Page 63 of Taken to the Grave
The stable was quiet; no grooms were attending the horses, nor drivers present for the coaches. At so early an hour in the afternoon, perhaps they weren’t needed. The Sanctuary, Hugh supposed, would be active at night, when coaches could come and go without much notice.
Members might even access their society via the tunnel, after first spending time at Vauxhall. Operating a pleasure den right next to another source of entertainment was, Hugh had to admit, ingenious business sense. However, he could only imagine the trouble Hammond Abbey would be required to go to in order to preserve the secrecy of it. Slashing the throats and lopping off the ears of suspected informants was one way to do it.
In the silence of the stable, the echo of a voice brushed his eardrums. He cocked his head back toward the tunnel opening. The voice had only been a sound. No clear words, or even an indication of if the speaker was male or female. Audrey would not have followed him into the tunnel. He’d seen comprehension soften her angry glare when he’d admitted that he would choose to protect her over Gwendolyn. She wanted the young woman brought to safety too much to risk it.
The muffled sound might have been Thornton’s voice, but there was nothing he could do about that now. He kept moving across the rough cobbled floor. The doors to the stable were shut and barred, but adjacent to them was an opening to a stairwell. The steps led up. A few horses snuffled as he passed them, perhaps sensing his tension. He had his double flintlock in hand and primed. With only two shots available, he’d have to be prudent.
After listening at the base of the stairs for any footfalls or voices, Hugh took the steps. At the top, he entered a narrow passageway. Empty, thankfully. But only a few paces along, approaching voices had him diving through the nearest open door, into what appeared to be a storage room. Hugh crouched behind a few stacked crates, taming his breaths. Bottles of wine and port lined shelves, beeswax candles filled several open crates nearby, but it was the long shelf of folded black cloaks, a feather-decorated domino atop each one, that captured his interest. Audrey had described the members of the society wearing these costumes, standing around what may as well have been a sacrificial slab. At the thought of Bethany Silas’s purpose for being here, as well as Opal’s from the Red Lotus, he resisted the urge to pummel something.
Had someone entered the storage room right then, he’d have gone toe-to-toe with them with a surge of ferocity. But that would only draw attention to his presence. And he needed to find Gwendolyn Bertram. If she was still alive.
The voices passed the storage room, sounding as if they were heading in the direction in which Hugh had come. After several more moments, the voices faded entirely. Hugh came out from behind the stacked crates and lingered at the exit to the room, listening again. He glanced back toward the shelf of cloaks and masks. There was no guarantee that he would not meet with someone once he left this room. Quickly, he took down one of the cloaks and drew it around his shoulders, bringing up the hood. Then, pulled on the domino. The mask concealed everything but his mouth and chin. The disguise would not get him very far, but it might at least give him a few extra moments of anonymity should he come across any of Abbey’s men.
Hugh followed a narrow passageway, stepping lightly. The cloak billowed behind him. Within a dozen more paces, the sounds of weeping greeted him. A woman’s sobs. He increasedhis speed, toward an open door ahead. Stopping to peer around the corner, he saw it was a large study. Dark wood paneled the walls, the windows draped with black silk, shutting out daylight. The only light at all came from a fire leaping in the hearth and from several lamps set around the room. With its leather chairs and gaming tables, it resembled the billiards room at White’s. With one exception: three large bird cages hung suspended from the ceiling beams. Audrey had described a cage from her vision. The wrought iron enclosures were large enough for a human to fit inside. The cage nearest to the door, and the one at the back of the room were empty, but the middle cage was filled with the huddled form of a young woman. Gwendolyn Bertram.
Hugh moved before thinking. Only after entering the room did he see a tall man in an evening suit. He peeled off from the black marble column that he’d easily blended into.
“What are you doing in here? How’d you get in? The Sanctuary don’t open for hours.”
There was no question that he was hired muscle.
“Mr. Abbey has allowed me early entry,” Hugh said as he continued forward, his hand gripping the flintlock under the cloak.
“Boss don’t allow anyone early entry.” The man squared his shoulders. “Take off the mask. Who are you?”
In her cage, Gwendolyn had come out of her hunched position. She moved, causing the cage to sway. Underneath the cage was a long table covered in a brown bear pelt. Audrey had described that table too.
“You wouldn’t know me. I’m new,” Hugh said without slowing. The man shook his head and reached for a tapestry rope hanging next to the column. A bell pull, which would alert others.
He slammed into the man, pushing him sideways, but not before his hand had grazed the rope. Whether it signaled on theother end, Hugh didn’t know. Nor did he care when the man’s elbow cracked back into his jaw. Gwendolyn screamed as Hugh staggered. He threw off the cloak and brought out his flintlock, but the man was already running. Hugh swore. He couldn’t shoot a man in the back. He chased after him instead, and when he was within reach, clouted him on the back of the head with the stock of his pistol. The man collapsed, and for good measure, Hugh clobbered him again. He went still.
“Help me!” Gwendolyn threw herself against the bars of her cage and peered down. Hugh ripped off the domino. Gwendolyn gasped. “Lord Neatham!”
“How did they get you up there?” he asked even as his eyes followed the chain holding the cage to a pulley set into the ceiling beam. From there, the chain ran the length of the study ceiling, joining with the chains from the other cages.
“There, over on the wall by the other door.” Gwendolyn stuck her arm through the bars to point. Three crank levers were set into the wood paneling across the room. With no time to lose, Hugh rushed forward, dodging chairs and tables, but fell short of the wall when the door near the levers opened.
He stared, dazed. “Stevens. Bloody hell, how did you?—?”
“He’s one of them!” Gwendolyn screeched, but not before Hugh saw the snub-nosed pistol in the officer’s hand.
“Lower it, Marsden,” Stevens said. With his stomach sinking toward his ankles, Hugh did. “Toss it aside.”
“Stevens, you rat. I swore it was Tyne.”
“That’s what the duchess said too.”
Alarm seared his spine and fired out along his arms. Hugh stared at the officer, his finger tensing on the trigger and nearly sending one of his two shots into the floor. “What have you done? Where is she?”
He’d thought she would be safe at the tunnel entrance.
“Toss it,” Stevens repeated.
“Not until you tell me where she is.”
“With Abbey.”
Hugh raised his pistol, uncaring that Stevens had one trained on him. The knowledge that Audrey was with that madman stole away every ounce of fear for himself. When the officer didn’t squeeze off a shot, Hugh knew he’d achieved the upper hand.
