The White City

by Grace Hitchcock

  “I don’t know what you mean. I’ve been getting away with quite a bit since I came to this town.”

  She could hear her heart pounding in her ears. “What do you mean? What did you do with that woman in green? What did you do with Miss Lance? Where is she?”

  “Would you like to see her?” he asked, wickedness lighting his eyes as he took a step closer to her. She darted backward, forgetting her flowing skirts, and tripped over them in her haste to get away from him. Seizing her by her hair, he wrenched her head back, the pain nearly blinding her. “If you are quiet, I will make this as painless as possible. If you scream … Well, let’s just say that my days of dissecting cadavers at the academy will come in handy.”

  Her body tremored at his threats, but all of her father’s instructions of fighting off a predator returned to her. She was not the weak heroine. Slamming her fist up his nose, she jerked herself back to escape him as he groaned in pain, but he only gripped her in his arms tighter, pulling her inside the room with the trunk as she struggled against him. Screaming, Winnifred elbowed him in the ribs, digging her fingernails into the exposed flesh at his collar. With a growl, he threw her over his shoulder, but, twisting her body, she managed to knee him in the chin, causing him to drop her on the floor.

  He cupped his hand under his bleeding nose. With a devilish laugh, he gave her a crimson grin that sent shivers down her spine. He drew his hand back and slammed the back of his fist against her face, knocking her down and banging her head against the floorboards.

  She groaned as darkness enveloped her. In a fog, she watched as he threw open a hatch. Dear Lord, he has another trap door. She couldn’t run. She couldn’t even walk if she wanted to. What did Father say to do if force didn’t work? Winnifred blinked against the warm liquid dripping down her forehead. She lifted her fingers, wiping the blood from her eyes as her dim thoughts pieced together that she must have cut herself in her fall. Use reason. Speak. “H–Henry, please. I’m begging you. Please. I have money. Spare me, and I can give you anything you want, along with my silence of this night.”

  He squatted on the floor next to her and lifted a finger to her cheek, stroking it. “Aw, sweetheart. Do you think me a fool? You are a working girl. What do you have that you could possibly offer me? Your insurance money will be more than enough to tempt me. I doubt you have ten thousand dollars to take the place of your life insurance policy. I would lose if I let you live. Besides, I would never trust you to remain silent even if you had the funds. Insurance fraud is most frowned upon, you know.” He grabbed both of her wrists in one hand and with the other, held the hatch open. “You should have minded your own business, Miss Swan.”

  “I will. I promise, I won’t breathe a word about the arson,” she whimpered, frantic. “Please—”

  “I’m out of time and, quite frankly, so are you, my dear.” He shoved her backward.

  Winnifred screamed, groping the air in a vain hope that she could catch hold of something to keep her from falling. But she caught nothing and fell into the black hole, landing hard on her ankle and side as he locked the door, leaving her in pitch blackness. “You cannot leave me in here! Please. Have mercy.” She banged on the floor, praying that someone on the second floor would wake and hear her. Where is Jude? Why hasn’t he come?

  Tears traveled down her face as she cried out again and again, but heard nothing in return except a faint crackling. The heavy scent of smoke wafted through the cracks in the floorboards. “Dear Lord, the pitch.” I am going to be burnt alive. Crawling on her hands and knees, she searched blindly for a way out when her hands touched something cold. She let her hands trail the object, trying to decipher what it was until she touched a coldness that could only be that of death. Scrambling back, she lifted her trembling hands over her head and sobbed, feeling like an abandoned little girl again. A scripture pressed on her heart, wrapping her in God’s embrace as she recalled His Word. Fear not: for I have redeemed thee, I have called thee by thy name; thou art mine … when thou walkest through the fire, thou shalt not be burned.

  Her sobs quieting to a gentle flow, she whispered the same phrase she had for years. “I will not be afraid, for I am Yours, Lord. I am Yours. I am never alone.” And if my time has come, Lord, thank You for giving me a chance to have found love. Closing her eyes, she curled around her knees and pictured Jude’s face one last time.

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  “I was made and meant to look for you and wait for you and become yours forever.”

