawer where she stowed all her jewelry after she knew she would not be leaving any time soon. The room was nearly consumed with shadow, but as she opened the drawer, her favorite brooch sparkled. It was her mother’s, and after months of eyeing it in her ebony jewelry box, she had allowed Emmeline to wear the diamond and enamel sprig of forget-me-nots for the party. As she ran her fingers over the stone petals, it was as if she could smell the warm vanilla and honey perfume of her mother’s boudoir.

  “Emmeline.”

  The young woman shot up, ratting the cot at the sound of the familiar voice. The tall, stately figure of Madeline Jardine sat in the worn chair in the corner. Through the darkness, Lady Jardine glowed with her porcelain skin and plum gown. Even her jet hair shown and reflected a sourceless light.

  “Mama!” she cried as she jumped out of bed to embrace her, but her mother raised her hand to stop her. “Oh, mama, you don’t know how I have missed you. Why didn’t you come for me?”

  Lady Jardine rested her weightless hands on her daughter’s arms and held her far enough away for her to see her mother’s byzantine eyes moisten with tears. “Sweetheart, I looked so hard for you, and I never stopped.”

  “What is the matter, mama?”

  “You need to find a way out of this place tonight.”

  “But how? I have tried everything. The alley by the window is so narrow even cats can’t fit through and all the doors are locked.”

  “There are other ways for both of you to get out.”

  “Both?” the girl snapped. “How am I supposed to get him out? He can scarcely walk! If I escape, I could always come back with the police. They could rescue him.”

  Lady Jardine gripped Emmeline’s arms until her nails indented her flesh. “No, you must take him with or you will both perish. It is imperative that you do it. Do you not understand how serious this is?”

  “But you found me. Why can’t you come and get me?” she asked, her voice trembling as she squeezed the pin in her grasp until the diamond settings dug into her palm.

  Madeline gently rubbed her daughter’s balled up hand and held it to her lips. “Because I can’t.”

  As their eyes met, Emmeline saw her mother was crying but couldn’t understand why. She was so happy to see her after being away from home for so long. Then, she stared down at the brooch, her mother’s brooch. It wasn’t a dream, she was reading her jewelry. The grief washed over her, running through her eyes, squeezing her ribs, and engulfing her wholly as she stumbled back.

  “No, mama, no, it— it can’t be. You can’t be—”

  Lady Jardine crushed her weeping daughter to her breast one last time as her little body was racked with sobs. Tears streamed down her cheeks and neck, never clinging to the ethereal violet fabric of her mother’s gown. Seeing her only child cry hurt more than the flames, but she wanted to be the one to tell her. They were all each oth
er had for sixteen years, and now, they must part. When the child’s cries finally slowed, Madeline carefully wiped her face and brushed her dark hair back into place. Placing both hands on the sides of Emmeline’s flushed cheeks, she kissed her forehead and the scant trail of freckles on her nose. Her energy was fading, dimming her image before it brightened again.

  “Please don’t go,” Emmeline whispered as she trembled and suppressed a sob.

  “I will never leave you, sweetheart. You know spirits never go far.” She smiled softly as she took in Emmeline’s fine features. Her heir’s were so much like her own. “I will help to guide you, but you need to leave tonight and go where you both can be safe.”

  “I would rather stay and go with you.”

  “No, I love you, and I do not want this to happen to you.” Lady Jardine stroked her only child’s hair as she pleaded, “If you love me, my darling, you will listen to your mother one last time. I raised you to do what is best for you, and tonight you will have to do it alone. For that, I am so sorry, but I will always be there for you. I love you, Emmeline.”

  “I love you too, mama,” she answered as her mother, her double, and her best friend faded away.

  Emmeline sobbed as she ran her hand over the seat of the empty chair, but there was no trace of her or the smell of her perfume. Taking a steadying breath, she admired the forget-me-not brooch before pinning it to the inside of her dress out of sight. Never could she remember a time when she was so alone. No one would be coming for her. If she was to leave, she would have to do it on her own, but why did she have to take him with her? The Spiritualists always said spirits could know things the living could not, and her mother’s last request was that she take the man below despite how cumbersome he would make her escape. While she could reach him, she had no idea how to get out. The only connection led between their cells and not to the rest of the house. She turned up her lamp and ran her hands up and down each plaster wall. Emmeline felt around doorways and moldings but found no hidden panels or means of escape except the loose boards that led to the catacombs.

  Down the hall, she tried to doorknob again, but it still refused to budge. Grabbing the knife she saved from the previous day’s meal, she attempted to turn the screws holding the knob in place. Its tip was too thick and clumsily slid from the metal plate. In frustration, Emmeline jammed the knife under the edge of the doorknob. The wood flattened and splintered beneath it, but as she turned the utensil on its side, the knob popped off. Sticking her finger into the hollow space in the door, she tugged and pushed with all her strength, but the door was still locked from the other side. She tore at the molding, which broke off at the bottom and hung from the wall by its nails and rammed it into the wall over and over, but the plaster barely cracked.

