Chapter Twenty-Seven

“An Hour”

1.

Annabelle had an hour, at best. The first task was to free herself from her bonds. They were newly-tied, unfortunately, and a little tighter than the previous ones. Small matter, really; more of an inconvenience than anything else. She relaxed the muscles in her shoulders, allowing the tension to flow into her stomach, where it tightened into a knot. Her hands began to work.

Still, she could feel his eyes slithering over her. He had brought her a bucket of hot water, soap, and a fresh coverall, but he had given her no privacy with which to clean herself. The mortification she’d felt as he watched her peel the filthy coverall from her body was nothing compared to the oily sickness in her stomach as she washed the urine and faeces away. Only the dim light of the lantern saved her from being completely exposed. She had to take comfort in knowing that, if he took in her naked form, he only caught it in glimpses.

And all the while, he had talked.

He’d told her of England’s corruption, and how he wanted to send the whole island burning into the sea, like Atlantis, but he did so with a smile and a chuckle, like he was telling a folk tale around a campfire. The world had to be free of the Crown’s filthy talons, he’d said, and it would take the hard work of a small few patriots―patriots to the cause of freedom, not to a single country―to see Victoria and her subjects broken and howling for mercy.

Her right hand slipped free of the rope. The wrist was rubbed painfully raw and might even be bleeding, but she did not care. She stowed the rope behind one of the crates, feeling her way around, as he had left her with no light by which to see.

“And don’t bother screaming,” he’d said. “These rooms were meant to conceal. You’ll only make yourself hoarse, and we wouldn’t want that, now, would we?”

And then of course, there was the plan. He was most proud of this. Much of it did not make sense at first, but she had kept her patience, knowing it would be important later. Nathanial would need to know everything she could remember. If he had not yet pieced together all of the clues he would have to know the truth, and the truth was, he was walking directly into danger. Annabelle had been informed of that, on more than one occasion.

“It’s like watching a mouse that smells a hunk of cheese. Now, a mouse is most clever, the cleverest of all God’s creatures, even more so than man. But all that cleverness is for naught, for when they smell the cheese, their fate is no longer in question. They must have it, even after they recognise the trap that’s been laid for them. Your Nathanial Stone is damned clever. He knows something is wrong, but he is walking into danger anyway because the cheese that’s been laid out for him is just too enticing. He’ll look up, see the jaws that are waiting to snap shut on him, to break his back, and he’ll reach out anyway. His curiosity will be the death of him. And when he’s gone, everyone who knows will be gone. And then, we’ll be alone, won’t we?”

She crawled about, on hands and knees, probing the limits of the room, feeling for anything small enough that could be concealed, yet used for a weapon. Her derringer was gone, probably before she had ever woken here, but certainly after her bath and change of clothes. There had been no chance to look for it; he had kept his eyes on her all the time.

“You were supposed to be dead, you know. You were never supposed to wake, but I brought you here. I still don’t know why.” For a moment he had looked like a shy boy. “Perhaps I want a friend. I haven’t had one in a long while. Or perhaps I want someone to know. What good is this plan, if the only people who know about it are the ones who executed it? Shouldn’t the world know? A plot within a plot within a plot. You would have stumbled through the dark for years if there hadn’t been people tugging you along, all the way.”

“So was Brennan part of the plot?” she had asked. “Was his going insane and killing people part of your beautiful master plan?”

“Brennan was always a bit dodgy. Most demolitionists are. Beggars can’t be choosers, you know, and we needed men for this job and couldn’t refuse any help if it was offered. We tried to keep Brennan away from the others, but he just kept slipping away.”

“So why couldn’t you hold onto him?”

“Because I was busy.”

“And your employer?”

“He was busy, too.”

“Sounds to me like you’re lucky any of your plan came to fruition, if all he employs are idiots like you and madmen like Brennan.”

And he’d become angry, then, and his shoulders had seized up around his ears. “What do you know of it? You’re just some trull, flouncing from place to place. What do you know?”

“I know you’re a fool, and you work for a bigger one.”

Annabelle knew she had stepped too far a moment before the backhand smashed into her teeth. The back of her head had careened off the crate holding her up, and she had slid over into a foetal position on the floor. She squeezed her eyes shut, but she had still seen through her eyelids the light of the lantern go out and he stepped between her and it.

“You miserable creature!” he had hissed, and he was on his knees, face inches from hers, the stink of alcohol and foul breath roaring up her nose. “Utter another word, and I’ll make you wish you were dead.”

He had gripped her neck and squeezed, just hard enough that she had felt the airway constrict, and then he’d let go. The message was clear: I can do whatever to you, whenever I like, and there is nothing you can do to stop me.

“I’m sorry,” she had whispered. Blood mixed with saliva had trickled out of her mouth. Tears of pain had flooded her eyes. She had hoped he would take them as fear, but all she could think of at that moment was how nice it would feel to plunge her Bowie knife into his belly and walk around. But, no. She had to keep her wits.

“Please don’t hurt me anymore. I promise, I won’t anger you again.”

The fetid breathing had continued until he was satisfied he had cowed her enough. “You shouldn’t worry your pretty, little head over such things as my employer, Annabelle. Let me tell you about Torquilstone instead. That will show you who you’re dealing with.”

Annabelle had nodded and lay still for a time, letting him talk.

There was no weapon to be found, so she found a crate that had been opened already. Feeling over it, she found a piece that had cracked slightly. She ran her fingers over the fissure just to be sure. A piece of it protruded. She wrapped her fingers around it and pulled. It took three hard tugs before it came away. The piece was too long, though, and she broke it beneath her boot until she was left with a nice sliver of wood, sharp on both ends, about half the length of her forearm. She slid the sliver up her sleeve and disposed of the broken pieces behind the crate. She sat down.

Half an hour, she thought. I have half an hour before he returns.

And so she waited.