  ~Robert Browning

  If Percival did not stop talking soon, Jude would stuff his tie down his throat. Scowling, he stepped away from the writer, whose scratching pencil was driving him to distraction. Is this all a game to him? Everything he talks about refers to his blasted story. He seems to only see Winnifred as a means of gaining inspiration and does not comprehend that she is in real danger. To keep himself from knocking the man unconscious, Jude checked his watch for the tenth time, his eyes widening. She had been in there for nearly three hours, but he would have to keep waiting. She’d told him if she wasn’t out by midnight to come in after her, but not before. He would give her ten minutes, but not a second longer.

  The dog in the alleyway began barking again as viciously as he had for the entirety of Winnifred’s time in the building, drawing Jude’s gaze from the third story toward an alley, where he saw a cat with its back arching as it hissed at the yelping dog.

  “They are causing such a din, it’s surprising that the whole of Englewood isn’t awake by now chasing the culprits down.” Percival chuckled as he dug a paper bag out of his pocket and popped something into his mouth before offering the sack to Jude. “Peppermint? Helps keep me awake and curb my need to snack while writing.”

  “No, thank you.” Jude waved him away. Even though he was hungry, the thought of joining in Percival’s camaraderie while Winnifred was in danger made his insides turn.

  Percival began scribbling away again. “I’m almost done with this book. I can’t wait to show it to Winnie.”

  Winnie? He cringed at the familiarity. Jude returned his attention to the building when he spied puffs of smoke seeping out of one of the top-floor windows. His heart thudded. Dear Lord in heaven. He sprinted toward the building and slammed his shoulder into the door Winnifred had gone through, breaking the lock with the single blow. Not knowing what he would encounter, he drew his revolver and raced up the stairs, bumping into a staggering man who was rubbing his face.

  “Who in tarnation are you?” the man mumbled, lifting his fists in an attempt to strike Jude even in his stupor.

  “Police. Get everyone out. The top floor is on fire!” Jude sprinted past him and up to the third floor. “Winnie? Winnifred! Where are you?” He shouted her name over and over, praying for direction. Remembering her descriptions, he opened the fourth door on his left where the trap door was located. Flinging open the hatch, he saw nothing but the second-floor bathroom and heard the boarders below crying out.

  Blast it all. “Winnifred!” He called out again, racing out into the hallway. He ran from room to room, searching for her, to no avail. Closing each door he encountered to keep the flames from spreading faster, he rubbed his hands over his face. “Lord, where is she?” His voice grew rough. “Oh my love. My darling, where are you?”

  Jude felt an unmistakable pull toward the room that was nearly engulfed in flames. Throwing the door open, he stepped inside and crouched low, covering his mouth with his handkerchief against the billows of smoke greeting him. “Winnie!”

  Something large near the window was ablaze. Jude stepped closer and found what seemed to be a trunk, and then he heard a faint cry. He spun around. “Winnie! Winnie! I can hear you. Call again!” He coughed into his handkerchief and began to pound on the walls, searching for a false wall when he heard her call again.

  He looked down. A second trap door? He lunged for the corner of the flaming rug and, dragging it back, flung it aside to find a latch. With one tug, he knew it
was locked. Glancing at the blazing walls and floorboards, Jude saw he only had moments before the third story was nothing more than ruins. “Winnifred! It’s Jude. If you can hear me, stay in a corner if you can. I need to shoot off the lock, and it might penetrate the wood and ricochet.” He aimed his firearm and pulled the trigger, blasting the lock to bits. He threw open the door and there, far below him, were two crumpled figures huddled in the corner. Lord let them be alive. “Winnifred!”

  She flinched at the blast from above, but at the wrench of the door, smoke filled the small space and she coughed against the gray cloud that engulfed her. Blinking, she lifted her head. “Jude?” She sobbed his name, lifting a hand toward him, her head throbbing. Thank You, Lord. She crawled to her knees, her vision blurring, but she had to warn him. “Holmes,” she whispered. “Holmes is here. And Miss Lance, she’s—”

  “Are you hurt?” Jude’s voice cracked as he sprawled on the floor, reaching down into the cavern, the flames above him casting a glow about him in the haze of smoke. “Can you stand? I need to grab your wrists. We have to get out of here.”