  With a tired sigh, she let the molding clatter to the floor and went back down the hall. The bathroom window seemed like an obvious escape route, but as Emmeline climbed onto the chair and pressed her face to the glass, she knew there was no way she could fit out there. Then there were the glass shards and the noise breaking it would make. She drew back and sat on the chair, staring into the hallway. It had been staring her right in the face, the dumbwaiter. Drawing back the panel, she held the light into the shaft and spotted the cord that raised and lowered the box lying against the wall of the tunnel. With a few tugs, the pulleys and tracks squealed to life as the dumbwaiter descended to the servants’ quarters. She tested the cart, pushing down with all her weight, but it didn’t dip or drop under the strain. Emmeline climbed onto the chair and into the box with her knees pressed up near her face, but for once her short stature was a blessing. Using the rope, she hoisted the dumbwaiter up toward the main floor one fist at a time. Halfway up, she rested, panting as her ribs strained against her thighs at the uncharacteristic exertion. By the time the scant light was peeking through the top of the lift, her delicate palms were raw from the coarse fiber of the rope and her back cramped from being hunched around her knees. That man had better be worth it, she thought as she slowed down as she reached the top, but the butler’s pantry was empty.

  The room was dark save for the glow drifting under the door from the street lamps glaring through the front parlor and dining room windows. She held her breath as she listened for any sign of life but heard nothing apart from her own heartbeat and the occasional clatter of steamer wheels. The door of the pantry opened out into the kitchen, and with a glance to confirm the men were gone, she roamed the halls of the empty house. Going through each room of sheet-covered furniture in the moonlight, she wandered until she found the stairs leading to the servants’ hall.

  Off the empty common area, there were two doors. Emmeline recognized the first door as being the backside of the one in her chambers with its tarnished brass knob and peeling white paint. She threw her weight into it and tried to turn the knob, but it was locked with a key she did not have. Her heart quickened at the thought of having to stuff the deformed man into the dumbwaiter. There had to be another way to reach him, but where was the door the heavy-footed man opened to reach him? She peered into the far room, which stood open but was nothing more than another bedroom. Under where the stairs clamored over the empty bedroom, there was a sloped door that resembled a coat closet, but when she opened it, it revealed a set of bare, wooden steps leading into the earth beneath the foundation.

  Emmeline blinked in the darkness, hoping her eyes would quickly grow accustomed to the complete absence of light as she inched her way down the stairs by the touch of her toes. She cursed herself for not taking her lamp or at least a candle. At the last step, her foot slipped and she collided with the stalwart door at the bottom. Feeling around the edge, a smile finally crossed her lips as she touched the cold of a metal brace. It held a thick timber across the prison cell, but with a lot of grunting and puffing, she finally dislodged the bar and guided it to the floor with her back and legs buckling under the strain. The door groaned on its ancient hinges, and within the chamber, the man crawled toward the back corner, trembling against the bricks at the dreaded sound. She could barely make him out amid the shadows, but as she stepped forward, he picked his head up at her familiar tread.

  “We are getting out of here tonight,” she said as she groped through the muddy blackness until her outstretched hand brushed the shelving, “but I need to get a few things first.”

  “How?”

  Emmeline stood on the second ledge and swatted at the boards above her head until the plank finally dislodged and light to stream in. “Out the front door I suppose.”

  With a final push, she hoisted herself up and fell face-first into her bedroom. She stripped the blankets from her bed and wardrobe and gathered her remaining stockings before tossing them onto the shelf below. In the bathroom, she found the slipper that had fallen into the toilet right where she left it. No matter how disgusting she found it, she knew she had to put it on if she wanted to walk outside in the November cold. The girl darted around the bedroom, trying to decide if there was anything else they could possibly need. She debated taking a few penny dreadfuls with her, but if she had to lead him around, it would be too hard to carry them all. In the end, she put her jewelry from the party under the drab wool of the maid’s uniform and descended into the catacombs with her lamp. The man was waiting for her, rocking back and forth on his heels, but when she dropped onto the dirt floor, he gripped the bricks and staggered towards her.

  “I am going to try to take this off, so you can see.” As she pinched the edge of the fabric and attempted to pull it out far enough to wiggle over his head, he yelped and pulled away. Holding the lamp closer, she noticed the splotch on his blindfold spreading rapidly. She threw the woolen blanket over his head and tucked it around his shoulders and neck, hiding his misshapen face as best she could. The icy flesh of his feet was bare, so she helped him into her spare stockings before wrapping his limbs in scraps of the white cloths that covered the wardrobe and chair. Emmeline averted her gaze as she noted all the wounds and bruises litt
ering what she could see of his body in the dim light. She gently took his clammy hand, but as they walked toward the cell door, his lungs wheezed feebly at the slight exertion. The man wiped the saliva slipping from his hanging jaw before letting out a string of coughs that nearly jarred him off his feet. She sighed. It was going to be a long night.

  Chapter Seven:

  Wimpole Street

  Getting her fellow captive up two flights of stairs and through the front rooms to the entrance took over half an hour of tugging, pulling, and coughing. She could have been halfway to anywhere if her mother hadn’t made her take him. Her mother..., she thought as tears climbed to her eyes, but that would have to wait. They needed to make it to safety before the men returned.

  From the moment they stepped onto the empty street, Emmeline knew they were no longer in Oxford by the sound of steamers running even at the late hour and people yelling and chattering somewhere in the distance. The medieval houses had been replaced by modern rows of dingy brick. She looked up and down the cobbled road, but in the sporadic light of the streetlamps, the parallel rows of houses seemed to stretch on forever like a red and tan hedge maze. A shudder passed through her small form as she stared up at the blackened windows. No house looked safe to knock on and no one reputable would be awake at that hour. Both directions looked equally bleak, but as she stared past the man beside her, the smell of honey and vanilla permeated the icy gale blowing through her dress. She grabbed his hand, holding onto it even as he instinctively yanked it back at her unexpected touch, and dragged him down the street behind her, following her mother’s perfume.