  “Miss Lance is alive, but only just.” From the light of the flames, she was finally able to make out that she was in a windowless, doorless room with eight-foot ceilings. “It’s too high. You have to get her out too, but if you come down here, I doubt you will be able to climb out with Miss Lance and me weighing you down.”

  “Can you lift her enough for me to grab her?”

  Gritting her teeth against the pain in her ankle, Winnifred gripped Miss Lance under her arms and heaved her up then managed to lift the girl’s arm enough for Jude to snatch her by a wrist and draw her up as easily as he would a rag doll.

  Her strength gone, she balanced herself on one foot as she lifted her arms to him like a child. His fingers encircled her wrists, and with a groan of pain, her vision blackened for a moment as she found herself drawn into his arms. “Jude, oh Jude,” she cried over and over into his shirt. She had thought she would never see him again, never feel the strength of his arms surrounding her. She buried her face in his shirt, inhaling his scent beyond the smoke.

  “I’ve got you, Winnie.” He spoke as if calming a frightened animal.

  “Take Miss Lance down first and come back for me,” she whispered despite the tears streaking down her cheeks at the thought of being left again.

  “Not a chance. I can take you both.” He tossed Miss Lance over his shoulder, holding her in place with one arm and encircling Winnifred’s waist with the other. “Hold on.”

  Winnifred wrapped her arms about his neck and hopped on her good foot, and the three of them fled from the room as the rest of the floor crackled into flames. Halfway down the second flight of stairs, Winnifred’s ankle gave out, and with a cry of pain, she sagged against Jude. “Get her to safety and come back for me.”

  Jude’s gaze tore from the flames on the third floor to where Winnifred sat on the steps. He gripped her behind the neck and pressed his forehead to her own, his lips a hairsbreadth from hers. “I will come back for you.”

  He bolted down the stairs as the floor above her cracked. Spying the flames licking the top step, she scooted down the steps then heard a groan from a beam. Her gaze tore upward. “Jude!” she screamed, lifting her hands above her head to block the falling debris when she felt strong arms encircle her, sweeping her away from danger.

  “Hold on!” Jude shouted, bolting down the stairs, not stopping until they were safely outside. His chest heaved beneath her as he paused beside Miss Lance’s unconscious form on the sidewalk across the street from the burning building where the rest of the tenants stood shivering, huddled in their blankets as they stared up at the flames. “That was too close. I should have carried you both, but I thought it would be faster—”

  She turned her head away from the sight, crying. “Oh Jude. I thought I was going to die.” He enveloped her in his arms and pressed a kiss atop her hair that had spilled to her waist. Surprised at the action, she lifted her face to him, the moonlight filling her gaze. She ached to kiss him. “I’m so sorry for avoiding you after that day on the train. I never should have acted so hurt when you were only doing what you thought was best. I didn’t want to die with how we left things between us. I—” She dipped her head, unable to form the words that were spilling over her heart and instead whispered, “I’m so sorry for the way I acted.”

  “I was a fool to let you go without a fight, Winnifred Wylde.” He pressed his forehead to hers again as if he couldn’t bear to be apart from her. “When I thought I’d lost you …” He shook his head, his amber eyes brimming. “I never want to lose you again, Winnifred. You are the very heartbeat within me, and I love you with every breath in my body.”

  “Oh Jude.” Her heart felt near to bursting at the words she had given up all hope of ever hearing, but grimaced as his chin touched her sore cheek.

  Jude’s face twisted as his fingers traced the side of her face. “What happened? Did you cut yourself in the fall?”

  Her hand shook as she touched the tender spot, shivering at the memory. “Holmes struck me, and I hit my head when I fell.”

  Jude’s jaw tightened, but his grip on her was gentle as he shifted her in his arms, moving as if to help her sit down on the sidewalk. The action frightened her. She felt that if he released her, she would fall into that cavern, never to see the light of day again. She entwined her arms about his neck and tucked her head against him. “No. Please,” she whimpered. “Don’t. Not yet.”

  His chest rumbled beneath her in a groan as if her agony caused him pain as well. She felt his lips press atop her head again as he whispered, “I’ve got you, my love.”

  Giving into the darkness, she murmured, “Don’t ever leave me again.”

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  “Think now and then that there is a man who would give his life, to keep a life you love beside you.”

  ~Charles Dickens, A Tale of Two Cities

  With his arm about Winnifred’s waist, Jude knelt beside Miss Lance, anxiously trying to assess her state while keeping Winnifred from fainting again.

  Auntie Ann ran over to them. “Miss Swan! Are you well? What on earth were you doing inside—” Her jaw dropped at the sight of the figure before them. “Miss Lance? What is she doing here? I thought Mr. Holmes said she left. We didn’t know she was still inside.” Tears filled her eyes as she pressed a hand to her mouth.

  Jude pressed two fingers to Miss Lance’s neck to feel for her pulse. “He lied, but she is breathing still.”

  “Thank the Lord.” Holding her worn pink robe to her chest, she sank down beside them, her shaking hand on Miss Lance’s forehead. “I don’t understand. Why would Mr. Holmes lie about her leaving?”

  The bell of the fire wagon rang out as it careened around the corner, rolling to a halt in front of the building. Firemen began pouring out, hose at the ready to extinguish the flames. Beyond the fire wagon, Jude spied the police wagon speeding toward them with a hospital wagon not far behind. “Would you mind staying with Miss Lance while I fetch a nurse?”

  “Of course,” she replied, her hands wrapping protectively around the girl’s.

  “Jude?” Winnifred’s voice cracked, her hand reaching for his.

  Scooping her up in his arms, he cradled her against his chest and carried her to the hospital wagon and away from the gathering crowd.

  “Do you need assistance?” A female nurse ran to them, bag in hand as she reached for Winnifred’s wrist.

  “Yes, but there is another in more need at present.” He nodded to where Miss Lance lay on the ground. “She is barely breathing and is unresponsive.”

  “Keep an eye on this young lady, and I will be back to check on her,” the nurse replied, already running.

  Winnifred’s stillness frightened him, but not wanting to break his word and set her down, he shifted her in his arms and took in her bruised face. The cut on her cheek had left a crusty line of blood from her upper temple to her jawline, the
purple hue on her cheek already deepening. Anger bubbled in his chest. Lord, let us find Holmes at once and bring him to justice for what he’s done to Winnifred, Victor, Miss Lance, and all his other victims.

  “Jude!” Winnifred sat bolt upright in her bed, spreading her arms about in search of him. Someone grasped her hand, tethering her to reality as the morning light filtered through the heavy curtains.

  “Winnifred.” The soft reply of her aunt came to her. “Oh, thank the Lord you are awake. I was beginning to worry that you’d—” Her voice cracked.

  “Aunt Lillian?” She felt the tears cascade down her cheeks as she blinked away her panic to focus on her aunt who was still in her finery from the ball.

  “Yes, my sweet girl.” Aunt Lillian sat on the bed and brushed back Winnifred’s curls from her damp, hot cheeks. “Would you like some water?”

  At the clink of metal against glass, her gaze flicked to the darkened corner of her room where Doctor Reynolds was stirring a concoction. “She needs some medicine first. This will help ease the pain in her leg.” He handed the glass to her aunt.

  My leg? Her gaze settled on her raised foot, swathed in a tight bandage. She tested it and muffled a groan.

  “Don’t move it,” her aunt scolded.

  “Where’s Father?” Winnifred croaked, her eyes widening as she wrapped a hand about her throat. Her voice sounded like it had when she had that severe cold last year.

  “With all the smoke you inhaled, you will sound quite hoarse for a few days.” The doctor clicked his black leather bag closed. “You were very lucky to have been found when you were. Any more time in that smoke and …” He left off his words and shook his head. “Keep an eye on her, Lillian. Please inform the staff of her needs, and I will be back later in the day to check on her.”

  “Thank you, Doctor.” Aunt Lillian lifted a glass to Winnifred’s lips. “Your father wouldn’t leave your side all night. I finally sent him to bed for fear he would take ill.”